Noinsdee, the 29th of Harvest, 768 A.E.

  Norsjalde was strange to any but a Kerathi, and even Makan, who was used to many of the foibles of Kerathi culture, found it a bit odd. Norsjalde was nestled between two rows of sizeable hills. They were foothills that led to the ancient and dormant volcano that held the Aurean city of Cenalium in its crown.

  On Maethlin, there were really only two things large enough to be considered mountains, and only one of them had suited Aurean needs as far as anyone knew. Yet there could be hidden settlements on that second mountain that had not been discovered yet by the Kerathi. Cenalium lay on the larger mountain; that much they knew, even if they never visited. Outsiders weren’t often welcome in Aurean cities.

  Norsjalde was entirely the epitome of what was Kerathi, down to the last shanty and dirty inn. Yet it was the distant, glittering peak that drew Makan’s eyes. He had never seen an Aurean settlement, but he imagined it to be something more than what he saw before him, an array of all of humanity’s shortcomings it seemed.

  The Kerathi were hedonists, and if they were not so bold as the Rumani, they were bad enough. So, understandably there were hole-in-the-wall sort of establishment that catered to most of the acceptable desires and to some of the not so accepted sins a man with a bit of money might seek out. Still, the Kerathi’s two greatest loves, after women that is, were fighting and drinking. That being said, it was hard to find a bar or drinking hole of any sort where there was not some sort of brawl or raucous contest of strength going on.

  The Kerathi were not a people of the sea like the Mueran, but they were fairly accomplished sailors if they hugged the seacoast. Their vessels were built for speed across calm waters, for crossing between islands during fair weather. They weren’t the deep draft vessels of the Aynglicans, and they certainly weren’t the catamarans or outrigger canoes of the Mueran people. Instead, their ships were long, sleek, and powered mostly by the men that rode in them instead of relying on the often-fickle winds of the inner seas. Even so, they still had a single mast which dragged a large piece of square canvas, rather crude compared to many of the vessels Makan had seen during his many Yarres on the seas.

  The strange thing was that many of the buildings on the shore echoed this design. They were long halls, almost like one of the Kerathi vessels turned upside down, with a most curious ‘mast’ poking out the underside. From these masts, the Kerathi businesses would string a series of streamers and flags, which allowed people to locate the establishment from a distance, since each business had its own pattern of flag or flags. Of course, that was how the system would work if all things in nature worked out, as they should. Many of the places had seriously faded or discolored flags, victims of the sun and the elements.

  Yet most of the places making a good deal of money found the extra coins to spend on new flags periodically, while other businesses might shell out the coin for the appearance of doing well when they were not, and still other places were making good money and the proprietors were simply too cheap to bother replacing their flags since people were still coming in the doors. It was a confusing system that Makan felt he would never understand without being Kerathi himself.

  On this Dee, Makan’s third Dee of searching Norsjalde for the woman he had seen in the vision from Fallu, the winds were high. Overhead, the many flags of the numerous businesses he walked around and in-between were snapping in the wind. It looked like a Rumani tent city to him, though they built cities too. But there was so much colored canvas that he was reminded of the temporary camp cities the Rumani might set up, except he had to remind himself that these were not the boisterous and celebratory Rumani folk. They were the loud, violent, and bragging Kerathi. Their manner was suitably matched by the loudness of their flags snapping and whipping in the wind.

  As he walked, he was challenged by all manners of Kerathi males. Some were young boys, barely up to his armpit in height, but they had the beginnings of men’s beards and had already developed men’s taste for fighting. Makan usually dissuaded these ones with a hard stare and a tight grip on his rather viciously hooked Mueran fish spear. Older men, usually in an advanced state of inebriation, often required a bit more physical persuasion to leave him alone. When they came in packs, Makan silently endured their ridicule and then moved on, or on a few occasions simply fled through the alleys between the ship-like buildings.

  For three Dees, he endured this, not because he liked it, but because he felt that it was a penance. For Munths he had been pushed toward this moment, but he had been blind to it. When he had been separated and lost from his fishing group in the midst of a sudden storm that should have been his first hint. Yet he had struggled to get back, encountering setback after setback. His craft had been struck by lightning, leaving him stunned and his boat partially burned. He had been thrown across reefs, tearing off one of his outriggers, and then, finally, he had been shipwrecked on this Kerathi isle.

  Only then had he seen the greater plan, and only after Fallu had made an appearance to him. So, if Fallu and his people’s other Gods wanted him to pay penance for his doubts, who was he to argue?

  A less pious man than Makan might have simply chalked up all these encounters with feisty Kerathi to their xenophobic and bigoted nature. After all, he was much darker than these people, and his clothes were made of the various bounties of the sea – fish skins sewn with sinew and thread made from island plants. His face wasn’t bearded either, as Mueran men usually did not grow beards, and the few that did would usually shave them. His dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes simply did not fit in among these pale, bearded, fur-wearing warriors with red or brown hair and green eyes.

  On all of Elegia, there were no other people so willing to bring war to each other and to other people than the Kerathi. Even among their own kind, a man or woman of mixed blood must denounce their mixed heritage, and even then, if they look less Kerathi than whatever the other half of their blood was, they would have to endure ridicule and harassment their entire lives.

  That was part of why this trio that he had been sent to find interested him so much. The one had clearly been an Ox-Man, something that was assuredly rare this far north, while the girl had likely been Aurean, and the third was certainly Kerathi. Never had Makan heard of or seen such strange traveling companions. Aureans were always content to stay on their mountains and leave the lowland peoples to their own devices, and the Kerathi were bigots. Where the Ox-Man fit in, he did not know.

  For three Dees though, he had heard and seen nothing of this group. All his attempts at inquiring of them had been to no avail. Of course, the small bit of cynic in him wondered if his inquiries were just not being answered or pursued because he was Mueran. It wouldn’t be beyond the Kerathi to snub him just because of what he was.

  If he had known how many times Rolf had passed near him when going about Anthea’s bidding in search of a vessel that could carry them off the island, he might have despaired. Rolf was arguably the hardest of the three to spot, since he was just one of thousands of Kerathi wandering the city. Anthea and Bedros would be the easiest to spot, so they were the ones he looked hardest for. Of course, he hoped they’d all be together when he finally found them.

  Around the fourth Ouer of the third Dee, it occurred to him that Anthea might not want to stay in this city any longer than he did, and that she may be seeking passage off of Maethlin. That he had not thought of such a thing earlier amazed him, and he at once felt foolish. He said a quick prayer to Holeitha, the Matron Goddess of Children and Homesteads, that she would let him finish what Fallu and the other Gods had laid before him that he might go back to his people, and then he rushed to the shore, hoping he wasn’t too late.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  Anthea paced around the small room she shared with Bedros and Rolf. It was cramped, especially for the Ox-Man, who hadn’t been able to stand up straight in any building since he’d left Cenalium. Walking the few Mayters around their dim, crudely furnished room just reminded her even more of how she had hoped to be gone from this island a couple Dees ago.

  Instead, she found herself sharing a room with two men, who were perhaps the only people in the world she could trust at this point, but they were men, nonetheless. It was unseemly and inappropriate. Bedros was… well he was Bedros. He was practically an uncle as well as a guardian, so his presence was tolerable, but she could see the way Rolf looked at her sometimes.

  She wasn’t experienced with men, either Aurean or Kerathi, but she was pretty sure she saw some hint of lust in his eyes sometimes. He was young though, and unmarried, so that was to be expected she figured. Aureans tended to be more chaste and discrete about their interest in the opposite gender, but she couldn’t expect that of him and his people.

  It wasn’t as if he were totally useless either, so she owed him some leeway. He was scouring the docks every morning and evening and wandering from alehouse to alehouse to listen for rumors of incoming ships that would suit their travel needs. Anthea frowned as she considered this. It seemed so haphazard for these people to have better information at a drinking hall than anywhere else. Apparently, there was no one in charge of the comings and goings of vessels.

  Once, she had asked about this, and Rolf had replied very matter-of-factly that the harbormaster was more of a ceremonial position than a functional one. This, too, seemed very strange. If the harbormaster truly was supposed to regulate water traffic, why did he do nothing?

  Anthea sighed heavily, earning a look of both concern and irritation from Bedros. She nodded at him meekly, acknowledging that she was being too impatient, so she sat down across from him. Bedros was steadfast and patient, never changing like a pillar of stone. She knew she could always count on him. His quiet presence was a pool of strength and resolve for her to draw from. Like him, she crossed her legs and sat on the floor. They gazed into each other’s eyes, seeking to know the other’s mind from just those two points in the middle of their faces.

  Bedros’ large glassy eyes were a sienna pool of calm and unspoken wisdom. It was not the wisdom of scholars and researchers, but the wisdom of one who has lived a good life and has comfortably settled into adulthood and his place in the grand scheme of things. He was stolid and levelheaded beneath all that fur and those two curled horns.

  “You are at peace.” Anthea said calmly, reverting to High Elegian, which was the language of Aureans, and the one Bedros understood better.

  Bedros betrayed no hint of a smile or emotion. He simply nodded.

  “You understand your purpose.”

  Bedros nodded again.

  “Your purpose is to serve and protect me, as my father asked.”

  Bedros inhaled deeply and nodded very seriously. His features twisted a bit, evidencing some pain of what Anthea read as failure.

  “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped what happened to father… Or what happened to me on the road. I will recover.”

  Bedros took his two large hands and clasped them in front of himself, twisting them together. Anthea nodded, reading his gesture to mean that he had been helpless to do anything more than he had done, though it shamed him to admit this.

  “I miss him too. There is a chance he’s still alive though. I will cling to that as long as I can.”

  Before Bedros could respond, there was a knock at the door. Bedros instinctively grabbed for the handle of his mallet – in his hands deadly even in close quarters and never more than an arm’s length away from him.

  “Who is it?” Anthea asked, using the Kerathi dialect of Low Elegian.

  “Rolf. Are you decent? Can I come in?”

  “He’s learning.” Anthea whispered to Bedros conspiratorially.

  Bedros flashed a flat-toothed grin as she got up to go let Rolf in.

  Immediately upon Rolf’s entrance the smell of rum filled Anthea’s nostrils. She gave him a sharp disapproving look, disliking the drunken flush of his face and his unfocused eyes.

  “I may have found us a ship.” Rolf announced triumphantly and loudly.

  “You have?” Anthea asked, unable to hide her excitement and disapproval momentarily forgotten.

  Rolf held up an open hand. “Hold on now. I said maybe.”

  “Why only maybe?”

  “It’s ‘maybe’ because we don’t have enough money for passage. Remember that we need a cabin, which is expensive. Bedros would take up three sailor’s bunks in the common areas, and that is not to mention your baggage or your need for light during the evening.”

  “I see. This does pose a problem since we have little of value.”

  “I know. I sold the extra rifles, but that’s all gone for this room and for information-finding expenses.”

  “You mean drinking?” Anthea asked irritably.

  Rolf sighed in annoyance. “Information-finding happens easier when tongues are loosened by ale and spirits. I don’t know how it works in an Aurean city, but that’s how it works in Kerathi lands. You’ll just have to accept that.” He replied angrily.

  Bedros grunted.

  Anthea looked back at the Ox-Man, and after a quick series of gestures, she understood him. She turned back to Rolf, crossing her arms in front of her chest before she began berating him. “Keep it down. Speak quieter. Do you wish the entire Inn to know our origins? It was you who insisted we hide our identities as best we could when we entered town. And you’ve had us secreted in this ramshackle hut while you cavort around town, so be careful with your own loose tongue!”

  Rolf teetered on his feet, staring at her blankly. After the few moments it took for his mind to decode her speech, he frowned and shouldered past her to his cot. He threw himself down and rolled over onto his side, determined to discuss this later when he was of a sounder mind.

  Anthea watched for a few moments, expecting more from him, but all she got in return was the heavy, even breathing of someone about to enter a drunken sleep. “Rolf?”

  When he didn’t answer. Bedros chortled throatily. Anthea shot him a cross look and walked over to Rolf, shaking his shoulder. He rolled onto his back and mumbled something unintelligible as he swatted her hands away.

  She shook him again, and said more loudly, “Rolf, wake up. We’re not finished talking.”

  “Anika?” Rolf muttered, smiling in his state of near sleep. This time, instead of swatting away her hands, he grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her down onto the cot with him.

  Anthea fell onto Rolf with a cry of surprise as well of pain from having braced herself with her still-injured arm. Acting more out of reflex rather than anger, she drove the heel of her palm into Rolf’s left cheekbone, snapping his head back. He gasped in pain and surprise, rolling out from under her and off the cot to crash onto the floor.

  When Rolf came to his feet, rubbing his face and looking around as if he was about to get jumped by an assailant, Anthea had already stood back up and was trying her best not to look embarrassed. She was failing miserably. Bedros, expecting some trouble, had stood up, and though he hunched over he was an imposing sight in a room lit only by the light of a Dee’s end and a single crystal pod.

  “What in Cainel’s name happened?” Rolf demanded, slurring his words drunkenly as he rubbed his cheek.

  “You… fell out of bed.” Anthea stammered. “You were trying to explain the boat and why it was so hard to book passage and you fell over onto the bed and rolled out.”

  Rolf eyed Anthea suspiciously. Then he began explaining, in slow and deliberate speech, why he was having trouble finding a boat. “It’s because Bedros is so large and you need light all night. We can’t sleep in common quarters on the ship, so it’s going to cost more. Not to mention they don’t like taking on foreigners unless you pay them well anyway.”

  Seeing that Rolf was going to take this calmly, Bedros settled back down into his cross-legged sitting pose, huffing as he did so.

  “We’ll have to make the money somehow then. I’ll sort through our baggage and see what else we can sell.” Anthea replied.

  Rolf nodded and yawned. “I can work on the ship to pay for my passage at least, but we’d need another ship hand to work with me, as well as some money for your passage.”

  “Another? Where are we going to find another person to work for our passage? Bedros can’t.”

  “Ask the flowers.” Rolf said with a shrug. “I’m going to sleep.”

  “Wait! When does this boat leave?” Anthea asked anxiously.

  Rolf settled back down on his cot before answering. “It leaves in two Dees. The first of Falling.”

  “I see. Perhaps I should get some sleep too then. We’ll get up early and find things for you to sell.”

  “Fine.” Rolf replied, laying back and pillowing his head on his curled-up arms.

  Anthea smiled as he closed his eyes, amused to see such a childlike and gentle sleeping pose from the brusque – by Aurean standards at least – young man.

  Just before he cast off to sleep, Anthea asked him another question. “Rolf?”

  “What is it?” He asked sleepily.

  “Who’s Anika?”

  Rolf’s eyes flickered open and focused on her. Anthea grinned mischievously.

  Behind her Bedros offered Rolf a sympathetic look that looked a bit frightening when seen with unfocused eyes.

  “She’s no one.”

  “No one at all?”

  “That’s what I said.” Rolf replied after a moment, drifting off into sleep afterward, a sleep filled with memories of a light-haired and curvaceous girl from Harsbrukke.