nineteen #2
Yet when Sulim finally turned around to ask what she could do for the High Priest’s wife, the woman was suddenly gone.
No way. Sulim peered out of the stable, but there was no sign of a light-footed woman making her way anywhere.
Did she teleport? Sulim was under the impression that Lady Joiya could not, as long as she had a tattoo, just like her daughter.
She was called back in to mount Emi and head out before the light shifted through the clouds. That was enough for Sulim to forget about Lady Joiya’s odd behavior. Once she was on the road, her thoughts turned elsewhere.
They started at a casual pace before establishing that there was little traffic, animal or electric, before breaking out into a trot, then a gallop.
Sonall and Sulim rode side-by-side for the first mile before Sulim slightly moved ahead to accommodate the thinning of the road lanes.
It was as natural a movement as anything, and the two humans said nothing to communicate that Sulim should take the lead.
Nothing could be better. With the wind in her short hair and her long sweater fluttering against her body, Sulim was reminded of the years when she was allowed to travel between her Qahranian hamlet and the central city of Yarensport,
where she interned at the Temple and discovered a whole new side of herself.
It was the first time I was ever allowed to have preferences in things.
The first time someone ever actually listened to her.
Hannu had been a milquetoast priestess, but teenage Sulim didn’t know the difference.
All she knew was that she was in the city, meeting interesting people, and being exposed to a world beyond her own.
She had learned about the julah up close.
She had met the dark-skinned traders from southern Qahrain who sailed into port, and the huling travelers who came down on space cruisers to share their wares, talents, and lore.
Hannu had cautioned Sulim and Eyne that the huling greatly accentuated their genetic closeness to the julah, but the girls hadn’t cared.
There were fortune tellers, quick shots, and artisans who made things she had never seen before.
This ride was much like that one. She fled her bucolic prison for greater pastures.
Harksplit was only a fraction of the size of Yarensport, but the people there were friendly and connected to the rest of the world, let alone the universe.
There were different foods to try and shops to peruse.
The local Arrahites found Sulim’s Qahrainian roots charming and her future as Lady Gardiah enticing.
If she wasn’t careful, everyone wanted to get close to her as they had always tried to get close to Jacelah and Graella.
At a decent gallop, they reached Harksplit in a little over a half hour, the sun still high in the sky and the breeze still warm.
There were a few deep puddles still left from the day before, but as the married couple dodged toptiks and motorized vehicles, they reached the cobblestone streets that were more equine-friendly than the pavement surrounding the town.
The Gardiah name was currency wherever they went on Arrah, and once the nearest public stable recognized not only the fine horses approaching but the riders upon them,
they were upgraded to a private space in the back where both Emi and Westie could rest and be watered while their riders traveled around town on foot.
Sulim fluffed out her sweater, wondering if she should leave it here with her horse, but Sonall convinced her to keep it on “in case it gets very chilly in the evening.”
So she treated it like a shield as they walked out into town with his arm wrapped around her, as if she had no street smarts or if Harksplit was half as dangerous as Yarensport.
Only down by the docks, where I lived with Eyne.
And she could handle those drug dealers and flesh peddlers better than anyone.
Almost better than her worldly girlfriend, who wasn’t afraid to throw a punch or spit in someone’s face!
He wanted to hit a couple of the shops before they closed, and while he haggled in a hardware store and searched for his sister’s favorite candy, Sulim announced she would meet him in the bookshop, the only place she had a tab in her own name.
She didn’t know who paid it for her, but she never went too far.
Despite her desire to preorder an entire five-book series recently announced by the publisher.
It was about a human who loopholed their way into the College of Hybrid Studies at the Yahzenian Academy, a place where no humans were allowed—unless they were the subject of study.
“…It’s sure to be a bestseller,” said the girl on duty behind the counter, who was young enough to consider Sulim a big sister but knowledgeable in every book on the shelf and how things worked in the shop.
While Sulim attempted to guess whether the girl was the daughter of the owner or someone who had talked her way into the position—much like the main character of the book series—the employee kept talking.
“It’s from the same publisher that produces all those hits about Yahzen and the julah. I think the author is a hybrid. She has to be, because her last name is Marlow.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah! You know. Marlow. Like Rene Marlow. A Thousand Years of Bliss?”
Of course, Sulim knew that title, since it was required reading in every school and one of the first forays most humans had into julah literature.
It was said that one could not consider themselves comfortably fluent in Julah unless they could parse Rene’s turns of phrase and esoteric metaphors in the original language the book was written in.
Yeah, I’m good. Of course, Sulim had read it. Who hadn’t?
She agreed to preorder book one for now, but she also wanted something to take home.
The girl left Sulim alone as she gazed at spines, flipped through a large holographic display showing the entire catalog the shop could order from, and picked up the occasional romantic adventure that promised great escapes to other worlds.
Naturally, Sonall found her there, one bag already hanging off his arm as he quietly joined her in front of the shelves. After a few minutes of reading over her shoulder, he said, “Do you even have room in your loft for more books right now?”
“Who said they had to go to the loft?” She glanced at him before skimming a page in which a young woman was on the verge of offering her body in exchange for passage on a space cruiser to Cerilyn to find her brother. “That’s what that giant bookcase is for in our room.”
“I like to think of it as our bookcase. Since it’s the only one that fits in there.”
“Yeah. And it’s huge. And half-empty.”
“Because I don’t get to read that much.”
“What’s stopping you?”
He looked at her as if that was the silliest thing she had ever asked him. “I’m too exhausted to read more than a page before my brain shuts down.”
It was a valid explanation, but Sulim knew him better than most. “So, what are you doing in the bath? That’s the best time to read. Besides before bed.”
“Trying to stay awake.”
She gave up. After all, while Sulim certainly exhausted herself many days, she couldn’t compare it to life on the Qahrainian farm, when even her teenage youth could not give her the wherewithal to read before bed during planting or harvesting season.
Sonall was often riding for miles, breaking in horses and learning blacksmithing skills so, as his father put it, “No singular Gardiah has to rely on a team of experts if he can’t pay them anymore.”
Sulim and her husband occupied different spheres of the family, although she could have probably lobbied to be in the fields if it were her passion.
They were hungry by the time they left the bookshop.
It was still early enough to get a seat at the restaurant boasting a live music stage every night, and because of their name, they were shown to a corner table by the frosted windows.
Sulim tucked their bags into a nook beneath the window, removed her sweater, and picked up the holographic clipboard attached to the wall.
Up popped a list of the seasonal specials as Sonall reached over to swipe through the main entrees.
“Hey, I was reading those.”
He retracted his hand. “Sorry.”
Sonall told the waitress what he wanted while Sulim glanced over her shoulder and saw that it was already a packed house that evening.
Way in the other corner, across the dance floor and past a small group of friends reuniting for the first time in “ages,” Sulim was shocked to see a familiar face looking back at her.
“Ma’am?”
Sulim was so gobsmacked at Mira’s presence in another booth that she almost forgot what she wanted to order. Her husband asked when the band was starting, and before the waitress walked away, he ordered alcohol for both him and Sulim.
“Really?” she asked, surreptitiously glancing at Mira, who was sitting with an older man.
“What? Nothing about getting drunk. I assumed you wanted a drink.” The waitress had already walked away. “Well, if you don’t want it, I’ll drink it.”
“It’s not that.” Rarely did Sulim drink alcohol outside of the occasional wine at dinner, but she had been so distracted by Mira’s unexpected presence that even Sonall followed her gaze. “I had no idea she would be here.”
He looked back at her. “Me neither. Is there a problem?”
Besides the fact that I slept with her yesterday? Sulim wanted to hide her face before something embarrassing happened, but she had a feeling that hiding her face was embarrassing. “No. Of course not. Just surprised.” She was still staring. “Do you know who that is with her?”
Sonall shrugged. “Probably none of our business. Despite her being a guest at our house, I prefer not to be too involved with what goes on with julah.”
From the way Mira smirked at her from across the dance floor… Sulim struggled to think that this woman could forget her. Ever.
Or that’s just part of her seduction style… Well, Sulim had already fallen for it. What was she supposed to do? Take it all back?
She looked up at her husband, who tapped a carabiner from his pocket on the table. The rhythmic bap, bap, bap was hypnotic enough to distract Sulim from her thoughts, but it only engaged Sonall more.
“You guys getting along okay?”