Alkara jerks awake, heart pounding. Urdima’s mercy shines on her as the memory of what she was dreaming fades into nothingness. A haze sits in her mind and her muscles groan at being disturbed. She looks through the dim of the home to Chiron’s occupied cot.
A surge of warmth flutters through her chest. The blanket covering him rises and falls with a steady rhythm. He must be sleeping.
Alkara rubs at the crust in her eyes and stretches. Guen blinks at her, sniffing. Alkara strokes the panther’s coat. Little bits of green-brown clods drift from the fur. Last night’s paste. Alkara beckons Guen to follow and heads outside.
Guen preens herself most days, but any gunk Alkara chose to rub in was therefore also Alkara’s task to rub out. Alkara sits on a low bench next to their water basin and starts in on the repetitive task. The worry and stress of recent days crouches at the edge of her focus, but the simple task of cleaning keeps them from intruding.
Uncle Iro emerges from the house, but Alkara keeps her focus on Guen. Even without danger present he moves with silent precision. No telltale crunch of gravel sounds as he approaches in the twilight. “May I join you?”
Alkara scoots over as way of approval. Guen never minds, of course. More hands, and ones inclined toward hygiene, means a cleaner, shinier coat.
Uncle Iro wipes at the gunk, going in the opposite direction of Alkara. They work in silence for a clink, switching to wetted brush. “How are you faring?”
Alkara shrugs again, not responding. The pull of her restless night mutes the shrug.
“Mm.” Uncle Iro lathers a shampoo into Guen’s coat. “Will you do something for me?”
Alkara pauses, staring at the dirt. Eyelids heavy, thoughts swirl uncontested in her mind.
What could I–
Guen nibbles at her brush hand. Alkara chuckles into a lopsided grin and starts cleaning once more. The grin fades as quickly as it came. “What is it?”
“I need to talk to Cato before we leave.” Uncle Iro pours cool water over the shampoo. “So I need you to talk to Sylira. Let her know Chiron was hurt but is mending. If we’re lucky…” Uncle Iro sighs. It seems his night held little rest as well. “If we’re lucky he’ll be back to normal by the time we’re back from the Wastes.”
Alkara pauses again, frowning. “We?”
Uncle Iro smirks. “Better keep going.” He pokes the ladle in Guen’s direction, where the panther stares at Alkara with the kind of indignation reserved for a missed meal.
Alkara chuffs again and begins to shampoo her side of the great cat.
“But yes, we.” Uncle Iro nods, as though confirming the obvious. “I can’t very well let you and Dre go out there on your own now, can I?” His grin fades. “I need to keep an eye on Chiron.” He works at a gummy part of Guen’s fur. “The Brain Badger’s attack is affecting his ability to deal with his torment. I don’t think he’ll be able to think clearly for a while.”
“It attacks who you are,” Alkara recites with a growing numbness. “That’s what the book said.”
Uncle Iro’s expression turns grave. “Yes. I suppose we can expand on that note now.”
“So we’ll keep him safe. Till he’s back to normal. That’s what he’d do for us. Even if… we’re not–” Alkara cuts herself off and clears her throat. Her bottom lip quavers, but the muck of irritation delays any tears.
“Chiron will carry the weight of what he said last night for the rest of his life.” Uncle Iro’s shoulders sag. “Even when tricked the grip of our actions tear at us. It wasn’t really him, but that won’t matter when he’s back to himself.” He sighs as though the weight were on him instead. “Chiron would die for any of us. And soon you will understand just how significant that is.”
Alkara frowns and turns to Uncle Iro. “What does that mean?”
Uncle Iro smiles sadly, “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Alkara scowls. “I’ll go once I’m finished.”
Near a wax had burned before Alkara finished. Streaks of sunlight break through the ramshackle buildings of her neighborhood. Ramshackle gives way to halfway respectable homes as Alkara neared the Unyielding Willow.
Leaves of the establishment’s Willow drape the entrance in shade. Alkara directs Guen to the tree’s shade and takes a deep breath, bracing herself before heading inside.
Few patrons wait within the Willow. Being so early, there aren’t even the usual moans from the back rooms. Alkara shifts her weight from one foot to the other but Sylira doesn’t keep her waiting long.
Sylira pulls Alkara into a warm embrace. “Alkara, what a pleasant surprise. How is the family?”
Alkara clears her throat. Her hands chill all of a sudden. “Uh. We’ve been better. And that’s actually um…” She blows out a long breath. “That’s why I’m here…” Alkara bites the inside of her lip and looks down. Her chest tights as though iron coils band around her lungs. “There was a scream. We found an aberrant…” She shakes her head. “It hurt Chiron pretty badly…”
“Chiron was hurt?” An uneasy tremor colors a different, much younger woman’s question. Her light yellow-brown skin and slanted eyes, tinged with tears, spoke of one of the Edgebound continents. She drops her hand from her belly. “I don’t understand. He was here just a few hours ago… What happened?”
“Uh…” Alkara looks between the two pleasure women. Something familiar about the young woman tickles Alkara’s memory. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”
The young woman’s eyes widen and she turns to Sylira with tilted head. An unspoken request passes to the matron. Sylira purses her lips, but makes no move to respond.
“Please Sylira.” The young woman holds her hands together at her breast. “He’s paid through the month. I want to see him.”
“Wait, what?” Thoughts race through Alkara’s head. The woman’s unusual heritage for Grecia singles her out. Familiarity trickles into realization as it becomes clear the young woman is the same woman who’d approached Alkara before. “Who are you?”
She doesn’t answer but continues pleading with her eyes.
Sylira ignores the young woman with a huff. She turns to Alkara. “Chiron hasn’t told you yet.” It wasn’t a question.
“Apparently not.” The hairs on the back of Alkara’s neck prick up in irritation. “Would you care to fill me in?”
“Actually, no.” Sylira’s honey voice slides into the air with finality, but not heartlessness. She rolls her eyes. “Look, you’ve brought a lot of trouble for my boy Alkara. He chooses to protect you.” A shrug. “That’s fine. But I choose to protect him and whatever he does. The less you know, the better.”
Alkara winces and her cheeks warm. “I… I’m sorry.” She turns to leave but stops. “Chiron will be fine, but he’s not himself right now. We have a job out in the Wastes and then… I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
Alkara gathers Guen from under the willow tree with haste. The whole experience feels grimy, like she’d done something wrong. The sooner she wipes it clear the better. She jogs north with the panther, putting that odd young woman and Sylira out of her mind.
Not that what’s ahead would be easier. The Wastes challenge and excite her most days. With Chiron acting so strangely, she feels like a knight missing his breastplate.
Vulnerable.
Alkara scowls and kicks into a run. If this feeling had a face she’d bury a volley of arrows in it. Guen outpaces her. Alkara growls low and picks up her pace, but it’s futile. She slows again to a jog, chastising herself for expending energy before her mission.
Let’s get this over with.
At least a fight looms on the horizon. Charlotte had said the watchtower was in trouble. Dire trouble, as if there were another kind in the Wastes. They’d be escorting supplies, which dulls the senses. But once there…
Red feather vanes rustle against Iroshi’s shoulder. The breeze tickles with a light touch, but enough to jostle the feather in his epaulet. He strides through the small market near Cato’s offices, watching faces and scanning rooftops.
Market-goers pass by with the usual sidelong glances. The hard stares came from the vendors who had been witness to his confrontation.
A fool might attempt a second ambush here with what they’d learned of him. Another fool would think it impossible. So Iroshi studies the area and people. Satisfied, he leaves the square with purpose. The day is young and Cato is elder.
Cato’s attendant leads Iroshi to the office without delay. He smiles an uneven grin before moving to his cabinet. His light-orange skin glows in the afternoon sun. Cato sets out pieces for their customary game. Iroshi helps by moving them to their assigned places as Cato grabs more.
“Did I win last or . . . ” Cato surrenders the sentence to the quiet of the room.
Iroshi smirks. Cato never forgets the score. “You did.”
“Oho,” Cato grins again. “Then you shall go first m’boy.” Despite having met Cato when he was fresh-faced, he calls everyone m’boy or m’girl nowadays. A habit of old age. If his father were still alive he’d likely call him m’boy.
Iroshi chuckles to himself and nods. He considers the board without much attention. The pieces knew their place and only a few openings worked. He moves his Knight Defender. “I came across an intriguing creature. A large badger-like monstrosity with that fungus.” He arcs an eyebrow. “Any chance that’ll make it into your pamphlets?”
“Eh–?” The half-elf muses. Without pause he moves one of his own pieces. “Ah yes. I heard there was a scuffle in the night.”
Iroshi activates two pieces. “We killed it near my home.” Completing a two impulse move on the second turn often spelled disaster. Iroshi doesn’t care.
Cato scowls. His eyes flick across the board a couple times before he moves his own Knight Defender. “I don’t think we have enough to print. Our pageboy uncovered little from the family.”
“Of course.” Iroshi smiles before disrupting the Knight Defender’s protection with a Magus. “The creature spoke to us.”
Cato pauses, eyes unglued from the board. He blinks several times. “With Alkara’s reticence and our friendship I deigned not to make inquiries.” He shifts a Footman to reinforce the Defender.
Iroshi waives his activation. Reliable discretion cultivates good relationships, not something Alkara practices. “The creature told me of a wizard he slew. The name is Igadal.”
Cato grins and slides a Spearman forward. “It is an unfamiliar name.” He elects a double activation and pins Iroshi’s Knight Defender with a Gryffon.
Iroshi considers the board, not exactly regretting his early double impulse. “Would you check on the mage? We need more information.”
Cato nods.
Iroshi taps his foot and quirks his mouth. He jumps several pieces with his Firespawn to place it next to Cato’s spearman.
The remainder of their time is spent in idle conversation. Cato plays punishing moves to take advantage of Iroshi’s early double activation. Iroshi fights back without much expectation of winning. A full Wax passes before Cato cements his victory. After saying their farewells, Iroshi departs to meet the others at the ferry.
On their way to the watchtower, Alkara does her best to ignore Chiron. Uncle Iro being with them helps, but not with conversation. Alkara occupies herself with fantasies about the kind of creature terrorizing the tower.
Perhaps a Taker, with its odd ability to absorb things and make them part of their body. Hard to fight. Sticking an arrow in one only gives it an eyestalk or a thin arm.
Or a Chanlin. Little is known about the gremlins. They live and thieve among the unsuspecting. Thoughts of pinning the hoarders tantalize Alkara for a league.
A pack of Whistlers would challenge them. Alkara had read about them in one of Tharan’s books. Just hearing their whistling could drive someone mad.
Like Chiron…
Alkara looks over at her sullen brother. Chiron stares ahead with a scowl.
Alkara soldiers on, considering the various foes they might face. If Chiron doesn’t follow her suggestions though… But that won’t matter. Plans fall apart as soon as the first spell is flung or arrow loosed.
When they finally arrive, the Watchtower disappoints.
Intact, it rises above the Wastes. No murderous creatures fly about. No fire burns. The guards even wave when the Walkers get close.
“What do you mean there’s been no attack?” Alkara demands. “Charlotte said you were in trouble!”
The scout, a pockmarked youth with a shock of blonde hair, shrugs. “No trouble ma’am. Sorry. ‘Nless you count Norvan’s trouble with his breeches.”
A nearby guard laughs. Whoever Norvan is must be absent, as everyone’s breeches were fine.
“Don’t worry about it.” Chiron laughs with the other guard. “Trouble is a great motivator for the rookie squads that think they’re too good for a job like this. Rookie squads or squads with gullible leaders. Isn’t that right, Aberrant-Bane?”
Alkara glares at Chiron, then stalks away to the wagon. “Whatever, let’s just get the dumb supplies unloaded and head back.”
Uncle Iro sighs and joins Dre. They grab the first box together with Alkara and Chiron following suit. Unloading everything, even with the tower’s guard, eats the rest of the day.
Their return journey in the dimming light of day drags along. Urdima must have added in new ground here, for it feels like the return takes longer. Alkara wonders about visiting Afanen when they return.
But no, Uncle Iro wants them all helping to find the wizard that Brain Badger killed. Alkara will have to wait to visit her potential life partner. However long it takes.
She groans. No escape to Afanen means no escape from Chiron. Perhaps he’ll go to the Willow. But the hope wilts without any real belief. His mom and the random girl should care for him. Let them feel the whip of his tongue.
Uncle Iro claims they can handle it. “Families weather storms together.” So they’ll stick by Chiron and makes sure the only people he hurts are them.
Weariness and apprehension for Chiron’s comments draws a sigh from Alkara.
Long days ahead.
In the evening Alkara leaves the others at home. Better to enjoy the atmosphere of the Melted Griffin than stay near Chiron.
Uncle Iro had decided to stay with Chiron. And Dre, probably avoiding Chiron too, had gone to Ileta. The Griffin never appeals to the alchemist.
With Guen at the foot of her stool the waves of loneliness crash less frequently against her. But still they come. They start small but swell into a deep pang which slips in between draughts of her ale. Afanen calls after those waves recede.
A bitter smirk crosses her expression. Never would she have guessed she’d ever want that. Not even when Urdima’s leaves fall away at the end of time.
Alkara finishes her mug and sets it on the counter. A picked at piece of rabbit or chicken rests on her plate with some gravy and mash. The taste hides from her as she chews it without emotion.
Glin stops in front of her and regards the mug and picked at food. “Come on, Alkara. Tell us another story. It’ll liven us up a bit.”
True, the Griffin’s typical roar abstained from joining the crowd tonight. Instead a din of conversation rests in its place. Alkara resists at first but Glin badgers her with another ale if she’ll speak.
Alkara continues Sengmar’s story. Whenever she tells stories, they focus on him. Elaborations and embellishments. She draws them out to give him new life.
When it had come time to tell his end, she had shied away from it. So instead she lies about his next quest. And the next. He could adventure forever this way, like one of the heroes from the Age of Man.
This Sengmar travels the world. He meets the cousins of the Praktikruv’. Delves deep to the Dwarven warrens near the Furnace. Negotiates with Hogthins.
For this Sengmar, the possibilities are endless.
It helps. Each story loosens that knot of guilt just a little more.
And then Alkara pulls it taut once more. She clings to those feelings in spite of herself. In her heart she doesn’t want to let that tangle release.
Alkara savors the second pint, taking sips of it to prolong the return home. Once finished she drains a third mug and heads home. Sleep beckons and the alcohol should help her surrender to it.
She keeps her head down, letting the cobbles slide past without comment. Alkara snorts at the night. Whatever she does in Three Rivers, sleep isn’t it. Only Afanen grants rest.
Wonder why that is.
Alkara slows and ponders her own question. It joins the other reasons to go back to the elven city as soon as possible.
That hope dries up the next morning.
“I’ll never see Tharan ever again!” Alkara throws her hands up.
Dre pulls a wooden plank away from a building’s side. “Not if you don’t start helping.” She frowns at the unremarkable building. “You finish this street. I’ll take the next. Meet you at the intersection.”
Without waiting for a reply Dre heads down Butcher Street. Butcher street stimulates the panther too much. Chicken carcasses, beef, rabbit and others hang in the merchant stalls.
Alkara groans but trudges down her street with Guen. Fire damage could be invisible from the outside. So she steps onto a small crate to peer through a high window.
Piles of wood and tools litter the inside with a disorderly organization. Whatever building the Brain Badger had mentioned, it isn’t this one.
Dumpy places live here in the slums alongside the indigent. Most escaped any fire damage. Normal shops and homes occupy the few that have any scorch marks. Alkara finishes her alley first and posts at the intersection to watch Dre.
Tanner’s Lane comes next to dampen Alkara’s spirits further. The stench of urine wafts over them, reminding Alkara of Chiron’s barb. That stench covers everything, even Alkara’s ‘aroma’ as he’d mentioned.
“Here.” Dre holds her hand out. Tan-orange goo heaps in her palm. She busies her other hand applying it to her nose. “It’ll keep the smell out,” she explains with a nasal tilt to her voice.
Alkara shakes her head. She needs to know the reek of this place. The feeling twists inside her like a serpent, devious and patient. Chiron has to be wrong.
Alkara fidgets. She’d bathed this morning, cold as it had been. And she’ll likely need to bathe again now, with this stench. It had been tempting to scrub herself raw again, but at least she’d been able to resist that.
The search stretches out, building on Alkara’s discouragement.
Dre comes out from the ruined shell of a tannery with arched eyebrows. “Did you expect to find it on the first search? There’s thousands and thousands.” She shakes her head. A bit of whatever gunk she’d covered her nose with flings away. “You’ve barely looked.” The rebuke remains barbed despite her funny tone. “Just because the badger ended up here doesn’t mean this mage’s house is around. There’s a lot of searching we have ahead of us.”
Dre chatters on, outlining a system to search the whole of Three Rivers if need be. She throws around words like grid and pattern. All in pursuit of this Kavanja’s foul waste of a house.
Dre details the next few weeks of searches and Alkara whimpers. Dre doesn’t stop, leaving the noise unheard. Guen nuzzles Alkara’s hand and looks up with soft eyes.
A bit of Dre’s gunk shifts from the panther’s nose to Alkara. “Heh, thanks girl,” Alkara says without irony. She wipes the gunk on her breeches and scratches Guen behind the ears.
Several hours of fruitless searching kills Alkara’s motivation. “Dre! Let’s go home. It’s getting late. And maybe Chiron found something.” She adds the last as an afterthought. Surely no one had found anything.
At home, Alkara sinks into her cot. Even Guen folds herself against Alkara without the usual playfulness. Dre restates the plan for the next day, her resistance to the day’s disappointment further heats Alkara’s irritation. She couldn’t rely on Uncle Iro to commiserate with. And Chiron parades her new sour disposition at every opportunity.
Dre pulls her boots off and groans. Angry red splotches cover the soles of her feet. She removes a salve from her supply works it into her feet.
Dirty satisfaction loosens the soreness in Alkara’s own muscles as she relaxes into her cot. Dre won’t be able to walk as long tomorrow.
Uncle Iro sharpens twigs at the dining table. They may never live up to their use, whatever it is, but he wouldn’t go unprepared. ‘It’s like going into battle with just your scabbard.’ Except in Uncle Iro’s case the scabbard would cause more damage than the average soldier with a sword.
Urdima help us if someone manages to catch Uncle Iro by surprise.
Guen stretches against Alkara. The panther wrinkles her nose and bits of hardened tan-orange gunk crinkle together.
Alkara nods, the soreness in her muscles surges back. Guen’s needs steal Alkara’s luxury of rubbing her own feet. She pulls herself into a sitting position and grabs a brush. The great cat jumps off the cot and pads over to her kneading post.
After clearing away the last bits of gunk, Alkara rubs Guen down. The panther purrs, filling the room with a loud hum. She stretches her paws and claws the sisal rope with each pass of the brush.
Alkara hangs her head, eyes closed. Even just brushing Guen right now is exhausting. Sleep, despite all its issues in Three Rivers, calls to her like the siren it is.
“I gather your search went as well as mine.” Uncle Iro continues to shave bits of wood from his twigs without looking up.
Alkara mumbles, “Cato couldn’t find anything?”
“No, the mage Igadel doesn’t exist in Three Rivers. Not by Cato’s reckoning.”
Dre yawns but walks to the kitchen to clean her hands. “Is it a moniker?”
“It seems unlikely.” Uncle Iro places his whittling knife down with a smirk. “Not a bad idea but Cato checked for that.”
“Another dead end!” Alkara groans and slumps over Guen. The panthers yowls and bats at Alkara.
“Fortunately there are many other paths to tread. Wait ’till your brother gets back.”
Alkara growls, some at the return of Chiron and his wretched comments, some at Uncle Iro’s optimism. But a jolt through her chest disrupts the feeling. Chiron would come back, wouldn’t he?
Is this what he’d have been like if he’d stayed with that Weasel?
Guen paws at Alkara again, this time with more force.
“Okay, okay.” Alkara grooms Guen, distracting herself from whatever twisted mental maze she had almost entered. Her eyelids droop again after a Clink or two.
She wraps herself in a thick blanket and snuggles into her cot with Guen. She stays on the edge of sleep, pulling herself out enough to check if Chiron returned before sliding back toward sleep again. Countless half-wakes pass.
A bang of wood on wood announces the front door’s opening. Alkara jerks awake, heart pounding in her throat. Mindless, she grabs at her dagger.
Chiron stands in the doorway, beckoning with one hand. “No applause would be enough!”
Alkara winces and buries her face into the blanket. “Do you have to yell?” She blinks several times before resting her gaze on Chiron. Alkara shrinks away from the scorn in that look.
Uncle Iro steps into the common room. “Close the door Chiron. You’re letting in the night chill.”
Chiron shrugs and slams the door closed. “Now how is this fair?” He waves his hand across the air in front of them. “You lot laze about while I get the work done.”
Alkara clenches her jaw. Throwing some retort will only provoke Chiron. Better to keep out of his sights.
Dre tests her feet on the ground and stands with a small wince. “What do you have?”
Chiron brandishes a flask. “What, this old thing?” He smiles, shedding a cold indifference into the room. Chiron shrugs. “Found it in that mage’s house.”
Alkara stiffens, eyes wide. She looks her brother over for injuries before turning to her adoptive uncle.
Uncle Iro frowns. “You went alone.”
Chiron swaggers to the table. “No one can see me if I don’t want them to.” An edge of bravado in his voice rankles Alkara. “Better than risk anyone hearing Dre’s chatter or smell–”
“How did you find Igadal?” Dre cuts through Chiron’s insult with an urgent unwillingness to look at Alkara. “Cato said he doesn’t exist.”
Chiron snorts. “That’s because the badger didn’t know its ass from a hole in the ground.” He holds the flask up. A small, hopping creature leaps between the foliage inside. Chiron shakes it and the thing slips into the glass. “The mage’s name is Igthol.” He puts the flask on the table.
Uncle Iro nods as though everyone understands. “The creature’s confusion played no small role in our ability to uncover the mage’s whereabouts.”
Dre crouches at the table to peer at the creature in the flask. Long crook hindlegs support the bulbous abdomen. It blinks from between tufts of blue downy fur. Aberrant. Though fortune had smiled on this creature as it remains clean of the familiar fungus.
Alkara slides from her cot, trying for a relaxed nonchalance. “We should go see it.” She straps on her boot knife and grabs for her dagger.
“I already swept it.” Chiron’s voice drips with venom, quick and as subtle as a snake. “Or what, you think I missed something only the Aberrant-Bane would find?”
Alkara winces but keeps her head down. She continues to equip herself for the endeavor. So much for not drawing any attention.
“Doubtless we’ll find anything you missed,” Uncle Iro cuts in. “But there is a reason we work in teams.”
Chiron forces his lips into a tight line. “Whatever. I guess I’ll show you where it is.” He crosses his arms and leans against the wall.
Dre watches the creature hop among the flask’s brush, unconcerned with the room dynamic. “Were there others like this?”
Chiron shrugs, “A couple of dead ones.”
Uncle Iro stands and heads to his room. “Dre, get ready. We’re all going.”