Chapter 8
He didn't know when they had started following them, but that was irrelevant at this point. He kicked Lily into a canter.
Levy was struggling to situate herself with the horse's rough gait and would have fallen if Gajeel had not had his arms around her for the reins.
A crack of thunder shattered the air, followed by a downpour of rain, instantly drenching the area. Gajeel jerked his fallen hood up and leaned into the girl's ear.
"Get down!" he yelled.
She immediately obeyed and bent herself over the saddle, her face brushing Pantherlily's coarse neck. There was a slight pressure applied to her lower back, and she realized he had copied her position, trying to reduce the wind resistance and avoid low-hanging obstacles.
She tried to gather her bearings despite the ridiculous bouncing the poor horse was causing.
As Gajeel wove between the patches of trees, with no clear trail defined, a break appeared in the forest that bespoke a smooth road.
Where there were roads, there were cities. They were almost to Magnolia.
Gajeel searched the forest around them, and spotted the animals that had been following them. They were large, northlandic wolves, about as big as Pantherlily. They did not travel so far south, due to the combination of sweltering temperatures and thick fur hides, and they certainly did not travel alone. So far, he could only spot two of the creatures, one on each side of them. Their formation was slightly off, and something about their stride made him think they were not hunting, merely following.
They came upon the gravel road and Gajeel jerked the reins to the side to keep them on the path headed towards the city. The rain continued to pour and large puddles had formed in pockets of the path. He felt they would be safe so long as they stayed near man-made structures. Animals as big as the wolves tended to avoid human territory.
There were many bends and turns in the road. Levy sensed the relax in tension from Gajeel and also calmed down. The trees were beginning to thin and suddenly stopped completely to reveal massive stone walls higher than all the buildings in her village. Despite the dark clouds that blotted out the sunlight, a flash of lightning lit up the entering gate to the city. They approached at ramming speed until a guard appeared in their path, forcing a curse under Gajeel's breath to bring them to a skidding halt.
"State your business!" he called over the downpour of rain, clearly shaken by the fact he was almost trampled, but still stood firm with spear and shield in hand.
"Lodging."
Gajeel hoped they would not need identification or paperwork just to get in for a night. He racked his brain for a second plan as the guard held a side conversation with another foot soldier.
"There is room at Sabertooth or Mermaid's Heel. Please provide identification for entry," he answered.
Another slew of curses flew from under his breath. It had been too long since he had been to town. Now they were tightening security.
"I am a member of The Order with a message for Master Yajima."
Her little voice broke the abrasive silence with an air of authority.
"From which Order?" he countered.
She stumbled over her words for a second, remembering that her town wasn't actually supposed to exist.
"Th-that is restricted information. I was told to expect no trouble for entry."
Another side conversation was held and Gajeel looked over his shoulder to the forest they left from. Perhaps it was the adrenaline playing tricks on his sight, but he would have sworn two pairs of eyes stared back at him from the woody shelter.
"Master Yajima was not expecting you for some time, miss. And he only expected one messenger," he eyed the hulking figure behind her.
"My bodyguard, Captain," she lied.
The guards appeared satisfied with their story and motioned for them to enter. She released a pent-up sigh with relief as they passed through the large gate into cobblestone streets.
Pantherlily fell into a spirited trot as they made their way through the dreary streets.
"Bodyguard, huh?"
She smiled to herself for her quick-thinking.
"It was that or you were my brother," she looked back at him to his face under the shelter of his dripping hood, "which I don't think they would have bought."
He brought his attention back to their location and found himself at an crossed-intersection of walkways and streets. Even though it was early afternoon, all shops had closed up for the weather, not expecting any customers to tread through water to get to them. He looked down at the head of blue hair nestled against him under his cloak. She still seemed content with her situation and he wondered if her resilience had anything to do with how she ended up on the edge of the world in an unknown town.
Gajeel pulled the reins to the left for Pantherlily to take the path leading towards the clearly marked inn, Sabertooth.
"Who's Yajima?" he asked out of curiosity for the roots of her story. Every lie told held a sliver of truth. She had been quick to think of it, too, hence his question.
"Magnolia's Order Master," she answered.
"Y'know 'im?"
She shifted slightly, bending her head ever so slightly downward.
"No, but my Master does," she was becoming uncomfortable talking about her master and the Order.
Gajeel paused around the back of the inn near the stables where a young stable hand lept from his napping position at the gate. They dismounted inside the shelter and Gajeel paid the boy a silver coin, instructing him in where the packs go and what Lily needed taken care of. The child, no taller than Levy's waist, nodded ecstatically and did as he was told. Levy had never seen such a transaction before. Was that how money worked? No barter system, just a monetary exchange? Levy thought the idea of money was self-destructive and wrinkled her nose.
Levy's world tilted suddenly, her knees taken out from under her, and her shoulders brought up by a large, warm hand.
"What are you doing?!" she asked breathlessly.
He was confounded by her reaction (and lack of weight), though he thought it was obvious. There was more than just dirt and dead grass in the city limits, as he stepped over said rotten pile of manure and trash. He walked up to the entrance of the establishment and placed the girl on the threshold before pushing the door open.
The drinking hall was packed with patrons and boisterous conversation. The stench of burning meat and rum foretold a dismal meal ahead and the gaudy, taxidermic sabertooth over the fireplace did not lessen the tackiness of the joint.
He counted at least twenty-five people in the establishment. Too many for his comfort. He steered the blunette towards a recently vacated corner table and took a seat across from her, his back to the wall.
Levy noticed he did not remove his hood or cloak, despite their close proximity to the fireplace. The establishment itself was quite large, though run down and beer soaked. She recalled a few occasions where she and her friends visited Cana's tavern back home, but upon comparison, she realized she had grown accustomed to a higher standard of living. Where Cana's place was polished and orderly, here there was grime in nearly every crevice and shoddy repair work done on almost every piece of furniture. The fireplace seemed to receive the most (if not all) care as there was a difference in the wood grain between it and the tables. It was the one thing that seemed to be regularly cleaned. Even though it was a drastic change from her home, she felt at ease amongst the rambunctious regulars. Her own friends had a tendency to get as carried away as folks here, as exhibited by the drunken bets flying across tables, and she was pleased to find that people were not so different hundreds of miles away.
A tankard of frothy gold liquid was placed before her nose and the distinct scent of hops wafted from the moist mug.
She turned to see inky tresses fall around a scantily clad frame of hips and bosom. She craned her neck up to see the face of their hostess and found her to be riddled with faded scar tissue and a patch covering one eye. Her scowl and piercing gaze indicated a foul mood, and Levy was hesitant to take the proffered beverage.
"A room and food."
Gajeel had retrieved more silver coins from an unknown location and handed the currency to the barmaid, dropping the metallic coinage in her outstretched palm.
"Short on both" she answered with a biting rasp. She sounded as though she had a sore throat. Gajeel did not look up at the woman when he spoke again.
"You'll manage."
He knew the going rate for a room, as well as food. He had not been out of the city for that long and he knew better than to make the mistake of showing how heavy his coin purse was. They would charge him for every cent he had for every drop of beer he drank.
The exchange seemed odd to Levy. When the woman walked away, she noticed there were people staring at them. Grim faces muttering to one another with pointed glances in their direction. Levy was instantly irked by the attention.
"Gajeel," she whispered, "why're people staring?"
The hooded figure before her had taken a long swig of his drink before setting it down, apparently ready for a refill. He dried his mouth with the back of his hand and answered.
"Y'know many people with blue hair, shorty? They don't."
For some reason, his supposition angered her.
"That isn't a good enough reason to stare. Maybe they're looking because you won't take off your hood," she reached out to flick said covering off his head, which he smoothly avoided.
She tried to curb her irritation by way of a scapegoat, "They can tell you're hiding."
He lowered his head, but she could still see the sharp sneer from within the darkness of his drawn hood.
"'Better to forget the cloak than to remember the man,'" he quoted.
She grumbled over the validity of his point and took a sip of the golden alcohol. The rim was gritty on her lips, but when the beer passed through, she drank deeply to quench her thirst. It was bitter and tasted awful, but she had forgotten the last time she had eaten or drank anything. She tipped the mug back to the steady table as she gave a loud and crass burp. It was so unexpected, she slapped her hand over her mouth, mumbling apologies.
It took everything Gajeel had not to bust out in a fit of laughter. It was the last thing he expected from her and it was...cute. The word did not seemed to do her justice, but when she tipped the flagon back for another drink, it occurred to him that she was an Order member, and from what he knew of them from his childhood, they do not drink. He was about to remove the drink from her grasp until she set it back on the table, now empty. It wasn't his responsibility to keep her in line with Order rules or traditions, but didn't she know?!
She wavered in her seat, blinking slowly as the alcohol entered her bloodstream. He should have known she would have been a lightweight. He moved the mug out of her reach and crossed his arms on the table in front of him. She mimicked his actions and squinted her eyes to see the man under the hood.
"You're bossy," she stated. She twirled a lock of hair between her fingers and tilted her head to the side to rest the sudden weight against her shoulder.
"Order members don't drink, little girl." He ignored her comment. Maybe she needed a little reminder.
"Maybe they don't. But I can," she slurred.
"Who's 'they'?" he asked, trying to feign disinterest.
"Other members," she hiccupped and continued, "like Yajima. Or Ichiya. My Order is old. Master doesn't like the new rules."
She looked around their table for her missing tankard and was visibly disappointed to find it had disappeared from where she left it. He took her mug of beer and downed the last few ounces in it, unaware of the glare she dealt him. She certainly didn't need it. What she needed was food to sober up.
"'Sides, s'not like the rules change anythin'," her speech had begun to deteriorate.
"What do you mean?" she had peaked his interest.
"All Orders are 'upposed t'take care of the citizens," her brow furrowed with concentration, trying to follow the thought through, "like homeless people, orphans, 'nd we also spread news, like the decrees the King puts out. Like the new one 'bout mercenaries bein' given free stuff if they worked for 'im."
She rubbed her eyes, feeling the drowsy effects starting to take place. Gajeel knew exactly what she was talking about. No king was to take the throne until he came of age, but when the king died, the corruption began to show through: stealing land, raising taxes, declaring war on neighboring, peaceful countries. He was accumulating quite a debt to his country, but he had no intention of taking it over. Proving he was the heir was a headache in itself. There was no way he'd be able to handle the politics that went along to running the country. That was his father's burden, not his. The steward had begun sanctioning decrees to allow his so-called army to carry out his dirty work. It seemed free room-n-board made the top of the list now.
"'Cept Master doesn't like the King now. S'why we're all hiding. Mum didn't either."
He nodded in acknowledgment. Many people had left the country to avoid persecution. Those who voiced their opinion would be on the receiving end of a miserable life imprisoned. Her little snippets of information were quite revealing, however. It seemed her family had been a part of that noisy crowd and left to make their own settlement. But it did not explain the obvious beauty of her home. He recalled marbled floors of her cloister, as well as sophisticated ornamentation carved into all woodwork. It reminded him of his home when his father had still been alive.
"We were the settlers, first people to put in roots, start the cities. But some people didn't like havin' to be so nice to each other," she frowned, "We like helpin'. That's all we do. We don't care who you are, what you've done. Everyone deserves kindness and forgiveness. We do what no one else does. Accept each other."
He had been drifting in and out of her ranting stupor, caught in his own thoughts. It appeared as though she was sobering, but he dismissed that thought when she hiccupped and tilted in her seat.
He did not know what the purpose of the Order was, but it seemed that they were a community of people held together by a mutual agreement of ideals. A founding people.
"So what's this 'bout 'new rules' you were sayin'?" he caught the eye of their barmaid and motioned for her.
Levy perked up at the sound of his voice.
"Stupid lookin' uniforms. Order Council wants us all to dress modest-like, but Master says they're not practice-able."
Gajeel smiled at her mistake. Practical, he corrected.
She put her hands to her cheeks as though she was feeling them for the first time.
"My drunk?!" she exclaimed a little too loudly.
Already forgetting her statement, she latched onto another thought from their previous night.
"Did we have sex?" she managed to ask her question in a hoarse whisper.
He mentally backtracked to where she would have gotten that idea.
"No, we didn't," but he wanted to. He ran his fingers over the piercings in his lower lip, amused by her drunken state.
"What is the name of your town?"
As though fate were intervening, their hostess appeared with their meal, sliding the bowls on the table, and sloshing some kind of goo over the dish edge.
"Room seven when you're ready," she grumbled as she walked away.
Levy was hypnotized by the amount of food before her. She could have easily worn the bowl as a hat and was tempted to, but she focused on the food inside it instead. It was some kind of boiled meat with over cooked vegetables in a thick and over-seasoned sauce graced with a torn heel of wheat bread. It looked terrible, but smelled divine. She located her utensil and brought a small bite of vegetables to her mouth, not yet ready to try the mystery meat. Though her senses were dull, she could still taste how awful it actually was. And despite how bad it tasted, her stomach viciously growled for more nourishment. She decided to avoid the meat for safety's sake and practically wiped the bowl clean with the crust of bread she had.
She had been so focused on her meal, that she did not notice Gajeel watching her. It was an odd experience for him. He had not shared a meal with anyone in years and even went to great lengths to avoid the past time. She was polite and clean, taking small, equally portioned bites, and chewing thoroughly. She clearly didn't like it by the way her mouth turned downward after swallowing, but he assumed she was just trying not to be rude.
He downed the food in a rush as activity in the barroom picked up steadily. More patrons were being greeted rather than dismissed and he took that as their queue to leave. He lifted her out of her seat by her upper arm and pushed her ahead of him towards the back of the lounge where the stairs were located. She tripped and stumbled over her feet, protesting the harshness of their departure by fighting his grip. He did not intend to be rough, but he was suffocating under the amount of people and he wasn't going to let her out of his sight.
"—hell, man?!"
A meaty hand stopped Gajeel from continuing to the stairs. He faced his drunken opponent with an air of condescension.
"Don't tink she wants t'go, man."
A rather large and portly man staggered on heavy feet. He was clearly too drunk to know better, but he'd be a damned fool not to teach him a lesson. He clenched his fist and widened his stance, ready for a fight.
There was a round of catcalls in the crowd and a table of men rose to the oncoming promise of a fight. Though outnumbered, Gajeel knew he would not be beaten.
"Y'should letter go—" a wet belch interrupted his sentence and he lurched.
A soft, gentle hand encircled Gajeel's waist as the little blunette broke his hold to stand at his other side. She pressed herself to his tense body in a possessive manner and brought his clenched fist up to drape over her shoulder. She subtly pried his fingers open to lace her's with his, forcing his cooperation.
"Thank you for your concern gentlemen, but I am fine. Please, enjoy the rest of your evening," her sweet voice carried over the tension and cut through it with her dazzling smile.
The situation seemed pacified and she turned them back towards the stairs, mounting each step in sync with him. He could not help but stare at the little woman as though he hadn't been all night.
What the hell just happened?!
It had come to blows, surely. He must've been knocked unconscious. For the little woman maintained her hold on him. She kept the charade up for appearances, in case someone followed, though no one did.
They approached the door to their room and she pushed it open, disappearing out from under his arm to walk into the darkness. His eyes adjusted and he managed to light a match to a group of nearby candles.
When the room lightened, he was face-to-face with his livid little watchman.