Down Among The Yla

By Ellen Mellor

When Vivian LeFevre arrives in the underground city of the Yla, she hopes that it is going to be a new start - an escape from the sadness she left behind.

But, when she starts to be haunted by vivid dreams of clay monsters - dreams that soon become real - Vivian is forced to flee across a continent in an effort to warn her people of the impending war.

On her journey, she discovers the answer to secrets lost in history, the origin of the clay monsters and the truth about what lies at the heart of the Soul Lights. Secrets that Vivian can only find by truly going Down Among the Yla.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ellen Mellor
• Release date: Dec 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310314421

Ellen Mellor

Ellen Mellor is a trans woman who has published three books: two novels - The Long Sleep and Down Among the Yla and a collection of short stories entitled Stories From the Corner of the Room. Her third book, Ghostkin, is currently in some deep slush pile somewhere. For more details, including free excerpts and the like, take a look at her website - http://www.samarcand.co.ukEllen reads insatiably and will try almost anything although her main interests are in Science Fiction and fantasy. She also reads comic books and has a collection that is really far too large.Ellen lives in Newcastle upon Tyne and is married with one son, two cats and library that threatens to collapse in on itself and form a literary black hole.

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Down Among The Yla

Ellen Mellor

Published by Samarcand Books

Smashwords Edition

© Ellen Mellor 2013

All rights reserved.

Smashwords License Statement

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www.samarcand.co.uk

Door Photograph courtesy of Jean Rogers

FOR CANDY

AND

FOR MAX

Part 1: Ylahyem

1

The assassin sat on top of the palace roof and tried to catch his breath. Despite the ornate architecture climbing up the side of the building had been tiring.

He stood and stretched, working out the kinks that had already started to make themselves felt after sitting down for just a few minutes. Looking over the edge of the roof he wondered how the Yla managed to live in these surroundings. If he stood up and stretched he could almost touch the cavern ceiling.

Kneeling, he carefully tied a rope to one of the grotesques sticking out over the edge and then lowered it down the side of the building. Making certain of his knot, he climbed over the parapet and down the wall.

Reaching a window, he thanked the One True Name that at least this building in this bizarre city had them. If the palace had followed the style of the rest of the city he didn’t know how he would have managed to get inside.

Padding down the darkened corridor in his soft-soled shoes, the assassin looked left and right, trying to work out where to go from the intelligence he had. He hoped that none of the Soul Light pictures had been moved or replaced because that had been the only way his contacts in the city had been able to differentiate between different parts of the palace. Coming to a cross-corridor, he looked at a picture hanging on the wall. Larger and more elaborate than the others he had passed, he recognised it from the papers he carried. Pulling them from inside his tunic, he searched until he found a match. It had taken months of careful and secret copying to eventually get enough accurate copies of various artworks to be able to use them as a guide.

Now that the assassin knew where he was, he just had to work out how to get to where he needed to be. Fortunately, he didn’t have too far to go. If his destination had been lower down or, True Name Forbid, in one of the sub-basements, his job would have been virtually impossible.

Quickly but quietly, he went down the left-hand corridor.

It took a while but finally managed to make his way down two levels, reaching the right floor. After that, he found his target’s room with ease. Glancing around the corner, the assassin saw two guards standing in front of a set of double doors. He reached into the pack on his back and pulled out a short wooden tube. Slipping a slender dart into one end, he raised the tube to his lips and blew down it with all the force he could muster.

One of the guards flinched, his blue glowing eyes widening in surprise as the dart struck home in the small opening between helm and hauberk. Putting his hand up to where he had been stung, he muttered something in Yla to his partner, who laughed and said something in return. The first guard pulled the dart loose and held it up to his partner before his knees buckled and he fell face first to the ground. The second guard, taken completely by surprise, dropped to his knees to check on his compatriot. Drawing his long sword – which he hadn’t done before, in case anyone heard the slight sound it made slipping from the scabbard – the assassin charged around the corner, still silent, the only noise coming from the thump of his feet hitting the bare wooden floorboards.

The remaining guard recovered enough to half draw his own scimitar, before the assassin plunged his own sword into his chest. The guard gurgled softly as the assassin lowered him to the floor, his life leaving his body as quickly as his blood. Taking his knife, the assassin drew it across the necks of both Yla, before turning to the doors, behind which his actual target lay, hopefully still fast asleep.

He opened one of them a crack and slipped in. Silently crossing the room, he went through a second doorway and down another short corridor to yet another entrance. Taking hold of the doorknob he nearly screamed when a cloud of glowing multi-coloured gas flowed out from all around the edges of the door, enveloping him before he could move. Trying to turn and make his escape, he discovered that he was stuck there, unable to let go of the doorknob, unable to move any muscles, forced to stare forwards as the door opened from the other side. He almost toppled to the ground before the knob pulled itself free from his grasp. The assassin found himself looking into the glowing purple eyes of the Hinye-An. He spoke to the assassin in Yla, his words foreign but his tone of disgust and anger completely clear.

The Hinye-An reached to one side of the door and took hold of a small wooden club. The assassin tried to plead, but found his voice as paralysed as the rest of him. Time seemed to slow as the club plunged down. At the last moment, he felt the spell loose its hold on him and he opened his mouth to scream. But it came too late and the club hit home without the assassin making a sound.

Vivian suddenly woke up, feeling confused. Usually, she could sleep through the entire night and nothing would disturb her. So what woke her before any sign of the dawn?

Pulling the covers back, something nagged at the back of her mind. As her feet touched the smooth wooden boards of the floor, feeling very cold against her bare soles, memory returned. Naturally she wouldn’t see the sun while she lived inside a cavern. Looking towards the door, she saw a gentle glow coming from beneath it.

Feeling around for a robe, she pulled it around her and made her slow, careful way across the room towards the door, managing to avoid almost everything in the unfamiliar room, only bumping into things a couple of times.

Pulling the door open, Vivian stepped out into the lounge to find Gilla bustling around dusting and polishing. The gentle click of the door made her start and she turned around. An aging Yla woman with eyes that glowed the pale blue of a clear spring morning and long mousy brown hair streaked with grey and tied into a tight, severe bun, Gilla wore the long red robe and simple cream tabard that served as the uniform of the palace serving staff. She paused a moment before curtseying to Vivian.

Good morning, my lady, she said slowly, in Yla. You gave me quite a shock. I did not expect you to rise for some time.

I sorry, Gilla, Vivian replied, still half-asleep and trying to remember the Yla words. What the time now?

It is nearly the fourth bell.

The morning?

Yes, my lady, it is.

Someone knocked at the front door of Vivian’s suite and, without waiting for a reply, a tall Yla woman entered.

My lady LeFevre, she said. A message from the Ambassador.

Vivian took the proffered sheet and quickly scanned it. Then, dropping the paper on the table, she went over and knocked on the door to Marie’s room.

Marie, she called. I need you to help me dress.

After a few moments, Vivian’s maid, an old woman, her long white hair unbound and falling almost to her waist, came out, knotting her own robe around herself and grumbling gently. As she grew older Marie seemed to need more and more sleep. Normally, Vivian did not begrudge her the extra time in bed.

Why do you need to dress now? Marie asked. Your father has breakfasted with you in your night attire many times.

"He has sent me a note. He’s been called into conference with the Hinye-An and can’t come to see me this morning. I’m going to have breakfast with the Hinye-Min and her daughter."

Then what are you waiting for, girl? Marie scolded. "It is lucky I had your clothes hung up to let the creases drop out. We must make sure that your look is perfect. You can’t meet the Hinye-Min without at least some rouge on your cheeks."

It did not take long to go from her suite to the Hinye-Min’s. Even so, Vivian would never be able find her way back again without a guide. The Yla woman who had brought the note from her father escorted her to a set of doors. These doors differed from every other set of doors only because two very alert Yla guards stood directly in front of them, scimitars drawn. The Yla servant spoke briefly to them, gesturing to Vivian. One guard stepped away whilst the second opened one of the doors, stepped in and motioned for Vivian to enter.

Passing through, she entered a room very similar to her own. Slightly larger and somewhat better appointed, but still plain and stark, without even any representations of the rainbow-like Soul Lights. Instead the huge light show hanging before the main doors played just outside the window. For a moment, Vivian was overcome with awe; she really wanted to know what the Soul Lights were. Although the briefing documents had mentioned the Soul Lights, they had only been described as potentially heretical without actually going into any details about their origins and that only served to inflame her curiosity. She wondered if she would get to see the real thing while she dwelt in Ylahyem.

The Hinye-Min sat at one end of a table laid out with fresh white bread, cheeses, meats and sweet preserves and earthenware jugs filled with fresh milk.

Ærindis, the Hinye-Min, sat straight backed in her chair, looking carefully at the human girl as she came in. Vivian scrutinised her in return, taking in as much as she could: her fleshless arms, widest at the bony knobs of her elbows; her face a skull with skin pulled tightly over it; her eyes shining with a very dull green glow; the rouge on her cheeks that served only to emphasise the paleness of her skin; the dark blue silk dress hanging from her shoulders. Vivian recognised the woman’s look. Her mother had had a similar appearance before her death.

Come in my dear, sit down, join us, the Hinye-Min said, quietly, speaking in Raynish, her accent making the words sound strange. Allow me to introduce my daughter, Sunnifa.

As Vivian approached, Sunnifa rose from her seat and greeted the human girl with a smile and a nod of welcome. The Yla Hinye-Lahz had black hair, thick, long and heavy, braided into two intricate ropes coiling over her shoulders and down her back. Her pale green eyes matched her mother’s although as she turned and her eyes caught the candle light, Vivian glimpsed flashes of violet echoing her father’s eye colour. She wore a simple, but still elegant green velvet dress without a single adornment upon it. Vivian felt over-dressed, even in her own simple morning gown, out of place and lacking in style in comparison.

It is very lovely for meeting you, Sunnifa said, haltingly in Raynish, her accent matching her mothers, but softer and lighter in tone.

And I you, Vivian replied, wondering if she should try to speak in Yla.

Please sit and eat.

Despite worrying about her father, the friendliness of the two Yla women helped her relax and enjoy the meal, although Vivian noticed that the Hinye-Min did no more than drink a little water and eat some dry bread. As time passed, however, Vivian started to wonder about her father, if he would summon her or send word soon and what the Hinye-Min and her daughter knew about it all.

Eventually, she found her need to know overcame her reticence at appearing impolite.

Your Highnesses, she started. I am sorry to ask this, but, could you, perhaps, tell me if you know what has happened with my father?

Do you not know, child? the Hinye-Min asked.

I was told that he had been summoned into conference with your husband, but that is all.

Oh, you must be worried.

A little, yes. Is he is all right?

"He is, for the moment. I should warn you that things could be a little difficult for a while. Last night, a Raynish man tried to assassinate the Hinye-An."

Vivian started to say something, stuttered and stumbled over her words, tried to start again but ground to a halt.

Oh, my dear. Do not worry, the Hinye-Min said. There is no reason to be scared. Your father is in no danger. Trust me, if Hæctar thought that your father was involved in any way with last night’s activities, he would have been in a very deep dungeon by now. If you think it is dark in the city, then you should see those dungeons!

Vivian felt her eyes burn as tears started to form. The Hinye-Lahz spoke rapidly in Yla, scolding her mother who listened with a slight smile on her face. She nodded once before turning back to Vivian.

I am sorry, my dear, she said. I was trying to reassure you. I promise you, your father will come and see you as soon as he is able.

Vivian rubbed her sleeve across her face, smearing her make up a little and tried to smile.

I know you are, Your Highness, and I thank you for it. May I ask what happened?

No-one is entirely certain, either what happened or how, the Hinye-Min told her. What is known is that a Raynish assassin made his way into the palace last night, killed two of the guards on duty and made an attempt on Hæctar’s life. The assassin was captured and will be put on display in the palace courtyard before his sentencing.

What will happen to the assassin?

The Hinye-Min paused before answering, picked up a piece of bread and nibbling at it.

He will be executed. The usual method is exposure to the elements. Although the wolves tend to get them before the cold.

Vivian looked at the two Yla women, hardly believing that they could be so matter of fact about both the assassination attempt and the punishment.

I think I’d like to return to my rooms now, Vivian said.

The Hinye-Min looked at the girl and nodded her head in understanding.

We are a cruel people sometimes, my dear, she said. Made all the more so by the way in which we live. When we are attacked we do not know mercy. But think - what would the punishment be if someone were to try to assassinate your Emperor? Can you truly say that your methods of execution are better?

2

A few hours passed, during which time Vivian explored every nook and cranny of her suite. After arriving in Ylahyem late the previous day and immediately being called in to an audience with the Hinye-An, she had been too exhausted to do anything other than glance at her rooms. However, considering the minimalist nature of the furnishings, it did not take too long to complete her exploration. Opening the door to her suite and looking out, the two guards standing there had come to attention. Through a mixture of mime and slow repetition of Yla phrases one of them managed to ask if she wanted to go anywhere.

Vivian just wished that she had somewhere to go. She knew no-one in Ylahyem other than her father, maid and some of his Ambassadorial staff. She doubted that she’d be escorted to her father, Marie had already failed to distract her and the staff members were too involved in setting up the embassy.

In the months that she had remained in her Cahrayan home with her mother, waiting for her to die, she had become used to loneliness. She wouldn’t describe it as a friend, but it had started to feel like a constant, overly-faithful companion. She had thought that things might change with their relocation, but sitting in her spartan suite, it had returned again stronger than before, as if to make up for it being banished during her journey.

Eventually, her father arrived, a grave look on his face. Tired and grey faced, with mussed hair and creased clothing, he looked as if he had been awake for days rather than hours.

Is everything all right? Vivian asked. "The Hinye-An doesn’t think that you had anything to do with it, does he?"

No, he doesn’t, but it is still my responsibility. I brought the assassin with us.

Who was it?

Maximilian, he said, naming his Rinläntner bodyguard.

Maximilian has been with the family for years, Vivian whispered, all strength in her voice washed away by shock. How could it be him?

I don’t know. I haven’t been able to speak to him yet. I hope that I will be allowed to see him before he is put to death. The Emperor has a long reach and his plans can take many years to reach fruition. I fear that we have been caught up in one of them.

What will happen now?

The Raynish Embassy is being closed and all the staff are being expelled.

We’re going back to Cahray?

Vivian felt a peculiar mix of elation and disappointment. On the one hand, she got to return home. On the other, she had only just got here and wanted to explore this peculiar subterranean city.

I… her father looked at her, tears in his eyes. "You have been invited to stay as a companion to the Hinye-Lahz."

Vivian stared at him, seeing him suddenly as an old man, buffeted this way and that by winds of chance that had been blowing since his wife first became ill.

There is no choice in this, is there, father? Vivian asked, already knowing the answer.

He shook his head.

"You are remaining here to ensure our good behaviour. You will be returned home when the Hinye-An receives a formal apology from Emperor Carloman and a ransom of ten thousand gold Livres. I am sorry, my daughter. If I had any idea this would happen, I would have left you in Cahray."

No papa, don’t blame yourself. I’m glad you brought me. I’ll be all right. Pretend that it’s a job for me as your aide. It’s what aides do, isn’t it? They act in place of the Ambassador when he has to be somewhere else? I’ll write a report about the palace and the Yla that will give you all the information you need. I’ll make you proud of me.

John put his hands on her shoulders and held her at arm’s length, looking at her as if seeing her properly for the first time in a long time. He smiled, and, when he did, it wiped away many of the lines that Vivian had watched form over the last year.

You have grown so much in such a short time, Vivian, he said. I am already as proud of you as any father could be of their daughter. I love you so much. Your life is only beginning. I think you will go a very long way.

The tears that had been threatening since breakfast finally broke through her stoic demeanour and Vivian held tightly to her father and cried her heart out, feeling anything but grown up at that moment.

Standing in front of a heavy wooden door in the cold morning light Vivian, wrapped in her warmest clothes, waited and looked out at the snowy wasteland. Taller than two men and wide enough for three to walk abreast the door stood at the head of the stairs into the city. Its vertical planks ended half-way up, replaced by a semi-circle that looked like the sun rising over the horizon, although each wooden ray of light was stained a different colour which rather detracted from that impression. Intricately carved vines and flowers grew up either side of the door frame. Vines and flowers which, undoubtedly, had never grown here in this frozen country. At the top, a two-tiered roof extended out in front of the doorway, providing a little cover from the weather.

The courtyard in front of the doors bustled as a group of Yla, veils covering their sensitive eyes, loaded sleds with belongings and equipment that couldn’t be left behind. Next to her, watching the operation, silent and grim, stood her father, his arm wrapped tightly around his daughter. Even with this sign of affection, one of the few that had been forthcoming recently from the still-grieving widower, Vivian felt a moment’s happiness, shot through with a despair that came from knowing that very soon she would be left with only loneliness for a companion. She knew that she would see her father again, but she didn’t know when or under what circumstances. Being stripped of his position within a day of arriving would be utterly humiliating and he would not receive succour from the Emperor once he made it back to Cahray. The Emperor was not renowned for his positive attitude towards failure and tended to blame others when his own plans went awry.

The packers finally finished and left the subdued embassy staff standing in the snow waiting for John to come out to them. He stood before Vivian, looking at her intently, his eyes glistening. She swallowed hard to try and get rid of the lump forming in her own throat and told herself firmly that she wasn’t going to cry. She had to be strong and not make this any harder. He took his gloves off and tugged at the signet ring that he wore on the little finger of his left hand, pulling it off.

If you are to be the acting Ambassador, you need to have the seal of office, he told her.

He took her left hand and slipped the ring onto its middle finger.

Goodbye, Vivian, he said.

Until later, father, she replied, pulling him to her and holding him tightly, burying her face in his thick fur coat.

Watching him trudge through the snow to the awaiting carriages, Vivian felt very much like a little girl, alone and friendless. Pænniak, the Yla Chief Advisor chose that moment to step from the shadows of the stairwell.

My lady, he said, offering his arm. Please, allow me to escort you back to the palace.

When she and her father had first arrived in the city, they had gone down these steps surrounded by torches and lanterns. This time, as she descended the stairs into the city there were no such comforts and as she rounded a bend the light filtering in from outside faded, enveloping her in darkness. Looking down, she could not see where to put her feet for the next step. She couldn’t even see her feet. If it hadn’t been for Pænniak’s firm guiding hand, she would surely have stumbled and fallen down the steps. Even so, she mis-stepped several times on the stairway worn smooth with the passage of innumerable feet.

We believe that those who enter Ylahyem should come to it through darkness, Pænniak explained as she faltered again.

She glanced at the Yla beside her, a pointless reaction, she realised even as she did it but then gasped as she saw his eyes. They glowed with a soft silver-grey light. She knew that Yla eyes glowed and had seen it constantly since her arrival but seeing them in such pitch darkness shocked her. They seemed to be almost as bright as a full moon apart from two perfect circles of infinite darkness in the centre. When he blinked, it seemed as if she had gone momentarily blind.

Eventually, she found that she could actually make out some features of his face. She realised that she had been staring at him, hypnotised by his eyes, taking almost no notice of where she was stepping. For a moment, she felt confusion. Why could she now see? Unless it was an