The Continent (The Continent #1)(38)
“No,” I say, “though that is an interesting question. ‘Sun’ is only a surname, from my father’s family. Although now I come to think of it, his side was typically quite fair, most with golden hair as far as I can remember. My mother is from the South, and has beautiful dark hair.” Was. Was from the South.
He nods. “It is a good name, I think: Sun.”
The front door opens and Noro steps inside. “The council is ready for you. Shall we go?”
I turn back to Keiji. “Thank you for making me feel so very welcome. I hope I will see you again soon.”
He bows his head slightly. “Good luck in your business with the council.” And then, to Noro, “Hurry back—I want to hear all about your journey, and I have much to tell you as well.”
A light snow begins to fall as Noro and I make our way to see the council. We pass by the town center—a wide market square that looks to be mostly empty—and turn on the next street toward a building that Noro offhandedly refers to as the War Room. Wagons line the lane, some fitted with oxen, while lanterns along the walking path cast the night in a warm, lazy glow, calling to mind a painting I once saw of the Spire’s most northern city. The cold seems more bearable in this light—less bracing, somehow.
There is an amiable quiet between us as we go. Inwardly, I am stirred by fresh optimism—I feel confident that the Aven’ei leaders will help me, certain that they will wish to return me at once to my own people. So moved am I by this spirit of hope and expectation that I feel quite able to ignore the pounding of my head, the fever raging in my body, and the pulsing of my wounded leg.
The War Room, though ominous in name, is in fact an unassuming single-story building set between two others that look exactly like it. There are no traditional windows on the facade, but rather two slim rectangles near the roof, each glowing yellow from the light within. Noro knocks twice on the door and enters without delay; I follow with butterflies in my stomach.
The room is wide, and quite austere; a great table with at least a dozen chairs lies at the center, and an overlarge fireplace lies directly behind. There are no other furnishings to speak of, save a few bins filled with large sheets of rolled up parchment—maps, I imagine.
Three men are seated along the far side of the table, and they make for an intimidating lot. The two at the ends both bear the countenance of a man faced with a difficult problem; only the man at the center wears a smile. There is a distinct air of authority about him; he looks to be around sixty years of age, with salt and pepper hair tied into a neat plait at the back of his head. He is dressed in gray, as are the other men at the table, and a violent scar runs at an angle across his throat, slashing downward from his chin toward his left shoulder.
He stands as I enter, and bows deeply. “Welcome to Hayato. It is some time since we had a visitor from the Nations Beyond the Sea—coming on two hundred years, I think, or very near. The last time your countrymen set foot on the Continent, they made to disembark by ships of the sea. Now, I am told they sail anzibatu through the clouds. Much has changed in these past centuries. But I digress from my purpose—please, sit, and we may talk awhile.”
“Thank you,” I say, and take the chair opposite. Noro sits beside me, his hands folded atop the table.
“My name is Teku Ana,” the man continues, “and these are Shoshi and Inzo.” He indicates the men at his left and right. The man called Shoshi looks as though he has never smiled—not ever. A tattoo covers the left half of his face, and he, too, is scarred; mottled lines mar his skin from forehead to collar. The other man, Inzo, wears his left shirtsleeve folded neatly in two; his arm appears to be missing from the elbow down. His face is smooth and he is handsome for his years, his eyes sharp and thoughtful. “We bid you welcome, although Noro tells me you find yourself here under the most unfortunate of circumstances. You have our sympathy.”
“Thank you again,” I say. “Your kindness means more than I can fairly express.”
“And what do you call yourself?”
“Forgive me—my name is Vaela Sun.”
“Noro tells me also that you are injured, and taken with fever?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nods. “Then let us be brief, so that you may see the healer directly. How can we help you, Vaela Sun?”
I feel a quiver in my chin. Now that it has come to the moment of asking for help, it seems a very difficult thing to do. “Please,” I say, then find I must collect myself before continuing, for I am on the point of tears. “I would ask for your assistance in returning home.”
Teku smiles, a placid, but genuine expression. “I’m afraid we are not equipped to bear you across the sea, Vaela Sun. As I understand it, your Nations are a very great distance from here, many hundreds of miles. Our boats are small, made for fishing these local waters—not for a great journey such as you would require.”
I lean forward and clasp my hands together, my fingertips trembling. “I do not need passage to the Spire, sir—only to a small island perhaps thirty miles east of the coast. We have a facility there, you see. I could provide you with a precise and accurate bearing, and it would be a very quick journey indeed.”
He is silent for a moment. “I’m afraid that would not be possible.”
These words are wholly unexpected. “Surely…surely your vessels could travel such a distance? I would be happy to repay your trouble with gold, or perhaps supplies of some kind. I do have a small fortune to my name, and—”