The Tellanon

3. The envoy

The beds were upstairs, under the roof. Emyra had a bed placed in the corner, underneath the window. The sounds and smells of Agalath drifted in, and spring rains pattered on her mattress. Snow and sun warmed and cooled her. She never ever closed the window, as a rule. 

It was Sunday. The sun was shining brightly, and all Merrón was outside. She, however, had been locked up upstairs all morning, still being grounded for coming back so late yesterday. Her time had been filled by re-reading her diaries, and thinking of ways to keep Berren in Merrón. She had already decided that she would have to do it with words, because strength wasn’t going to help her. Berren was too old and well-trained for that.

No, words would have to do. But which words? Reasoned thinking? Pleading? She didn’t know Berren well enough to know what would persuade him best. She had to know him better. But for that, she’d have to do something dangerous. She’d have to sneak out. She and Berren had an appointment at the first hour after noon, and it was almost noon now. If she wanted to be in time, she’d have to start soon. She just didn’t want to. Well, she did, but she just couldn’t. Her mind had been discussing with itself all the time, and eventually decided for it.

She walked over to the window, and swung one foot out, then her other. She was now sitting on the windowsill,  above the muddy little stream that ran behind their house. It gurgled and splashed downhill, carrying away the dirt. Eventually, it would empty in the river, the Sreme, that cut Merrón almost precisely in half.

The wood of the wall was rough against her legs, and luckily  full of cracks. She turned around slowly, until she was hanging by her arms. She threw one last glance at the beds, into the room, to make sure there was no one there, and slid down. Her feet found a good spot, and she shifted her hands. Slowly, she made the descent, careful not to make a sound. She couldn’t risk getting caught. She couldn’t risk not knowing Berren. If she did not come today, Berren would never come again, and she’d be stuck with fake friends. Berren was different. He seemed to care.

She should have put on shoes, even if only her slippers. She had her backpack, but not much else. All her other things were downstairs, and she didn’t have a chance of getting to them unnoticed. She was barefoot, and cold. Though the sun was out, it was still only March, and hardly any of the flowers were blooming yet. Her feet had been toughened by many days walking barefoot, but the streets were littered with trash, and slime, and people.  

When she did reach the tower’s base, her feet were sore, and she longed for the tower’s respite. She looked around quickly. There usually wasn’t anyone around near the Ethunan’s outer walls, but it never hurt to check. Seeing no one, she put her fingers in the first crack, and pulled herself up. Her feet climbed more easily than they walked, and her fingers clung to walls more easily than to a book. When she climbed, her dreams seemed real. Every one of them. Wind playing tricks with her hair, cold clinging to her like a wet dress, sweat pouring down her back: She loved it. And the goal was as good: a meeting with Berren, a view over Merrón, and a release from everything. The stone was a lot more climbable than the breakable, polished wood of her house, and a lot more known to her. She had never climbed her own house before. That struck her as odd.

Berren was waiting for her, and when she clambered onto the tower, he was snoring softly. Emyra smiled, and kicked him against the leg.

“Wake up, you!” She said, laughing. He smiled back, and sat straighter. He eyed her intently, staring, taking in every detail. She realized she was doing the same with him, and blushed.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She asked, breaking the silence. She was pointing at Merrón, a proud look on her face, almost as if she had built it herself.