sowing the seeds
13: Azalel Seeks Advice
THE SORA TRAINING GROUND was situated to the northwest of the island. About five hundred feet in circumference, it was comprised of a dust covered floor, encircled by elements of fire, water, air, clouds, mist, and sound. A small part held a space with curved wooden benches, which were for seating and entertaining. Another, was a storage section where different implements were held but rarely used, kept only as items of curiosity.
Oparta had named them as guns, spears, axes, swords, lances, tasers, shields, and armour. They seemed ineffectual, and in the main, most lords used the elemental tools around them, or their own bodies for training and combat. At this moment there were only two lords present. One of them walked aimlessly in circles. Eventually wearied of this activity, he stopped in front of the other lord. “Do you think I’ve made a mistake?”
The laugh was deep and rich. “One?”
“Very well, I’ve made many. It’s just that sometimes . . . I’m afraid of what she and I might create together.”
Although Eran was a great lover of jesting, he was also Azalel’s mentor, his discipline, and as some lords sometimes muttered audibly, his spine. Azalel felt considerable guilt that he’d not asked Eran to help Ineai sooner. But by the time they realised the hole into which that poor lord had fallen, it was too late to get him out again.
Eran wisely kept himself under Adora’s radar much of the time, exploring the lower caves of Ashinawe, or hidden valleys, hoping to avoid the same fate the others faced. Which was for the best. If strong-willed Eran couldn’t resist Adora, what hope would there be for the rest of them? Now he moved from the shadows, bringing with him a glittering blue mist. “You should let the other lords hear you say that, since you clearly don’t have enough rivals.”
“You playing the fool doesn’t amuse me, Eran.”
“Whereas most days it brings me great delight.”
Eran was the shortest of all the lords, with a light springing step as if he would leap to the heavens on a whim. His eyes were exceedingly gentle in expression when deep in thought, but merry with delight when in good humour. The blue mist sparkled more brightly. “You’re stricken with self-doubt. It’s unhealthy.”
“I’d like to send her gifts of fruit.”
Eran laughed. “Lord Merin already does that.”
“I can tend to the animals that visit her.”
“Inra.”
“I could be gentler—”
“Grae.”
Azalel huffed out a frustrated breath. “And what does that leave me?” Eran laughed again, his hand cutting impatiently through the sparks. “Oparta. You could be his alter-ego.”
Some hours later, in the same grounds, Azalel paced with another lord. At times like this, when he fell afoul of Eran’s whimsical nature, he relied on Grae, who had his own particular brand of discipline. Talking to Grae often, and trusting on his calmness, kept Azalel from the beast that lurked ready to erupt just beneath his skin. Every now and again, one of them, or both, glanced towards the sky.
Finally, he turned to Grae. “Brother, do you see how the conflict is increasing?”
Grae nodded. “It seems to loom greater as her memory decreases, and as each lord finds some trivial thing over which to argue.”
In Azalel’s mind, Adora’s husbands were constant flames, burning him alive. Each was a thing to revile, a competitor against whom he couldn’t compete. They laughed at him from inside his wells of loneliness, deriding his fate as the sole observer in these games. “She may have forgotten them, but I know them all.”
Grae turned to him with a frown. “I hope you’re not including me in that bawdy mix.”
“I’m not. But I don’t understand. Why did she choose so many husbands, only to turn from them? It’s cruel and unjust.”
To make matters worse, having selected them, she’d reneged on her commitment to them. It had left him trapped in a eunuch’s world, unable to break a horrendous vow.
In his mind, he lined up all the lords, noting the delight of each one as they lay with her. His imagination them had frozen in passion, as if displayed on a pin. Or better, a spear. It was double cruelty to him, and to them. When would she remember? Would there ever be a day when she looked around at all of them and said, ‘Who are you?’ Or when she looked at him and said, ‘I remember everything’?
As if he’d heard these thoughts, Grae tried to soothe him. “I’m sure she’d her reasons, First Gifted.” Intercepting Azalel’s cold look, he added, “Other than a stable of lusty lovers.”