Читать книгу Starborn - Katie MacAlister - Страница 8

Prologue

“Who would like to read their poem?”

The room was stifling hot, so hot that the faint sheen of reddish-brown dust blown in through the glassless window seemed to dance on every surface in the schoolroom. Lala, apprentice in the Temple of Kiriah Sunbringer, ignored the heat and dust to focus every ounce of energy, every iota of power in her being to will Peebles to see her wildly waving arm.

It seemed as if the priestess must be blind, because as she cast her gaze over the class of approximately six young apprentices, all between five and ten summers old, only Lala’s arm was in the air. After a moment’s consideration, Lala raised her second arm, feeling it greatly increased the odds that Peebles would call on her to read her epic poem.

And epic it was. She had worked for many a long hour on the poem, and she was not going to have the bad eyesight of her teacher snatch away the praise that was sure to be heaped upon her head after everyone heard her work.

A gentle cough, really more a clearing of the throat, came from the rear of the room, where Lady Sandor, head of the order of priests, sat. Lala waved her arms with even more vigor, thrilled to the tips of her sandals at the thought of Lady Sandor hearing her poem.

Visions of honors danced in her head. Sandor might be so overcome with her handling of the poem that she would make Lala a full priest right then and there, eight years sooner than usual.

The cough repeated itself, and Peebles, with a sigh, said, “Yes, Lala? You have a poem you wish to share with us?”

Lala didn’t waste time explaining that she did. She didn’t even stand at her desk as the other, more reluctant, apprentices did. She grasped her much scribbled-over pages, and marched to the front of the room, little eddies of dust swirling behind her.

With another sigh, Peebles moved aside and gestured to her. “You may begin, Lala. But mind you, speak clearly and concisely. Lady Sandor is a busy woman, and she has only a few minutes to spend with us.”

Lala ignored Peebles, filled as she was with confidence. This was her moment, her time to shine before the goddess Kiriah and Sandor together. With a business like throat clearing that mimicked Lady Sandor, she picked up the first sheet, and began to read. “The Saga of Allegria Hopebringer, by Lala Smalls, apprentice priest.”

“Allegria? I’m not sure that’s a fitting subject for our class,” Peebles said, casting Sandor a questioning glance. The latter said nothing.

Lala gave the two youngest apprentices in the front row, who had burst into nervous giggles, a quelling glance before returning her attention to her paper.

“’Twas a year ago, on this very day

That Allegria, warrior priestess, rode away.

To join Lord Deosin, she did plan,

and fight the dread invading Harborym!”

“Plan and Harborym don’t rhyme,” Peebles interrupted.

“I couldn’t very well say Harborham,” Lala replied, frowning. “You said that poets sometimes varied their rhyming scheme, and that to do so was allowed.”

“Yes, but those are poets who have much experience—” Peebles, with another glance at Lady Sandor, heaved a third sigh, and said, “We will leave that discussion for another time. Proceed.”

Lala shook her papers in a meaningful manner. Really, to be interrupted was most vexing. She had to count on Lady Sandor recognizing genius even if Peebles didn’t.

“For Deo had taken the invader’s own magic,

and used it to create his army most tragic!

Banes of Eris were they, dire and dreadful to be seen,

They sailed to Genora, land of Deo’s mama, the queen.”

“Your timing, my child,” Peebles murmured, shaking her head. “We must have a talk about meter later.”

“But brave Deo’s father, Lord Israel of Abet.

Raced to Genora, and there he met

A handsome young arcanist, one named Hallow

Lost in a strange land, master-less, his fields were fallow.”

“Er...his fields were fallow?” Lady Sandor asked, soundly faintly puzzled.

Lala stifled her irritation at being interrupted again, and with a little frown, said, “It’s a metaphor. It means he didn’t have a plan.”

“Ah. Indeed.” Lady Sandor passed a hand over her mouth as if she had to cough. “Pray continue, child.”

“Allegria and Hallow met and fell in love,

And with them came Thorn, a wooden bird, but not a dove.

Hallow was given Kelos, land of spirits and fierce ghosts,

While Allegria wielded the light of Kiriah’s blessed sun motes.”

“This really isn’t very good,” one of the two youngest apprentices whispered.

“Shhh! She’s looking at us!” the other answered.

Lala sharpened her glare for a moment, then returned to her epic saga.

“Lord Deo, Allegria, Hallow, and Thorn, too

To Starfall city they all but flew.

Queen Dasa was prisoner of a heinous brute,

Wielder of chaos, the captain Racoot.”

“Racin,” came the correction from the back of the small room. “The captain’s name was Racin.”

Lala paid no mind to the comment, too caught up in the beauty of her vision. Besides, she was getting to the good part. She stood on a chair, and with one arm lifted high, continued in as a ringing tone as she could muster given the heat and dust.

“Deo’s sword sang with blood of the vile Harborym,

While Allegria and Hallow hacked them limb from limb.

But the captain was canny, and through his portal he took the queen,

Leaving Lord Israel behind, to face the Council’s spleen.”

“Really, Lala,” Peebles protested. “Spleen is definitely not a metaphor.”

Lady Sandor gave another one of her odd coughs.

“The Council of Four Armies was very, very mad.

They did not like Deo. They thought he was bad.

So Lord Israel used the queen’s own precious moonstones,

To send Deo far away, to a rocky outcast home.

And when Racin returned, intent on grinding us all to sand,

Allegria and Hallow and Deo cast him from the land.

Through the very portal he came in, and which Allegria destroyed,

but not before Deo, fearing for the Queen, a hasty plan employed.”

Lala paused, giving them all a look she felt was most potent. Every eye was on her, the room as hushed as a tomb. She dropped her voice until it was almost a whisper.

“Now. Deo is gone, and Lord Israel is most grave.

Allegria and Hallow seek the three moonstones to save.

Their friend, and the queen, who are captive on Eris,

Find them they must, else surely they will perish.”

Faint noises of everyday life at the temple wafted in through the window; the distant chatter of priests as they went about their chores, the gentle hum of bees on the honeysuckle that climbed along the corner of the schoolroom, and the soft lowing of cattle as they were herded in for afternoon milking.

But in the room itself, all was silent. Lala smiled to herself. Content that she had held her audience captive in the palm of her hand, and while returning to her seat, adopted a modest expression, as befitted one who was an apprentice priest.

“Er…yes. Very…imaginative.” Peebles seemed to have some sort of trouble speaking, and Lala focused her attention on Lady Sandor when the latter rose and made her way to the front of the room. She paused as she passed by Lala, her lips twitching a little when she looked down at Lala’s hopeful—yet modest expression. Then she was gone, the door closing quietly behind her.

Lala glared at the door, annoyance mingling with anger for a moment until she realized what had happened. Obviously Lady Sandor didn’t want to show favoritism by promoting Lala on the spot. It might make for hard feelings in the older girls. No doubt that’s why Sandor had to appear indifferent.

Thus it was that while Peebles called on one of the other apprentices to recite, Lala planned just how she’d make a fair copy of the poem and present it to Lady Sandor later, so it could be framed and hung in the head priestess’s bedchamber. Perhaps she might slip away from Peebles’s attention long enough to run into town and give a copy over to the local weekly newspaper. Yes. That was a satisfactory thought. A very satisfactory thought, indeed.