Airie

The palace was majestic. The ceilings were so high that Dusan’s head spun each time he looked at the paintings decorating them. The supporting pillars stood taller than trees, straight and embellished with carved ornaments. The walls, decorated with frescoes, were pierced by tall, narrow windows through which stabs of light fell on the intricate floor tiles. Traveling salesmen who’d visited Dusan’s village had talked of such places, yet seeing this with his own eyes was a different story. He could imagine now what those salesmen must have thought of his village with its dirty huts and simple inhabitants, and he felt a pang of embarrassment. His people must have looked like complete savages to those who had seen places like this, interacted with the men like the one now sitting on the throne, eyeing the presents laid out in front of him.

The king had a thin face and sharp, dark eyes. He looked past his prime, but not too old—perhaps about Borwin’s age. He wore a dress that resembled in style what Evander had gotten for Reijo, yet instead of the modest blues, the royal garment sported bold colors, red and yellow, dotted with sparkling stones.

The king nodded at each new item presented and put in front of him, his restless eyes moving about Evander’s entourage, skipping Dusan a few times, repeatedly pausing on Reijo.

Wearing his new outfit, Reijo stood behind Evander, next to Dusan. As instructed, they both tried to keep their eyes down, and their hands to the sides of their bodies. They exchanged a few glances while Evander was speaking, and Dusan could see in Reijo’s eyes the same nervousness that he himself was feeling. Dusan at least had lived with other people, while to Reijo, who had spent most of his life in a forest, this bustling city and this opulent palace probably seemed completely incomprehensible.

Whatever Reijo felt, he looked like he belonged here. With his face washed and his hair brushed and arranged by the shopkeeper, wearing his rich-looking clothes, he could pass for one of the members of nobility who stood behind and around the throne, watching the guests. Dusan had received a new outfit, too, but it looked way simpler than the one Reijo had gotten. For Evander, Reijo was the main investment.

“What about this?” said the king, interrupting Evander mid-speech. Dusan glanced up and saw the king pointing at Reijo. “Another present?”

Evander glanced back. “Him? I’m afraid not, your majesty.”

“Too bad. I assumed it’s some kind of exotic bed-slave that you brought me.”

“He’s a free man, your majesty,” Evander said carefully, “but I did bring him to introduce him to you. He’sspecial.” Evander paused for effect. “Willing to offer you his services.”

“Oh?” The king’s piercing gaze bore into Reijo who was still obediently looking at the floor. “What services?”

“The boy can predict weather,” Evander said. “Storms and droughts, winds and hurricanes—quite useful for agricultural planning, or just ahead of a trip, should your majesty decide to take one. He’s most precise with his predictions. While traveling with us, he never got it wrong, so my first thought was that I ought to bring him to you.”

“Weather,” the king said. “How do you predict it, boy?”

Reijo looked up. “I just feel it, your majesty—in my bones.”

Even amongst the rowdy sailors, Reijo hadn’t seemed so vulnerable. Once he had gotten used to the life on the ship, including the constant need to dodge the men trying to get into his pants, his confidence had partly returned. Now, it was gone again. In this place, Reijo clearly felt as small and unimportant as Dusan did.

“In yourbones?” the king repeated.

Reijo nodded and shrugged apologetically. This was the same explanation that he had given Dusan when confronted with the same question. He couldn’t quite explain how he knew the weather. He didn’t see it in his mind’s eye or anything like that—he simply felt it somewhere deep inside, and that was the only way he could describe it. Apparently, the natural world still allowed him a glimpse into its plans, even though it no longer allowed him to intervene.

“Not much of an explanation,” said the king, getting abruptly to his feet.

In a few strides, he reached the end of the dais on which the throne stood and descended the steps. Everybody stepped back, save for Reijo who stared at the approaching man.

“Let me see,” said the king, stopping. He grabbed Reijo’s chin, and turned his head this way and that, examining his face; then, he leaned forward, so close that his crooked nose nearly touched Reijo’s straight one, his bony fingers digging into Reijo’s cheeks.

Dusan felt a wave of anger wash over him. The man was handling Reijo like cattle—was he going to check his teeth, too? Dusan could easily slap the man’s hands away from Reijo—yet doing something like that to a king, in his palace, while being surrounded by his guards and noblemen, was clearly a bad idea. Still, inside his long sleeves, Dusan’s fingers curled into fists.

“What’s this?” the king said, turning to him.

Dusan blinked, suddenly becoming aware of a low growling sound escaping his own throat. He went quiet, yet everybody was already looking at him.

“What are you, a dog?” The king frowned, removing his hand from Reijo’s face. He nodded, and Dusan saw a guard with a sword on his hip stride towards him. “Get him out of here,” said the king, already returning his attention to Reijo.

Dusan glanced at the approaching guard, then met Reijo’s wide-eyed, panicked gaze. He couldn’t get thrown out of here now, couldn’t just leave Reijo to deal with this alone.

“Please, your majesty,” Reijo said. “This man is my assistant. Please, let him stay.”

“Assistant?” The king looked at Dusan again, still frowning. “Does he assist you to predict the weather?” He chuckled, and a few of the men on the dais laughed readily. “Anyway, predicting the weather isn’t all that useful. It would have been better if you were a healer, like Tobias here.” He nodded at one of the men standing behind the throne, a tall, dark one with a long nose, who bowed slightly. “Other doctors feed me disgusting herbs, and nothing happens, but he massages his ointments into my back, and I feel reborn. That’s what I call special. You’re not a healer?”

“I’m afraid not,” Reijo said, looking down.

“I see. Still, a talent is a talent… yet there’s no quick way to test yours. Can’t youaffectthe weather, like an airie?”

It was all Dusan could do to not look up, but he felt chilled. Could the kingknow? Could he have guessed that Reijo is—was—an airie?

“I can’t, your majesty,” Reijo said, his voice surprisingly even, and Dusan felt relief.

“All right then.” The king turned away and headed up the stairs again. “You can stay here for a trial period, and we’ll see if you are as good as you claim. As for your dog…” The king stopped and turned back, pointing at Dusan. “Make sure to keep him on a leash.”

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