Excerpt: Thrice Told Tale : Iriandia's Story

The rain fell from the sky in what seemed like an unending deluge of water. It had been raining for days now, but somehow the streets and buildings never seemed to get clean nor did it wash the hanging smoke and smog away. The few plants that struggled in the outside city were now being drowned, nutrients long since washed away. "How did we get here?" Iriandia wondered, not for the first time in her relatively short lifetime.

At twenty-two she could, in theory, expect another few centuries of life, but rare was it for the females of the noble houses to make it past even half a century and it seemed every decade they were dying younger. Her own mother lay on the poster bed, clutching Iri's sister's hand, mumbling to herself. Diatrana Solomas had never been a vibrant woman, much like her younger daughter, she had pale, limp blonde hair that was almost white in colour. Her skin was tinged grey even before she'd taken to the bed, lacking in energy to even make it to the privacy. Where Iri's eyes were a sliver of blue, her mother's were grey. Where Iri was near boy flat, her mother had once been busty. Iri's sister, Ansela, was more like their mother in shape, their father in colour. Mirick Pharan was autumn where his wife was winter. Ansa had his auburn hair and red tinged skin tones, his deep brown eyes, and once echoed his ready smile. But now the whole family was gray, as they stayed by the bedside of their dying matriarch.

With population shortages, servents had been replaced from the living to the animated dead. House Solomas, home to empaths, far talkers, and mirror walkers had long forbiddon their use within their walls. They had served themselves for centuries. It was Mirick who lit the candles as the sun gave up behind the clouds and headed to bed once more. It was Ansa who changed her mother's sheets. It was Iri who cooked their meals and brought them up. The once life filled mansion that sat near the pinicle of the city was cobweb filled and mostly abandoned. The small family of what was left of the once grand noble house occupied a mere sliver of what once was.

"I have failed, you know." Dia said to her elder daughter. It wasn't the first time she said this.

"You have not," Ansa said firmly, not for the first time either. "You have two healthy daughters of marrigable age who will go forth and help bring life back to these walls. There are enough second and third sons for houses to marry in. You married well, you brought life to a dead line and you taught us well. You have not failed."

"I promised three daughters." Dia continued, not seeming to hear her daughter's words anymore.

"So tell the judge that your husband was bad at math." Iri offered the joke feebly. But anything was better than another five rounds of this conversation, the same as it had been for three nights before.

Her whole family looked at her, most startled, and her mother chuckled softly, a chuckle that led to coughing. She gasped breathless for several moments, clutching Ansa's hand with surprising strength. "Ah, my dawn's break." she said finally, with a fond smile to Iri. She beckoned her younger daughter over and Iri came to her bedside. Iri drifted over, taking her mother's hand. "Do keep your father out of trouble, hmm?"

They had stopped denying their mother's death was coming weeks past. She had the wasting disease and they all knew it. It struck women much more often than men; the current under-rumour that the more fertile you were the harder it hit you. How would a disease know how many children you could or would have? But it would explain a city that had swollan to house millions now holding tens of thousands. Streets were echoing, the gates between the wards locked and unusued.

"Happy to have met you," Mirick said, patting the hand that held Iri's. It had been what he'd greeted her with at a dance so many years ago, when he was supposed to have introduced himself by name and house. It had been the family joke ever since. Dia managed a smile, then a sigh, and her eyes were sightless. One moment she was alive, the next she was facing the judge.

Mirick let out a sob and pressed his forehead to Diatrana's hand, now relaxing and releasing Ansa's hand. Ansa looked down at their mother with tears, as much for self as for the loss of her beloved parent. Iri just felt numb. They'd known it was coming, they'd been in denial for years before they could deny no longer, from there it had been sixteen months of a downward spiral.

Iri got to her feet, "I'll call Paros." she murmered and heading down to the kitchen where the communication centre was kept. Once there would have been a grand room for the family's mind talkers, but the grand rooms were now sheet covered shrouds to days gone by. Ansa looked up, her eye clouds streaking from the tears and nodded. Their father didn't move from where he knelt by the marriage bed, head pressed against his dead wife's hand.

* * *

The kitchen was once the tertiary servent's kitchen. It was meant for simple and fast meals for stable boys and guards. The outdoor workers had eaten at the long tables over the tiled floors, easy to clean the outdoor world from the indoor. Now it was kept clean by one woman who also did the cooking and marketing. Once there would have been ten bodies employed for this kitchen alone, not there was none. It wasn't that they didn't have the money to hire servents, just that were none to be hired. If a woman worked in the kitchen of a noble house, then shoes wouldn't be made. If a men worked in seperate stables for each house, no horses would ever be bred. Younger girls would earn their coppers helping, younger boys as well, but most of the work was done by the families themselves.

Iri stood in the archway of the kitchen and sighed. She felt guilty that it was as if a weight had been removed from her shoulders. She felt guilty that she was happy her mother's suffering was finally over even if her father's had only really just begun. She felt freed from a burden, how did her mother feel? A woman being suffocated by her own body, whose life's energy had leaked away a grain a minute, to leave her too tired to even sleep. Iri looked over at the smoldering fire and let out a second sigh, life was for the living and for the living to live, they had to eat and drink.

She fastened on the headpiece, much like a tiara, that would allow the mind-deaf to communicate mind to mind. She could just touch it and reach any set in the upper city with ease, but her mother had cautioned her long ago not to let the strength of her gift's be known. While both daughters had all three of the House's blood traits, Ansa was known for mirror walking, while Iri was known for mind talking and neither at any great ability. Iri wondered when her mother had first become paranoid about outsiders, or maybe it was something she'd learned from her own mother, a woman who should have been a part of her granddaughter's lives but was long since dead ashes to the winds.

Iri closed her eyes to help focus on the map network of mental lines that lay over the outer city. In theory all homes had once been on the network, but with fewer of the blood gifted to power the networks, it had shrunk. Iri knew there were lines that she had never followed, to homes she wasn't familiar with, but to follow them would have given her gifts away. Better to pretend she only saw the "publicly powered" lines. Every citizen gave their death's energy to the city, and each year there were fewer citizens born and fewer to die. Each year was a matter of what would they give up next.

The path to Paros was a well lit one in her mind, she followed the dark blue ribbon to his set and waited while it notified a member of his House he was wanted and someone came to answer. Iri was a little surprised that Paros himself answered. He had two sons and three daughters. Some believed those with little or with out blood magic bred easier and truer but Iri knew how many children hadn't made it through their first three years in Paros' home. Little energy at birth, they'd all faded before they were to recieve their full names. Perhaps it was his personal familiarity with the fading that had so many call upon him when it struck their own homes and houses.

~Iri, I am sorry.~ Came his deep mental voice. She could sense his genuine sadness. Being empathic in the mind-speech meant she often knew truths about people's words that she didn't want to, but today this was a comfort. Paros truly understood her loss, while he had his parents, his lost children's souls taught him the pain many shouldn't know.

~It was time,~ Was all Iri managed. The tears that had hidden themselves now wanted to break free, she managed to keep them inside her closed lids.

~I will come, the boys are already preparing the carriage.~ Paros told her, and a wordless thought hugged her as a ghostly arm around her shoulders. Without further words, she felt his presence leave.

She removed the headset, opening her eyes to scrub at nose that was starting to drip. Rather unladylike, but it wasn't as if she had suitors pounding on the door like Ansa. The noble sons were convinced that she, like her mother, would fade young and fast. Ansa had her father's vitality, it seemed, and they believed she would breed long and strong. Iri's poor father had been negotiating weddings while his beloved heartmate lay dying.

Iri squared her shoulders and went to the fire to prepare a dinner. She had the feeling that Paros would bring his entire family with him, and it would not do to let them go hungry. Normally the death catcher would come alone, but most houses and families had plenty of servents to help and hold. Paros' heart was too kind for one in his job. He should be deciding without bias whether her mother's body would be needed for reanimating. Not that she would be animated for this city, that level of cruelty would be spared, but if a new servent was needed, she would be traded to another city for one of their recently animated to serve here. Iri prayed to the Nameless that her mother's body would be given to the Wind Lord and alllowed to fly the currents.

* * *

Paros' daughters were bright little sparrows, they bustled in with his wife and shooed Iri out of her own kitchen. Paros informed her his wife had decided that his two eldest were ready to learn how to run a household and Iri and Ansa would be teaching them. Iri had told Lasa that she'd be honoured to be their elder and teacher. The proud and gruff woman wouldn't have accepted a thank you for help, after all. A lesser family, two wards down, after all, didn't need to help a noble house near the peek. Why, such would be unseemly on both ends. Iri had a flash of humour at that. Really, what did seemly matter when it was one kind soul sparking to another?

Iri was showing Tessa and Cissa how the water heater switches operated when Ansa came into the utility area beneath the kitchen. The switches allowed the water to flow to where it was needed. Once, it would have flown through the entire mansion, being heated by the pipes themselves, but such a waste of energy now. Iri had trouble believing that once the whole house had been powered and luxurious, even with signs like the switches which were obviously much newer than the pipes themselves.

"Paros has said she will fly free," Ansa said without preamble. Her skin looked more grey than ruddy. Iri stood to wrap a hand around her sister's shoulders and lean her head against her arm. Ansa was taller than her by a head and a nod.

"Aye, Father said that your mother 'twas a bird in soul and spirit." Tessa said, making notes on a small slate with the chalk-pastel pen.

Ansa looked startled that the girl would so freely admit that her father had decided bias on the way over. While she hadn't quite admitted that Paros hadn't thought to animate her mother, the insination was strong. "She was," Ansa said with a sniff, her hand reaching around Iri's thin shoulders to return the half-hug.

"Kitchen, Laundry, Bathing Chambers. Next would be food storage and preperation. I think we can figure that out for ourselves if you sisters wish to prepare." Cissa said softly, offering kindness and a wish to not intrude on their fresh grief.

Iri reach forward and squeezed the younger girl's arm in thanks before turning to make her way up to her own rooms to prepare for her mother's burning. Ansa followed her sister through the doorway and up to the back stairs.

"They're staying?" Ansa asked.

Iri gave a shrug, "Lasa says so, I suspect we're going to have a gardener boy as well if we're not careful." She stopped so her sister could catch up and walk beside her on the narrow spiral. She took the inside, being the smaller with shorter feet. Her sister had once missed stepped on these stairs and had nightmares for years about falling down in spirals.

Ansa managed a smile, "Arguing with Lasa is like arguing with the weather. It ignores your whims, wants and words, and does what it thinks is suitable anyway."

Iri echoed the faint smile, "But unlike the weather, Lasa cares for those she looks to. I don't think the weather has been favourable here in living memory."

Ansa shook her head, her crown of small braids shifting with the movement, "Perhaps we just don't live long enough anymore. I wonder what our ancestors did to turn the Nameless' children from us."

Iri almost spoke in haste and fire, to say that it was their industrious leader's actions that led them down this path, but really, who amongst them had ever tried to stop his leadership? None of them, really. The lesser houses may have tried a few times, but the power was in the upper houses, and the upper houses had denied power lose long before they'd admitted it and by that time, the Baron was well entrenched and their was little or nothing that anyone felt that could be done.