Eagles and Swans
Chapter 29: Full Bloom
It was on the the twentieth of September when the first bluebell bloomed.
It was up on the peak of Calmen Ihira, where a priestess had been praying in the rain. It had been there a while, or so she surmised, for it was already laden with flowers. No one knew where it had come from, the tiny sprig of blue blossoms, heavy with raindrops. A sombre sign, or so the clergy had determined: bluebells meant disappointment, but when they bloomed in the rain they meant unfathomable loss.
“Can you believe it?” Ruthenia said over tea on the mezzanine. “The Herald thinks flowers are worth reporting on.”
“Bluebells do not grow on mountain peaks,” replied Aleigh. “My brother believes that Lilin sent it—never mind that Lilin’s influence is not known to extend this far. In any case, it is not to be dismissed lightly.”
“You’re silly,” she said, “thinking a flower’s worth that much care.”
“Well, this one demands to be taken seriously, because of the time and manner of its appearance.”
She propped her chin up. “Symbolism sure means a lot to you.”
“Why else do you think?” There was a trace of wryness in his voice. “Most who smear my name in public don't do so because they dislike me personally.”
That evening, as the classrooms emptied and the sky cooled to foggy gold, she found Hollia and Orrem talking at the door. When she poked her head in to greet them, she only succeeded in making them fall dead silent.
“See you tomorrow,” said Orrem with a smile and a lazy wave. Hollia timidly echoed the greeting, eyes restlessly jumping between the other two.
“Take care, both of you,” answered Ruthenia, walking backward through the doorway.
Today, despite the sunshowers, Aleigh was not there to ask for her umbrella. Her heart sank, and then remembering the old pattern of his departure, she sprinted off to the menagerie.
The sun was falling just right and the entire room was golden as she barrelled in, warming the hay so it smelled like a barn the day after the harvest. He was just inside, just like that day two months ago.
Halting by the stable gates, Aleigh glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, Ruthenia. Any reason you're here?”
She grinned. “No, just wanted to say goodbye.”
Amid the sound of clawing and beating wings, Ruthenia studied the creatures around her—nagas with wings tucked away, roosters of riotous colours scratching in the hay. A great crane lay with its neck between the bars, lethargic in the way all caged animals tended to be. She squatted to watch it, before haltingly reaching out to scratch its head.
“That one has seen better days,” said Aleigh. She rose to her feet to find him with his equine beside him once more. In the slanting sunbeams, his hair was aglow, his smile softened by the light reflected off the walls.
Ruthenia realised only ten seconds later that she was staring. She shook her head. “Ugh, I should probably head home.”
Lilin’s Bluebells? Are these flowers a symbol of Lilin’s anguish?
So read the rumour in the Swan's Post. Over the next three days, the rest of the bluebells came. Their heads pricked through the earth everywhere except where the wheat and corn grew, bursting into bloom all over the island. They hung their heads in sorrow—what for, no one knew—but the kings looked upon their island of flowers and saw nothing but bad news.
Today, in alternative news:
Dispatch Force To Be Deployed: Photographic evidence and theological writings tip scales
Eagle Eye, Tuesday, 26th September 491.
In yet another move that highlights the Ihira clergy's growing distance from any discernible moral compass, Astra's bishops have issued an official decree sanctioning the execution of Lilin.
Recent evidence, particularly the photographs taken by the Calied Company’s Aperture I, has led authorities to conclude that Lilin, the daughter of Ihir, is responsible for hundreds of deaths and the destruction of twelve marine vessels in the Argenta Sea.
In light of the developing emergency, the clergy voted in favour of an execution, and the Royal Diptych has issued an ultimatum to the Admiral of the Royal Navy to deploy ships to remove the ever-growing threat posed by Lilin.
The decree quotes the writings of philosopher Elode: “The first being condemned by Ihir for sin, Lilin is a taint, a symbol of holy treason and denial of His goodness.” It is believed that this argument was the basis on which thirty-four of fifty-nine clergy members voted in favour of the move.
It was on that Saturday that, riveting the last canvas sheets onto the right wing, the Swift finally assumed the form that had till then existed only on paper—albeit in Tanio's absence.
Gazing at the fuselage with a sun-bright grin, Sharmon declared, “What impeccable timing! I distilled a fuel of seventy percent purity last week. It will be no time till .” but on being pressed for a date, all he offered was a shrug.
The stack of letters at Tanio’s door grew thick; Ruthenia knocked it over every time she arrived. His coffee table turned unruly once again, strewn with cuttings from a dozen different publications. The radio buzzed and crackled in his doorway all day and night. In the evenings, he listened with blinding intensity.
Saturday evening, she found him in the dining room slumped over his dinner, chin propped on one elbow.
“I'm tired of these press hounds,” he muttered in the dimming evening light, eyes closing while he rubbed his temple. “Politics. Work. Public scrutiny. If I end up choosing the hermit’s life and depriving the nation of my genius, they have only themselves to blame.”
Ruthenia sighed as she passed. “If you need anything from me, just shout.”
“Yes…if I remember to.”
He was almost always gone before she could get a proper word in. Never did Ruthenia find the chance to speak up about Lilin or the nascent plan she’d begun to formulate, even though it continued to press on her thoughts, dulling her appetite.
Yet the next day, she found photographs of him peppering the news—of the great Titanio Calied feigning deep thought as he inspected blueprints, touting the engineering project that had turned the clergy's vote. And every morning, his living room was empty.
On Monday, Ruthenia intercepted Aleigh in the corridor, separating him from the stream of traffic with a hand on his shoulder.
“Could we talk?” she said.
“What about?” he replied. They resumed their walk towards the lobby.
“It's a long story, but I made a commitment recently,” she said. “And it’s making me afraid, and I need an outside opinion.”
The briefest concern came over him then. “Certainly,” he said.
They slipped into the lift, where they found a comfortable space in the corner, behind everyone else. Not a word was exchanged, but when he shuffled inward to make room, his shoulder pressed against hers, and she let herself lean closer.
Up on the mezzanine, amid the whisper of a quiet downpour, Ruthenia spent a minute trying to find the words with which to begin.
Then she burst out, “Tell them not to kill Lilin. Tell them to free her. Please.”
He frowned. “I did. And I was dismissed out of hand.”
She clenched her fists on the tabletop. “Why can't they understand? She isn’t some monster. She's alone and scared, and she can be reasoned with. She'll stop struggling when she's freed. The navy could do that, couldn’t they?”
He paused. “Where is this coming from?”
“I've talked to her in rivers. I've heard pleading. She's desperate to escape and she's struggling against her bonds.”
He reserved his surprise, and whatever else brewed beneath, to a widening of eyes. “She was chained by Ihir,” he said haltingly. “I do not know if freedom is a possibility for her any longer.”
“There are tools that can cut her free. Like the Glaive of Laveda, or some other holy weapon—the government could easily get their hands on those!”
“No, what I mean is, in what world could we cut chains that Ihir Himself created? In what world would the Ihirin, the clergy, the religion that is the bedrock of our country, allow that?”
“You're really going to play the popularity game over Lilin's life?” Ruthenia hissed. “She's not some nameless beast. She's a sentient, intelligent being.”
“We'll start riots if we free her.”
“You'll start riots if you kill her!” she snarled. Her voice broke. “I have no choice, then. I have to do it. I’ll cut her free myself. She'll live and they can pin the whole thing on me.”
“How could you possibly achieve that?” asked Aleigh, voice almost becoming a laugh.
With perfect steadiness, she said, “I will fly there.”
A comprehension dawned in his eyes, and a terrified relenting. “Why do you care for Lilin more than you care for yourself?”
“I care about this nation not being built upon the blood of innocents. And I care about not letting these royal pigs carry on unopposed—”
“Just stop and think, will you?” She flinched at the rage in his eyes; she had never seen his iciness shatter so emphatically. “Even if you do succeed, do you really think you won't leave a mess? What if you did defy Ihir? What of the unrest this would stir? What of yourself? What do you propose that wouldn't leave the door open to more death?”
She balled up her fists. She was trembling with the pain. “I just hate with my entire being, this—this politics of death—of fixing problems with executions—and I can't stand by. If my opposition tears the country apart, then so be it!”
He went silent, fury petering out. “You are right, Ruthenia,” he said, a storm of dread swirling in his eyes. “This shouldn't have to end in death, if there still remains another answer. And whatever you're planning to do, I will turn a blind eye to it. But I simply cannot endorse you throwing yourself in the government’s path.”
For a dizzying moment Ruthenia felt completely alone in the universe.
Pulling her arms around herself, she nodded. “No, I understand. You have priorities.”
“You are my priority.”
Ruthenia drew a sharp breath, and waited for words to come to her, but there were none. They glanced away at the same time.
“You're right—this doesn't have to end in death. Including yours.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to put you in this position.”
“I’d do more, if it were in my power.”
“But you do have power,” Ruthenia muttered.
He shook his head. “I am not the king, and there is little more to my title than a seat at my brother's table. It maybe nice to show off at parties—but really it is no more than a cage. I’m nothing but a canary, singing to please the people. You are an eagle. Soaring beyond these cages and walls.”
Suddenly, standing here in her unpressed clothes, hair unruly, one shoe unlaced, Ruthenia felt so small. She wished she were that grand. Then, for all her dirt and commonness, she might know what to do now. But she was just a schoolgirl who sometimes had honey milkshakes and forgot her homework, and she didn’t know.
“Don’t call yourself a canary,” she muttered, a smile curving her lips. “Swans can be fearsome when they want to be. You've had all this power and influence thrown into your lap, but all you ever do is avert your eyes from it.”
Silence fell over them, filled by the whisper of rain through towering windows. Aleigh unwrapped his tea. Ruthenia watched wordlessly, tears spilling out of her eyes.
“Ruth, do you remember the mourning doves?” Hollia said as Ruthenia dropped into the empty seat beside her. “Something’s been going on with them lately. They sing all night as if something’s dead, or dying. The birds of paradise seem to know something’s afoot too. And the swifts are going crazy.”
Hollia looked unkempt in a way she had never seen before. “Is it Lilin who's getting to them?” Ruthenia asked. “Or the Thread disturbances.”
“They've been trying to flee,” Hollia said. “I guess…I never thought to wonder why. But why raise a bird species that can only survive in captivity? If they’re never going to return to the wild? Now there are only two mourning doves left in the world, and they don’t love each other.”
Ruthenia folded her arms on the adjacent desk, sagging so her head rested on the tabletop. She hadn’t the heart to say that birds couldn’t love, and that Hollia should let go of her work if it gave her nothing but grief. What was the point of saying so?
She would graduate from the Central Circle School someday, with a certificate that she would never use. While everyone else flew off to chase their aspirations, sweet Hollia Canavere would inherit the aviary in earnest, and she would tend it for the rest of her life. The birds would never be free.
Just as her parents had, and their parents had before. It had already been decided.
“I have been talking with our ‘friend.’ He wonders if you'll join their coming party. The others will.”
There was a vagueness to Reida's message that told Ruthenia exactly what wasn't being said. Her throat felt tight. When do we pass the point of no return?
Sadly I am occupied with my own plans.
“By the way, I started teaching H. recently. Says he misses you.”
I'm glad he's getting to learn from you. Don’t tell the rest, but he was the only good friend I had with that bunch.