***
For a moment Aniallu considered relaying to Shada the picture of her emotional state at the time so as to discourage her once and for all from her dream of pursuing the Cat's Spirit, but decided that such a radical measure might be premature. Her maid was far from doltish; on the contrary, she was exceptionally sensitive and perceptive. Alu was fairly certain that, given some time alone to reflect on the surprisingly strong words of her mistress, Shada would understand everything and find solace. And her own spirit would grow stronger as a result.
The sianae walked over to a closet and picked a formal dress at random. She didn't even bother unfolding it. Simply, a dress had to be taken along. It was an odd tradition, and every Alae followed it without fail and without questioning its origins.
Having packed the glittery outfit away in her rucksack, Aniallu tightened the buckles for the last time. That seemed to be all. She didn't forget anything. Alu scratched herself behind the ear, slightly flustered: what the tail had gotten her so nervous? Why was she acting as though she were going to a place from which she wouldn't be able to return until her mission was complete, if not longer, when she knew full well that a highly reliable portal of dragon craftsmanship was always at her disposal to travel back for anything she might have missed? Somehow each item seemed so essential that not having it at hand might determine the sianae's fate. Every bit of her Alaean intuition screamed it, despite the obvious absurdity of such sentiments given the nature of Alu's upcoming journey.
With the packing done, she couldn't help walking back out onto the balcony and casting one last look at the city. Briaellar was still hidden under a thick veil of shadow. Only two buildings managed to rupture the dusky haze: to the east loomed the Tower of a Thousand Dragons, its walls literally woven of lithe scaly bodies, mighty membranous wings, clawed paws, intricately curved tails and cunning elongated faces. The majestic bas-relief shimmered all shades of silver in the wide-open resplendent pools of Alasais' Eyes. It was this mercury brilliance that caused many of the city's tourists to mistake the Tower for a Veindor's temple. In actuality, it housed the Dragon Fangs embassy, as well as the "lair" of Mercurion's dragons that resided in Briaellar for reasons nobody knew. These were enormous spaces with murals on the walls and uncomfortably high ceilings, where the steps of guest staircases and sparse furnishings – shelves, bars, mattresses, chair bottoms and backs – floated idly in the air, waiting for the masters to will them to come together into a dining suite or, conversely, disperse so as to make room for dancing.
The tower was one of the city's tallest buildings, rivaled only by the azure spires of Alasais' Palace. The blue radiance of its walls was set off beautifully by the ash gray spirals of galleries, balconies, terraces and bridges, domed roofs of smoked- and windows of stained-glass. The palace's facade was illuminated, though nary a lamp was lit inside it. Only a single arch shone resplendent yellow high above, where an elegant balcony emerged from the dusk just beneath the roof of the main tower.
In ages past a keen observer might periodically discern on the balcony a seemingly tiny, dark feline shape, and then all eyes in Briaellar would turn there at once, to behold her who gaze out at her city with the same awe that Aniallu had felt one hour earlier. Those fleeting minutes bestowed immeasurable joy to all who shared in them; the kind of joy the heart seldom feels and thus always longs for... Alas, it had been an eternity since Alasais had appeared in Briaellar.
Aniallu sighed and, giving the city one last look, shrugged in dismay. In previous times, it was precisely in these moments of parting that Briaellar would appear before her in all its splendor, as if beckoning her to stay, presenting the very best side of itself. It didn't hurt that the city's main attraction was located literally across the street. There shone with an amber glow the high windows of the ballroom of House an Kamian – a house that was more a museum, theater, tasting room, brothel... A house whose residents embodied the desire to know – to feel, smell, hear, see and comprehend – all that the Infinite had to offer in his infinite generosity.
Alu remembered another occasion when she was parting with Briaellar and glimpsed a peculiar tree in one of the mansion's roof gardens. She couldn't resist the temptation and went to check out the phenomenon. The wondrous tree was called tiye – "ears." Its leaves – triangular and slightly bent upward – were in the exact shape of Alaean ears. Light pink on one side and dark green, almost black on the other, they were soft and fluffy to the touch. The tree had been cultivated by a hopeless romantic from House an Kamian in an effort to comfort his friend, a woman who had been cheated by some dishonorable man. The victim ended up being generous enough to allow any other dame who wished to come to the tiye and insert an earring into one of its "ears." The earring remembered its owner for good, and if she managed to lure her crush to the tree, the "ear" turned toward them and listened intently to their exchange. If the beau's words were insincere, it folded into a tube, and even withered a bit if the lie was particularly fragrant. That time Aniallu just couldn't break her visit to the an Kamians, wandering from one marvel to another, having forgotten everything else in the world... But today something was preventing her from finding not only the "ears," but even the garden where she had seen them. It was as if Briaellar had stuffed deep in its pockets all the wonders it used to extend to her playfully on a stony palm. It was releasing her. And, strangely enough, Aniallu was leaving it with an light heart.
***
Aniallu was distracted from these thoughts by the sensation that she wasn't alone. It couldn't have been Shada – no way a human woman could have ever learned to move so soundlessly. Alu turned around and saw her sister Irera. No longer holding her harp, the expression on her face was now serious and stern to match her dark "men's" outfit. The handle of a blade was peeking out from behind her shoulder. Despite her gentle appearance, Irera handled weapons masterfully, and shared her expertise with anybody at the Briaellar Academy who wished to learn.
"Aniallu," she nodded slightly, stepping out onto the balcony.
"Irera," echoed the sianae.
"You can't imagine how happy I am that you're home," Irera spoke in a tense whisper; the Eale's ears were constantly moving, listening in on the sounds of the night. "Something is up with father. He has begun to openly proclaim that our peace with Tialianna and Veindor has come to an end. His anger clouds his judgment, blinds him from seeing the ramifications."
"You know the price of his wrath just as I do," shrugged Aniallu.
"It used to be a role for him, and he would live it for appearances' sake. But now... he's clearly overplaying it. I fear that he might seek revenge against Tialianna for you, and against Veindor for our entire people."
"He is wise, Irera," Aniallu gave a sly smile. "And even if he were to slip off a branch, hit his head and suddenly become dumb, nothing can knock the Cat's spirit out of him. Selorn has always been able to separate the voice of his own feelings from the voice of his Cat's Essence. His intuition won't allow him to make a mess."
"I get him. Sometimes the cat in me demands it, too!" a spark of ire flashed in Irera's eyes for the briefest of moments. "To tear them to pieces with my claws, to slowly sink my fangs into their throats, breaking those silver scales with a crunch," she added with an eerie, almost seductive calmness. "My heart bids me to gather an army of my brothers and sisters, and force the brains in their sagely heads to seethe like a brew in an alchemist's alembic."
Aniallu put up her hand.
"I-re-ra! Quit acting like a dumb human broad who had stabbed her rival with a kitchen knife out of banal jealousy, then tried to argue in court that her intuition had made her do it. As in, she had a premonition that the deceased would do something terrible to her beloved. Don't give me that look! Even humans can be taught to tell the voice of their intuition apart from the clamor of overblown emotions. What is there to say about the Alae – the children of the Nae of Feelings?"
"I keep trying and trying, but I just can't be sure..."
"In that case you have Anaeis Meori – intuition incarnate."
"Meori..." Irera echoed flatly, trying to subdue the fury in her heart. "You're probably right: I don't understand everything. Yet, luckily for me, I can sense which of the creatures close to me are capable of reaching the right decision..."
"... And that is precisely what makes you an Alae," Aniallu finished her thought.
"Just like you?" said Irera with a joyless chuckle and hugged her sister around the waist.
"Everything that's been happening with me, there's a purpose to all that, too... probably," Aniallu sighed. "If only I knew what Tiana and Alasais want from me, Irera."
"We wouldn't get it anyway!" the other scoffed, lashing her tail in frustration. "But I've warned you: something is wrong with father. Maybe we should inform the Council?"
"Do you really think it's that serious?"
"Very much so. He's acting completely unlike his Alae self... Truly, wise are the lords of the Great Forest and the hermits of Rual – the outsiders bring us nothing but harm! We mustn't allow them into our cities!"
"There's no use telling the entire Council," said Aniallu, ignoring Irera's angry remark; she knew full well the dangers of engaging in such debates with her warlike sister. "Tell Keane or Keara – they will understand, and I'm sure they'll be able to find out what's going on with Selorn."
Irera turned her back to the parapet, so that nobody could see what her hands were saying to Aniallu.
"I think that he's experiencing the same things as the people from Cahnerali."
"He's Alae. That's impossible," Aniallu responded in the same language of gestures. It was imperative that no one would witness their conversation, and, considering House an Al Emenayit was full of telepaths, it was much easier to hide one's hands than one's thoughts."
"I hope that is truly so," said Irera.
"Anyway, there's no harm in speaking with the High Priest."
"I will do that. Without delay." declared the Eale. And leaped off the balcony without another word. Midway through her mighty jump she shifted into panther form, soaring over the castle's structures way down below, and landed on a high maple branch."
Aniallu followed her with her eyes. Neither she nor her sister, presently en route to the mansion of House an Temiar, suspected that their confidential exchange had been observed by another set of eyes – the bright green, contemptuously narrowed eyes of Patriarch Selorn. His face was twisted in a malicious grimace – a mirror image to that of the old human couple from the basement on Sun Street. Sitting in his spellweaving chambers, he heard every word uttered by his daughters, but neither the news of their intentions to inform High Priest Keane about the changes in their father, nor the fact that they had noticed said changes to begin with, could erase the insidious grin off Selorn's dark face.
However, by the time the patriarch had reached Aniallu's chambers and stepped out onto the balcony to join the contemplative sianae, his face had assumed an altogether different expression.
***
"I don't think it's the right time to travel, Aniallu," Selorn's voice rang out behind Aniallu. The patriarch appeared to have handled his family matters and had decided to spare several more minutes of his precious time for his daughter.
"I am Alasais' Shadow. What can harm me, aside from my own rotten personality?" she smiled.
"Nothing, I hope," the patriarch replied somberly. "But even if you're not putting yourself in danger by leaving Briaellar, it doesn't mean others are not endangered by it. I need you here right now."
"Matriarch Meori, the Supreme Feeler," Aniallu accentuated the last word, "spoke to me today, Selorn. She bid me to not deviate from my chosen path under any circumstances. Even I dare not doubt her words – the Anaeis do not lie, nor do they err in their... suggestions. My place right now is not here," she shook her head and, with a casual wave of the hand, opened a portal that flooded the balcony with a purple glow.
Aniallu fixed a strap on her rucksack and prepared to pass through the open gate, when suddenly a squall of another's emotions came crashing down upon her, so powerful that the sianae turned sharply toward the doorframe from where they emanated. There was nobody there, but a minute later an Eale male jumped out onto the balcony. He had to be the source of all the emotional turmoil.
"Patriarch! Princess! Anaeis Meori's son has been attacked! Here, within our own walls. The assailant was an elf called Inlir – " he stopped short suddenly.
Selorn's face, who had been looking directly into his eyes, distorted into a mask of true terror; the patriarch's tail lashed his sides angrily, the claws on his feet nearly puncturing the floor below. The messenger jerked his head, as if burned by the lord's stare, while Alu's formerly grinning lips froze with an exclamation, "What, again?!"
"Who?!" growled Selorn, but the poor messenger seemed to have lost the gift of speech.
Aniallu looked in dismay at one, then the other. Enaor was a master prankster, and this, yet another attempt on the life of Meori's offspring, couldn't have come as a surprise; nor should it have evoked any emotions, aside perhaps from pity toward the would-be avenger, who, like pretty much anyone who had ever dealt with the rascal, probably had all the reasons in the world to seek reprisal.
"Enaor fought back the attack, but he's gravely wounded. The healers are tending to him." The Eale was still shaken: Selorn's stare was like acid, and those who suffered his fury continued to feel it with every fiber of their skin for a long while after.
"Tell us everything. Calmly," asked Aniallu, realizing that the situation called for a soothing spell to counteract Selorn's irascibility.
The messenger's face instantly cleared of all signs of anxiety, as if the sianae's gentle voice washed them all away.
"We know almost nothing," he said, holding on to the door jamb. "Inlir attacked Enaor and managed to immobilize him somehow. We are clueless as to why the prince couldn't defend himself against some Daorean, who may be highly intelligent but has never been particularly powerful. Thankfully, the Chronicler happened to be passing by at the time."
He must have been looking for me, Aniallu guessed to herself, remembering Tellyrien's request to talk to him about the battle on Fire River.
"Whatever the reason, but he peeked into the room. And when he saw what was happening, he plunged a dagger into his dark brother's back," said the Eale. Enaor is lucky that he hadn't yet gotten around to pranking Tellyrien – many creatures in Tellyrien's place wouldn't even consider interfering, but would sit back and enjoy the show, Alu caught herself thinking. "He saved Enaor's life at the expense of his own. His dagger didn't kill Inlir outright; the other was able to turn around and take down Tellyrien. But the assassin was beyond healing – "
"He's dead?!" roared Selorn. "That spawn of darkness managed to save himself from us in death?!"
"Alas, patriarch, that is so," replied the Eale, narrowing his eyes to show his displeasure. "There's nothing left of even his body – it melted before our very eyes, turning to black smoke. At that moment everybody sensed a strange chill... And felt their fur stand on end," the cat admitted, looking down in shame. "It was no simple assassination attempt, patriarch. Inlir's plans for Enaor were truly... pernicious. Whatever they were, I doubt that even a replacement body from the cellars of an Kamians would bring him back. Perhaps that is why the elf didn't try killing Eanor on the spot – he wanted to teleport somewhere with him. All of our mages tried to ascertain the destination, but to no avail. Perhaps if we knew the portal's exit point, we might understand what makes this incident so frightening and extraordinary..." the Eale's scratched the bridge of his nose with a knuckle. "Shall we send for someone from Dragon Fangs? Perhaps they will be able to get to the bottom of this."
"Go ahead. But not for Krian an Saei. The last thing we need is half my house soiling themselves over some scrawny elf; Amialis especially would love that," groused Selorn.
"Tell me, was this Inlir character wearing a cloak of green thread, the kind Irera wears in the rain?" asked Alu, connecting the Eale's strange sensations with her own, which had gripped her as she spied on the old human couple in the basement.
"Yes, mistress. Enaor must have given him his own," replied the messenger.
"You see what's happening here, Aniallu?" snapped Selorn when the Eale took his leave, obeying the imperceptible movement of the patriarch's tail. "How could a Daorean have done that... I don't understand. But I recognize it."
The rage was gone from his face, replaced by the cold resolve to find whoever was responsible for the tragedy. And, knowing her father's temper, Alu wouldn't want to be that someone!
She knew that if she didn't leave this place right away, she would be unable to do it at all, even though she absolutely, positively had to! Before her mind's eye stood the eyes of Matriarch Meori, as the Anaeis' words resounded hollowly in her head. Aniallu winced; at that moment she clearly saw that everything had been orchestrated: the cat in the tree, and the old humans in the basement, and the Question Candles, and the si-alae girl... And the assassination attempt on Meori the Feeler. All those events happened for the sole purpose of keeping her from leaving the city. And this time, it seemed to Alu, it wasn't Tialianna that had been steering her bit by bit toward the right path, but someone far less kind and compassionate.
And what she liked least of all was that Selorn likewise wanted her to say.
Mustering her strength, Aniallu looked the patriarch directly in the eyes, and spoke firmly.
"I cannot stay. I must fly."
Moving abruptly, she brushed her cheek against Selorn's, and started resolutely toward the portal.
"Inlaye mer t'arr, Aniallu!" Selorn growled one of the ritualistic parting wishes after her. There was nothing else he could do.
"Let it be so!" Aniallu exclaimed, spinning sharply around and throwing up her head proudly. "May Alasais wrap her tail around you, father, and may her mercy never leave you!" she added tenderly, gave a wave farewell and vanished in the luminescence of the portal.
"Aye... Around the neck, dear daughter, and the tighter the better..." muttered Selorn. And, with a biting glance at Alasais' tower, he went back inside.
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Illustrations by @VoiceOfAlasais and Beholder_2004