Ventus by Karl Schroeder (fantasy books to read .txt) đ
- Author: Karl Schroeder
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âWe contact the Winds ourselves. Tell them about Armiger. Theyâre like the immune system for the entire planet; any foreign body gets eliminated eventually. Like we will be, if we stay here too long. I donât know how Armigerâs lasted this long; superior technology, I guessââ
âWell, precisely,â she pointed out. âHeâs more sophisticated than the Winds. Even if we knew how to carry on a rational conversation with the Winds, do you think theyâd believe us? Iâm sure Armigerâs totally invisible to them. And I doubt itâs going to change.â
âVentus is a lot more complicated than we thought,â he said. âSome people do talk to the Winds; Iâve heard more stories in the past couple of daysââ
âStories? Axel, this planet breeds myths like fungus! None of the locals have a clue what the Winds are, and if they did they canât affect them at all.â
âThey canâthere are ways. Do you seriously believe humans would cohabit this world with them for so long without working out ways to deal with them?â
Calandria looked out over the grounds again. This manor was centuries old, and the civilization that had built it was older still. And the Winds were as constant as their namesake in these peopleâs lives. Axel could be right. âSo how do they do it?â
âItâs actually pretty simple. A couple of their main religions are ecologically based, right? The inner doctrine seems to be emulation of the Winds. If you act like the Winds, they treat you like one of them. And then theyâll talk to you.â
âSounds too easy,â she said. âAnd suspiciously mystical.â
He threw up his hands and stood. âBelieve whatever the hell you want! But it makes sense, Cal: the Winds are confused about humans to begin with. They donât know whether weâre vermin or part of their grand design. How do you think agriculture gets done on this world? People placate them. It works. I think we should look into it.â
âAll right,â she said. âYou look into it. Meanwhile, Iâm going to work on Jordan, and find out where Armiger is going.â
Axel frowned. âHe really is on the move?â
âMaybe. The Desert Voice located the site of the battle he talked about, but the forces that survived it are dispersed across hundreds of kilometers of territory. Iâm going to try to get some more lucid descriptions from Jordan.â
âAnd what if Armiger is headed this way?â
Calandria looked out at the forest woods beyond the manor grounds. âThen Jordan had better be able to warn us when heâs due.â
7Jordan smoothed the lapels of his vest nervously. He had never worn clothes like this. Their strange fit and discomfort in the oddest places was a constant reminder of his role tonight as apprentice to Calandria May. The stiffness of the fabric and the cut of the shirt and pants made him constantly arch his back, and drew his shoulders up. All the other men stood and walked the same, in an almost exaggerated, prideful posture. He had always assumed that went with their station. The idea that their clothes were made to hold their noses up amazed him. He couldnât look at them with quite the same awe as heâd used to.
He stood just outside the dining hall in a swirl of young men, who mostly spoke among themselves. He knew the language, but had no idea what they were talking aboutârights, obligations, and fine points of the pecking order, it seemed. As far as possible Jordan tried to stay out of any dialogue, only nodding and smiling when it was needed. He knew his accent was guild-class, and although Calandria claimed to be able to fix that, she hadnât yet. He gave his name when it was required of him, but nothing more.
âAh, there you are!â boomed a familiar voice. Axel Chanâs hand descended on his shoulder like a vice. âWhereâs the lady?â
âChanging,â Jordan said tersely. Axel had spoken so loudly that heads turned all over the chamber. Jordan wanted to shrink into the floor to avoid all those high-class gazes.
âGood. If sheâs not about, Iâll borrow you for a moment.â Axel steered him away from the men, past the ladies, who were preening and talking behind their feather fans, and out of the antechamber. He led Jordan halfway down the lower, stone-floored corridor that ran between the antechamber and the stairways, then stopped under a high window. Evening light suffused the corridor, gilding the stones that Axel leaned against. He grinned, slouching, and put his hands in his pockets.
âHow are you doing, lad?â he asked.
âI donât like this,â said Jordan, pulling at his jacket.
âItâs a fine uniform. Red and goldâyour choice?â Jordan nodded guardedly. âVery nice. Tasteful. Weâll make an inspector out of you yet.â
âCalandria says she can teach me to talk like them.â
âItâs no trick. You just speak slowly and flap your lips a bit, as if,â he switched into an overdone upper-crust accent, âyou could barely care to speak at all.â Despite himself, Jordan grinned at the imitation.
Axel leaned close. âDonât worry. Weâre all pretending; thatâs what events like this are all about.â
âWhy are we doing it at all?â
âTo fit in. Better that we be there to be spoken to than absent to be spoken about.â Axel stood away from the wall and smiled archly as two ladies walked past. They ignored him. He slouched back again and said, âNow, I promised to show you the letter from your sister. Can you read?â
âA bit. I can do figures and architectural terms, and a little more.â
âIâll read it to you. Your sister dictated it to me.â Axel pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. He flipped it open and began to read.
âOh, Jordan, I miss you so much. I wish you were here right now, but Sir Chan says you have to finish a job for him first. Then youâll be back and bring lots of money.
âIâm sorry I ran away. Mom and Dad are really mad at us, though they wonât say it. They just donât talk about that night. And they pray for you to come back all the time. I canât talk to them! I wish you were here so I would have somebody to talk to.
âSir Chan told me to write something so you would know it was me. Remember that turn on the stairs in the manor, where we found the crack? Remember the note we hid there before Dad mortared it up? I know what the note saysâonly me and you know. The first word is âBoo!â. Remember that?â
Jordan let his tension out with a big breath, and leaned heavily against the wall next to Axel. He smiled at Axel.
âSo, itâs really her, is it?â asked Axel.
He nodded. âAfter Sir Chan found me, he gave me letters of appointment to the king of Ravenon. I canât believe itâneither could anybody else, but Castor did. And Turcaretâyou should have seen his face when Sir Chan showed him the letters. He wanted to kill Chan, I could tell, but he was afraid to. But Castorâhe almost smiled, I think. Anyway, he told Turcaret not to argue, and he signed the letters, and Sir Chan lent me money to move in with the Sanglers which is where I am now. Waiting for dispatches from Ravenon, who will come to me before they come to Castor. Iâm so proud, and scared at the same time. And lonely. I hope you come home soon. Sir Chan says you are okay and having an adventure. Please write me and tell me all about it.â
âCan I?â Jordan asked.
Axel nodded. âBut you canât talk about what weâre doing, or say anything about Armiger.â He looked over Jordanâs shoulder at something, and smiled. âAnd speaking of ladies, here she is! Youâre a vision, my dear.â
âThan you, Axel,â Calandria said, smiling. She wore a long, emerald-green skirt, a bodice worked with beads of gold, and a white loose-sleeved blouse. Her hair was piled up and held in place with pearl-tipped pins. A gold necklace completed the ensemble. Her face glowed with an inhuman perfection that Jordan had guessed at but which had hitherto been hidden under a layer of grime and disarrayed hair. Surely she wore makeup, but he could see no sign of it. Despite all that sheâd done to him, in that moment Jordan thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He stammered something, and blushed. Calandria lowered long lashes and made a near-smile. âYou look the proper gentleman, Jordan. Shall we join the dinner party?â She cocked her elbows; Axel immediately stepped out to take one of her arms, and Jordan hurried to place himself on the other. He felt a burst of pride as they entered the antechamber and conversations died left and right. Calandriaâs smile grew even more subtle, and Axelâs face had hardened into an imperious mask. Jordan had no idea what he himself looked like, but strongly suspected he was ruining the effect. He tried to draw himself up as Axel had done and don a suitable air of contempt.
The hall was brightly lit by gas lamps. Jordan could see all the way to the blond stone groin vaults of the ceiling a good fifteen meters overhead. The hall was as wide as it was high, and twice as long. Tapestries hung between the narrow buttresses, depicting scenes from the long, industrious history of the Boros inspector generals: collection and taxation figured prominently, but instead of glorious victories, as true nobility would boast, the few battle scenes showed Borosâ militia sweeping away mobs of rioting citizens. A huge fireplace roared at one end of the hall, silhouetting the raised chairs and table of Yuri Boros and his family and filling the room with the smell of woodsmoke. Long tables had been laid out down the sides of the hall, each length overhung by wrought-iron arches holding a lamp and trailing flowers. People were seating themselves now with the aid of black-coated servants, who paced up and down in the clear runway that stretched from the main doors at the foot of the room to the raised table and fireplace at the head. A low murmur of voices lofted up and echoed down from the arches.
When Jordan was very young, he had once watched a gathering like this through a crack in the kitchen doors at Castorâs hall. He remembered none of the logic of the occasion, only the brightness and laughter, and the amazing variety of food that was carried past him. All adults had been like gods to him, the controllers and inspectors more so. He longed to find some door to hide behind, some safe vantage from which to watch the tables. At the same time, he wanted to be here, seated with his betters as if he had the rightâfor at least tonight, Calandriaâs aura protected him. So, as they took their seats at an obscure table at the back of the room, Jordan sat at his place in wonder and delight, and wished fervently he could also be peering through the crack in the kitchen door, his Self there pulling the strings of his Self here.
He glanced at Calandriaâs perfect face, and had a flash of insight: were she and Axel standing somewhere aloof from themselves at moments like this, pulling the strings of their public faces?
His contemplative spell was broken by the bray of a horn. Everyone was seated now; Axel and Calandria had put themselves to either side of Jordan, effectively isolating him from conversation, which was fine with him. It came to him just where he was, and he had one of those moments that is later permanently impressed
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