Fifi- Can you have Zion? **Sniffles** But I likes my Zion!
Sors- **blink blink** I have no idea. If it does, I'm surprised Ark hasn't tried it yet.
"-" Someone being cut off.
Zion's POV:
The sun beat down relentlessly on the wagon bed, interrupted only by the dappled shadows cast by the leaves of the birch trees as we passed beneath them. No breezes moved the air today, and the oppressive heat settled over the slowly withering forest. The storm that had rocked Kazas nearly a week ago evidently had never made it this far north; here the earth was dry and almost sandy, and what little grass grew along the shoulders of the road was withered and browning. Crickets, ever present, clustered in the shade of shrunken bushes chirruped endlessly to one another.
The heat wasn't only effecting the fauna. Han, the old man who had been driving the cart when we had first came upon it, had taken to dozing under a piece of dust-coated linen with a damp cloth over his forehead. The rangy red-haired man, whose name was Quint, we had learned was Han's nephew. It was he who drove now, hunched over with the reins held loosely in one hand, not really paying attention as the wearied horse slowly plodded along the lane. He had wrapped his flaming red hair in a burlap smock, letting the tail of it fall down the back of his neck. Even Ry, who had spent the first few days of the journey resolutely sweating underneath his long tattered jacket, had given into the heat. He sat leaning back against the side of the creaking wagon in a loose shirt with the collar unbuttoned, the faded black material seeming bleached brown in the sunlight. Though his pants and boots were of similarly dark colour, without the jacket the heat didn't seem to bother him as much. When I finally gave in to curiosity and asked him how he could stand it, he replied rather dryly that he'd discovered it was easier to put up with it than to try to escape it.
For my part I had removed my heavy overshirt and lay on my back in the wagon bed, hands sore and full of splinters from the rough wood. I had stowed my dragoon spirit in a makeshift pouch hanging on a cord around my neck. Out of sight beneath the fine grey wool of my shirt, it had finally stopped glowing. This was good; according to Ry, it shouldn't react on its own anymore, which was a relief. One less concern off of my mind: several more to go. Most immediate of these was the fact that I really had no idea of how to activate my dragoon spirit for my self. Ry had taken me aside when we had stopped for the night a few days ago and explained the theory to me, but it was a poor comparison to actually doing it. And although he assured me that the transformations would go much smoother than my first one, I still felt some apprehension about doing it again. But with Quint and Han around, there was really not very much that could be done.
Up ahead, Quint stirred. "We should be getting close to Seles by now. Maybe two, three hours, tops."
Ry grunted and grabbed the side of the cart to support himself as the left wagon wheel lurched in and out of a deep rut. "As long as there's a physician somewhere nearby, I don't really care. I think that my shoulder's a little worse than I thought."
"Whatever. Just as long as you remember to pay up, I don't really care what your plans are." That said, Quint turned his attention to the meandering road before him.
The wagon continued to rattle along, and after a few minutes I spoke up again, more out of boredom than any desperate need for conversation. "So what's Seles like anyway? They never had any competitions there, so I never bothered coming to this part of the country before."
"I'm not really sure. It's been a very long time."
"How long?"
He shrugged his good shoulder. "Who keeps track? Long enough to know that's probably changed from the last time I was there. It's always been a nice place though."
I give him a hard look. He didn't appear to be any older than his mid- thirties, but the way he spoke made him sound as though he was much older. "How old are you anyway?"
"Older than you." The reply was blunt. Fair enough. If he wasn't going to talk, I wasn't going to press him. Closing my eyes, I bundled up my overshirt and tucked it under my head as a pillow. I could always use some more sleep. The goddess knew I'd probably be spending the better part of the night in the first tavern I saw anyhow.
I awoke later that afternoon to Quint shaking my shoulder roughly. Knocking his hand away, I sat up and yawned, my jawbones creaking with the strain. The sun had begun its slow decent through the last quarter of the sky, but the heat still remained as heavy and oppressive as when I had slipped off earlier. Climbing down from the back of the cart, I stretched out the cramped muscles in my legs. After days spent riding in the back of that creaking contraption I was looking forward to taking a bit of a walk. Absently pulling a splinter from where it had lodged itself in the heel of my palm, I sucked on the sore spot as I made my way to the front of the wagon and pulled out my sword from where it rested under the bench. I was about to walk off when a heavy hand cuffed me on the back of the neck. Turning, I found myself looking down at Han, his usually sleepy eyes sharp.
"We kept our end of the bargain. Now it's your turn. Your friend said that you had the money?" He questioned.
"What?" I looked around, but Ry was no where to be seen. "Bastard," I muttered quietly under my breath. "How much?"
"Four hundred." Gritting my teeth, I reached for my gold. Carefully counting out the sum, I thrust it into the old man's knobby hands before stalking away, muttering underneath my breath. After moving off thirty feet or so, though, my mutterings trailed off.
Quint and Han had stopped their cart at an old storehouse that was built on a low hill overlooking Seles. From the hilltop, the rolling countryside stretched out as far as the eye could see in all directions. Here and there it was dotted with small woodlands, and off to the southwest I could just see the fringes of the larger wood that we had been travelling through that morning. Below me, Seles sprawled out haphazardly between hills, neat little houses built with every form of construction imaginable. It had the look of a small village that had grown quite quickly, before they could think of where the houses should be placed. It wasn't quite large enough to be considered a town yet, but it came close. A small brook, nearly dried up by the summer heat, meandered slowly through the village center, where the more archaic construction of the stone buildings announced the approximate location of the original village. From the midst of it all the twin spires of a church rose up, built from weathered sandstone with bright, stained glass windows.
Starting down the dusty road, I ducked into the first shop I saw. My quick expulsion from Kazas had left me with very little time to collect much of anything, and as a result I spent what gold I had left much faster than I had meant to. Most of it went toward the purchase of a piece of light armor: a thick leather vest ribbed and plated with strips and disks of blackened and beaten steel. Hardly something that would stand up to heavy blows from a sword or a direct thrust from a spear, but it was better than plain cloth and the design of it wouldn't hamper my movement very much. Rubbing what few coins I had left between my fingers as I left the shop, I stepped to one side of the road to make way for a rough-voiced farmer and his mule loaded with firewood. I probably didn't have enough money left to buy much more than a drink or two. Damn. Well, there went my plans for the night. Humming a little tunelessly to myself, I stepped back into the street.
I hadn't really intended on going anywhere in particular, but for whatever reason I soon found myself making my way towards the church that I had seen from the hilltop. I had grown up in Kazas, a town dominated by worship of the Moon Child. Anything else, even worship of Soa herself had always been considered something next to blasphemy. Even though I had been excommunicated from the temple long ago, I was still sort of curious to see what made the Moon Child so much more important than anything else.
The change from the newer area of the village to the old was quite abrupt. Old worn stone homes surrounded by somewhat newer wooden fences lined the single street, well spaced apart from one another. Chickens scratched in the dust, clucking to themselves as they strutted about. A wagon with a broken axle lay outside of a low, square building with smoke rising through a hole in the roof. From somewhere within I could hear the sound of bellows and the ring of a hammer on an anvil. Further up the road a group of young men straddled the roof of a low building, replacing the thatch of the cottage under the watchful eye of their master. A group of children ran past, laughing and waving sticks at one another as they pretended to play at battle.
The street ended at the plain wooden doors of the church. Up close it was far more impressive than from a distance. The sandstone walls were not merely weathered: they were ancient and pitted. Around the carved doorframe there was the faded remains of scorch marks; at some point in the past the church, or maybe even the whole village had been burned. The doors were opened in welcome, and surprisingly cool air drifted out from its shady interior. Climbing up the short stair, I passed through the doors and found myself standing in an aisle, blinking while my eyes tried to adjust to the change in the light.
It was different from the temple I had visited in my youth. While the temples had been composed of wide, open spaces where people stood facing a raised dais where the priests preached, here I was confronted by row upon row of wooden pews. A threadbare red carpet ran between the rows, leading up to a wooden pulpit. Unlit tallow candles stood in sconces along the bare stone walls, waiting for the night. The whole place carried about it a sense of great age and serenity that was calming somehow. Windows filled with intricate stained glass patterns filtered in light, the sunbeams streaming through to the floor taking on the colors of the glass. In the back of the church a small door was open. Beyond it I could just see well- tended grass and rows of headstones. Still curious, I made my way down the aisle and out through the side door.
The cemetery was not large, in spite of the size and age of the village. Many of the headstones had been worn away by time, erasing the engravings. In fact, the only grave marker that still seemed to be in one piece was a tall one in the back of the yard, crafted from white marble and covered in moss.
Up close, the grave was nearly as tall as I was. The one time snowy marble was weathered. Streaks of grey ran down the face of the stone, and the corners were eroding away. Moss, baked an olive brown by the heat, clung resolutely to cracks and ruts in the stone. Only a copper plaque, green with age, bore any sort of inscription, but even that had begun to wear away leaving only half of the words visible. And there at the top? Pulling away some of the moss, I brushed away the remaining dirt. As I did so, my fingers found a change in the surface of the stone. The remains of a carving, worn down until it was difficult to tell exactly what the subject of it had been. Then what about all of that moss at the bottom? Crouching down, I pulled away the moss. The marble underneath was bare, showing no signs of ever having been touched. Three feet of blank stone, and then an inscription.
Confused, I stepped back. Whoever this had been made to honor that person had been important, obviously. So then why all of the empty space?
"It was supposed to be a joint grave."
I jumped. I had been so involved in examining the stone that I hadn't heard Ry approaching. He stood near the end of the last row of graves, watching me. Or rather, looking pat me at the gravestone. Realizing that must I have spoken my thoughts aloud, I turned back to the grave far too late to cover my surprise. "What do you mean?"
"Her husband was meant to have been buried next to her."
"Oh." I glanced back at him. "How do you know?"
"I asked the residing priest here once. She was one of the dragoons I told you about. For a time, anyway. Her spirit was passed over to another part way through her journey." His expression tightened. "The cult has it now."
Again, "Oh." And then, "What do you mean 'supposed' to have been buried with her? Why wasn't he?"
For a second, Ry's expression flickered. "Disgraced himself. He left the village after that. No one knows what happened to him."
Taking the sleeve of my shirt, I rubbed hard at the copper plaque. Some of the engraving was almost readable if you guessed at the missing letters. Breathing on it, I gave it another rub. Then a thought occurred to me. "Was he a dragoon too?"
"Yes. " Ry hesitated, fiddling with his sling. "Feld, he carried the same spirit you do now." Turning quietly on heel, he started toward back toward the church at a brisk walk. I gave the plaque one last look before shaking my head. No amount of polishing would ever reveal all of the letters. Beating the dirt off of my knees, I touched the stone beneath my shirt to make sure it was still there before following.
I found Ry again on the street outside of the church, asking a passing merchant wearing a flamboyantly colored robe for directions to the nearest physician. The merchant, a round balding man whose wide face was greasy with perspiration, mopped at his brow with a smudged white handkerchief. "Physician, hmm? You'll be wanting to seek out Kenneth Whyle, in the brick house on the second street. He's not too bad, but you might have some problems getting in to see him. He's the only real healer for miles around, so you get all sorts coming to him with breaks and aliments." He shifted his weight, taking measure of us. "I hope you have a goodly amount of coin on you though. Ken charges a healthy price."
Ry inclined his head slightly to the other man. "My thanks. I didn't happen to catch your name?"
"Trebel Swin."
"Then again, my thanks, Mister Swin." He watched as the merchant walked away, bright robes straining over his bulk. His expression went slightly blank, then he turned away chuckling quietly to himself. "The second street, huh? You wouldn't happen to have any idea where that is, would you?"
"You're the one who was supposed to have been here before," I pointed out, falling in step beside him. "You better hope you have enough to pay for that healer's fees, because that stunt with the wagon just about finished me."
"You were the one who agreed to pay," he shrugged, "I mentioned no such thing." A cart rumbled by, kicking up a thick cloud of dust. Stifling a coughing fit, he covered his mouth and nose with his hand. "I think the second street should be near the outskirts along the eastern end. I noticed coming into the village that most of the businesses seem to be located in that area."
Finding the brick house wasn't too difficult. The second street wasn't really a street in the normal sense of the word. Near the very edge of the village a few shops and inns clustered together informally, separated from the rest of the village's main body by a fat strip of land and the nearly dried up creek bed. A string of dun colored tents was pitched in a lopsided line that ran past the buildings and completing the 'street'. A few mules picketed to spikes in the hard ground, doe-soft muzzles lipping the ground as they tried to find what was left of the wiry grass that still grew. The tents were the temporary residences of the wagon drivers and the few unfortunate merchants who could not afford better; the mules probably belonged to the farmers coming in from farther out in the countryside.
Crossing the narrow wooden bridge over the creek, Ry stopped and groaned. The physician's was not difficult to spot, even though it wasn't the only brick building along the road. A heavy wooden sign hung from rusted iron framework, depicting very poorly a man covered in bandages from head to foot. But what really marked it out from the rest was the small crowd of moaning and miserable people waiting in the heat outside the narrow door.
Grinning, I clapped one hand on his good shoulder. All of a sudden I felt much better about being tricked into paying Han for the lift. "Nasty. Well, I'm going to grab a drink or two. Try not to fry your brains out waiting." Not giving him a chance to respond I strolled away, whistling to myself. Much, much better.
There was an inn near the end of the street, close to where the tents were pitched. Long and squat, it looked considerably newer than the rest of the buildings along the street. That was to say that the stucco whitewash had only acquired a moderate layer of dust and the red-brown paint on the door had only just begun to peel from exposure to the sun. The shutters of the windows had been thrown open in hope of catching a breeze; the spicy smell of frying foods wafted out into the streets. I kneaded the pit of my stomach with my fist, the scent of ginger and pork reminding me that I hadn't eaten since we had broke camp early that morning. Maybe the ale could wait, just a little while. I glanced back over my shoulder at Ry, who had joined the throng milling around the physician's door. If he made it out before three in the morning, he could pay for the drinks.
After walking through the dusty, sun bleached streets the common room of the inn was comparatively dim and cool. A few people sat at scrubbed tables, sipping barley water from thick clay mugs. A slim young woman with long white-blonde hair moved gracefully from customer to customer, refilling their mugs from a pewter pitcher. She wore a light grey dress, slit up the front to show the deep blue silk skirt and shirt she wore beneath. Between one table and the next she paused fractionally and glanced in my direction, a curious expression on her face.
"Hey, buddy! You're blocking the door!"
With a start, I realized that I had been staring. Feeling my face flush slightly, I moved out of the way. Or rather, was forced out of the way as a tall, eagle-eyed woman with iron-grey hair and a regal bearing about her bulled her way past me with her arms wrapped around a sack of flour.
"Well? Are you just going to stand there all day gaping like an idiot? If you want to be served, grab a chair and sit down." Giving me a hard look, the eagle-eyed woman swept away.
Hastily I did as I was told, but stood up again almost immediately. Ducking out of my shoulder belt, I propped my sword up against the table before sitting back down again. Soa, why did I have to be such an idiot? Keeping my eyes resolutely on the tabletop, I didn't look up as a clay mug filled with barley water was set down on the table before me. When I finally risked raising my eyes again, the serving woman was no where to be seen. Exhaling, I reached for the mug and took a cautious sip. The ground barley floating about in it gave it an odd taste, but it had been sweetened with sugar and it was cool. Not what I would have chosen to drink, but- I took another sip- it wasn't all that bad.
I had almost finished my first mug when the sound of commotion of some sort came from behind the door I assumed led to the kitchens. The other patrons at the tables paused with their forks halfway to their mouths as the sound of clattering pans and raised voices echoed through the room.
"Quick, someone grab the child! Before she- Rem! Get her away from-!" The voice I recognized as belonging to the eagle-woman was lost in a child's happy shriek, followed by something that sounded something like a muffled 'woomph'. Moments later the door to the kitchen swung open and a little girl covered head to toe in flour ran squealing into the room, leaving a trail of powdery footprints on the floor behind her. Skidding to a halt in the middle of the room her eyes darted back and forth as she scanned the room, presumably for a place to hide. Her eyes swept over me indiscriminately then snapped back as she did a noticeable double take. And with a shriek that made me cringe, she flung herself on me.
"ZION!"
Between floury kisses, I managed to get my hands around the child's lap and lift her up onto the table, though it was no easy task. With much of the flour now transferred from her face to my shirt and hair, I realized who I was looking at it. "Tabby? Tab, what are you doing here?"
"Zion?!" Feeling rather stunned, I looked up in time to see Remmy bustle into the room, hands on her hips. In a heartbeat she had swept across the room and caught me by the ear, forcing me to my feet. With a happy little yelp Tabby sprung from the tabletop to my shoulders and hung there while Remmy dragged me unceremoniously toward the kitchens, still holding tight to my earlobe.
The kitchen was a large room with a low ceiling and narrow windows covered by slatted shutters. A heavy iron oven filled with hot coals occupied the far wall; thick slabs of meat sizzling and spitting in blackened pans on the stovetop. Thick earthen spice pots hung on hooks above it, where someone working the stove could easily reach them. Long curved chopping knives rested on the rack of a nearby shelf, next to a fat pot that a child could easily have used as a bathtub. Scarred worktables stretched the length of the room; large wooden barrels filled with this and that lying partially hidden beneath them. Three or four women wearing blue checked aprons bustled to and fro between the tables and the oven, carrying armloads of skinned potatoes and carrots, sidestepping a heap of flour in the middle of the floor. The woman I had seen serving the tables outside earlier crouched over it, her face fixed in a frown as she tried to scoop the powdery mess back into a burst burlap sack. Unfortunately, I didn't get much more of a chance to look around.
"Ow, ow, ow, OUCH! Remmy, let go!" Pulling painfully away from her grip as she shut the kitchen door behind her, I rubbed my ear and glared at her. "Nice to see you too! Aren't you even happy I made it out of there with my hide intact?"
"Oh course I am you big lug!" Returning my glare, she pulled Tabby down from my shoulders and sat her down on the floor. "Just not here!"
"What's wrong with here?" I retorted, feeling a little sullen. I knew she was a motherly sort of woman, but dragging me around by my ears? I was twenty-five for crying out loud! Straightening up, I hit my head on the low beams of the ceiling.
Looking up at us from the floor, Tabby laughed again and scampered off past her mother. Patting her daughter's head absently as she passed, Remmy fixed me with a hard look. "I hope for your own sake that you've only just arrived." When I nodded a confirmation, some of the tension seemed to leave her. "Good. If you're lucky, you may have escaped notice."
I eased around until my back was to a flour-covered stool. Sitting down, I rubbed the top of my head gently. "Huh? What do you mean?"
"A patrol of guardsmen came through here yesterday," she said, "looking for you. They moved on north this morning, but they left behind a half dozen men." Her face softened. "Zion, what happened in Kazas? They won't stop cautioning people about how dangerous you are, but they won't give any reasons."
My mind spun. "What? They're here already?" Stupid of me. There was more than one road to Seles, and the pigeons between temples had probably been as thick as a swarm of bees the night of my escape. Of course they had beaten us to Seles. "I mean, well, uh-" I shook my head, then brushed the hair back from my face. "Remmy, it's probably better if you didn't know. Safer, I mean. For both of us," I added, as her face clouded. "I'm still trying to come to terms with it."
Remmy gave me a long look, then finally turned away. "I guess if you say so," she said resignedly. Plucking Tabby up off the floor, she passed her to me. "You probably won't be staying here for long, then, will you?" Without waiting for an answer she dusted her hands off on her apron and picked up a chopping knife. Moving to the nearest table, she began chopping carrots with quick, rocking motions. "At least get a decent meal while you're here. And I'll talk to Faye; if we have a free room tonight, you could probably use that as well."
"Faye?" I asked, disentangling Tabby's hands from my hair.
"She owns the inn with her daughter. Faye was kind enough to hire me on as a cook."
"You'll do well with that, then."
"Don't flatter me, Zion. Just find an out of the way spot and sit quietly and wait." She half-turned. "Mariko, dear? There should be a ridiculously oversized sword at the table where Zion was sitting. Would you be kind enough to retrieve it before anyone starts asking questions?"
The serving woman hefted the bag of ruined flour up onto one of the tables. Blowing a few long strands of white-blonde hair out of her eyes, she nodded to Remmy and slipped out of the kitchen. I glanced over at Remmy. "Mariko?"
"Faye's daughter. She's a mute, poor thing." Pushing the chopped carrots aside, she reached for a wrinkled turnip. "Her father was a wingly, apparently."
"She's a part bred?" Accepting a steaming plate of what looked like some sort of meat pie from one of the cooks, I picked up a fork and dug in. I burned my tongue a little with the first bite, but was too hungry to care. Besides, it tasted good.
I finished my meal in silence, listening to the chatter of the other cooks. Mariko came back in carrying my sword in both hands, the weapon actually taller than she was. Propping it up in the corner of the room, she took her pewter jug from where she had left it and disappeared back out into the main room. The next to come in was the eagle-eyed woman, whom by the way Remmy deferred to her I assumed that she must have been Faye. They spoke together quietly for a time, their words not reaching my ears over the clatter of dishes. At last they seemed to come to some sort of an agreement and Remmy bobbed a quick curtsy to the other woman before coming over to me.
"Faye said that there's a room left near the end of the hall. It's a little on the small side, but it should serve. Now go pick up that log- chopper of yours, before it falls over and breaks someone's foot. Tabby can show you to your room." Tabby, who had been sitting on the table munching on the crust of my pie, hopped down onto the floor and grabbed my arm. "C'mon Zion. Bedtime for you!" Pulling me along as I tried to get the strap of my sword belt over my head, she led me out into the main room.
The common room was crowded with people now, most of the tables occupied by merchants and tired looking villagers. The buzz of conversation filled the air, accompanied by the clink of knives against plates. Lamps burned along the walls, the wax candles inside them sending off almost no smoke. For the most part no one paid us any mind as we passed, but just before we reached the door to the hallway I noticed Ry seated at a corner table. He must have been quick at the physician's.
"Tab, hold on for a minute, will you?" Tugging my arm from her grasp, I wove my way through the maze of tables until I reached the dark man. Ry didn't look up as I approached, but he kicked a chair out from the table. Taking the hint, I sat, "You were quick."
He made a face. "I think that idiot charged extra for every bandage he used. The price is right, and I can hardly move my torso for being wrapped in the stuff." Taking a drink from his mug, he glanced over at me and lowered his voice. "I found you a fight, by the way."
"What?"
"You wanted a chance to try out your spirit again, correct? There's a village to the north, near the limestone caves. It's been infested by Urbolis. That's why there were so many injured waiting to get into Whyle's."
"Urbolis? What are they?"
"Huge serpents. They don't usually come out of the caves though, is what puzzles me." He stared into his mug, swilling the contents around in the bottom. "Anyway, it's something that needs to be dealt with. You'd better make sure you get some sleep tonight."
I grunted. "There's guardsmen in the village by the way. Came yesterday."
Ry nodded grimly. "I thought as much. I'll take care of them if anything needs to be done. You just go get some rest."
If I spelt Urbolis wrong, someone please tell me. Spelling is not my strong point, and my spell checker obviously will tell me that anything out of a video game is spelt wrong. -.-
Sors- **blink blink** I have no idea. If it does, I'm surprised Ark hasn't tried it yet.
"-" Someone being cut off.
Zion's POV:
The sun beat down relentlessly on the wagon bed, interrupted only by the dappled shadows cast by the leaves of the birch trees as we passed beneath them. No breezes moved the air today, and the oppressive heat settled over the slowly withering forest. The storm that had rocked Kazas nearly a week ago evidently had never made it this far north; here the earth was dry and almost sandy, and what little grass grew along the shoulders of the road was withered and browning. Crickets, ever present, clustered in the shade of shrunken bushes chirruped endlessly to one another.
The heat wasn't only effecting the fauna. Han, the old man who had been driving the cart when we had first came upon it, had taken to dozing under a piece of dust-coated linen with a damp cloth over his forehead. The rangy red-haired man, whose name was Quint, we had learned was Han's nephew. It was he who drove now, hunched over with the reins held loosely in one hand, not really paying attention as the wearied horse slowly plodded along the lane. He had wrapped his flaming red hair in a burlap smock, letting the tail of it fall down the back of his neck. Even Ry, who had spent the first few days of the journey resolutely sweating underneath his long tattered jacket, had given into the heat. He sat leaning back against the side of the creaking wagon in a loose shirt with the collar unbuttoned, the faded black material seeming bleached brown in the sunlight. Though his pants and boots were of similarly dark colour, without the jacket the heat didn't seem to bother him as much. When I finally gave in to curiosity and asked him how he could stand it, he replied rather dryly that he'd discovered it was easier to put up with it than to try to escape it.
For my part I had removed my heavy overshirt and lay on my back in the wagon bed, hands sore and full of splinters from the rough wood. I had stowed my dragoon spirit in a makeshift pouch hanging on a cord around my neck. Out of sight beneath the fine grey wool of my shirt, it had finally stopped glowing. This was good; according to Ry, it shouldn't react on its own anymore, which was a relief. One less concern off of my mind: several more to go. Most immediate of these was the fact that I really had no idea of how to activate my dragoon spirit for my self. Ry had taken me aside when we had stopped for the night a few days ago and explained the theory to me, but it was a poor comparison to actually doing it. And although he assured me that the transformations would go much smoother than my first one, I still felt some apprehension about doing it again. But with Quint and Han around, there was really not very much that could be done.
Up ahead, Quint stirred. "We should be getting close to Seles by now. Maybe two, three hours, tops."
Ry grunted and grabbed the side of the cart to support himself as the left wagon wheel lurched in and out of a deep rut. "As long as there's a physician somewhere nearby, I don't really care. I think that my shoulder's a little worse than I thought."
"Whatever. Just as long as you remember to pay up, I don't really care what your plans are." That said, Quint turned his attention to the meandering road before him.
The wagon continued to rattle along, and after a few minutes I spoke up again, more out of boredom than any desperate need for conversation. "So what's Seles like anyway? They never had any competitions there, so I never bothered coming to this part of the country before."
"I'm not really sure. It's been a very long time."
"How long?"
He shrugged his good shoulder. "Who keeps track? Long enough to know that's probably changed from the last time I was there. It's always been a nice place though."
I give him a hard look. He didn't appear to be any older than his mid- thirties, but the way he spoke made him sound as though he was much older. "How old are you anyway?"
"Older than you." The reply was blunt. Fair enough. If he wasn't going to talk, I wasn't going to press him. Closing my eyes, I bundled up my overshirt and tucked it under my head as a pillow. I could always use some more sleep. The goddess knew I'd probably be spending the better part of the night in the first tavern I saw anyhow.
I awoke later that afternoon to Quint shaking my shoulder roughly. Knocking his hand away, I sat up and yawned, my jawbones creaking with the strain. The sun had begun its slow decent through the last quarter of the sky, but the heat still remained as heavy and oppressive as when I had slipped off earlier. Climbing down from the back of the cart, I stretched out the cramped muscles in my legs. After days spent riding in the back of that creaking contraption I was looking forward to taking a bit of a walk. Absently pulling a splinter from where it had lodged itself in the heel of my palm, I sucked on the sore spot as I made my way to the front of the wagon and pulled out my sword from where it rested under the bench. I was about to walk off when a heavy hand cuffed me on the back of the neck. Turning, I found myself looking down at Han, his usually sleepy eyes sharp.
"We kept our end of the bargain. Now it's your turn. Your friend said that you had the money?" He questioned.
"What?" I looked around, but Ry was no where to be seen. "Bastard," I muttered quietly under my breath. "How much?"
"Four hundred." Gritting my teeth, I reached for my gold. Carefully counting out the sum, I thrust it into the old man's knobby hands before stalking away, muttering underneath my breath. After moving off thirty feet or so, though, my mutterings trailed off.
Quint and Han had stopped their cart at an old storehouse that was built on a low hill overlooking Seles. From the hilltop, the rolling countryside stretched out as far as the eye could see in all directions. Here and there it was dotted with small woodlands, and off to the southwest I could just see the fringes of the larger wood that we had been travelling through that morning. Below me, Seles sprawled out haphazardly between hills, neat little houses built with every form of construction imaginable. It had the look of a small village that had grown quite quickly, before they could think of where the houses should be placed. It wasn't quite large enough to be considered a town yet, but it came close. A small brook, nearly dried up by the summer heat, meandered slowly through the village center, where the more archaic construction of the stone buildings announced the approximate location of the original village. From the midst of it all the twin spires of a church rose up, built from weathered sandstone with bright, stained glass windows.
Starting down the dusty road, I ducked into the first shop I saw. My quick expulsion from Kazas had left me with very little time to collect much of anything, and as a result I spent what gold I had left much faster than I had meant to. Most of it went toward the purchase of a piece of light armor: a thick leather vest ribbed and plated with strips and disks of blackened and beaten steel. Hardly something that would stand up to heavy blows from a sword or a direct thrust from a spear, but it was better than plain cloth and the design of it wouldn't hamper my movement very much. Rubbing what few coins I had left between my fingers as I left the shop, I stepped to one side of the road to make way for a rough-voiced farmer and his mule loaded with firewood. I probably didn't have enough money left to buy much more than a drink or two. Damn. Well, there went my plans for the night. Humming a little tunelessly to myself, I stepped back into the street.
I hadn't really intended on going anywhere in particular, but for whatever reason I soon found myself making my way towards the church that I had seen from the hilltop. I had grown up in Kazas, a town dominated by worship of the Moon Child. Anything else, even worship of Soa herself had always been considered something next to blasphemy. Even though I had been excommunicated from the temple long ago, I was still sort of curious to see what made the Moon Child so much more important than anything else.
The change from the newer area of the village to the old was quite abrupt. Old worn stone homes surrounded by somewhat newer wooden fences lined the single street, well spaced apart from one another. Chickens scratched in the dust, clucking to themselves as they strutted about. A wagon with a broken axle lay outside of a low, square building with smoke rising through a hole in the roof. From somewhere within I could hear the sound of bellows and the ring of a hammer on an anvil. Further up the road a group of young men straddled the roof of a low building, replacing the thatch of the cottage under the watchful eye of their master. A group of children ran past, laughing and waving sticks at one another as they pretended to play at battle.
The street ended at the plain wooden doors of the church. Up close it was far more impressive than from a distance. The sandstone walls were not merely weathered: they were ancient and pitted. Around the carved doorframe there was the faded remains of scorch marks; at some point in the past the church, or maybe even the whole village had been burned. The doors were opened in welcome, and surprisingly cool air drifted out from its shady interior. Climbing up the short stair, I passed through the doors and found myself standing in an aisle, blinking while my eyes tried to adjust to the change in the light.
It was different from the temple I had visited in my youth. While the temples had been composed of wide, open spaces where people stood facing a raised dais where the priests preached, here I was confronted by row upon row of wooden pews. A threadbare red carpet ran between the rows, leading up to a wooden pulpit. Unlit tallow candles stood in sconces along the bare stone walls, waiting for the night. The whole place carried about it a sense of great age and serenity that was calming somehow. Windows filled with intricate stained glass patterns filtered in light, the sunbeams streaming through to the floor taking on the colors of the glass. In the back of the church a small door was open. Beyond it I could just see well- tended grass and rows of headstones. Still curious, I made my way down the aisle and out through the side door.
The cemetery was not large, in spite of the size and age of the village. Many of the headstones had been worn away by time, erasing the engravings. In fact, the only grave marker that still seemed to be in one piece was a tall one in the back of the yard, crafted from white marble and covered in moss.
Up close, the grave was nearly as tall as I was. The one time snowy marble was weathered. Streaks of grey ran down the face of the stone, and the corners were eroding away. Moss, baked an olive brown by the heat, clung resolutely to cracks and ruts in the stone. Only a copper plaque, green with age, bore any sort of inscription, but even that had begun to wear away leaving only half of the words visible. And there at the top? Pulling away some of the moss, I brushed away the remaining dirt. As I did so, my fingers found a change in the surface of the stone. The remains of a carving, worn down until it was difficult to tell exactly what the subject of it had been. Then what about all of that moss at the bottom? Crouching down, I pulled away the moss. The marble underneath was bare, showing no signs of ever having been touched. Three feet of blank stone, and then an inscription.
Confused, I stepped back. Whoever this had been made to honor that person had been important, obviously. So then why all of the empty space?
"It was supposed to be a joint grave."
I jumped. I had been so involved in examining the stone that I hadn't heard Ry approaching. He stood near the end of the last row of graves, watching me. Or rather, looking pat me at the gravestone. Realizing that must I have spoken my thoughts aloud, I turned back to the grave far too late to cover my surprise. "What do you mean?"
"Her husband was meant to have been buried next to her."
"Oh." I glanced back at him. "How do you know?"
"I asked the residing priest here once. She was one of the dragoons I told you about. For a time, anyway. Her spirit was passed over to another part way through her journey." His expression tightened. "The cult has it now."
Again, "Oh." And then, "What do you mean 'supposed' to have been buried with her? Why wasn't he?"
For a second, Ry's expression flickered. "Disgraced himself. He left the village after that. No one knows what happened to him."
Taking the sleeve of my shirt, I rubbed hard at the copper plaque. Some of the engraving was almost readable if you guessed at the missing letters. Breathing on it, I gave it another rub. Then a thought occurred to me. "Was he a dragoon too?"
"Yes. " Ry hesitated, fiddling with his sling. "Feld, he carried the same spirit you do now." Turning quietly on heel, he started toward back toward the church at a brisk walk. I gave the plaque one last look before shaking my head. No amount of polishing would ever reveal all of the letters. Beating the dirt off of my knees, I touched the stone beneath my shirt to make sure it was still there before following.
I found Ry again on the street outside of the church, asking a passing merchant wearing a flamboyantly colored robe for directions to the nearest physician. The merchant, a round balding man whose wide face was greasy with perspiration, mopped at his brow with a smudged white handkerchief. "Physician, hmm? You'll be wanting to seek out Kenneth Whyle, in the brick house on the second street. He's not too bad, but you might have some problems getting in to see him. He's the only real healer for miles around, so you get all sorts coming to him with breaks and aliments." He shifted his weight, taking measure of us. "I hope you have a goodly amount of coin on you though. Ken charges a healthy price."
Ry inclined his head slightly to the other man. "My thanks. I didn't happen to catch your name?"
"Trebel Swin."
"Then again, my thanks, Mister Swin." He watched as the merchant walked away, bright robes straining over his bulk. His expression went slightly blank, then he turned away chuckling quietly to himself. "The second street, huh? You wouldn't happen to have any idea where that is, would you?"
"You're the one who was supposed to have been here before," I pointed out, falling in step beside him. "You better hope you have enough to pay for that healer's fees, because that stunt with the wagon just about finished me."
"You were the one who agreed to pay," he shrugged, "I mentioned no such thing." A cart rumbled by, kicking up a thick cloud of dust. Stifling a coughing fit, he covered his mouth and nose with his hand. "I think the second street should be near the outskirts along the eastern end. I noticed coming into the village that most of the businesses seem to be located in that area."
Finding the brick house wasn't too difficult. The second street wasn't really a street in the normal sense of the word. Near the very edge of the village a few shops and inns clustered together informally, separated from the rest of the village's main body by a fat strip of land and the nearly dried up creek bed. A string of dun colored tents was pitched in a lopsided line that ran past the buildings and completing the 'street'. A few mules picketed to spikes in the hard ground, doe-soft muzzles lipping the ground as they tried to find what was left of the wiry grass that still grew. The tents were the temporary residences of the wagon drivers and the few unfortunate merchants who could not afford better; the mules probably belonged to the farmers coming in from farther out in the countryside.
Crossing the narrow wooden bridge over the creek, Ry stopped and groaned. The physician's was not difficult to spot, even though it wasn't the only brick building along the road. A heavy wooden sign hung from rusted iron framework, depicting very poorly a man covered in bandages from head to foot. But what really marked it out from the rest was the small crowd of moaning and miserable people waiting in the heat outside the narrow door.
Grinning, I clapped one hand on his good shoulder. All of a sudden I felt much better about being tricked into paying Han for the lift. "Nasty. Well, I'm going to grab a drink or two. Try not to fry your brains out waiting." Not giving him a chance to respond I strolled away, whistling to myself. Much, much better.
There was an inn near the end of the street, close to where the tents were pitched. Long and squat, it looked considerably newer than the rest of the buildings along the street. That was to say that the stucco whitewash had only acquired a moderate layer of dust and the red-brown paint on the door had only just begun to peel from exposure to the sun. The shutters of the windows had been thrown open in hope of catching a breeze; the spicy smell of frying foods wafted out into the streets. I kneaded the pit of my stomach with my fist, the scent of ginger and pork reminding me that I hadn't eaten since we had broke camp early that morning. Maybe the ale could wait, just a little while. I glanced back over my shoulder at Ry, who had joined the throng milling around the physician's door. If he made it out before three in the morning, he could pay for the drinks.
After walking through the dusty, sun bleached streets the common room of the inn was comparatively dim and cool. A few people sat at scrubbed tables, sipping barley water from thick clay mugs. A slim young woman with long white-blonde hair moved gracefully from customer to customer, refilling their mugs from a pewter pitcher. She wore a light grey dress, slit up the front to show the deep blue silk skirt and shirt she wore beneath. Between one table and the next she paused fractionally and glanced in my direction, a curious expression on her face.
"Hey, buddy! You're blocking the door!"
With a start, I realized that I had been staring. Feeling my face flush slightly, I moved out of the way. Or rather, was forced out of the way as a tall, eagle-eyed woman with iron-grey hair and a regal bearing about her bulled her way past me with her arms wrapped around a sack of flour.
"Well? Are you just going to stand there all day gaping like an idiot? If you want to be served, grab a chair and sit down." Giving me a hard look, the eagle-eyed woman swept away.
Hastily I did as I was told, but stood up again almost immediately. Ducking out of my shoulder belt, I propped my sword up against the table before sitting back down again. Soa, why did I have to be such an idiot? Keeping my eyes resolutely on the tabletop, I didn't look up as a clay mug filled with barley water was set down on the table before me. When I finally risked raising my eyes again, the serving woman was no where to be seen. Exhaling, I reached for the mug and took a cautious sip. The ground barley floating about in it gave it an odd taste, but it had been sweetened with sugar and it was cool. Not what I would have chosen to drink, but- I took another sip- it wasn't all that bad.
I had almost finished my first mug when the sound of commotion of some sort came from behind the door I assumed led to the kitchens. The other patrons at the tables paused with their forks halfway to their mouths as the sound of clattering pans and raised voices echoed through the room.
"Quick, someone grab the child! Before she- Rem! Get her away from-!" The voice I recognized as belonging to the eagle-woman was lost in a child's happy shriek, followed by something that sounded something like a muffled 'woomph'. Moments later the door to the kitchen swung open and a little girl covered head to toe in flour ran squealing into the room, leaving a trail of powdery footprints on the floor behind her. Skidding to a halt in the middle of the room her eyes darted back and forth as she scanned the room, presumably for a place to hide. Her eyes swept over me indiscriminately then snapped back as she did a noticeable double take. And with a shriek that made me cringe, she flung herself on me.
"ZION!"
Between floury kisses, I managed to get my hands around the child's lap and lift her up onto the table, though it was no easy task. With much of the flour now transferred from her face to my shirt and hair, I realized who I was looking at it. "Tabby? Tab, what are you doing here?"
"Zion?!" Feeling rather stunned, I looked up in time to see Remmy bustle into the room, hands on her hips. In a heartbeat she had swept across the room and caught me by the ear, forcing me to my feet. With a happy little yelp Tabby sprung from the tabletop to my shoulders and hung there while Remmy dragged me unceremoniously toward the kitchens, still holding tight to my earlobe.
The kitchen was a large room with a low ceiling and narrow windows covered by slatted shutters. A heavy iron oven filled with hot coals occupied the far wall; thick slabs of meat sizzling and spitting in blackened pans on the stovetop. Thick earthen spice pots hung on hooks above it, where someone working the stove could easily reach them. Long curved chopping knives rested on the rack of a nearby shelf, next to a fat pot that a child could easily have used as a bathtub. Scarred worktables stretched the length of the room; large wooden barrels filled with this and that lying partially hidden beneath them. Three or four women wearing blue checked aprons bustled to and fro between the tables and the oven, carrying armloads of skinned potatoes and carrots, sidestepping a heap of flour in the middle of the floor. The woman I had seen serving the tables outside earlier crouched over it, her face fixed in a frown as she tried to scoop the powdery mess back into a burst burlap sack. Unfortunately, I didn't get much more of a chance to look around.
"Ow, ow, ow, OUCH! Remmy, let go!" Pulling painfully away from her grip as she shut the kitchen door behind her, I rubbed my ear and glared at her. "Nice to see you too! Aren't you even happy I made it out of there with my hide intact?"
"Oh course I am you big lug!" Returning my glare, she pulled Tabby down from my shoulders and sat her down on the floor. "Just not here!"
"What's wrong with here?" I retorted, feeling a little sullen. I knew she was a motherly sort of woman, but dragging me around by my ears? I was twenty-five for crying out loud! Straightening up, I hit my head on the low beams of the ceiling.
Looking up at us from the floor, Tabby laughed again and scampered off past her mother. Patting her daughter's head absently as she passed, Remmy fixed me with a hard look. "I hope for your own sake that you've only just arrived." When I nodded a confirmation, some of the tension seemed to leave her. "Good. If you're lucky, you may have escaped notice."
I eased around until my back was to a flour-covered stool. Sitting down, I rubbed the top of my head gently. "Huh? What do you mean?"
"A patrol of guardsmen came through here yesterday," she said, "looking for you. They moved on north this morning, but they left behind a half dozen men." Her face softened. "Zion, what happened in Kazas? They won't stop cautioning people about how dangerous you are, but they won't give any reasons."
My mind spun. "What? They're here already?" Stupid of me. There was more than one road to Seles, and the pigeons between temples had probably been as thick as a swarm of bees the night of my escape. Of course they had beaten us to Seles. "I mean, well, uh-" I shook my head, then brushed the hair back from my face. "Remmy, it's probably better if you didn't know. Safer, I mean. For both of us," I added, as her face clouded. "I'm still trying to come to terms with it."
Remmy gave me a long look, then finally turned away. "I guess if you say so," she said resignedly. Plucking Tabby up off the floor, she passed her to me. "You probably won't be staying here for long, then, will you?" Without waiting for an answer she dusted her hands off on her apron and picked up a chopping knife. Moving to the nearest table, she began chopping carrots with quick, rocking motions. "At least get a decent meal while you're here. And I'll talk to Faye; if we have a free room tonight, you could probably use that as well."
"Faye?" I asked, disentangling Tabby's hands from my hair.
"She owns the inn with her daughter. Faye was kind enough to hire me on as a cook."
"You'll do well with that, then."
"Don't flatter me, Zion. Just find an out of the way spot and sit quietly and wait." She half-turned. "Mariko, dear? There should be a ridiculously oversized sword at the table where Zion was sitting. Would you be kind enough to retrieve it before anyone starts asking questions?"
The serving woman hefted the bag of ruined flour up onto one of the tables. Blowing a few long strands of white-blonde hair out of her eyes, she nodded to Remmy and slipped out of the kitchen. I glanced over at Remmy. "Mariko?"
"Faye's daughter. She's a mute, poor thing." Pushing the chopped carrots aside, she reached for a wrinkled turnip. "Her father was a wingly, apparently."
"She's a part bred?" Accepting a steaming plate of what looked like some sort of meat pie from one of the cooks, I picked up a fork and dug in. I burned my tongue a little with the first bite, but was too hungry to care. Besides, it tasted good.
I finished my meal in silence, listening to the chatter of the other cooks. Mariko came back in carrying my sword in both hands, the weapon actually taller than she was. Propping it up in the corner of the room, she took her pewter jug from where she had left it and disappeared back out into the main room. The next to come in was the eagle-eyed woman, whom by the way Remmy deferred to her I assumed that she must have been Faye. They spoke together quietly for a time, their words not reaching my ears over the clatter of dishes. At last they seemed to come to some sort of an agreement and Remmy bobbed a quick curtsy to the other woman before coming over to me.
"Faye said that there's a room left near the end of the hall. It's a little on the small side, but it should serve. Now go pick up that log- chopper of yours, before it falls over and breaks someone's foot. Tabby can show you to your room." Tabby, who had been sitting on the table munching on the crust of my pie, hopped down onto the floor and grabbed my arm. "C'mon Zion. Bedtime for you!" Pulling me along as I tried to get the strap of my sword belt over my head, she led me out into the main room.
The common room was crowded with people now, most of the tables occupied by merchants and tired looking villagers. The buzz of conversation filled the air, accompanied by the clink of knives against plates. Lamps burned along the walls, the wax candles inside them sending off almost no smoke. For the most part no one paid us any mind as we passed, but just before we reached the door to the hallway I noticed Ry seated at a corner table. He must have been quick at the physician's.
"Tab, hold on for a minute, will you?" Tugging my arm from her grasp, I wove my way through the maze of tables until I reached the dark man. Ry didn't look up as I approached, but he kicked a chair out from the table. Taking the hint, I sat, "You were quick."
He made a face. "I think that idiot charged extra for every bandage he used. The price is right, and I can hardly move my torso for being wrapped in the stuff." Taking a drink from his mug, he glanced over at me and lowered his voice. "I found you a fight, by the way."
"What?"
"You wanted a chance to try out your spirit again, correct? There's a village to the north, near the limestone caves. It's been infested by Urbolis. That's why there were so many injured waiting to get into Whyle's."
"Urbolis? What are they?"
"Huge serpents. They don't usually come out of the caves though, is what puzzles me." He stared into his mug, swilling the contents around in the bottom. "Anyway, it's something that needs to be dealt with. You'd better make sure you get some sleep tonight."
I grunted. "There's guardsmen in the village by the way. Came yesterday."
Ry nodded grimly. "I thought as much. I'll take care of them if anything needs to be done. You just go get some rest."
If I spelt Urbolis wrong, someone please tell me. Spelling is not my strong point, and my spell checker obviously will tell me that anything out of a video game is spelt wrong. -.-