Chapter 2: Onward
Imperial Year 1173
Well, she's already here.
Kuanysh squeezes her way through the tables and people when she spots a woman delivering several steins of ale to a table crowded with eight people. "Pardon me, I'm looking to stay the night."
"I think we have a few more rooms. Let me check with—eep!" A drunk man with flushed cheeks a wide grin, and a scar extending down his forearm crossed the floor to invade her personal space. Kuanysh scowls as she watches the man drag his hand up the woman's back to her shoulder where he then pulls her in towards his own body.
Kuanysh desperately wants to punch the man in the pace despite her own mediocre strength. Her fingers twitch as they slowly curl to become fists at her sides. There were many people around she reminds herself. Causing a ruckus may lead to the waitress losing her job. Her chest tightens and she can feel the prickling of her eyes. Frustration—Kuanysh's most expressive and emotive version of sadness. Helplessness. Injustice. Vulnerability. Exploitation.
People like to say if you don't tackle the problems the see then they are just as much of the problem. Kuanysh agrees to a degree but there were too many problems in the world. Impossible for any one person to confront all of them. She recalls her father's political words: 'don't get caught up', 'wait it out', 'it's better to stay quiet and continue along'. She remembers her grandmother's words: 'You're a good, quiet girl. Men will like that. While you're here let me introduce some to you.'
But why?
Was being passive supposed to save her from frustration? Pain? Judgement? None of it ever stopped her from experiencing those anyway. So why was she being silent?
"Why don't ya come with me to my room? I'll show ya a good time." The man lowers his head to rest it on the waitress' shoulder. His eyes blinked over to Kuanysh. "Did ya say something? Jealous? You ain't my type but I'm willing to let you join in too."
He reaches out to touch Kuanysh when his hand momentarily envelops with flames causing him to cry out in pain. More people finally took notice to their plight.
"Dammit. Not again Geoffrey." Kuanysh searches through the room for the person who spoke before her eyes land on the person she had been hoping to ignore. Jeralt.
Geoffrey's cries of pain continue as he flaps around his hand, bumbling about, and even stealing the ale of others to dump on his wound which would now effectively slow down the healing process through his own decisions. He missteps and Kuanysh unleashes a small burst of wind magic that sends Geoffrey flying into Jeralt who surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, catches the man.
There was a mix of reactions. Some went silent wondering if a fight would breakout, others burst into cheers and laughter. A few held tightly onto their drinks though it remains unknown to her whether it is from precautionary action of Geoffrey stealing theirs or if her wind attack had been stronger than intended and holding their drink was a measure that it wouldn't fly away.
Kuanysh and Jeralt stare at each other amongst the chaos. Even if Jeralt is presumably leader of their troop it is not his fault for individual actions of those beneath him. Kuanysh's gaze becomes blank as she stares beyond him. She stares because what he represents. The proof of where she is. Her head tilts to the kid—the teen who looks to be the age of just hitting puberty—meaning there was substantial time before war crosses the continent. Plenty of time for her to get home to avoid it all together. Fódlan currently has other conflicts, but nothing as large-scale as what is to come. It would be difficult enough to defend herself for an indefinite amount of time with magic and a bow. Maybe she should invest in a smaller-range weapon. Yet even then…she has never killed a person. She has killed domesticated animals in her world and had been able to kill a few birds and rabbits when first appearing to this world. She had fought against someone in the woods, but with only a bow at the time she had to be saved my members of the Eastern Church.
Kuanysh stare backs at Jeralt who continues to stare back at her.
She wears the white uniform of the Church and stares at him. There was something odd about the neutral stare, but far different from Byleth's own gaze. Jeralt stares waiting to see if anything would come of it. The lass appears young, and her hair isn't green which gives him some sense of security, but he is still cautiously on guard. The tilt of her head towards Byleth sent his protective instincts flying and gave a justification to his alertness. Her gaze returns to his own which he much prefers over Byleth. The waitress tapped the girl's shoulder and speaks of something he can't hear over everyone else's chatter. The two go upstairs but not before the girl looks back his way one last time.
Jeralt needed another drink—or ten. But first…
Geoffrey was pleading his case to the group who is happy to mock his luck with women. He looks over to Byleth. "Yer at that age. Anyone ya want to take to bed, kid?" He slaps his good hand against his chest twice. "Big Bro Geoffrey can tell ya all 'bout how ta please a—"
Jeralt slaps Geoffrey's back. His body falls forward into the table jiggling their drinks. Byleth can make decisions but doesn't need this man's influence. "You're a lightweight."
"At least he didn't start a brawl this time. We still owe damage reparations from the last time."
"Still doesn't compare to Jeralt's tabs."
"At least he's the reason we keep getting jobs."
Byleth ignores the others to stare at the abandoned half-eaten fish plate Sigvard hasn't finished eating.
Kuanysh readjusts her position but gives up on being able to sleep. She lights the candle and sits at the desk. Pulling out paper and ink, she hesitates before writing. What to write? What did she used to write before coming here? That was a good enough topic as any.
She writes for hours. Her eyes dry and irritable but still cannot sleep. When the morning light begins to filter through the window, she puts down the quill. People will be starting their day soon, and she needs to find someone with a boat that would be willing to take her to Morfis.
Kuanysh changes back into her daywear and puts her necklace on concealing it beneath her clothing. Grabbing her bag and bow she descends the stairs.
The main floor is quiet. A stark contrast to the night before. The only one there is Byleth sitting at a table alone. A part of Kuanysh wonders if she could walk up and ask if Sothis, the goddess the church ingrained into her, has any magically powers that would be able to send her back, but they probably haven't spoken yet. Not to mention she would feel pretty bad using a kid to get something out of them.
Then again, here is a kid sitting all alone constantly on the move. She had moved many times herself. Distance didn't let most relationships foster even with technology. It hadn't been bad. Things just were. It is only far in hindsight the realization of the limits of that lifestyle come to mind. Before that: it is normalcy.
She takes a seat across from Byleth. Her search for a sea captain can wait a few minutes longer. "You are up early." Byleth stares back with that infamous stare. If everything didn't seem so real she may have considered Byleth a doll. It…was somewhat unnerving. She would admit no matter how much she wishes to deny it. The vividness of any expression, positive or negative, isn't present. "I'm Kuanysh, but others call me Kunie."
She waits patiently not wanting to rush the kid.
"I'm Byleth"
"You're part of that mercenary group, right?"
Kuanysh cannot see it but Byleth pauses. People usually assume that Byleth follows the group as a tag-along. Some even assume Byleth is to be protected, but that was less common as their wardrobe mirrored the similar lack of status of the mercenaries without any sign of wealth. Byleth nods.
"You must be strong." Kuanysh wonders if Byleth had gained a title yet. It hadn't been particularly pleasant sounding, had it? She reaches into her bag for a few coins and slides them across the table.
Byleth blinks. Did she want to hire a mercenary?
"Buy something for yourself. Whatever you want. It must be hard living on the road. Some fun might do you well. It can be tough to be alone."
Byleth wonders if this was some form of pity. "I'm not alone. Everybody is there."
"I—That's—What I mean—" Kuanysh takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. That sounded condescending didn't it. She should have just left without chatting. "Accept my apology. What I mean to say is it must be hard to travel without friends."
"They are my friends."
"Pardon me once more then. It's just that they seem more like allies than friends."
"Is there a difference?"
Kuanysh is speechless. Friends could be allies but not all allies were friends. That was like saying co-workers or classmates are friends. Perhaps friendship is among them, but they are gathering for reasoning decidedly not friendship. "Quite." It is the only word she can bring herself to say as she is flabbergasted.
"Is that so?"
If you see do difference, then there is no need to think of it is what Kuanysh wants to say but cannot bring herself to do so. She wonders whether Byleth ever truly experienced a strong relationship. She recalls a scene of Byleth crying over Jeralt. It isn't fair to label Byleth as unemotional but is stunted in some ways.
Kuanysh stands. "We probably won't meet again, but may the best come to you." Byleth's future is still uncertain in many ways. At that moment Kuanysh wanted happiness to find the kid.
"Something on your mind, kid?" Jeralt looks down at Byleth.
"The difference between a friend and ally."
"And?"
Byleth's lips twitch downward in the smallest motion.
"Still don't know."
This…was new. "What brought you to think about it then?" Jeralt glances back to check everyone was keeping up before glancing back down.
"Told they were different."
Even stranger. Byleth doesn't talk to most people. When did the chance even come up?
"People say all sorts of things, kid."
"Is it true?"
Jeralt scratches the side of his head. "Well yeah."
"I see."
"Michalis? Where have you been?" The waitress looks to her brother expectantly. He vanished in the morning leaving her to do his share of the cleaning, and it had been particularly busy the past few days.
"Someone left this here a few days ago. I found it while cleaning." He holds out a pile of papers.
She frowns. Whoever it belongs to was probably long gone. "That's noble of you but you can't ditch me for this. If they left it behind it probably isn't important anyway."
"You don't understand sis! Everyone needs read this. I've been reading it to crowds all day. It mentions everything that we—"
She takes his arm and drags him to the kitchen. "We don't have enough hands as is. Fool around later."
"Gah!" Michalis hugs the papers close to him that his sister will take it in a fit of anger.
"There you are Michalis." His dad said as he stops chopping vegetables. He escapes his sister's grasp and runs to his dad.
"Dad. Dad! You hafta read this. You just gotta."
"What's this?"
A Treatise on Government
Kuanysh leans over the edge of the ship to throw up. There is a cool breeze from the ocean yet the sun fells ten times stronger. Her vision blurs.
The sailor's apprentice approaches her with a bottle. He has given her several drinks throughout the days as her sea sickness persists. The tides are even calm that day, yet she is reduced to such a state.
"Thank you."
"Yer holding on well. I'm surprised. Most people would have asked to return."
Yes, because this is probably stupid. Kuanysh is essentially gambling whether she can get to Morfis before her body dehydrates. Thankfully the excess of preparedness on the sailor's end is really saving her.
"I apologize. I like land more."
"You won't have to struggle much longer. We'll be arriving tomorrow."
That's good.
If Kuanysh thought, her suffering would end in Morfis she was wrong. It is terribly hot. There were warnings of the country being warm with a lot of desert, but this was another level. She has been in heat waves. She has been in deserts. This was like being in the desert in the middle of summer at mid-day. Except constantly. It is so hot that her vision blurs and sometimes wonder whether she is hallucinating.
Instead of the city of illusions it should be called the city of hallucinations. Everyone memory is probably distorted from the heat.
She purchases a few fabrics from the port city to further dress herself. Some may think this would make the weather more unbearable, but it helps. In part because of the fabric, but it also prevents the heat of the sun rays directly hitting her. This also protects her from the sun burning her.
She should rest here for a few days to recoup her energy before pursuing anything else.