A Handful of Secrets (28)

Several of Mother’s secrets were revealed on the Folly Road.

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Several of Mother’s secrets were revealed on the Folly Road. The first was that she had maintained lodgings in the capital for some months, in an undesirable but centrally located district. When the conversation on the road had run its course, and a distant figure approached from the direction of the city, Mother decided it was time to expedite matters. 

We farsended to a bare rock nestled in a copse of small trees a short distance from the road. This was not the expected point of arrival, which I could see next to the road, out in the open. 

“Only Agalin mages are expected to be able to farsend here,” Mother explained. “If we’d arrived there, questions would have been asked.”

“And now that we emerge from the bushes, having not walked the last miles of road?”

She smirked. “Maybe we walked on the grass?”

Something didn’t feel right. “I can feel the ether.”

“Me too. We’re on the edge of the Folly now.”

“So anyone could farsend to the arches over there.”

“They could. But most people come here to get away from magic. To walk in the park. And, if they’re willing to walk far enough, some come here specifically for secret conversations, or ... activities.”

“And the guards just let in anyone? Into a Folly enclosed by such great walls?” I could see the massive stonework even through the trees.

“Oh, I’m certain they keep good records of the comings and goings.”

“But what’s stopping people from attacking the prison?”

“Logistics, my sweet child. The prison is a considerable march. I doubt any large gathering of soldiers would be allowed through. Just secret lovers.”

A thought occurred to me. “Is that what they will think of us?”

Mother shrugged and stepped into the light. She marched towards the gates leading out of the Folly parklands. I hurried after her.

We stood before the guards at the gate, and the wall towered above us. It undoubtedly included a Boundary, one of the many magical lines that one must not cross by magic, on pain of incarceration. 

We had to give our names, and, from the look the guard gave me, he knew I was a released prisoner. Mother gave an address for both of us, and we were waved through.

“No secrecy there,” I said. And no room for any insinuations that didn’t exist.

“I have to amuse myself somehow. Don’t be tedious.”

We entered the Tiruhal Bola, the Mill Precinct, a bustling mess of humanity and other creatures, the air quickly thick with all kinds of aromas, both familiar and strange. The buildings were no more than three stories and made of grey stone. 

Mother pointed out a ridge topped with villas boasting wide terraces and told me there had once been windmills up there, for grinding grain. It was hard to imagine. 

Mother gasped, a sound of excitement, and veered off to a small building outside of which stood a boy, no more than ten years of age, surrounded by mounds of bread of different kinds. Mother launched into a heated discussion with the boy, tense at times, but finally she and the boy beamed at each other, and he handed her a pile of flat loaves bound together with a strip of fabric tied in a knot in the middle.

We walked into the crowd. “That negotiation was vigorous.”

“Oh, that? He thought he could take advantage of me, but I set him straight. That’s all.”

Mother had always had secrets. I’d known that from a young age. The obvious ones were those she kept from Father, those she shared with me. It took me several years to realize there were other secrets, ones she was keeping from me too. 

“You’ve been here long enough to haggle like a native.”

She looked me up and down. “Bread is a necessity. You must learn fast. Maybe that’s why I picked up Agalin so quickly? Unless I have a natural affinity for language?” Her modesty was false.

I’d only heard her speak the familiar languages when I was a child, but she must have travelled widely in the several years since she’d left Father. And I knew she had been in the South. “How many languages do you speak, then?” 

“More than I used to.”

And Agalin was only one of them. 

Mother led me along several busy streets, and to an alley leading to a small courtyard that somehow managed to contain more than a dozen small residences, apartments on top of each other and crammed together. Several staircases led to an upper level, each to a small stone landing before a simple door. I could tell that the ground floor apartments were larger, and the upstairs apartments smaller but with more windows. 

“Welcome home,” she said. She led me up some stairs and into her rented lodgings. Shutters blocked out the light and the heat, but a breeze flowed readily. The sparse furnishings were palatial and opulent compared to my old prison cell. 

One large room, which would be bathed in light if the shutters were opened, revealed two cots, a small table, a couple of chairs, and a sluice sink that served as a kitchen. One door led to another room, for bathing and personal matters.

“It's been long years since I slept in the same room as you, Mother.”

“I hope you don’t snore.”

“You’ll find out later.”

“Your father snored. It was the first thing I ever disliked about him.”

“But not the last.”

“No. Not in the slightest. Anyway, we have sihan for supper. Oh, the bread. It’s very fatty. It will give us lots of energy. Delicious too.”

“I wouldn’t mind trying one ....”

I soon knew she was right about the sihan.

Mother’s first idea about how to start our investigation was that we might be able to detect Father’s trace, even after all these months, if we found an isolated enough place. She remembered one or two such places we could try that day, but a couple would require a full day’s walk. It would be foolhardy to go around farsending, she explained. That would draw too much attention, even if we avoided going over Boundary lines. 

Her second idea was to speak to the people she knew Aranon had had contact with. 

“You haven’t spoken to such people already?”

“No, but I have a list.”

“You were here, for some of the last thirteen months at least. Why didn’t you speak to these people right after I was imprisoned?”

“It wasn’t as simple as that. Any quick action on my part would have raised suspicion. And most of the people involved are not easy to gain access to. Besides, I was away for some of the time, as you know.”

This was the second secret she had told me, about her time in the South, speaking to mages the likes of which no Kinnon mage would ever speak to. 

I realized I had a new question. “Which lang—”

A knock came at the door, and we shared a glance of sudden alarm. No one should be here. No one knew we were here.

I felt Mother’s power simmering just below the surface as she strode to the door.

An old man stood there, bathed in the harsh afternoon light, a local Agalin. His clothes were dusty, their colors faded.

“Ah, you must be Ollyna. My deepest condolences. And good, Araled is here. Aranon sent me. To help.” 

We must have looked stunned. And we were.

Into the long silence he added, “If you will have me?”

The man had not spoken Agalin as a local would, or the Classical Abrilian of someone trying to speak to pale-skinned foreigners from Kinona, or even the Anesaal that so often served as a bridging language for mages across the world, not only in Ukunal. 

The old man had spoken the most impeccable Peledarri, like a true native.

Continue reading with Part 29.