The Art of Speech // Mīdin

Bleary-eyed and full from dinner and an all-too early breakfast, Emil found his way to the shrine of Miè, just a short distance away from the palace. It was the place where the others were waiting for him. They would receive the Shrine Grandmother's blessing, then the High King's, and finally set out for some undetermined place. For all the discussion of quests and journeys, Lord Loran had been rather vague on the details. And of course, everyone had to gather before the sun had even begun to rise.

"You're the second one here." Zyara greeted him idly, busy twisting her short-cropped hair into a crown braid.

"This was the right time, correct?"

"Correct."

Emil took the time to straighten his collar and take a look around. The various priestesses milled about, carrying about their typical duties. Their traditional, plain dress contrasted with Zyara, who was still wearing her uniform.

"You know, this is a discrete mission, Zyara."

"And?"

"It's probably better if you don't wear the uniform. What happens if the wrong people come across us?"

"What of it? We're all guards in our own right."

"But what if word gets out?"

A slight smile crossed the girl's lips. "Then maybe someone will tell tales of me. Besides, I don't plan on wearing the tabard. Just for the blessing, and then it'll be put away."

"If that's what you wish, I suppose," Emil said.

Their brief conversation was interrupted by barely-audible footsteps coming from behind. Zyara's eyes shot open and she stood at attention, still not quite done pinning her hair into place. Emil reflexively copied her posture, turning to face whoever had just arrived.

"No need for formality today, you two." Captain Zeiran, out of uniform, motioned for them to relax. A short figure followed closely behind him, concealing their face with a fan. From the crest it bore, Emil knew it had to be the High King.

"Your Royal Highness," Emil bowed anyway, sure that Zyara did the same. "Captain. Do you know where the others are?"

"Ah, the others!" Zeiran had a twinkle in his eye. "We shouldn't have to wait too long."

"Lord Loran runs on his own time. That's why we're here at such an...interesting hour." High King Yunan shut his fan and began surveying the area. "In all the years I've known him, he's always been thirty minutes behind. If we want to run on schedule, we unfortunately have to waste some of our own time."

"Unfortunate indeed, Your Highness." Ìzan rounded the corner and bowed low. Emil breathed a sigh of relief.

"Glad to see you up."

"I wouldn't miss such a ceremony for the world."

"Three out of four." Zyara finished off her braid and straightened her overskirt. The following time was filled with a silence more awkward than anything Emil had experienced before. He and Zyara stuck close together, but she wouldn't speak more than a few words to him at a time. Ìzan occasionally opened his mouth as if to speak, but shut it just as quickly. The High King, renowned for his charisma, showed signs that he was too tired to show off the personality that won over the nation. Naturally, Captain Zeiran tried his best to spark conversation, which always ended the same way: a few half-hearted answers before everyone went quiet again. There was one thing everyone agreed on: it was simply too early to be sociable.

A clatter from down the street shook everyone awake, and Emil ran in the direction of the noise. Had someone found out about the ceremony? The idea of a crowd gathering to watch the ceremony made him bite his cheek. How long would it take to complete a simple blessing if the whole city decided to make a spectacle of it? He rounded the corner, thinking of a way to deter the public.

To his surprise, what awaited him and the others was a veritable mountain of strewn-about luggage, and one Lord Van Loran underneath its staggering size. Only the lower half of the lord's body was visible, clad in off-white pants and boots that looked decently sturdy.

"Trouble already?" Ìzan called from a decent distance, as if nothing at all was happening.

"A fine predicament indeed." Lord Loran muttered, muffled by a thick, forest-green jacket and plenty of other garments in all sorts of patterns and weights.

"Are you alright, my lord?" Emil tried not to step on anything.

"If you would stop referring to me by a title I didn't earn, I'd feel much better." A hand managed to wiggle its way out of the clothing pile, feeling around for any sort of leverage. Emil grabbed it and helped him to his feet.

"Yes, sorry. Anyway, the others are waiting. Would you like me to help put all this away?"

"No need, I can take care of it myself. Not that your assistance isn't welcome, of course." Lord Loran stuffed countless pieces of clothing into various trunks, not seeming to care about whether or not they all went together.

"Van, leave that." High King Yunan was still in the shrine courtyard, but his voice carried as clearly across the way as the temple bells. Lord Loran stopped.

"Yunan, but—"

"The essentials only, your High King commands it."

"We'll be going from coast to coast, from the highest mountains to the warmest tropical islands! I'll be documenting it all, of course, so I brought plenty of parchment—"

"You'll have plenty of time to buy more on the road. A case for warm weather clothing, a case for winter clothing. No more. Captain Zeiran will take back the rest."

"But my writings—"

"You've begun a manuscript, yes? Take that and your favorite quill, and bring them over. The priestesses have been kind enough to set aside a traveler's writing kit for you."

At the notion of a gift, Lord Loran perked up and opened a few pieces of luggage, shuffled a few things around, took out a battered quill and a ream of parchment thick as a slice of bread, and took up one of the two bags he had been allowed. The other was thrust into Emil's hands. As the lord walked away, Emil couldn't help but notice how he tilted precariously to the side. The manuscript—was it really that long already?—was clutched close to his chest.

Zyara met them at the shrine's gate, bowing to Lord Loran.

"How dashing!" he cried, returning the gesture. His hair flopped into his face, causing him to try and blow it out of the way once he rose. The corners of Zyara's mouth flickered upward for a fraction of a moment.

"Thankful to be in your service, my lord."

Ìzan swept his way onto the scene next, performing a half-bow with a flourish. "Milord, the youngest son of the ViTorya household is proud to be in your service."

"Well, it seems like all parties have made themselves known!" Captain Zeiran motioned to a priestess, who curtsied before hurrying off.

When she returned, the shrine's grandmother was by her side, face painted white and greying hair parted to show the rune of Miè painted on her forehead. Two of the mother-rank priestesses flanked their leader, carrying small bouquets of violets and irises. The grandmother herself held a flat box painted with a wreath of the flowers, a crow's head in the center. A gentle floral smell enveloped the company, who were guided to the front of the god-house: the shrine proper. It was there that they were to be blessed.

"Your Royal Highness, your Lordship, Captain, and esteemed guests. The granddaughter of Dante, scribe of the Ansha, our Lady of the Darkest Ink smiles upon you this early hour. As is her custom, we set aside excess and send with you this blessing: 'May you find favor with the Great Mediator and with his kin, especially our Lady, Patroness of All Who Seek Wisdom. We send you into the world with prayers for your protection, unceasing until the moment of your safe return.'"

Each member of the party was given a slip of parchment to write their own prayer requests on, to be attached to a ribbon with the others before being burned along with the flowers and various sweet-smelling resins. Emil's mind was far from blank, but the space on the slip was so limited. Prioritizing his wants proved difficult. He settled on "everything going as intended." Maybe it was too generic, or not specific enough, but it would do. There would be roadside shrines and plenty of time to offer personal prayers.

The resulting prayer pine wasn't large, not so much resembling a pine as it did a collection of tapestry scraps. Nevertheless, it was a heartfelt offering, and Emil hoped that the Ansha would receive it well. One of the mothers took it away, bowing before making her exit into a different part of the shrine.

"Thank you for your blessing, Grandmother," High King Yunan said. Everyone else murmured their thanks and Lord Loran started to fidget. The High King smiled.

"For my part, I would like to keep it short. Clearly the one who proposed this quest is getting a little restless. The Loran family has supplied their son with money enough, but I've also persuaded the Captain to give each of you a small sum. If this wasn't the case, I fear that Lord Loran would try and drain his family's fortune to keep all of you happy. Please try and refuse any gifts he may try to buy for you."

"That won't be difficult." Emil heard Zyara say under her breath.

"Your task, as has been explained, is to protect Lord Loran. Therefore, I request that you maintain extra vigilance in regards to his person. He may be a lord, but he is also a close friend of mine. If something were to happen to him, consequences would be dire. Travel safely, take care, and don't indulge this one too much. You have my approval and my blessing. Captain, is there anything you would like to say?"

"Right, well," Zeiran rubbed his hands together, the same way he always did when thinking of something to say. "I know more than most of the wonders the world holds. I've been to every kingdom and most places in between 'em. Fame, fortune—there's plenty of it to be found and made. But there's also some nasty things hiding out there. Not just things to fight, but things that happen. People get sick, argue, and sometimes get stuff taken from right underneath their noses. All of it will make you into greater men and women than you are. Hate to reuse an old line my Vada used on me, but the scars you gain will be proof of your growth. That's all, Your Highness."

"Well said." High King Yunan nodded. "That will be all, indeed. By now your goats should be here; two for riding and two hitched to a cart to carry all the supplies the Captain and I have prepared for you. It should last you for quite a while."

"Thank you, Your Highness, we'll make sure to put everything to good use." Emil bowed.

"One last thing, scamps! Emil is in charge, you hear that? It was decided when you all were chosen, so I don't want to read any complaints when you inevitably let me know how things are going. That goes for you especially, Ìzan. You may be his senior in age, but not in experience."

"As you wish, Captain." Ìzan's face wore a neutral expression. Next to him, Lord Loran looked ready to burst.

"Grandmother!"

The priestess, who had been speaking with the High King during the Captain's reminder, clutched a hand to her chest.

"Would you, perhaps, do me the kindness of sharing...something? A song, a poem, some form of verse?"

"Va—Lord Loran, you can't startle people like that!" The High King said. The grandmother waved.

"Your Highness, it's alright. From what you've told me, this seems like a common occurrence."

"It's improper."

"Some people are. In my forty years serving my Lady, worse has happened. Now then, a musical send-off...some of the children would be happy to perform, I think."

As if out of thin air, a duo of shrine daughters appeared, curtseying and striking demure poses. Lord Loran scurried to secure a piece of parchment and an inked quill, using the closed writing case as a table. It was still being held by another priestess. The two daughters began to move, and the young lord's quill waggled furiously as they sang.

Travelers wise and fair of face

Blessed be, for blessed you’ve been

Leave all worries, leave with grace

Go as one and go as friends

May each town bring its own delights

And ev’ry kingdom splendor

In each new place a dazzling sight

In each, may care be tender

With ev’ry crow that meets your eye

Our Lady shows her favor

With each and ev’ry violet shy

Her presence will not waver

Go afar and safe returns

Be merry in your travels

Stirred up by a need to learn

A journey yet unraveled

Peace and wisdom come to you

Peace and wisdom come to you

Emil didn't know whether to clap or not, so he simply bowed to express his thanks. Ìzan's eyes were closed, unusual when there were such pretty girls right in front of him. Zyara's eyes were fixed on the shrine's gate...no doubt she was just as impatient to leave as Lord Loran had been moments ago. The lord himself was still writing.

"I shall come up with some way of transcribing musical notes onto the page!"

"Milord, there's already a method of doing that." Ìzan brushed a stray strand of hair out of his face. "It's very common knowledge amongst the court."

"Bah, I know that. I find it too difficult to understand. A secret language to be learned by those with poor memory in order to write down songs others know by heart! No, my method will be much simpler..."

"Van..." Shockingly, it was His Highness that spoke. "Are you done writing down the lyrics?"

"Yes, of course, however—" Van stopped, eyes widening. "Did you just—?"

The High King laughed. "I knew that would get your attention. A little breach in etiquette among a small company like this is fine, I think."

"Yunan!"

"Don't keep the others waiting. You've got the heart of a nation to discover, and as for me...I need to get back to the palace before the streets get crowded."

Accompanied by Captain Zeiran, His Royal Highness left the shrine. The priestesses went back to their chores, and the party of four were left alone. Emil surveyed his company: Lord Loran, gaze darting about like that of a rabbit; Ìzan, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt with a sigh of relief; and Zyara, eyeing Ìzan with complete and utter disdain.

Somehow, he would find a way to bring everyone together.