Evastany (Ebook)

The problem with good intentions is that they are so difficult to stick to.

Good advice is even worse. How easy it is to dispense one’s wisdom to all one’s friends! How difficult it is to follow it oneself!

Yesterday I received the benefit of a visit from a dear friend of mine, Miss Llandry Sanfaer. The girl who made headlines in all the best papers not too long ago. Perhaps you read about it? She was a Summoner of Glinnery, though untrained. One of the winged folk. A talented jeweller — I’ve bought one or two of her pieces, and wear them often. Largely unremarkable for all these things, until the day she Shapeshifted into a draykon and sparked a large-scale revival of that long-extinct race.

It was spectacular.

The poor girl has since been burdened with the cumbersome title of “Lady Draykon” (and I would love to know whose fertile imagination spawned that absurdity, so I may make a note never to invite them to dinner). At twenty years old, she is co-ambassador between the Daylands realms and these new draykoni settlements that are popping up out in the Off-Worlds, and my goodness, what a mess of problems she has had to manage already. I do not envy her the task.

Naturally, then, I hastened to give her yet another job to do.

I said to her, Llan, it would be wise to write down an account of your doings for the next few moons! The draykoni have not exactly made themselves popular thus far, what with trying to destroy the finest city in Glinnery and all that. There will be those who will blame poor Llandry for a great many things not of her doing, and it would be wise for her to have her own account to hand.

Thus far, I was wise enough. I did not err until I assured her that I would be keeping a similar account of my own doings for the foreseeable future, and for similarly sound reasons. I also promised to let her read it! What was I thinking!

Well, yesterday she put into my hands a fat journal written through with a faithful record of all manner of exciting things. It is admirably detailed. I quite feel as though I had been there myself! What a fine job she has done. I am most proud.

The naïve soul was sweet enough to assume that I have been faithfully keeping records all this time myself. That I have, not to put too fine a point on it, been following my own brilliant advice. I had not the heart to tell her that I had not written so much as a word.

What can I say in my own defence? I have been busy, certainly, but that can be no excuse. Llandry has been up to her beautiful grey eyeballs in turmoil beyond imagining, and still contrived to write down her activities.

I feel quite ashamed of myself! No, I really do. I am thoroughly contrite.

So, I begin today. And today is… let’s see. The sixth of the ninth moon, 1913. Dates are important, one must be meticulous. After all, it is distantly possible that someone may actually read this someday.

I have faithfully read Llandry’s account. Every word. I stayed up half the night to do so, somewhat to the dissatisfaction of my fiancé, Mister Pitren Warvel. Not because he disapproved of my late hours, but because I swiped the book first and then would not permit him to read it along with me.

‘Eva!’ he complained. ‘Why do you get to read it first?’

‘Because Llandry likes me better.’ I snuggled more comfortably into the pillows of our beautiful big bed and turned a page.

‘Share,’ he pleaded, at his most pitiful.

‘You may have it when I am finished.’

He sighed and abandoned the attempt, wandering for the door. I blew him a kiss as he left.

Now, that may seem harsh of me but really. Have you ever tried to share a book with somebody else? No two people read at the same speed, and being expected to wait for the other party to finish the page before you can move on is perfectly insufferable. Insupportable! I made him wait.

He will have his revenge by taking the whole of today to read the book, quite ignoring our other plans in the process. I will quietly encourage this, without seeming to do so.

The events outlined in that journal are rather important, all told, and I am glad that Llan wrote them down for us. We are duly informed of a variety of events of which we were previously unaware, many of them pertinent. New draykon colonies all over Iskyr and Ayrien, the Upper and Lower Realms! Murders, of a species previously thought unable to permanently die! And, worst of all, more Lokant interfering. I had hoped that the latter had finished mucking about with our lovely worlds some time ago, since the worst of them (a chap called Krays) was deservedly eaten by Llan’s spouse, Pensould. No such luck! I should have known better than to expect it.

Moreover, we now know why the mountains in between Irbel and beleaguered Orlind tried to shake themselves to pieces a little while ago. There was an avalanche. It was exciting — all the bulletin boards said so! No actual damage was done, but what can I say. It was a slow news day.

It did worry Tren and I just a little, however. The Seventh Realm, Orlind, was held to be as lost as the draykoni for many a long age. I imagine many people still think that, for it will take some time for news to the contrary to travel as far as it needs to.

But Orlind is not lost. Just mostly so, and still somewhat contested, because it happens to be the site of the single most powerful and magnificent Lokant Library there ever was.

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