Chapter 8
Quest: Craftsman
It had only taken Bea until mid morning to work out why Hidden Ember felt a little…off. Erend was gone, and his absence had left a slightly uncomfortable pit in her stomach. She hadn't realised that she'd been quite so hyper aware of his presence, yet, from the moment she'd awoken, she'd felt like something was missing. As if there had been a change in the underlying vibrations of the camp that caused the thrumming, unsettling discord that came with being slightly out of tune.
The previous day she'd been able to hear him every now and then as she'd busied herself setting up the interior of her tent. His booming voice was strangely comforting, drifting through her open windows, words indiscernible but baritone instantly recognisable. Each time she'd pause what she was doing and look towards the direction of his voice. She'd consider going to find him, to work up the courage to thank him properly just as she'd promised herself she would. But then she'd allow herself to get distracted by the next chest waiting to be unpacked, telling herself that she'd just do one more task before tracking him down, and so another hour would slip past.
Now it seemed as though she'd missed her chance. According to Abadund, Erend and Morlund had left at sunrise with a handful of Vanguardsmen on 'important business'. The shard counter had delivered the news in his usual clipped fashion, barely looking up from his books, and Bea was grateful he didn't see her disappointed expression before she slunk away, unable to voice her next question...when would he be back?
She'd picked at her breakfast for a little while before giving up on her meal in favour of wandering the camp aimlessly, reluctant to return to her tent. Yesterday she'd happily spent most of the day inside the stuffy confines, thrilled to find that her fastidious packing back in Meridian had paid off…that was until she'd come across the box that held her kora. Trepidation had flooded her when she'd discovered the badly damaged crate, her hands trembling a little as she'd pried off the lid and gently pulled the instrument from its bed of wood shavings. Her worst fears were confirmed and she'd sunk back on her heels, cradling it against her chest as though it were an injured child rather than an old kora suffering from a cracked neck and several snapped strings.
For a while she'd just stared at her beloved instrument blankly, not quite able to process the state it was in. She had wanted to keep it close by her side throughout the trek west, ironically she had worried that it would get damaged during the long journey if she kept it in its usual, bulky travel case. It was smaller than most kora's, made for a child's hands, but it was still awkward to transport during a long journey thanks to its wide body and long, delicate neck. So instead she had stowed the instrument away in a well padded crate and her smaller dorma had taken its place by her side. But, when the caravan had been attacked, all her tedious packing had not been enough to save the crate from being trampled by the Behemoth. Or perhaps the container had been crushed by her cart when it flipped. Either way, both it and its contents were severely damaged and the sight of it caused a rush of moisture to blur her vision.
Bea knew it would seem trivial to others, it was just an instrument after all, not even a particularly rare or expensive one, despite its unusual size. But it had been the first instrument she'd ever owned. Her father had made it for her when she was little, she had a fractured memory of sitting patiently on the woven reed mat, watching as he painted the intricate flowers and leaves that twined around its fat body and long neck.
She could dimly recall the looks of pride on her parents' faces as she'd learned to play the heavily stringed instrument. The joy she'd felt as she'd plucked each note, thumbs and forefingers stretching to weave the melody. Age had faded the images, just as it had washed out the memories of her parents. Somehow she had managed to keep the kora with her throughout the years since she'd been ripped from her homeland as a child. Just like her, it had survived the Red Raids and harrowing journey east, its sweet notes keeping her bound to the earth when gusts of grief threatened to uproot her. Something in her chest twisted at the thought that she may never get to play it again.
"It needs to be bigger!"
Bea blinked as a woman's voice, young and decidedly stubborn, dragged her back to the present. She was standing on the elevated deck that ringed the base of the tower, the late afternoon sun warming her shoulders as she leant against the railing that overlooked the settlement. From here she could see most of what was going on in Hidden Ember, from the stonemasons and carpenters who were beginning to rebuild the ancient structures scattered about the settlement, to Darold's mercenaries who were carrying out the last of the repairs on the wagons as they prepared to head back towards Meridian for the next shipment of supplies. Morlund's orb floated serenely in the mid distance and, beyond that, she could just make out a patrol of Freebooters as they marched the perimeter of the camp. The only perch that offered a better view was Stemmur's balcony several levels above, its elevated position allowing a clear line of sight over the tops of the buildings toward the horizon.
She'd seen Erend standing in this very spot more than once in the few short days she'd been here and her cheeks heated as she realised that she was subconsciously mirroring his pose, palms resting on the ancient wood as she gazed out over the fledgling settlement. She straightened, belly giving a slow roll as, yet again, her thoughts were pulled back to the broad shouldered Oseram. They had been doing that with dismaying regularity, even more so since their encounter the previous night and his subsequent disappearance. Bea groaned, fighting the urge to sink her face into her hands at the memory, the latest in a growing list of awkward encounters.
Although she'd been thinking of him for most of the morning, Erend had still managed to take her by surprise yesterday when he'd appeared on the platform that served as a mooring dock for Morlund's contraption. Her dismay at discovering that her kora was damaged had temporarily pushed all thoughts of him from her mind completely and her intention to thank him before nightfall had subsequently taken a back seat. Some time after her grim discovery, Morlund had appeared at the doorway of her tent with an offer to show her his latest invention and she'd stared at the heavyset tinker for a moment, frowning, before finally accepting his offer with a jerky nod. She'd felt caught up in a haze as she'd emerged into the early evening air, knees and back stiff from sitting too long on the hard ground, stumbling a little as she'd followed Morlund over soft sand to where his balloon was tethered. The barrage of his words had washed over her, abundant and strangely comforting as they flowed around the edges of her melancholy.
Then Erend had appeared as if from thin air, his blue grey eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled down at her in a way that robbed her of breath. He'd spoken and the rich timbre of his voice had scrambled her brain all over again, effectively stealing the words from her throat. Any plans she'd had for thanking him had fled the second he'd materialised in front of her. She could only stare at him, painfully aware that, yet again, he was looking at her with a puzzled tilt of his head. By the time she'd managed to regain her senses he'd already turned away, drawn into a conversation with Morlund. So once again she'd run away like a fool, robbing herself of yet another opportunity to talk to him. Perhaps her last one of all. She had no idea when, or even if, he would return.
"Boomer, you're using too much! Someone is going to get hurt!"
Again raised voices distracted Bea from her thoughts. She lowered her gaze to the two sisters, Delah and Boomer, who had set up their makeshift workshop on the northern corner of the broad boardwalk that ringed the base of the tower. The women were deep in animated discussion over what appeared to be a weapon of some kind. The younger one was leaning over the battered bench with an air of almost manic enthusiasm while the elder stood beside her, alternating between wringing her hands, throwing them up in the air, or planting them on her hips as she attempted to reason with her sibling.
"Boom!"
Bea gave a start as Boomer's gleeful cry rang out, a frown creasing her brow as her gaze dropped to the travel case resting beside her boot and she imagined handing over the kora within to the two women. Her shoulders slumped and she stepped back from the railing with a sigh. She had hoped to find at least one tinker that would be capable of the kind of craftsmanship she needed to repair her childhood instrument, but it didn't seem as though anyone in Hidden Ember was capable of the delicate work required. The sisters had been her last stop, even though she already knew it was highly unlikely they would be suited to, or even interested in, the task. Thanks to the tour Morlund had taken her on yesterday she already knew that their business was solidly based in weaponry and warfare. They had come to the settlement to help develop its defences against both the machines and lingering Tenakth rebels that inhabited the surrounding area. Besides, if she was honest, she wasn't willing to trust them with the precious heirloom in any case. There appeared to be far too much shouting and flailing of limbs involved in their dynamic.
Turning, Bea rested her lower back against the railing and crossed her arms over her chest as she chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. Her gaze scanned the tower, skipping over the people milling about without really seeing any of them. Perhaps she just needed to leave the problem for now, keep the kora safe in her tent until she went back to Meridian where she knew of at least two craftsmen that could complete the work for her. But when would that be? She had no plans to leave Hidden Ember, all her focus had been on getting here and she hadn't considered when, or even if, she'd be travelling again in the near future.
Maybe, if she was lucky, the right tinker would decide to relocate to Hidden Ember and set up shop. Morlund had boasted that word of their new settlement was spreading fast. Oseram, always ready to follow a new adventure if it meant the possibility of shards in their pockets, weren't the only ones being drawn to the ruins in the desert according to the showman. He was expecting Carja and Tenakth to start showing up any day now…
Bea blinked when her line of sight was suddenly filled with a broad expanse of bare, lightly haired chest. Immediately recognising the geometric designs that adorned the pair of muscled biceps Bea smiled as she lifted her gaze to meet Cortur's.
"There you are, little lark!" The Freebooter grinned down at her, stooping a little to place his heavy pack beside his booted feet before planting his fists on his hips and running an assessing gaze over her. "I'd heard that you'd escaped those machines intact." His lips twisted to the side a little when they reached the yellowing bruise that still graced the side of her temple, not quite covered by her hair. "Uh, more or less."
She raised a hand self consciously, using one finger to unhook a lock of hair from behind her ear so that it fell forward to cover the lingering mark. Thanks to the medicinal brew she'd drunk the previous day there was little left to show from her recent brush with death and, as broken as it had been, a night of rest had done wonders for her aches and pains. She was almost back to feeling normal, physically at least.
She looked him over in turn, noticing how his sunburn had already darkened into a deep tan. She wasn't the only one to visit the herbalist recently. "You look well," she cleared her throat when her voice cracked a little, reminding her that she'd done very little recently to exercise her vocal chords. The few brief conversations she'd engaged in over the last handful of days barely counted. Morlund had done most of the talking for her.
"Darlod would certainly agree with you there," Cortur rolled his eyes good humouredly. "He has us churning sand at first light tomorrow. The wagons are repaired and there's a shipment waiting that won't collect itself." His deep voice took on a nasal quality that she assumed was supposed to represent the old mercenary that led the crew.
A shipment waiting? Bea straightened, taking a step forward as a budding excitement bloomed in her chest. "You are part of the crew returning to Meridian?"
"Yep," the freebooter eyed her, taking in the change in her body language. "Why, what's got your forge stoked?"
"I…" Bea paused, realising what she was about to ask and faltering when a wave of trepidation crashed over her. Cortur shifted his bulk from one foot to the other, his eyes flicking past her towards the wagons then back again. She was holding him up with her hesitation, she needed to decide quickly. She took a deep breath. "Maybe…I could ask a favour?" The volume of her voice dropped a little at the thought of sending her kora on another risky journey right on the heels of the last. But she trusted Cortur. On the surface he was yet another loud, rough Oseram clomping his way through the world, but after weeks on the road with him she knew he could be trusted to take care of her precious instrument.
"Mmmm?" He prompted when she was again slow to elaborate, lifting a heavy eyebrow pointedly, a small smirk softening his expression.
Another deep breath. "One of my instruments got damaged in the attack." She bent down to lift the case, bringing it up between them and flipping the latches open.
Cortur stepped forward and gently raised the lid, letting out a low whistle before lowering it again. "You'll be wanting it repaired then." He scratched his chin, gaze scanning the settlement laid out behind her. "And the lug heads here are too busy building the Jewel of the West to bother with such a small job." His gaze returned to hers, "So you need someone to take it back to Meridian for you, get it repaired by a craftsman who knows what they're doing."
Bea nodded, chewing at her bottom lip but not resisting when Cortur plucked the case from her grip, easily tucking it under one burly arm. She eyed it anxiously, trying not to focus on how it looked like the tall mercenary could crush it with a mere flex of his bicep.
"I'll do it, on one condition," he leaned towards her in a conspiratorial fashion, expression mock sombre while his dark eyes sparked in a way that had her raising her eyebrows questioningly. "The evenings have been too quiet recently. I have another long journey ahead of me and this time there will be no songbird accompanying us on the road, only the uncultured snores of my ill forged travelling companions." He lowered his chin and pinned her with a hopeful stare. "Your dorma is still in working condition, right?"
Again she nodded, a smile curving her own lips when he let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Then I will go stow this away safely while you fetch it. I'll see you in the tower!"
The last was called over his shoulder as he strode away towards the wagons with her kora under one arm and his own bulky pack slung over the other. Bea watched him go for a moment before turning and heading in the opposite direction towards her tent, already sorting through songs in her head to sift out the ones she knew Cortur liked best.