September 26, 2017

PodCastle 489: Emshalur’s Hand Stays

* Author : Anaea Lay

* Narrator : Cian Mac Mahon

* Host : Summer Fletcher

* Audio Producer : Pria Wood

PodCastle 489: Emshalur’s Hand Stays is a PodCastle original.

Rated PG-13

Emshalur’s Hand Stays

By Anaea Lay

I returned to Irishem with three sources of power: a letter from Kelian, a clear memory of why I left, and the space between my hands. The letter proved my right to enter as a citizen at the outer gate. It also got me past the boy keeping Kelian’s door when I arrived, though the house was closed for the evening. “Sealed save for family and Emshalur,” go the ritual words of denial.

Though the boy gave me entrance into the hallway, I had another obstacle to pass before admittance to the hearth room. Before seeing Kelian again. A young woman with Kelian’s narrow eyes and full lips, but a flatter nose and a head of glossy curls, emerged from the depths of the house mere moments after the boy disappeared to fetch a member of the family. “Tyman says you have a letter to admit you. You will show it to me.”

I handed her the narrow slip of paper. It still smelled of smoke and incense, the rusty brown text fading into the tan grain of the thin sheet. Emshalik blight. Come back. Such a short message, yet I could taste great depths of meaning in them. She grew up, she had a family, she loves them, she still doesn’t keep the faith. She’s still angry with me.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded.

Such a tricky question, so soon after meeting. “Kelian’s brother.”

“Kelian has no brother.”

“We shared no blood until after she left the womb but trust me, little niece, I speak the truth. Would she send such news outside the family?”

Kelian’s eyes, distrustful, stared at me from the young woman’s face, but her lips curled with acquiescence. “Welcome to our hearth and home, and may Emshalur stay his hand while you visit, Uncle. I am Kelian Drurr.”

Drurr. I tasted the name, savored the hints of Kelian’s life wrapped in it. I had assumed the woman was Kelian’s daughter, but I’d been gone longer than that; this was her granddaughter. Loved, cherished. No passion, but a quiet contentment. No adventure and romance for my dashing little Kelian, then. Perhaps that was for the best. “I embrace the warmth of your hearth,” I replied, and waited to see if she marked the part of the ritual I ignored. She did not.

“Follow me.”

Long years had passed since last I walked the hallway of Kelian’s home, and those years had visited like an artist, painting from a pallet of age and dust, filming the walls over with tidy, well-loved decay. Like the rest of Irishem. But the hearth room was still warm and bright. Kelian was there, in the matron’s place before the fire. Her hair, straight and black when last I saw her, was now wispy and gray, her skin covered in age spots. Oh, my poor Kelian, I would have spared you the blight of years if you’d let me.

“Grandmama, Uncle has answered your summons.”

Kelian answered with a short, impatient nod. Only then did I notice it, wrapped in black swaddling that neatly blended into the folds of Kelian’s mourning robes, the infant. “Leave us be, child. Uncle and I have much to discuss.”

“Yes, Grandmama.” Drurr pressed her first two fingers to her lips, raised them to the room – a silent invocation of Emshalur’s blessing—then withdrew.

“She keeps the faith?” I asked, surprised, and strangely gratified.

“The whole of Irishem has turned faithful, these last years. And she has yet more cause.”

“But not you,” I said.

Kelian leaned forward, tilting the infant out so I could see its face,

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