Eagles and Swans
Chapter 27: The Plea Answered
More rain fell that month than an Astran August had ever seen.
The rainy days were humid and full of wind. The pavements grew shiny, and the workers would find ferries home in the afternoon. The decks were always empty, the cabins full. The Wind Tunnel waters ran high, the roar of the current joining the howl of the wind, droplets splashing the fliers’ feet.
All over the country, the rivers had risen. Lower New Town streets were deluged, their first floods in a decade, and the kings had taken to the press with reaffirmations that something would be done as soon as they ascertained the cause. Meanwhile, fish markets were screeching to a halt and although the papers never said it aloud, everyone knew all was amiss.
A strange message appeared in a small rectangle on the last page of the Swan’s Post. “The coiled naga hungers for swan’s flesh,“ it read, in foreboding capital letters. Most assumed it to be a quote from a poem—but the few who knew what it meant felt either great fire or great dread at the sight of the message.
Ruthenia spent the dry afternoons at the milkshake stand, but the days when Hollia joined her were growing fewer, her restless birds usurping a growing slice of her hours. Many evenings, she found her dinner in a basket on the table, an apology note alongside it that told her Tanio might not be back before she slept. In the mornings she would find him reading the papers with dark rings around his eyes, coffee steaming by his feet.
“Everything alright?” she asked as he tiredly sipped his drink.
He lifted his face and said, “Just a few more days. A few days and I will be able to sleep again.”
On a Wednesday near the start of September, Ruthenia waited by the gate to the menagerie while second year students stampeded past.
When Aleigh passed on his way to collect Benedice, he stopped beside her, seeming to know she couldn't be there for any other reason. “What is it?” he said.
Ruthenia shrugged. “I know how you are about detours, but do…you want to join me at the milkshake stand?”
She wasn't sure why she was asking; Hollia had once again rushed off on urgent errands as the migration season drew towards its peak, and perhaps she missed the company.
“Milkshake stand?” he answered. The slanting afternoon light glared through the windows. “My schedule is a little tight, I'm afraid.”
“Not even ten minutes?” Ruthenia sighed. “It’s right between here and Helika City, too.”
His frown softened as he pondered. Then he said, “I suppose ten minutes in the direction of home wouldn't hurt.”
“Thanks for humouring me.” She grinned, leading the way to the stables.
Off they flew, in just a little less of a hurry than to Rae Threaders the other week. The island kiosk emerged at the end of fifteen minutes of golden sky, upon miles of meadow and gleaming lakes. Ruthenia was improving on her landing—she slowed to a hover in front of the counter. Benedice could not hover, and so he and his rider soared past the island and circled it once, landing in a clatter of hooves on the edge. She laughed as Aleigh dismounted, pulling a comb from his pocket to fix his hair.
Imessa, the shop owner, flew out of her chair and to the counter. “Your Highness,” she breathed, bowing eagerly with a hand on her chest. “It is my honour.”
He offered a small nod of acknowledgment. “I came at Ruthenia's recommendation,” he replied.
“Ah, yes, of course!” The woman piped up. “She has mentioned you many a time.”
He glanced at Ruthenia. “You have?”
Against her will, her face went hot. “I mean, I talk about my classes sometimes!”
“Oh, she mostly complains about you,” Imessa answered.
“That's not helping,” Ruthenia groaned, pushing him aside and placing an argent on the countertop. “The usual, please?” Then she turned to her companion. “You?”
Aleigh stared for a moment. “Do you have a menu?” he said.
Ruthenia buried her face in her hands, pointing at the boards hanging on chains behind the counter.
He studied it for a second. “May I have a sample of—”
With a sigh, Ruthenia held up a hand and stopped him mid-order. “Just choose one, pay for it, and don’t say anything else.”
“How shall I pay?”
“By giving her coins!” She mimed throwing coins at the woman’s face.
“I do not carry coins with me unless I know I will need them,” he answered with a pensive shake of his head. “I could pay with a bank cheque, however—”
“It's one argent! Are you telling me you don’t have one argent with you?”
“I do not.”
Ruthenia exchanged a very long look with Imessa, then began to laugh. She howled, banging a fist on the counter, then opened her pouch again while she wiped a tear from her right eye.
“I hope you know that you are absolutely beyond help,” she said, loosening the drawstring on her pouch and fishing another argent out of it. “I can’t believe I’m buying a drink for the Arcane Prince. Another honey milkshake, please?”
Sweeping the coin into her hand, the woman began to measure out the ingredients. “I’m sorry, this is all rather unfamiliar to me,” said Aleigh meanwhile. “Had this been planned in advance I would have been prepared.”
Ruthenia sighed. “It's no trouble,” she replied. “There really is no room for spontaneity in your life, is there? Not even an argent in your pocket.”
A clink soon announced the arrival of their drinks. Ruthenia snatched hers off the counter, then moved to take a seat on the raised stone barrier at the edge of the platform, barely inches from a hundred-foot drop, a hand resting on her wooden umbrella crook.
She gazed lazily into the windy golden afternoon as she drank. The shopkeeper’s rowboat levitated close beside the milkshake stand, with a few books stacked inside, and a straw hat tied to the oarlock. In the distance, a vast ferry made away with its host of evening passengers.
Her eyes returned to her companion; he, too, was sipping on his milkshake, as he came to join her at the corner of the deck.
“This is a lovely place, thank you for inviting me,” he said, with a smile that made her gladder than it should. Unlike Hollia, he spent a lot of time contemplating the surrounds.
“It's my favourite haunt after school. Good days, bad days…I come pick up a drink and talk to Imessa. Great listener, by the way.”
“My pleasure,” Imessa called out over the counter.
“The day we visited Rae Threaders,” said Aleigh, “you invited me to have milkshake with you. Would that have been here?”
“Oh, yes. That's right.” She laughed. “And you said the exact same thing about your schedule. The way you talk about it, it's as if you're shackled to your planner.”
“What can I say,” he said, pulling out that very planner to flip through it. “Mhm, meeting with the council at six, dinner with the mayors at seven, then,” he sighed, “homework.”
“Damn it, homework. Always getting in the way.” Ruthenia grinned. “It means a lot that you're entertaining my silly whims, then. Hollia's been too busy lately.”
“Ah, I am a stand-in for Hollia, am I?”
“No, no, I actually like your company. You're fun to talk to. Because you see the world in such a different way from me.”
“Well, I am glad that sentiment goes both ways. Sometimes, it pains me to remember how acerbic I always was towards you before.”
“I get it now, though.” It was odd to recall how much he had repulsed her, not so long ago. She wasn't sure what had changed. Perhaps she had learned something, about that game of masks and glamours he was always playing. Perhaps it was simply the clemency of his smile.
Finishing his drink first, Aleigh left the cup on the counter, offering Imessa a “thank you” that she answered with frantic gestures of gratitude. As he passed Ruthenia, he offered a nod. “Thank you for letting me join you, I must be going now,” he said, then leapt onto Benedice's stirrup.
Ruthenia returned her own glass to the countertop and swung her umbrella into her left hand, thoughtlessly rotating the ribbon around its ribs as she watched him. “Take care,” she called.
“You too.” With a flick of the reins, Benedice leapt from the platform, a single white feather swirling through the air as he vanished from sight, to land at Ruthenia’s feet. She stooped to pick it up, running her fingers along its edge.
“For someone you dislike,” Imessa said, chin propped up on one hand, “you're quite pleasant with him.”
“Well, I might have changed my mind.”
On the rainy Thursday that followed, Tanio forgot to mention his departure. But Ruthenia had grown accustomed enough to the routine of recent days. Carrying the repaired musicmaker across the bridge with her umbrella tucked over her shoulder, she left it on Tanio's coffee table, then found her uncooked dinner in the cold box, slathering butter on the pan and tossing meat onto it, all while furiously licking the oil off her hand.
That night, as the rain began to cascade in mournful sheets, she peered down over her patio rails and saw the river surging in frenzied whirlpools again.
As she watched and her shirt grew heavy with rain, she thought she heard screaming, or cries for help, each strain tearing her heart with a pang of sorrow. Sorrow like when she woke from dreams of her parents.
Some urge took her then, and she brought her umbrella out from the dryness of her shed, almost slipping in her haste. Even though the winds were flickering and wild, she managed to mount her umbrella, flying through sheets of the cascading water, the army of raindrops blinding her. Her flight swung with increasing ferocity as she sank to the roaring river. The air smelled of rain and wheat and broken stems.
She landed on the undulating bank and threw her umbrella into the grass, bare feet and knees squelching deep in the slippery soil. She choked with rain in the howling black emptiness. With a gasp that filled her lungs up, she counted to three, squeezed her eyes shut, and plunged her head into the freezing current.
“Lilin?” Ruthenia whispered into the gushing water, bubbles flowing from her lips, ticklish against her ears. “Lilin, you there?”
She shivered as the water sucked her in and spat her out in turns, no longer able to tell where the rain ended and the river began.
Then a wail pierced her ears like a spear, so loud she feared it might split her head open. The scream vibrated through every inch of her, called from the depths of her soul the part molded by the sea.
“Stop screaming!” she exclaimed with the rest of her breath, then flung her head out of the river, gasping while her head spun. Bright, grey rain and the guttural roll of thunder far above engulfed her. She had started to shiver.
She drew another bigger breath, eyes shut, and her head was in the water again.
The hum of the distant voice came almost at once, its tones swallowing her whole.
Is that you? Is it you? The one who spoke before?
“Yes,” she whispered, bubbles scurrying against her cheeks and nose. “I’m Ruthenia.”
Ruthenia— Ruthenia—the voice was distraught—where is my father and why won’t he answer me? Tell me? Tell me! Will he let me go?
“I…don't think so. He said forever.”
I want to be free. I’ve had enough of this ocean. I never want to see it again.
She felt an ache in her chest that crescendoed into a bottomless grief, barrelling her over. She burst from the river for breath, teeth clattering. She shook her soggy hair out between gasps, all loose and falling upon her wet shoulders. Her eyes were warm with tears.
“They’re going to kill you,” she whispered, bowing. “They don’t care that you did no wrong. They’re going to kill you.”
The storm was thinning. She sucked in a final breath, and thrust her head into the water a third time, eyes shut.
“I’ll make sure they free you. I don't know how yet, but I'll make sure it is done.”
Lilin’s answer was not in words, but an indescribable agony, so vast that it filled every stream through every town, every mile of every coast of the nation her father had founded.
Ruthenia began to see things. Skies spinning, and wings. The land of Astra when it had been young, and the people had drawn shapes in the mud, painting their faces with the swamp.
She watched a small band try to light a fire near the coast, and watched as a little boy—too curious to know—burnt his fingers in the flame. She heard stumble backward with a piercing cry.
That cry was the same cry Lilin had been repeating for centuries.
But the vision was broken by a storm, night and day whirling together, and the dart of a chain through the air. Then a bright flash of blood, spurting from the centre of her abdomen, from which all the pain of the world was suddenly screeching, staining the chain that ate its way through her.
Throwing herself out of the river, Ruthenia clutched herself with a wail, blood pouring down her fingers and onto the earth, the wound gnawing away at her.
She pulled her hands away, and found her hands clean, her shirt drenched with nothing but water. She gasped and collapsed onto the soil while a convulsion of sobs overcame her.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered through her aching tears. Now her clothes were stained with mud, too. The river kept roaring and the rain kept thundering, and between them, she wept.
The rain did not cease, even as night was scattered by the first daylight, imperceptible behind the thick cloud curtain. Raindrops splashed upon the slats of her roof.
Ruthenia spent the morning staring at her empty desk while the shadows of raindrops raced across it, half-finished essays and sketches strewn and piled in every corner. The last of yesterday lingered, like an aftertaste.
It wasn’t just that she had made a promise to Lilin. It was that there was something familiar about the goddess' grief. Something she could not bear to see repeat.