Chapter 42. Courtyards.

  Unseen pads trotted delightfully. Soft. Unheard.

  Mysterious eyes swirling with grey and blue flashed with lightning. Observing. Thinking. Sure the heavy shadow of Sid may be enough now, but in the crowds of the yards. He watched the two before thinking aloud.

  “Sid ye may want to have Fenrir hide unders the wagon.” That raspy voice suggested. The group was just outside the gates now. Sid had a wide eye over the golden spades that tipped the iron rods. “Folks might nots take too kindlys to him. Specially seeings hims not no dog either.”

  Sid thought about this. Abram was absolutely correct. He could only imagine how the people at his old settlement would react. Especially had someone like himself, Abram and a shadowy figure just come strolling through. Calm. Casual. It definitely would have raised some eyes. Even in that braindead village.

  “Here Fenrir. Come under the wagon here.” Patting the ground he called. Fenrir was a good boy and obeyed. Amazing. Sid wasn’t sure if he could understand his words—apparently Fenrir does. “Stay under the wagon okay.” That brave mustache asked.

  Fenrir licked his lips. Rolling that deep pink tongue across his teeth with a yawn. Then sat, pure whites peered deep into Sid. A silent communication. Tilting his head he licked his lips again, before licking the big hand petting him. Sid had gotten better with the motion.

  There was no longer that itch of uncertainty. Sid knew the pup understood. He could feel it. There was something about the tilted stare. Petting that wispy boy best he can. He stare deep into the white of Fenrir's eyes. He swore he could see something deep within—was it a child. Could that child be who he carried in the pouch. He thought with each stroke. With each gentle brushing came a charge of bonding kinship. A silent harmony between the two sang—well it was a frequency they couldn’t hear but actually that affinity of correlation sang loud. Louder than those singers of the yards. The ones just beyond. Shouting something in the fences. It sounded joyous and uplifting. Pairing perfectly with the harmonious sensations. The ones that came with those petting memories.

  Abram rubbed his face. Exhaustedly. He than looked at the ruins of his coat. Stained with gore from the tail to mid torso. And his ruffles. Tattered and blushing. Oh, this would be but only one of the most excruciating. Humiliating. Ego crushing moments of his ever longing life. He was not ready.

  “Just a moments big guy, me ain’ts ready yets.”

  Sid watched while that blue coat hunched in a squat. Curious. He finally had to ask. “Abram what are you doing?”

  “Tryin to polish up me boots Sid. That damned Butcher ye lefts for me an Arieo to deals with was a sloppy thing. Maybel will never be the same.”

  Abram had the most apprehensive eyes Sid had ever seen. They were neat. Slightly irritated, but neat. Something he could just stare into. Had that not been a creepy thing to do.

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  “Gods!” The stain of gore never stopped the whoosh of the coat. Abram stood furiously. Obviously upset with the boots, maybe a bit angry with Sid too. “Stained. Permanently stained Sid. Ye happy with yerself?” A boot pointed for display, and two open hands directing, in case Sid didn’t see the tinge in the iron. “C'mon Arieo lets finds a pestle and mortar.” Abram mumbled on a breath.

  A single eye tilted, looking at such a stain in the metal. He could polish that out. He could even center it properly. Maybe to Abram, you and I, that iron toe box looked amazing. Beautiful craftsmanship. We would all wonder how did one work such detail around a boot. Not Sid. He only seen the imperfection. Seeing the flaw. The waves were off-center. Disproportionate. The carving curls were scratchy. Not that they weren’t nice boots, because they were very fine boots indeed. Sid was just—observant when it came to metals. Should he tell Abram he could fix the waves?

  Abram led the group through the gates. Wonderful gates with a lovely arch. Each gate door had that double swirl of a shape. A symbol or glyph maybe. Sid couldn’t read so he only thought it was a swirly shape of design—Just for the sake of the story and respect to the castle I will let you in a bit of something… that symbol on each gate door was the letter ‘S'. A very curly and beautiful ‘S’.

  Walking through the gates they stepped under a natural growing tunnel. One of ivy and wide beautiful leaves. Wonderful flowers of all colors and scents. The beaten twins of trail had even grown with precisely laid cobblestone. The smooth stone was nice against that bare foot. Arieo’s hooves even gave a soothing clop-clop-clop-clop.

  Those carnivorous pods from the forest too started growing—no not just started growing, these pods were planted. Maintained. Each had far more alluring color to those bean jaws now. Vibrant eye-catching patterns. Sweet frothy spit bloomed from the shallows of the pod. The cardinals even looked brighter. The reflex of the vegetation was even quicker.

  -Snap-Snap-

  Stepping out from the tunneling archway of growth, a great slab was placed. A perfectly cut slab. Sid studied that grand chunk of marble—he just knew it was marble. There were symbols on it. Amazing scriptures of unknown. Now Sid might not be bright—in Abram’s book Sid was stupid—but he knew what it was. That polished slab was a plaque. Maybe even a sign. What it said was what riddled him.

  He wanted to ask. The suspicion boiled. Studying gave him indigestion. He was sure the larger symbols read something about Sanctuary. It had to say Stallitusk Sanctuary—right? That stuff at the bottom though. What did that say.

  “Stallitusk Sanctuary. A haven for greater advancement. Providing shelter for those who dedicate themselves to the lands of Guuilatikore. A cover for the head that has nothing to give. Reaching the Stars with each rising of Teir. A home for the ones who allow others to call a place of their own a home.” Abram read the slab. Now standing side by side with Sid, who only stare blankly—wow Abram reads fast. “Boy whats a load of shit ay Sid. Just ye waits until we actually gets into the yards. The folk here are cutthroat. So just lets me do all the haggling. Okay?”

  Sid looked over the yards. The people here didn’t seem that bad. Sure, they stared but could one really blame them. Sid was using his sword like a cane. He also had a nasty pit of an eye. And to top it all off the man was bare, well except for that single boot. Oddly none of this bothered him though. Determined for a drink. Then some trousers—well maybe he should fetch trade for some clothes first.

  There were lots of stands and tents to admire though. He wondered which ones would have trade for drink. Trying to look friendly while a crowd passed between him and the wagon. The few just gave him a mean up and down glance of disapproval. Sid stepped quickly. Doing his best for that squeaky wagon wheel. Wide eye on the vendors shouting their trades. None yelled about drink. Perhaps the drinks would be in the castle.