《Findel's Embrace》


 Volume 1 Chapter 1: The Voiceless

    In the fifth year of the eighth regency of Drennos, in the Capital of Nosh, in the third precinct, heading more or less southeast along the Cobbler¡¯s Way, two figures wearing the plain grey wimples, veils, and frocks of the Voiceless walked side-by-side in unison, holding their black leather satchels at their sides.


    It was evening, and the street was not as busy as during the hours of commerce, but they still passed the last of the shoppers, a few apprentices, and some servant-girls returning home. The Sister of the Order of the Voiceless stared fixedly ahead. Jareen had long ago come to ignore the various frightened, curious, uncomfortable, or even reverent glances of the passersby. She did not meet their eyes or avert her fixed gaze. While other Sisters might enjoy the sense of reserved respect that their role afforded them, Jareen could not tell apart the looks she received for what she was and for what she did. Even in the garb of the Voiceless, it was clear that Jareen was not human; her arms and legs were too long, she stood a head higher than anyone else, and her gait made her swivel unlike the human way of walking¡ªalthough she had worked to hide that.


    Jareen was a full Sister of the Voiceless, and an Novice of the Order trotted next to her. The novice was all of a foot shorter and keeping up with Jareen¡¯s purposeful strides took effort. Her name was Silesh, and she was probably eighteen or nineteen, with the clear, moist complexion of someone who still snuck balms from the Order¡¯s apothecary closets for her own use.


    Squinting, Jareen counted the numbers along the rows of doors. This was their first visit with this Departing. In this part of the city, the buildings were made of brick¡ªnot the crumbling mud brick of the lower flats, but well-kilned, solid red brick with decent mortar. Except where roads diverged in neat grids, there were no gaps between the buildings, just rows of ground-floor shopfronts and narrow domiciliary doors with leaden house numbers hanging above. They were looking for number 117, and thankfully there was a little daylight left to see the numbers. Everything was harder in the night when the numbers could not be seen so easily.


    Jareen abruptly turned to the door and Silesh followed behind. Jareen did not strike with the leaden knocker, but turned the handle. Finding it unlocked, she entered silently. It was rude to make the Voiceless knock, and most knew to let them enter unannounced. She held her breath as the door swung open and she stepped inside. It was dim, but there was an oil lamp flickering from a sconce on the wall. It looked relatively clean. Slowly, she tasted the air. These merchant streets were always better than anywhere on the flats¡ªuntil they weren¡¯t. It was incredible what could hide behind the neat facades of the brick row-houses. Finally, she let herself breathe naturally. This was all part of the routine she had developed years ago.


    Like all these houses, a steep stairway led from the landing directly up to the apartments over the shop. This line of houses was four stories tall with a long garret at the top where servants sometimes slept, but once in a while a particularly vindictive family would relegate their dying relatives to a corner of the garret to keep the smells and sounds away.


    As Jareen and Silesh climbed the stairs, a woman in a floral-embroidered gown covered with a dark apron turned the corner of the hall at the top.


    ¡°Oh good, you¡¯re here,¡± the flustered woman exclaimed, clasping her hands together. ¡°He¡¯s up here.¡±


    As the Sisters reached the top of the stair, the woman turned and led them into the reception room. These houses were almost always the same. Shops on the ground floor, and then a parlor and dining room on the second divided by a narrow hall, then bedrooms and a small family sitting room on the third, and finally servants¡¯ quarters or more bedrooms below the garret. The kitchen was typically at the back of the building on the ground floor, behind the shop, and a narrow rear stair accessed all floors for the servants. The first time the Sisters arrived, they would enter via the main street. All subsequent times, they would take the servant stairs.


    There was a low cot set up in the center of the reception room, and on it lay the emaciated frame of a man. Jareen¡¯s practiced eye took in the scene in moments. His breaths were rapid, his cheeks sunken, his jaw slack. There was the slight sound of gurgling from the secretions pooling at the back of his throat, indicating that he had stopped swallowing already. She approached the bed and pulled the blankets up to the man¡¯s knees. His toes were a dusky purple, and his skin was mottled up to the knees. The hands, carefully laid out upon the blanket, were also mottled. The man¡¯s rate of breathing slowed, and then stopped. Jareen and Silesh watched. After a few moments, he took a gasping breath, then another, and then the rapid pace of respiration began again.


    ¡°He¡¯s been doing that all day, and¡ª¡± The woman turned back to the Sisters and really noticed Jareen for the first time. She managed to capture her startled expression only a moment after it sprang to her face. Jareen was just over six feet tall, and even the heavy veil that the sisters wore could not hide the distinct eyes or the angles of her body. The woman recovered well, all things considered: ¡°¡ªAnd the sound. It sounds like he¡¯s just filling up.¡± Jareen approached and held the man¡¯s wrist. The pulse was fast and thready. This man could have used their aid weeks ago, no doubt, and yet like so often was the case, they were not called until it was nearly too late to make a difference.


    For the first time since they had left the Wards, Jareen spoke, knowing even after these years how different her voice sounded to the people of Nosh.


    ¡°Bring many pillows and a towel.¡±


    ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°As many as you have.¡±


    When the woman left to climb the stairs to the next floor, Jareen and Silesh set down their satchels. Standing side by side along the man¡¯s cot, they deftly rolled him, pulling away the blanket to expose the man¡¯s buttocks. He was clean at least; the woman was doing that much. The buttocks were mottling as well. There was one small open sore, but it didn¡¯t matter, now. They laid him back before the woman returned with arms full of pillows and a towel draped over her shoulder. Jareen and Silesh divested her of her burden, and with practiced hands they laid the towel alongside the man and, this time making sure not to expose him, gently rolled him sideways and nearly onto his face. A stream of thick phlegm and saliva drained from his mouth. Jareen took the corner of the towel and wiped out the inside of the man¡¯s cheek. White residue came away, as well as some more thick fluids. They rolled the man back and propped him up as high as they could. Jareen did not need her listening horn to hear the crackles in the man¡¯s lungs.


    ¡°Keep him propped,¡± she said. ¡°He will breathe easier that way. Speak to him. It is hearing that leaves last. Sing him songs, if he liked any.¡± Jareen turned to Silesh and nodded. There was a low round table nearby. Usually it would stand upon the crimson rug in the center of the parlor, but now it was pushed aside and the cot had taken its place. Silesh went to the table, knelt down beside it, and opened her satchel, removing a series of vials and setting them upon the dark polished chernak wood. The humans called it ¡°elfwood,¡± shipped all the way from Jareen¡¯s homeland, and it was no doubt a sign of status for the family.


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    Judging only by appearances, the woman of the house was in early middle age, perhaps forty-five years old, well past her prime in looks, but she did not seem unkind. She was dressed in a matronly way, not trying to hide her years. The house felt empty and still, though; there was no sound of other living beings, no children or servants, even. The woman looked from one to the other of the Sisters, her lips pursed and her brow wrinkled. Jareen knew precisely the questions that the woman wanted to ask, but she waited, making her ask.


    ¡°Is it dangerous?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Jareen answered. ¡°It is not catching.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°His lungs. They are failing him.¡±


    ¡°I will tell my brother. He will come, now.¡± The woman dropped her voice. ¡°How long?¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Hours,¡± Jareen said.


    ¡°Hours?¡±


    ¡°Hours or less.¡±


    ¡°But by the time my brother receives the runner, he won¡¯t be able to get here until morning!¡±


    ¡°I do not believe he will live till morning.¡±


    ¡°Is there nothing you can do. . . to prolong?¡±


    ¡°I can get him more comfortable,¡± Jareen said. That was cue enough for Silesh, who stood back up, holding a small glass dropper full of a blue tincture. The blue was a dye, serving no function other than to distinguish the tincture.


    ¡°No,¡± the woman said. ¡°That is how you kill people.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Jareen replied with a flat tone. ¡°This is how we take away their pain. The pain makes them struggle, and it strains the body. If we can bring relief, the body may relax. He may even live a little longer. Or he will let go sooner. But it will be without pain.¡±


    ¡°But my brother should see him before he dies.¡±


    ¡°Is this your father?¡±


    ¡°Grandfather.¡±


    ¡°We are here to serve. Your grandfather will not make it to morning. The choice is yours. He can die with pain or with relief.¡±


    The woman¡¯s face was flushed red and her brow deeply scored. Silesh waited in silence with the dropper. At last, the woman¡¯s shoulders fell, and tears welled in her eyes.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she said.


    Jareen nodded. Silesh bent over and released the dose under the man¡¯s tongue. As Silesh turned back around, Jareen motioned to the woman with her head. Understanding the silent command, Silesh stepped in. Jareen had relegated this part of the process to her as training.


    ¡°Come, I will show you how to dose him with tincture.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± the woman said, shaking her head and covering her mouth. ¡°I cannot do that. What if I give it and he dies? I cannot kill him.¡±


    ¡°It will be the sickness that kills him, not you,¡± Silesh answered. ¡°We never intend to kill, only to ease.¡±


    ¡°Take him to the Wards,¡± the woman begged. ¡°Let me pay you back. In a year, we will have the money.¡±


    ¡°There are no beds, even if you could pay,¡± Jareen interjected flatly. Silesh glanced at her teacher.


    ¡°Then stay with me,¡± the woman said. ¡°If it won¡¯t be long¡ª¡±


    ¡°We cannot,¡± Jareen interrupted. ¡°There are many more Departing. We can return before dawn on our way back, but it will likely be to prepare the body.¡± She motioned to Silesh.


    ¡°Come, let me show you,¡± Silesh said gently, laying a hand on the woman¡¯s arm.


    The young Sister proceeded to demonstrate how to draw up tincture from the small glass vial into the dropper. The matron of the house watched with bleary eyes.


    ¡°Under his tongue, every two hours,¡± Silesh said. A bell rang in the distance, and Silesh pointed. ¡°Consider it starting now.¡± It was obvious there was no bell clock in the reception room. There was little embarrassment in it, though; only the wealthiest had clocks, all others relying on the hours struck in the belfries throughout the city.


    ¡°And each time you give him tincture,¡± Silesh continued. ¡°Try to turn him a little from side to side.¡± Silesh demonstrated, turning the man to his right and placing a pillow below one hip. Not that it would matter much, now. His condition was too advanced to worry about keeping sores away, but it might provide some comfort.


    ¡°And make sure to keep him clean if he soils,¡± Jareen added. Silesh glanced at Jareen.


    ¡°Yes, of course,¡± the woman replied, her shoulders stiffening. Of course, the woman looked kind and well-to-do compared to many, but Jareen had seen horrors among the wealthy and love among the poor. . . she¡¯d also seen love among the wealthy and horror among the poor. But all said, diligent care was rarer than not, regardless of money.


    Silesh put her hand on the woman¡¯s shoulder,


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± she asked, her tone soft and compassionate.


    ¡°How could I be?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re doing well,¡± Silesh said. ¡°You¡¯re taking good care of him, and keeping him from suffering. What is his creed? Has he had his rites?¡±


    ¡°He has, this morning,¡± the woman said. ¡°Erthrusian.¡±


    ¡°Then he is ready, and you¡¯re doing well.¡±


    Jareen watched this exchange in silence.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the woman said.


    Jareen glanced toward the door so that Silesh would notice.


    ¡°You¡¯re doing well,¡± Silesh repeated, touching the woman¡¯s shoulder once more. ¡°We¡¯ll be back before dawn.¡±


    ¡°If we can,¡± Jareen said.


    With that, the two adherents of the Order of the Voiceless took their satchels and proceeded back down the stairway.


    Out on the street, the last of the twilight was fading. Thankfully, this district of the city had plentiful lamps. It wasn¡¯t like the dark of the Flats. Their next Departing was three blocks away.


    ¡°Why are you brusque?¡± Silesh asked.


    A late servant hurried past them on the far side of the street.


    ¡°You forget yourself,¡± Jareen hissed. ¡°We are not in seclusion!¡±


    Silesh fell silent.


    The Voiceless could not speak, except in the Wards, the Cloisters, or when in the presence of a Departing. To speak of a Departing or share the words of a Departing or their family to anyone else was punishable by death, and that was a justice strictly given. Though many of the other old practices of the Noshian rites had faded, this one yet served a purpose for the wealthy in particular.


    But beyond that, Jareen did not want to hear the young girl¡¯s moralizing. Certainly, Silesh was more than a woman by age¡ªat least as far as the humans reckoned¡ªbut she had only been out in the city for a matter of a month, and Jareen did not want to be criticized by a fresh face who had so far spent her days in tutelage in the Wards. Silesh was only a young girl during the last plague.


    Jareen had lived it. She had done what she could day after day and night after night as other Sisters died. Silesh and the young ones like her were sequestered, quarantined, so that the future of the Order and its knowledge would not be lost. It was not so for Jareen. Jareen cleaned the bodies, watched men and women drowning in their own lungs night after night, stood vigil whenever she could for those who would die alone, with no one else willing to witness. . . Saw her own friends die. And she¡¯d wanted to scream. She¡¯d wanted to shout about it to everyone she met.


    But there could only be silence for the Voiceless. The Arch Sisters of the Order only shrugged and reminded her that she should be thankful she was immune to the human diseases.


    Was she brusque? There was a time when she spoke in those same gentle tones. Now she was tired. And departure. . . departure was so banal. Let Silesh remember this a thousand departures from now. Besides, none of these people had cared during the plague. They abandoned the Departing to the care of her and her Sisters, until there were so few Sisters left. Toward the end, Yerel had stuffed cotton in her ears to block out the gurgling sounds and the moans in the common halls of the Ward, to let her concentrate on just one at a time¡ªuntil Yerel herself had joined them. She had been one of the last remaining Sisters who had studied with Jareen when first she¡¯d been accepted among the Voiceless, and Jareen had lived to see at least two more crops of the human Sisters raised up to fill the gaps.


    Jareen did not need to be questioned by a novice.

 Volume 1 Chapter 2: Letters from Drennos

    <div>


    The sunbeams filtered down through the branches and leaves of the eucalyptus trees. The fragrance descended onto the woven-wood platform where Tirlav rested on a stool, his back to a massive eucalyptus branch. His arms cradled his harp, strings taut with possibility. A gentle rain had fallen just before dawn. The air was neither cool nor hot, and despite the density of the eucalyptus grove, a refreshing breeze stirred in the upper branches. It was another perfect morning in a march of perfect mornings. One did not measure time by weather in the Embrace. The measuring of time by any means was not of great interest to most.


    Tirlav plied the tuning wrench again, plucking the string as he listened to the pitch rise. He plucked thirds, then octaves. It was part of his ritual tuning, a habit of ear, muscle, and mind repeated so many times that he needed no conscious thoughts. But his body felt¡ªfelt the resistance of the wire beneath his fingertips, the polished rosewood against his forearms.


    Now in tune, Tirlav paused and took a drink of pomegranate wine from a carved wooden canteen. Closing his eyes, he set his fingers back on the strings, took a deep breath, and relaxed his muscles.


    No thought.


    No words.


    One who might live for thousands of years had first to learn to think; that was the art of children. Harder was to learn how not to think, to simply experience the sensations of the body and the senses. Such was the path of sanity. Approaching his second century, Tirlav had only just begun to taste the need.


    The call of the thrush was slow¡ªslower than normal, at least. The last trill lingered, its note lowered by the barest semi-tone. What was normally an energetic cry in the sunlight of the morning canopy, rejoicing in the perfection of the Embrace, had taken on all the deep green and damp tones of the dense forest after a rainfall. It was sadness, if it had to be summed up. Tirlav listened as the thrush called again, and he wondered at the sorrow. Would it soon succumb to age, or was this the call of a thrush mourning its mate?


    More and more, Tirlav recognized such notes as a kind of constant resonance through all of Findeluvi¨¦. It clung to every leaf and blade of grass, like dew drops and rain. Even if his people lived on forever, nothing else did. The thrust persisted in its call. Tirlav knew each species by name and call by purpose, if he had cared to think of them. Myriad leaves rustled, a thousand thousand tones. Deep within, the core fibers of the tall trees creaked, and their roots carried vibrations of the sky breezes and spoke them into the deep soil.


    It was never about creating a melody; it was about finding one¡ªall melodies existed and had always existed since whatever beginning there was. To say otherwise was like saying that the number three did not exist until it was first counted.


    Melodies only needed to be discovered.


    With eyes still closed but spirit alive to the world, he set his fingers once more on the strings. He would join the call of the thrush and the song of creation.


    ¡°Tirlav.¡±


    And at his name, the music fled. He knew by voice that it was his sister. Opening his eyes, he looked down at her and her attendants, their blue-gray mantles unfluttered by the breeze that did not reach the ground. His sister looked up at him. The Noshian silver woven into the light silks of her dress glinted, too subtle to be gaudy, but too foreign to go unnoticed.


    ¡°Eldre,¡± he said.


    ¡°Liel Elnael and Ireli are departing.¡±


    Again.


    ¡°So soon?¡±


    ¡°It has been six weeks.¡±


    Tirlav sighed. Eldre would know. It was her task to keep the records of the Aelor heartwood and to educate the young in lore and literature. Somehow, she managed it all without staining her hands in ink.


    ¡°How long do I have?¡±


    ¡°We go now to the tir.¡±


    There was no getting out of it¡ªnot without disrespecting his father. Tirlav rose. He saw Eldre glance at his plain work-clothes, but she had long ago given up on getting him to dress in fashion more befitting a liel.


    ¡°At least you¡¯re clean,¡± she had once said. . . some time before. Maybe years.


    His clothes were the undyed shades of the natural silk of Aelor, brown and ivory. He owned better¡ªclothes for festivals and ornaments for show¡ªbut if he was not harping, he was with the cultivators of the eucalyptus, cinnamon, nutmeg, citrus, pomegranates, and berries and vegetables and herbs, for always they tasted sweetest when first harvested in the warm sunlight, or in the cool pre-dawn rains. He enjoyed the labors, the company, and the movement of limb and heart. There was melody in it.


    Tirlav gently set his harp down upon the woven net spanning between the branches, letting his fingers linger on the cool wood. He would return shortly; though the stars might shine. There would be different melodies to find, then.


    <div>


    <div>


    Five Vien stood in the greensward near the base of the hill called Tir¡¯Aelor, the home of the Liele of the Aelor heartwood. Liel Elnael was in the center of his heirs¡ªthree sons and one daughter, two flanking each side. There were three younger heirs as well, but the oldest of them was not yet seventy-five and lived with their mother in her home heartwood of Lishni. With so many heirs, her duty was done. It had been ten years since she had cohabited with her mate Liel Elnael. Only the High Trees were subjected to arranged marriage, mating by duty and command.


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    Tall eucalyptus grew around the tir in neat concentric rings, towering to incredible heights that made the Vien look utterly insignificant. The bark of the trees was bright with varied hues, cultivated over the centuries and a special pride of Tir¡¯Aelor.


    ¡°This is your birthright,¡± Liel Elnael said to his children as they stood in silence. He raised his right hand. The flesh was encased in a strange rime or scale of glistening eltoreth¡ªa Vien word for the growths, alterations, or mutations that afflicted the High Liele. The word meant only: ¡°change.¡± Over the years, the Change had crept past Elnael¡¯s wrist and up his forearm. The slanting sun-rays caught it, making it shimmer in hues of viridian and silver.


    Their father always gathered them thus when he left to join the Synod in the High Tir. It was a piece of formal ritual that Tirlav had known all his life.


    ¡°It is coming time for Ireli to join with a mate,¡± Elnael said. Tirlav glanced at his eldest brother, but there was no reaction there to the words. Ireli kept his expression carefully flat. ¡°Eldre, while we are gone, send a rider to Veroi and have them check the geneaologies for a suitable match.¡±


    Eldre placed a hand on her chest and inclined her head. It was one of her duties to attend to the strict genealogical records kept on everyone within the Aelor heartwood, to ensure that no High Tree mated closer than the seventh degree with any other High Tree.


    ¡°Reniel,¡± Elnael continued. ¡°The youth may have three days for the pomegranate harvest and the wine pressing.¡±


    Reniel placed a hand on his chest and bowed.


    Elnael¡¯s gaze briefly passed over Tirlav but did not rest there.


    ¡°May Findel¡¯s Blessing be with you,¡± his father said to them all, then turned with Ireli and left as they all placed hands on their chests and bowed again. Tirlav did not expect any duties from his father, and so the omission did not surprise him.


    He turned to leave.


    ¡°Tirlav,¡± Eldre said.


    ¡°My sister?¡±


    ¡°There is a missive from the human.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Tirlav replied. ¡°Do you have it with you?¡±


    ¡°I am kept in too many labors to act as courier,¡± she said.


    ¡°You would have it no other way, Eldre.¡±


    She produced a wooden tenae from her robe and held it out to him with three fingers. No doubt, she had placed the letter into the vien document case herself to avoid touching the human writing.


    ¡°You do not know me as well as you think,¡± she said as he left. Tirlav smiled at that. If she had ever been her own pupil in calligraphy, she might know herself better than she did.


    Tirlav took the parcel from his sister, allowing a slight grimace to cross his face. It was a performance both for her sake and for his; he did not wish her to know how much he looked forward to the correspondence.


    ¡°It will be good for your mind to learn the Dregnotian tongue and manner of writ,¡± his father had told him years before. ¡°There may come a day when I could more easily spare you than your siblings if we must send a representative there. Learn from this archivist what you can. He professes an interest in the natural history of our land and people, and I am told he is an official of note.¡±


    ¡°How many letters will it be?¡± Tirlav had asked.


    ¡°How many could it be? The humans do not even live a century.¡±


    It had been many letters. Though the man had sought a correspondence with the Liel of Aelor, himself, Coir of Drennos had settled for a lesser Son of Aelor. Mortality aside, Coir had proven himself a keen interlocutor and an enthusiastic correspondent.


    The human had helped Tirlav learn the script and language of the humans. It had a percussive quality, a hard edge and coarse efficiency that spurred ideas in his own mind. They had expressions and ideas that hardly occurred to the Vien in their own tongue. There was a vigor to its music that did not exist in Vienw¨¦.


    Coir preferred for Tirlav to write letters in Vien, but he promised to respond in the human tongue with a translation. Attempting to read discourse in the human¡¯s native tongue was a challenge and a spark to Tirlav¡¯s own mind.


    He didn¡¯t open the letter until he had settled himself in a shaded arbor. Fruiting vines bore delicate white and pink leaves. It was his favorite spot to read letters, close to Tir-Aelor but far enough that it was unlikely any member of the High Tree would stumble upon him. He opened the tenae and slid out the waxed canvas the Noshian used to guard correspondence as it crossed the sea. Taking the letter from within, he unrolled the fine Vien papers.


    The barbarian humans used the actual skins of animals to produce parchment rather. They did not know the fashioning of fine plant pulp paper. After inquiring of Coir about the strange paper, he was repulsed when he found out that the letters were written on the skin of beasts. He had sent Coir a supply of Vien paper, but sadly, a subsequent letter had been soaked in the passage and ruined. The pulp paper did not hold up as well to the elements. From then on, Coir had sent the letters upon Vien paper within waxed canvas, and Tirlav returned the same. Tirlav had even sent a supply of the wooden tenae tubes in which the Vien stored documents.


    The roll of parchments was pleasingly thick, and Tirlav settled in to read the Noshian epistle. It proved to be a lengthy discussion of a strange group of religious servants. Coir had written in a previous letter that there was a vienu who actually served among them, and the news had intrigued Tirlav.


    <div>


    <blockquote>¡°[. . . ] In response to your inquiry about the Voiceless Sisters, there is much that could be said. The true name of their order is The Sacred Order of the Sisters of the Departing of Drennos, but that is used only in formality. Their history is long in Drennos, stretching back centuries. For our people, this is like the days of Findel and Vah to you. There are two primary creeds or doctrines in Drennos now, the Old Traditions as they are called, and the Erthrusian way, which itself is nearly two hundred years old. Both traditions deem it defiling to be in the presence of the bodies of the Departed, but both also hold that an unwitnessed death dooms the spirit to wander. Though it visits our kind so frequently, our people fear looking upon the face of Death. The Voiceless Sisters serve a special and sanctified purpose in both creeds. They take oaths of silence, and they serve the Departing. It is their whole and sole purpose, distinct from our physicians, whose medicine is the most advanced of all the human lands. Yet plagues still come, and illness befalls. Of the vienu, I can say little. She is counted among the number of the Voiceless Sisters, and she is not permitted by the Order to speak to me. I have tried. I even made the Vien embassy aware of her, but to no avail. I know from records the date of her arrival, but I know nothing of her story or an explanation for her presence, despite my efforts. [. . .]¡±</blockquote>


    The letter continued on in the human¡¯s tiny, cramped hand. Did Tirlav need to send him more paper? Was he trying to use as little as he could? The penmanship was always crude, but this was more minuscule than usual. Tirlav blinked a few times to refresh his eyes. Coir had previously written about the Old Traditions and the Erthrusian Way, but his knowledge of the practices of the Voiceless Sisters was extensive. He detailed the construction of the Order¡¯s buildings¡ªthe humans built with baked mud blocks, stone, and wood¡ªthe manner of their training, and the use of phytotherapies and herblore.


    There was the thrush again, the same one. Tirlav raised his eyes from the letter. What a marvelous thing, to read of distant lands, and yet remain within the cool arbors of Findel¡¯s Embrace.

 Volume 1 Chapter 3: Elfland

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 Volume 1 Chapter 4: The Departing

    Jareen stopped at the chalk board while Silesh hurried on past. They had just returned from the lower district of their assignment in the city.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Jareen called after Silesh. ¡°We have no break today. We must go to the ward.¡± It was a full night and day¡¯s work without sleep. Jareen did not need sleep so desperately as the humans¡ªthe Vien could sleep for days and also stay awake for days as they needed or wanted¡ªbut she knew it would be hard for Silesh.


    ¡°I have to change,¡± Silesh said, barely stopping.


    ¡°We have no time. We must go now or we will be late to relieve our sisters.¡±


    Silesh turned.


    ¡°That man had the Clutch,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s catching.¡± Her voice was higher pitched than normal, and her eyes crinkled at the corners.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Jareen said. ¡°I will go to the ward. Meet me there.¡±


    Silesh turned, grabbed her skirts, and hurried toward her dormitory.


    Clutch was an awful disease, a progressing paralysis ultimately resulting in a rictus of the abdomen. Most cases experienced rupture and shock leading to sudden death after only two or three days of delirious pain. Due to the reduced absorption of tinctures during that time, it was difficult to give the Departing any relief. Thankfully, outbreaks were isolated, as the disease took such a short course that there was little time to pass it on, and it was easy to identify and isolate. Still, the Sisters who cared for the Departing had more than once succumbed to it, themselves. It was not a worry of Jareen¡¯s, but this had been Silesh¡¯s first case. Thankfully, they had identified the case early, and now the house was bricked.


    The Order had been searching for a disease source for the Clutch for some time to try to prevent outbreaks. Considering almost all cases occurred in the lower districts, it was likely hygiene-related, or perhaps diet. Jareen had tried to prepare Silesh for these things. She would already know them from her training, but it was different seeing it in person and having to put your hands on it.


    The Sisters in the Ward had dark-ringed eyes, fatigue apparent on their brows. In the city, the Sisters wore veils, but they were allowed to go bare-faced inside the Wards. They were also permitted to speak, though there was little exchange of words besides the necessary as they changed shifts. Two had departed. Three others would go at any time. Another was experiencing extreme restlessness, and had to be tied to the bed. Despite their efforts, he had cut himself on the restraints. It was his body¡¯s last effort to fight the approach of death. It was futile.


    The relieved Sisters never asked Jareen where her novice was as they tersely informed of the night¡¯s events. It was not their concern. Hopefully, sleep awaited them, and if they had the energy, the chance to wash in clean water in the dormitory fountain. Silesh must have taken advantage of the chance to take a thorough wash, for Jareen was half-way through her first check of the ward by the time the novice hurried to join her.


    It took two hours to finish their first checks¡ªcleaning loosed bowels, dressing wounds, administering tinctures and unguents. They dressed a painful wound for an old woman who had so little fat left on her body that the bones of her pelvis and hips jutted out sharply, breaking through the skin. She cried the entire time, despite the tincture they¡¯d given. As Jareen finished tying the dressing, Silesh hovered around the lady, adjusting extra pillows and trying to offload the pressure.


    ¡°Is that alright?¡± she asked yet again, looking at the tearful woman¡¯s face. But the woman could no longer talk, no longer eat, only weep.


    Jareen gathered the remaining supplies in her arms, ready to move to the next. Silesh sat down on the edge of the bed, taking the Departing woman¡¯s hands in her own and staring into her face. She began to hum a melody, and the woman¡¯s brow eased a little, for a moment not so deeply lined.


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    Jareen hesitated.


    ¡°Come, there are more.¡±


    ¡°Give me a little time with her.¡±


    ¡°No, come.¡±


    ¡°Why must you be so cruel?¡± Silesh snapped, her eyes narrowing. Jareen knew she could send her back to the pupils for this outburst and make her wait another year for a novitiate.


    ¡°Do not argue with me,¡± Jareen said. Silesh¡¯s back stiffened as she sat, holding the woman¡¯s hands. Her brown eyes looked dark as she stared at Jareen, but then she looked back at the woman and started singing her song again.


    Jareen looked down the rest of the row of cots, her trained and experienced eye taking in at a glance the situations to come¡ªher nose had already told her of a number of the tasks ahead of them. In that, she had it worse than the humans. She could hear the breathing, too. Some of the Departing were still in pain. Second to last in the row, a man lay propped up on a pillow, his jaw hanging open, his brow frozen into a grimace, his fists clenched around soiled blankets. At first, his breathing looked regular, but Jareen had her suspicions. She watched from a distance as they slowed and then paused. Seconds elapsed. Jareen counted. With a heavy gasp, his breathing started again, building to a rapid pace. He grimaced harder, moaned a little, tried to move, but he was too weak. This was the last rhythm before the end. It could go on for hours, even days in some cases. But this was no such case. The man was in pain, but his pain would end soon. Still, he was due for tincture half an hour ago. That was common; many needed care, and this was just the regular burden of human Departing, not a plague or a famine or a cold winter.


    Was she cruel? Jareen looked back to Silesh. The lovely young woman looked like the picture of Sisterly care, empathy, and concern as she stroked the woman¡¯s hands and sang to her.


    If she thought Jareen cruel, then Jareen would be cruel, at least this time. She stood, waiting, letting Silesh comfort the old Departing.


    After another five minutes or so, the old woman had relaxed considerably, and after folding the woman¡¯s hands on her stomach, Silesh stood, raising her eyebrows at Jareen and giving her a judging glance. Without a word, Silesh led the way to the next bed and set about working with the next Departing, a young woman this time. She had a fungating tumor on her jaw that hadn¡¯t been there a month ago. From what Jareen could tell, it was growing toward the artery at a fast pace. What made it worse, the young woman was in her right mind, though she could no longer see or hear from her left side. Silesh took extra time again, speaking with her about her children, and comforting her as she wept.


    It was another hour before they reached the second to last bed. The smell assaulted Jareen before they even arrived. Silesh grabbed the man¡¯s wrist and felt for a pulse, but there was none left. He had smeared himself in his own filth before the end. His blankets were stained, and his head had fallen to the side, releasing a stream of thick white mucous that had run out of his mouth over the side of the bed and onto the floor.


    ¡°He¡¯s gone,¡± Silesh said.


    ¡°Yes, about twenty minutes ago,¡± Jareen said. ¡°He was in great pain.¡±


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°I looked ahead.¡±


    ¡°And you did nothing?¡± For the past while, Silesh had looked relaxed, even happy, but now anger surged back into her voice. She was a pretty human girl, and there was a loveliness to her youthful ferocity that helped assuage the annoyance that Jareen felt.


    ¡°Did you not know there were Departing here?¡± Jareen asked her.


    Silesh clenched her jaw.


    ¡°When was he due for drops?¡± Jareen asked.


    Silesh thought, looking to the side as she considered.


    ¡°An hour and a half ago.¡±


    ¡°Closer to two hours, I think. He died in agony, alone, soaked in his own filth.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you do anything?¡± Silesh stared at Jareen with wrinkled brow. Jareen had learned to read human expressions long ago, and if this one meant anything, it was a clear ¡°you¡¯re a monster.¡±


    ¡°You wanted to stay and sing to the woman. And speak with the girl. . . And massage the swelling, and re-make the bed. . .¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the full Sister of the Order! I¡¯m a novice. Don¡¯t blame me!¡± Silesh¡¯s shout rang on the hard surfaces of the ward. A few Departing with the strength looked over. Footsteps echoed, and Jareen turned to see the head of Sister Yeremi from the next ward look in through the arched doorway. Jareen raised her hand to signal all was well. Yeremi¡¯s sharp gaze took in the situation, and she nodded and left.


    ¡°You¡¯re exactly right,¡± Jareen said. ¡°For now, you are the novice who should listen. But you forgot that. There is more than we can do. One day you will be a full Sister, and you will often work on your own, with your own Departing to care for and to be responsible for. More kindness to this one is less to others. We will not run out of those who need us. This one died with no care while we gave more to others.¡±


    Jareen expected argument, but Silesh stood frozen in place, staring at the soiled sheets and the hunched body before them.


    ¡°Did he keep rites?¡± Jareen asked.


    ¡°I. . . I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Go and check what was his custom. Then tend him. Clean him. I will take care of the remaining Departing until you can catch up.¡±