Date: 10-10-164

  A loud rapping on my door stirred me from my studies this morning. It was Olrick and his sister Madelin, who you may remember lent me a dress two weeks ago. He was grinning like a boy who’d gotten the last sweet bun; Madelin had a garment bag draped over her arm.

  Today is the last day of the Panzean year. Much like us, the Panzeans make a holiday of the changing of the calendar, and this was to be my first festival since arriving here.

  “You’re borrowing this to me?” I asked as Madelin swept in and looked for somewhere to hang the clothes.

  After shooing Olrick away and closing the door behind him, Madelin turned to me and said, “This one is yours to keep. Ollie says you and Nade are doing good business and wanted to celebrate. Nade got one too, of course.”

  She laid the bag out on the table and opened it.

  (There is a type of Panzean fastener that consists of two rows of interlocked metal teeth and a small metal piece that slides up and down them. By sliding the piece to one end, the metal teeth are made to come apart, and can be reconnected by sliding the piece back to the original end. It is a most ingenious invention and one that I hope to bring back with me to Guntao.)

  Before I could say anything, she shushed me. “Just…try it on first, huh?”

  The new dress was a stark contrast to the one I wore at Nadine’s dinner party. Composed of jade green fabric with golden embellishments in a floral pattern, the dress’ bodice ended just below the rib cage, beyond which hung pleated skirts that extended to my ankles. The dress covered my shoulders, but left my arms and collar bare. Perhaps it’s silly, but I felt awfully exposed.

  “Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Madelin said, putting her hands on either of my arms as we looked into the mirror. “After last time, Ollie thought you’d like to try some Gradstaal fashion. If he had his way, he’d’ve put you in some [unflattering?] traditional get-up, but I managed to get my hands on a pattern from out of Aldhill.”

  If you will recall, Gradstaal is the northern half of the continent’s inhabited region. Culturally, it appears to often be contrasted with Lecosia, where Nadine and Jacque are from. I surmise that Aldhill is a city, or perhaps a kingdom, located in this region.

  “I avoided flame designs this time. I hear those caused a little bit of a stir with Nade’s friends, hm? Ah, and Ollie mentioned you might want something like this…” She pulled out the furry skin of a beast and draped it over my shoulders.

  It was soft and warm—dare I say luxurious?—with a pattern of orange-gold stripes. A thick, fluffy tail hung down my left side and its head rested over my right breast. The creature’s features were vaguely feline, and brilliant green glass marbles had been fitted into its eye sockets. It was at once both garish and savage.

  This was also the first garment made from animal skin that I’d worn since arriving here.

  “This is real animal?” I asked.

  She nodded, looking rather proud of herself. “Ollie told me about how he found you, dressed up in all manner of furs and hides. I figured this’d add a little touch of home, wherever that is.” She adjusted the fur so it better covered my arm. “Besides, it’s a hell of a lot chillier here than in Aldhill.”

  I’ve actually found the weather in Valia’s Watch to be comparable to autumn back home—perhaps on the cool side, but nothing untenable. My assumption is that, with only one sun, they have no seasons in Panzea and the climate is like this year-round. Then again, we’ve seen how reliable my assumptions have proven thus far…

  “I better get ready myself,” Madelin said, startling me with a quick hug before making her way to the door. “If we keep Ollie waiting any longer, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

  ***

  We shared a carriage to church. I suppose I expected banners or festival shrines or perhaps some paper lanterns, but the reality was both more impressive and a touch disappointing.

  Looming over the church roof was a giant Illithia, who you will recall was one of the Panzean ancestors (though I have a great deal to say about their strange ideas around ancestors, which I will get to momentarily). She looked down at the crowded streets with her hazel eyes, robed in the same platinum white of Nadine’s doctor coat. The sight was quite alarming at first, but her skin had a translucent quality that belied the truth: she was an illusion cast by Phosomancy. As impressive as it was, I maintain that banners and lanterns would have felt more like a festival.

  We stepped out of our carriage, and immediately the crowd closed in around us. Olrick looked almost dashing, a bright yellow sash thrown over his usual dress uniform, and Madelin’s pantsuit had red accents that complemented her hair in a most pleasing manner. The center of attention this morning, however, was Nadine, draped in amethyst-purple waves of fabric that drew one’s gaze and refused to let it go.

  She smiled nervously under the crowd’s scrutiny.

  “Nadine!” Jacque’s voice pierced the murmuring of the festival-goers as he hobbled through the masses, leaning heavily on his cane. He gave her two quick kisses on either cheek, then turned to me. “Miss Why!”

  I dodged back before he could kiss me, too.

  With a quiet scoff, he turned to Olrick and held out his hand. “A pleasure to see you, as always.”

  Olrick took the hand and gave it a shake. “Jacque.” He motioned to Madelin. “This is my sister, Madelin. Maddie, this’s Jacque, Nadine’s old buddy from university.”

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” Jacque said, bowing with a flourish.

  (Panzeans always bow with a flourish, but when Jacque does it, it always seems sarcastic.)

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  With greetings and introductions done, we made our way inside; Jacque went on ahead to attend to his students while Olrick led us to the pews, stopping every few feet to exchange pleasantries with some neighbor or other.

  ***

  I’ve come to a startling discovery about how the Panzeans view their ancestors.

  My grasp of the language has improved greatly since I last attended church, you see, and this time I was able to roughly follow the performance (or “sermon,” as they call it). There was the usual standing and sitting and standing again from the audience, a spirited—if off-key—song from the children in Jacque’s class, and a series of rousing speeches delivered by the various church leaders. Taken all together, it painted a picture that left me quite flummoxed.

  The word that I have been translating as “ancestor” might actually be closer to “god” or “spirit.” As I understand it, these eight gods descended from the heavens at the beginning of time and created humankind via some manner of “divine inspiration.”

  That couldn’t be right, could it? We know, of course, that the ancestors of Guntao were human, and that they beget the generations of people who came after them in the usual way. This knowledge has been preserved faithfully through the magic of Truthbinding.

  The Panzeans don’t have Truthbinding, and so I imagine that they had to turn to myth and legend in the face of an uncertain historical record. This has to be the explanation, hasn’t it? Even in Guntao, superstitions around spirits and goblins tend to spread among the less educated classes, so it’s easy to think that this problem would be even worse with a people who lack our certainty.

  I shall play along with this belief in gods for now. If I’m right (which I suspect I am), it would be difficult to explain where my knowledge of gods and ancestors came from. If I’m wrong, well, apparently the gods have ascended back to heaven and watch over Panzea to make sure that everyone is behaving. It wouldn’t do to get on their bad side, I suppose.

  Come to think of it, this explains why Jacque made such a production of the Great Houses being the descendants of the gods. Within the Panzean belief system, this would make these Great Houses the exception and not the rule.

  The mind boggles.

  ***

  Such were my thoughts when the sermon ended. After we rose, I started for the front door, but Nadine and Madelin gently took me by either arm and led me off to a side exit. We were dragged along by the crush of the audience—of the worshipers. The doorway opened up into a wide courtyard garden on the shadeside of the building.

  You might wonder why someone would place a garden on the shadeside of a building. In Guntao, the only plants that thrive without direct sunlight tend to be squat, barren shrubs and the like.

  As it happens, sunlight had been redirected around the walls and into the garden by means of Phosomancy. Images of the eight gods floated above us, sitting upon the courtyard walls and chatting amiably with each other as they shared a feast of strange meats and fruits. I tried to listen in on their conversation, but alas, it was all pantomime—so far as I could tell, no sound accompanied the movement of their lips.

  A similar banquet was laid out on tables all along the garden, and the members of the church were invited to partake by purple-robed attendees.

  “Follow me and Why,” Olrick said to his wife and sister. I felt a shock at being given the responsibility of leading the others, but his reason was quickly apparent—as two of the tallest people in attendance, we were easiest to see among the crowd. I stuck close to him as we pushed our way through. Soon our small party was seated around a circular table, plates piled high with Panzean festival food: seared meat still on the bone, medleys of diced green and orange vegetables, a “salad” consisting of chunky white paste served in tiny bowls. All of it shimmered with a thick layer of grease.

  I was in the process of trying an exploratory spoonful of the paste when a small voice interrupted us.

  “Excuse me,” it said. The voice was owned by a demure man with a thick-lined face and amber-speckled skin. “Are you Doctor Seaborne? Nadine Seaborne?”

  Nadine raised her eyebrows at him. “Yes. Can I help you, Mister…?”

  He surged forward, falling to his knees before her and clasping her hands in his. “Please, I beg you. They say you can work [miracles?].” Tears had formed in his eyes. “My son. His leg.”

  “He hurt his leg?” Nadine asked as Olrick hastily pulled the man back to his feet.

  “Bandits. He lost it fighting bandits,” he gasped, struggling fruitlessly against Olrick’s grip. “But you can heal him. Please…!”

  “That’s enough, friend.” Olrick’s voice was stern, but not unkind. “You can make an appointment if you like, but she’s here to enjoy Godsfeast like the rest of us.”

  Nadine rose anyway. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do for your son. No healer can restore lost limbs.”

  It wasn’t a revelation, precisely, but I was disappointed to hear it. Perhaps if there had been a spell to do so, we might have attempted it together. As miraculous as Theramancy was, it had its limits.

  The white paste tasted vaguely of overly-sweetened root vegetables and left a film on my tongue. I pushed the remainder of it away from me.

  The man with the crippled son was hardly the last. It seemed Nadine had developed quite a reputation as a miracle worker, and nearly everyone had some malady they wished her to cure. It took all of Nadine’s patient explanations—and Olrick’s increasingly impatient scowling—to keep them from mobbing her.

  (For a man who’s constantly tripping over himself not to cause offense, Olrick has a surprisingly effective scowl.)

  I’m not proud to admit that I rankled at all of the attention heaped at Nadine’s feet. Part of our arrangement was that she would help protect my secret, and it was to the benefit of us both that she should receive the credit for our work together. All the same, if my contributions to her practice were really so groundbreaking, it felt unjust that I should receive so little recognition.

  I decided to take a stroll about the garden. It really was lovely, and the press of Nadine’s admirers had grown a bit intolerable. I was examining a fragrant red flower—like a camellia with curling petals—when a high, reedy voice called to me.

  “Lady Why,” he said. “We’ve missed you at church.”

  I turned to face the pasty man. His red lips pursed at the sight of my fur shawl.

  “Ah, no flames on your dress today. Have you tired of the Arix lie?” he asked. “It looks like you’ve [pivoted back] to the Marsher [cover story?].”

  “Doctor Siltstrom,” I said, trying to keep the distaste from my voice. “It is so pleasant to see you.”

  He let out a wet, raspy laugh. “Yes, yes, quite.” He stepped close to me, his breath heavy with the odor of greasy festival paste. “What I’d really like to know now, oh yes, what’s really [piqued my curiosity], is how you convinced Seaborne to go along with your [twisty games??]. For all her faults, I truly did believe that woman had some integrity.”

  “Nadine is very…” I faltered for a moment, searching for the right turn of phrase while swallowing back my revulsion. “…has integrity.”

  “Mm hmm hmm,” he half-said, half-sang. “Well, I suppose it is possible that Seaborne reached into her bag of mediocre tricks and pulled out a miracle. But this whole affair has a stench to it, if you ask me.”

  He lowered his voice, his words taking on a hard edge. “Do not involve Seaborne in this mad scheme of yours. I will find out what you’re up to, and when I do, I’d hate to see her career go down in disgrace, as well.”

  I thought he would be done after that, but Siltstrom then reached out for my wrist. I was overtaken by an instant of blind panic, but before I could react, a black cane hooked his hand and jerked it away.

  “Ah, pardon me. I have forgotten my manners,” Jacque said, balancing his weight on his good leg. “But then again, perhaps so have you. Doctor.”

  “Mister Ordine.” Siltstrom smacked his lips, glaring at Jacque through half-closed eyes. “Lady Why. Enjoy the rest of your Godsfeast. They really have outdone themselves this year.”

  It took a moment for Jacque to find his balance again. (And for me to find mine.) We stood side-by-side and watched as Siltstrom mingled with the crowd, laughing raucously as if nothing untoward had happened.

  “I would keep an eye on that one,” Jacque said softly. “He is trouble.”