Terry Simpson - Ashes and Blood

Despite all she had seen and the many changes she achieved due to the information deciphered from their pages, there was one thing Jerem always said that stuck in her mind. ‘No man’s fate is decided beforehand. People and paths change and destiny is nothing more than a choice here or there and a chance for some philosopher to say I told you so.’ However, his own words did not deter him from using the very same Chronicles.

Too much was happening too fast, but no way existed to slow time’s progress. She would deal with each new issue as she thought best.

“There is much I need to tell you,” Galiana said at last when they approached the entrance to the Whitewater Inn.

“Would any of it make a difference?”

“Sometimes the truth we see is not the truth but what we want to see.”

A stableman helped Galiana down from her mount. He passed her staff, and she took it gratefully. The promised warmth within the inn beckoned to her as Irmina dismounted with ease and led the way. Back bent, Galiana followed.

Irmina pushed open the door, and held it long enough for Galiana to enter. The inn’s interior was a welcome respite to the frigid temperature outside. Lamps lit the foyer in reddish hues, the effect from painted shades covering each. Two tables and a long bench sat against one wall and directly across from it was the service desk. The tinkle of music and laughter drifted in from the closed doors across the hall.

Guthrie Bemelle’s head rose from the table where he wolfed down a meal. His eyes widened, and his round jaws and hanging jowls stopped working. He pushed away from the table, his protruding belly bumping against its edge as he stood. “I–Irmina Nagel?” he sputtered, food showing in his mouth.

“Master Bemelle,” Irmina said with a slight nod.

“It’s Shin Irmina or Shin Nagel now,” Galiana corrected. “According to which she prefers.” A tightening of Irmina’s hand brought a slight twitch to Galiana’s lips.

“Shin Irmina will do.”

The way the young woman covered her surprise with a smooth answer made Galiana tip her head. Well trained as she expected.

“I–I’m sorry,” Guthrie said, smoothing his dirty apron. “Shin Irmina.” He swallowed. “I’m guessing you’re in need of a room?”

“Yes, unless someone wishes to take me to Jillian’s home until she returns.”

Guthrie glanced at Galiana then made a show of collecting his dish and cup from the table.

“Well?” Irmina’s gaze shifted from Galiana to Guthrie.

“Your aunt will not be coming back,” Galiana said. She’d wanted to wait to reveal this.

“So she finally had enough of your deceit then,” Irmina said under her breath.

Guthrie’s head snapped up. His glass clattered to the floor. In order to retrieve it, he needed to get down on his knees. Keeping the half-full plate in his hand made this even more difficult, but finally he managed to pick up the glass. He bowed several times to the two of them then waddled over to his desk and placed his dishes down. The next few moments he spent flipping through the pages of his log book, presumably looking for a room in which to place Irmina. Sweat beaded his forehead.

“In answer to what you said, and since you asked after her again …” Galiana shed her cloak and fur jacket and hung them on a rack near the door. “No. She volunteered to escort the children, the elderly, and those who did not wish to be here, to safety in Torandil.”

“I doubt that’ll be far enough for any of you,” Irmina said.

“One moment, Shin Galiana, Shin Irmina,” Guthrie said. “Rolt!” he yelled.

Galiana noted the lack of Irmina’s reaction to Guthrie referring to her as an Ashishin instead of a Teacher.

A muffled answer issued from somewhere past the wide door beyond the foyer.

“Get in here. Now!”

Guthrie’s interruption to call for his nighttime helper broke some of the tension. Galiana nodded her gratitude to the innkeeper, and he responded in kind.

The interior door opened and Rolt shuffled in. He hurried over to them, dipping his head continuously as he took Irmina’s fur-lined overcoat and hung it on the rack.

“Take them to the suite,” Guthrie said. “Also, don’t forget to clean up the mess from their boots when you’re done. Then head to … Master Rowan’s stables?” Galiana nodded and he continued, “To collect her things from her horse. Oh, and tell Selise to prepare the dinner special. I’m sure Shin Irmina must be hungry.”

Rolt’s head bobbed even harder to the pronouncement of Irmina’s title. “This way Shin Irmina, Shin Galiana.” He led them across the polished wood floors and into the next room.

They entered the serving hall. Several heads shifted in their direction. Within moments, the laughter and music within drifted to silence. Chairs scraped as the patrons stood. Bows and the murmurs of Blessed Shin followed. This time, Irmina’s eyebrow arched, but she said nothing.

Rolt shuffled over in his bent back walk and made his way to a pretty, blond serving girl. He whispered in her ear. With each word, her eyes grew wider and wider. When he finished, she hurried over to Miss Carina, the cook, and passed on instructions. Miss Carina’s reaction was to look at Irmina, shake her head in disapproval, and walk toward the kitchen.

When Rolt returned, he led them up the four flights of stairs to the suite on the top floor. Below them, the music and laughter resumed. Rolt treated them as if they’d never been in the Whitewater Inn before, showing them the large bed, the sitting room, and the enamel bath tub, all the while mentioning the softness and warmth of the carpet beneath their feet in comparison to the cold, hardness of the polished wood floors. Lastly, he pointed out the windows and the sweeping view of Eldanhill’s eastern side, the Kelvore River, its namesake mountains and the mists that hid the towering Whitewater Falls.

Galiana thanked Rolt and escorted him out. She turned from the closed door, to find Irmina staring at her, jaws grinding.

“How could you have allowed it all to happen?”

Shoulders sagging, Galiana sighed. Only one topic could cause the combination of pain and anger written on Irmina’s face. “We did what we could to stop Nerian.”

“No,” Irmina said, “no excuses. Yes, Nerian gave the original orders to kill my family, but the Dorns didn’t have to carry out the command. Why did they still continue even years after Nerian was gone? Why take my parents from me? Why?” Tears welled up in her eyes.

Mouth agape, Galiana forgot to lean on her staff. She stood straight and stiff and the gnarled wood fell from her fingers.

Irmina’s eyes became flinty pinpoints and a sneer twisted her otherwise beautiful features. “Yes,” she hissed. “I know all about them and you. You did nothing to help. Neither did the other council members.” Her voice rose. “You,” she pointed, “are as guilty as Nerian for the lives he took.” Her body trembled with those last words. A tear trickled down one cheek. “To make it worse, you let the Dorns take me in,” she whispered, “raise me as their own while I grieved for my parents. The very ones who had them killed. I–I grew to love them as I once loved my own mother and father. Then they had Ancel, and … and …”

Galiana wanted to go to her, to console her, hug her. Poor child, how you must have suffered, losing not one love but three.

“You were supposed to be an Ashishin.” Irmina wiped the tears away, and her face grew blank. She spoke with a level tone, emotionless as a brick. “A guiding light out from the darkness, a servant to those in need, but you spread as much or more evil and death as Nerian. You allowed the Dorns to take all from me that ever mattered. How many years have you led people down your own path, used Manipulation on them? Centuries?