Of Truth and Beasts

Apparently, the sight of a majay-hì was almost as bizarre among the Lhoin’na as in Calm Seatt. More so, since such creatures were known to be real to these people—and this one kept company with a human. Many present stared openly, but not even the closest queried Wynn as Shade pressed against her leg.

Remnants of lunch were still spread on tables as young elven initiates busily cleared plates and bowls. Wynn tried to see where the food was being served from, but she noted two things instead.

First, while nearly all the occupants were elves, a small group of Suman sages—including Mujahid—were gathered around one table. He bowed his head politely to her, and Wynn nodded back. His cowl was down, and Wynn was a little surprised at his curly black hair hanging almost to his shoulders. Ghassan il’Sänke, whom she still counted as a friend, kept his quite short, like the few other Suman males she’d met.

She couldn’t help noticing he was the only metaologer in his group. The others were robed in cerulean and teal, the orders of Sentiology and Conamology.

Second, there wasn’t a single white-robed sage in the place, though she hadn’t expected such. If Chuillyon belonged to some legitimate but unknown order, it had to be a small one, and that was a big if.

Ignoring quizzical glances amid sudden silences, Wynn hoped everyone would just go back to their conversations. Between her and the Suman contingent, one elderly male elf in a gray robe sat sipping a cup of broth. He had a serene countenance, and he wasn’t staring at her or Shade.

“Pardon,” Wynn said in Elvish, approaching him. “I have a message from the Calm Seatt branch for your high premin. Could you direct me?”

He glanced at Shade before looking up at her.

“Our high premin is on a mission of mercy,” he said. “She is assisting other healers in combating the fever at a human settlement.”

He said “the fever” as if she knew what he meant, though she didn’t.

“Premin Gyâr of Metaology can take your message for now,” he continued. “He is handling basic affairs in her absence.”

Wynn hesitated. A high premin off grounds was unexpected; leaving the head of Metaology in charge was unprecedented. In a high premin’s absence, the premin of Cathology usually stood in, if the two weren’t one and the same. After that, the premin of Sentiology was typically next in line.

All Wynn wanted was to get rid of the message, and perhaps if she didn’t treat it as urgent, it might be held unopened until the high premin returned. This might gain her a bit of time and willing assistance, if needed, should this message have a similar effect to the one she’d delivered in Chathburh.

“Where can I find Premin Gyâr?” she asked.

“I am heading that way myself,” someone said. “I will take you.”

Wynn turned at the thick accent, and Mujahid stood up among his companions. Sitting so close, he couldn’t have missed her conversation. Something about his eager manner put her on guard again.

The elderly elven cathologer nodded, as if relieved of a burden, and Wynn couldn’t refuse Mujahid’s offer. He gathered up his short pile of books and gestured toward the hall’s back and its courtyard door. Lips pursed, Wynn had started to follow Mujahid when a loud growl halted her.

Shade hadn’t budged. She eyed Wynn and then a nearby table where people were still eating. Shade shook her large head wildly and sniffed the air with great drama.

“We’ll eat soon enough. Now come,” Wynn urged. “First things first.”

Then she noticed the room had gone too quiet.

Even Mujahid stared at the human casually talking to a majay-hì, as if it were normal.

About to speak again, Wynn swallowed hard and cringed under all that scrutiny. She whispered through her teeth, “Come on.”

Shade curled a jowl and slunk toward the door that Mujahid still held open. All three of them ventured outside into the courtyard’s cool air, where there were far fewer eyes.

“Most premins and domins keep offices in the west side,” Mujahid said matter-of-factly. “Metaologers prefer the south.”

“I’d guess by your order that you know Domin il’Sänke,” she said. “Have you studied with him?”

“Certainly,” he answered. “All of my guild branch knows the domin.”

That was puzzling. Metaologers were a reclusive lot and mixed sparingly with all of a guild branch.

“He helped me during his stay in Calm Seatt,” Wynn added. “When you see him again, please give him my best.”

Mujahid returned a deep nod. “Most certainly,” he said, a phrase he used too frequently.

Wynn fell silent as they walked an outer path. The courtyard was even lovelier in its dusky daylight. She wondered how all of this growth thrived here, considering that direct light would enter only when the sun was at its highest point of the day.

Glistening ivy climbed the guild’s bark walls. A few birds flew from tree to tree, peeping and rustling among the leaves. The entire courtyard was filled with life, and she couldn’t count the varieties of flowers she saw. A large squirrel bolted across the path, into the shrubberies on the far side.