Alkara spends the next few tendays keeping a low profile. She finds new routes through the guilds’ stomping grounds. Except the Rook’s. Leaving town is out of the question. She doesn’t even stay at the Melted Gryffin often. And it’s all to avoid the few opportunities of trouble that find their way to her.
She does leave Three Rivers for one reason. Whenever an aberrant is spotted near the city she runs to kill it. Sometimes they’re inside the city. This makes dealing with them easier but also gives her an audience.
She doesn’t appreciate that Eryl continues to point out that her behavior only reinforces her growing reputation. She isn’t doing it for the glory. Eryl knows better. But taking out aberration after aberration alone? She’d have better luck staying anonymous if she’d let Chiron and Dreonna go with her.
But that would put them in danger. Alkara broods on it but can’t see past the risk of fighting aberrants with them. She brings their corpses back to Dre to try and help the situation. In turn Dre discovers new physiology and strange physiques; plus she develops useful potions with the remains.
These experiments often fail. Working with aberrant flesh is difficult but few even had the skill to attempt it. Dre proves an exception to that rule despite the setbacks. When she succeeds, the results convey both the simplicity of the new formula and the sophistication it required to begin.
The number of arguments with Dre and Chiron lessened. Aberrant assignments always had descriptions attached and field reports. So long as the accounts weren’t severe they would back off from Alkara going alone. Uncle Iro was a different story. He would occasionally be waiting with arms crossed when she exited the city gates, or around a bend in the road, or behind her.
Along with the fewer internal fights, their missions to protect some farmstead or caravan grew in security. The easy rhythm from their youth was back in arms reach. Alkara would find herself turning to one or the other during her solo runs to find no one. It can’t go on forever, but for now she fights alone, grateful to continue with the slow recuperation of their relationships.
A slew of assignments bring her to the southeast outskirts of Three Rivers, a few miles from the Grecian River and into the Glohakjan forest. She sends word back to Charlotte that she’s accomplished her tasks. It costs six Coronals, but also affords her the opportunity to travel further.
Alkara and her traveling companion stroll through the trees. The Pluvaros flower sprouts in small patches unknown to other forests. Purples overpower the brown and green of the forest. Others bloom in red and amber displays, singular and in blends among the petals.
The huntress motions to Guen, “Let’s stop.” She walks among the flowers, stopping here and there with a wide smile on her face and soft eyes. The duo dawdle with the patches, soaking in an array of spicy, fruity scents. Sunlight streaks down, marking the passing of the day. Too soon Alkara and her panther leave the Pluvaros, returning to the main road.
Alkara nods to the other travelers along the road. Mostly Miësin elves but some Doësin and even human merchants. They provide a wide patch of road by skirting the edges, far from the panther. Alkara stifles a grin with each instance.
That’s right. Stay away. Far away.
The trail leads first through the Miësin capital, Caerswë. But that would be a detour. Alkara and her cat cut across the forest for a direct path. Her steps bring her to Afanen’s city gates. Guenwhyvar’s presence doesn’t deter the stares and snooty looks from the Doësin. If they pull their noses up at Guen any more they’ll topple backwards. Alkara chuckles at the notion.
Dry, smoky air mixed with dirt and perfumes replace the musty bark and fruity blossom scents of the forest. Alkara meanders through the parks to shrug off the smells of the city. It takes longer but is worthwhile. After days of travel, Alkara climbs Mt. Doë and arrives at the familiar landing of Tharan’s doorstep.
What will Dorië greet me with today? Invisible disdain, underlined annoyance, or maybe concealed displeasure? Three times I’ll remind him to drop the title crap. No more than four.
No armored elves guard the door. Alkara looks down each side of the avenue. She narrows her eyes, inspecting the doorframe for damage. The garden fence is intact too. Her knocks are tentative. Each thuds weighing on her stomach. She purses her lips as Dorië footfalls sound from inside
But it’s not Dorië, the door creaks open to reveal an elf woman. The blue skin and her long dark blonde elf locks, tied back and away, mark her as Doësin. The woman blinks at Alkara, “Good morning.” Her voice lilts through the air. “I’m Leä. How might I serve you and this house?”
Alkara’s mouth dries up. She’s as old as Tharan… or older? Younger? “Oh, uh. I’m Alkara. Hi.” She lifts a hand in a short, small wave. She tries to peer down the hall but the woman pulls the door inward, blocking the view. Alkara raises her eyebrows, “I thought Tharan would be here.” Alkara gestures to her quiver. “I uh… I have a commission for him.”
Leä’s gaze flits down to the panther. She doesn’t step back. No tremble enters her voice. The woman smiles at Alkara, who fidgets. A true warmth matching the sun’s rays emanates from that smile.
That’s odd.
“I am glad to meet you, Miss Alkara. Unfor—”
“Please,” Alkara grits her teeth. The hairs on her neck bristle. “Just Alkara.” She lets her jaw loosen. “I really can’t stand all these titles.”
The smile breaks into a grin, Leä’s eyes sparkle. “Alkara,” It doesn’t sound like a strain, not like Dorië. “Unfortunately, Master Tharan is not here.” Alkara’s heart plummets. Leä pulls the door inward, opening the hallway to Alkara. “He’s not due back for some time. Come in,” Leä backs into the home, beckoning. “I believe I have something for you.”
Guen pads into the foyer. Alkara shuffles behind with an awkward blankness. She peers about the hall, her gaze sliding over portraits and artwork without slowing. She’s come for nothing. Whatever Leä has won’t be what she wants. But what else might Tharan leave?
Alkara’s lips part as her fingers tingle with anticipation. “What…?” The malformed question sits alone in the hallway. Leä had departed without a sound and under Alkara’s notice. Alkara humphs and kneels next to Guen. She taps her thigh while stroking the panther.
Leä reappears, carrying a bundle. Alkara hops to her feet. A flutter fills her stomach. The bundle stretches no further than an arrow would. Leä’s warm smile fills the hallway once more. “These should be yours.” She sets the package down and takes hold of the flaps, “But we need check to be certain.” The woman shakes her head, but the smile remains stubbornly attached. “Master Tharan’s workshop is overworked. Not unlike the Master himself.”
Alkara unfurls the canvas with Leä. Pristine arrows poke out of the removed canvas. More utility arrows. Even mythril ones. Her heart thumps, beating a rhythm through her ears. And a new one! “Oh,” Her voice comes out as a whisper. Eyes beaming, Alkara turns to Leä and squeezes her in a big hug. “Thank you!”
The elven woman’s eyes widen. Her arms pinned to the side, she manages, “Alkara, this is highly irregular.”
“Oh, gosh,” Alkara releases the woman, heat builds in Alkara’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. But look!” She takes the new arrow and brandishes the tip. A cunning mechanism juts out from the end, waiting for impact. Three pronged hooks trail behind, actuated by the spring triggering on collision. Alkara gestures to each, explaining their purpose with rapidity. “And then it all comes together with this trailing line!” She stares at Leä but the expected response doesn’t come forth. “It’s a grappling arrow!”
Leä nods. It’s a hesitant, humoring nod. “Yes, of course it is.”
Of course he can make these… what else can he do?
Alkara inspects the spring-loaded arrow and marvels at the intricacy. She blows out a stream of air in what isn’t quite a whistle. “I can’t believe it…” Alkara runs a finger down the hooks. The tips are mythril but the arms are some darker metal.
A small cough breaks the silence. Leä nods to the bundle, “They are too your satisfaction?” Her eyebrows stay raised after the question.
“I— of course!” Alkara’s gaze flicks to each of the different arrows. “It’s like a dream come true. These will make a huge difference.” She looks back at Leä, whose eyebrows are still raised. “Oh, oh of course.” Alkara fishes a pouch out from her bag. The soft clink of coin seeps out from the canvas. “This should be enough.” She’d made sure to exchange the Crowns and Wreaths for the strange elven triangles called Bonargild.
Leä takes the pouch without peering inside. She might not even count it after Alkara’s departure. What a strange culture. Alkara bites her lip. “Um, could I leave a note? For Tharan.” The elven woman straightens her shoulders. Alkara continues, “I don’t have parchment but I need to thank him.”
Leä’s smile dampens, “Yes. I’m sure Master Tharan would appreciate the gesture. I’ll return shortly.” The elven woman departs, heading back to the same corridor she brought the package from.
Oops. Stupid titles.
Alkara scratches out a quick note. She agonizes over some of the word choices, though she’s not sure why. She quirks her mouth in a lopsided frown. What is it? She sighs, scrawling out the last words. With a shake of her head she places her name at the end. “Okay, that’s it. Thank you Leä.”
Leä bows, when she rises the smile has returned. “It is this house’s honor to have you as a guest, albeit briefly.” The elven woman refolds the package and hands it to Alkara. “As it was my pleasure to meet you. We hope to see you again shortly.”
Alkara scratches her head, tilting it with the motion. With a shrug she glances around, searching for the panther. “Guen!” The great cat had wandered over to the lounge, perhaps looking for Tharan. Alkara steps out into the dry morning with the panther in tow. “Thanks again!” She can’t help but return Leä’s smile.
Only had to ask once. Hope Leä answers the door every time.
Alkara sighs, catching herself off guard. “Do ya like that stuffy elf so much you had to look for him?” Guen blinks at her. Alkara chuckles before turning to set off down the mountain’s stairs. Her only business had been dealt with so there’s no reason to hang around.
At least we’ll see more of those tiny roses sooner.
The journey back from Afanen is restful, but short. Well. As restful as it can be with the nightmares. A few days pass in relative calm before Alkara meets with Charlotte. Alkara approaches the waiting area with slow footsteps. The lower hall bustles below, open to the balcony leading to the various offices. She slides onto one of the couches guarding the entrance of Charlotte’s office with a nod to the attendant.
The attendant, a sallow woman with thin grey hair, tsks and scribbles away on a pad. Alkara sighs. Guen sits with her by hopping onto the couch and laying across Alkara’s body. “Umph, Guen…” A lazy push ejects the panther from the seat. Alkara hops to her feet, shaking her head at the cat. A soft cry escapes the office.
What on Urda?
A small man exits, his arm around a sobbing woman’s shoulder. Tears distort her features. The man nods to Alkara, his odd, shock of hair bobbing with the motion, “Excuse me.” They slide past the hunter and towards the exit. Alkara stares after them.
Alkara peers in. Charlotte sits at her desk, shoulders slumped, staring without expression into the fire. Alkara steps into the room, securing the door with a soft click. A pungent, woody scent infuses the office. She turns back and the guildmaster hasn’t noticed. Alkara bites her lip. “Charlotte?”
Charlotte starts, a pewter tankard slips from her grasp and clatters onto the floor. She snatches the cup and sets in on her desk before turning with a heavy sigh, “Alkara!” Her voice is loud, but somber. “How long have you been here?”
Alkara glances back at the closed door, seeing through it and imagining the couple descending the stair. She shrugs, “Long enough to see that man and, what, wife? What were they crying over?”
The guildmaster shifts. She tilts the tankard and rolls the empty mug on its base. Charlotte meets Alkara’s eye but quickly turns and looks back to the fire. “They wanted to hire us.” The incense burns at the desk, snaking its way through the flat-bottomed cup it fills. “But we can’t.” The guildmaster’s voice diminishes, shrinking under cover of the hazy incense. “We’ll leave their farm undefended.
Alkara narrows her gaze, mouth crooked, “Why?” A familiar heat warms her chest.
Holding a stick of wax above a lit candle, the guildmaster smiles with clenched jaw. She clears her throat. “Their coinpurse is light.” She rolls a parchment and dribbles wax onto the folded edge. “We’re the best.” She presses her forefinger ring into the wax, discharging the excess from the central design. “If we accept less than what the best demands, we lose.” Charlotte offers the freshly sealed parchment to Alkara with a selection of other, insecure leafs.
Alkara rifles through them, gaze crystallized in place above the sheets. She stands still save for tiny twitches. The words on the pages swim up and distort themselves to her unfocused eyes. “Is this all?” Her mouth’s gone dry. She sucks at her teeth.
Charlotte clear her throat, “What was that?” There’s an unhealthy edge in her voice. Sharp.
Refocusing on the orders, Alkara purses her lips. “I mean…” The warmth in her chest tightens around her belly, loosening its grip on the heat. “Is there anything else? More jobs?”
Charlotte releases the tankard, letting it clatter on the table, “No. We’re done. You’re dismissed.”
Alkara shoves the parchment in her pack and turns on her heel. She forces her legs to slow as she strides from the office. At the catwalk she looks left and right, even though the couple would be gone by now. Alkara shakes her head and hurries down the stairs, taking the last few two at a time.
Am I crazy? If they can’t pay they can’t pay. Sengmar would have seen the same oddities, but he was paranoid. Charlotte’s right, they’ll find someone. Unless…
Alkara slams both of the guildhall’s front doors open, erupting onto the front steps. She searches both routes from the Retriever’s headquarters, gaze darting across pairs of people, sliding past sole travelers. There, a muss of bushy hair stands out in the crowd, the man escorts his probable wife along the northeast road.
Alkara bustles through the crowd, squeezing and sliding as needed. She doesn’t call out, unsure who might be listening. She reaches out a hand toward the man and pulls back. She bites the corner of her mouth and jostles his shoulder.
The man tilts his head, eyes narrowed. He quirks his mouth, “Yes? Can I help you?”
Alkara offers a faltering smile. She glances left and right over her shoulders, back toward the guildhall, before setting her gaze on the man, “Actually, I’m hoping I can help you.”
Risks are needed to accomplish good things. Great things. Alkara had defended a farm that no guild would touch. But those are rumors. Even though a certain black panther had been seen as well. Alkara sits on her familiar stool in the Melted Griffin denying it all.
Glin’s voice overpowers the din, “And don’t forget the arrows.”
Guen yowls. Her companion, fame growing, holds her hands up in surrender, “No, no. Those could have been anyone’s.” Alkara laughs, but grimaces too. She clutches her side, just under the rib cage. The wound had healed, but underneath something still festers. Dre had said she could fix it. But the potion isn’t done.
Glin nods, shaking her head with a smile. “The mythril ones? With blue fletching?”
“Lots of people use blue fletching.”
The barmaid snatches a parchment from the counter, “And this?!” She waves it in the air. Other patrons shout, cheering the gesture. “‘From the offices of Charlotte and Rook’s Rapid Retrievers to Alkara’ oh that has an official ring to it.” Glin pushes Alkara’s hands away, keeping the letter from the huntress’s reach. “‘You are ordered to abstain’, that’s a fancy word, ‘from further unsanctioned—'”
“Unsanctioned!” The cheer echoes through the tavern. Alkara puts her face in her hands.
Glin clears her throat, “‘Unsanctioned duties under pain of escalating—'”
“Escalating!” The word is slurred through a patron’s mug.
“Shut it Folis, or that’ll be your last.” Glin shakes her head, but the smile remains. “Where was I? Ah, ‘escalating fines. This in accordance with guild law. Failure to comply will result in expulsion and penal action.'”
“‘Penal!'”
Glin sighs. “Children. One free round and suddenly the can’t hold their ale.”
Alkara peeks through her figures, “Thank you, Glin.”
The door slams open, burning sunlight evaporates the cheerful air. Chiron stands in the doorframe. His expression fills Alkara with dread. “Dre.”
Alkara walks toward Chiron in a daze, dragging her feet across the wood floor. Her eyes stay tuned to Chiron’s expression. Dre? A chill runs down her arms, settling in her fingers. The pungent sour ale of the tavern sharpens to her senses. “Where is she? She’s not—”
“No,” Chiron jerks his head in denial. “She’s hurt though. Bad.” He lends an arm to Alkara, steadying her. “I’ll take you to her.”
“What happened?” Alkara’s stomach roils. Her insides empty, drained of anything solid to anchor to.
Chiron leads Alkara outside, “She was arrested. Charges of poaching, illegal experimentation—” Chiron turns them into an alley. His voice is strained as he continues, “That Zilioc you killed, at the farm.”
More pain that I caused.
“I—” Alkara touches the wound in her abdomen. It pulses, radiating warmth then cold. Dre had said it was an egg. “It’s my fault.”
Chiron squeezes her hand. “We’ve been through that.” He pulls her along, not slowing to argue the point. “Uncle Iro headed to the castle. He’s arguing for her release.”
The alleys they move through hold more squalor, not less. Alkara blinks, trying to stifle the smells of urine and vomit by blocking the sights. “This isn’t the way to the castle, is it?”
Chiron swallows. “No, Dre is being flogged. We’re going there.”
The path feels abrupt. Alkara clips through the journey from one juncture to the next. Chiron’s mastery of the city’s alleys and shortcuts brings them to the orange-bladed grass of Tamworth Park.
A makeshift stage showcases Dre, strapped to a pole. Two soldiers stand adjacent and a crowd watches, booing, jeering, and cheering. The back of Dre’s tunic struggles to maintain cohesion. Most of it is torn, shredded by the whip.
Chiron stops at the edge of the crowd. Another whip thunders through the air, then the crowd drowns it out with their cheer. Alkara pulls free of Chiron and pushes into the crowd.
Her throat aches, raw. She shoves faceless people away, their features a blur. The jeering is lost on her. Is she shouting? Chiron’s voice works through the noise but she can’t understand it. Someone tugs her from behind. Alkara whirls and slams a fist into him. Chiron takes the blow and wraps her in an embrace.
Alkara contends with the grip, working her muscles against Chiron’s iron-like hug. She twists, looking back toward the stage, unable to pull away but intent on reaching out. Dre is staring at Alkara. She must be shouting. Her sister, thin and pale, alert and with shoulder back, smiles at her with a curt nod.
Alkara’s shout dies with time. She can’t sustain it with the look Dre gave her. A lode pulls on her heart. Alkara squeezes her fists and watches, unblinking. She wills her strength toward her sister.
A soldier steps up to Dre, his whip held up and high. The ends of the multi-thronged weapon shine with glints of sharp hooks. “Teach her a lesson!” The cry breaks upon the crowd from somewhere on the other side from Alkara.
The whip flashes through the air, ending with a thump as the hooks dig into Dre’s back. Blood trickles from the punctures. She winces, tightening against the bonds, but doesn’t cry out. The punisher rips the hooks free with a fluid yank. Still Dre stays quiet.
Again the whip falls. And again. Dre’s mouth works, but no sound pierces the crowd’s clamor. Alkara falters, falling into Chiron’s grip. She tightens with each crack, each rip, and the spray of blood from the wounds. Her breathing slows. It can’t be worse than what’s happening to Dre.
Ten lashes. Each brings blood streaming from chunky, gory flesh. The soldier steps back. Dre slumps against the post, murmuring to herself with eyes squeezed shut. Alkara breathes out a ragged, halting breath.
Another figure appears on the stage, hooded and adorned with blue and orange robes. Concentric circles of silver interrupt the pattern on the woman’s chest. She saunters to Dre. The crowd hushes.
Alkara grasps Chiron’s shirt, pulling him close, “No—”
The woman reaches toward Dre with a hand aglow with yellowish flame. The radiance washes over Alkara’s sister, spreading to her back and flowing into the wounds. Wherever that illumination touches, the wounds close up, sealing away the blood and replenishing the flesh.
The priest steps away, hiding once more on the opposite side of the stage. And the flogging continues. Ten more lashes. For an hour this continues. The flogging soldier swaps with another of the guard, but no one relieves Dre. A hundred lashes in total before some officer waves the priest back. There would be no healing after the last punishment.
The soldiers undo the ties, and Dre collapses to the floor. She pushes herself to a partial sitting position, holding the remains of her tunic up. She blinks at the stage’s wood.
Chiron pulls Alkara along, forcing her to move with him. Iroshi, failed in stopping the punishment, had arrived at the park. He gets to Dre before the pair and shelters her with a cloak. Dre winces but doesn’t protest. The soldiers eye them but say nothing. A rusty, metal stench soaks the platform, rising up from the pools of blood.
Dre whispers, the words meet only Iroshi’s ears. Only small, sharp clicks touch Alkara’s ears. She strains to understand, edging closer. It sounds like some unwieldy language. And maybe a name. Something uttered twice. Qin’czykil.
The foursome leave the terror and pain of the platform behind. Chiron and Iroshi support Dre on the return home. Once there, Iroshi guides Dre into the second room.
Alkara looks around the front room, eyes wide.
It’s clean. Too clean. And Dre’s table is gone. Normally anchored to the wall and heavily laden with her bottles and jars full of only she knows what, just gone.
“It was gone when we got here.” Chiron murmurs. “They took everything. Or destroyed it. Left a hell of a mess.”
Alkara swallows, the rising lump in her throat and just nods. She had brought the Zilioc remains home to Dre. It had behaved strangely during the fight. And it had one of those mushroom stalks Dre’s always talking about wanting to take a closer look at. Bringing it home had seemed like such a good idea.
Uncle Iro reenters the common room without a sound. Dried blood coats his palms. His shoulder slump, “She’s asleep. We’ll let her rest for a time.”
Alkara hangs her head, wallowing. Invisible weights pull at her limbs. She pulls away from Chiron and sits on her bed. Her muscles loosen, and she takes a trembling breath before exhaling with deliberate slowness. She swallows, the relief that Dre is resting overpowered by guilt and shame.
Chiron frowns. His voice carries no weight, “What’s wrong with her?”
Uncle Iro covers his mouth with a hand, rubbing downward and squeezing his chin. “She’s experienced something similar in the Depths.” He sits at the edge of Dre’s bed and keeps a light, airy tone to his words. “When she was enslaved.” Each word knots Alkara’s stomach. “She’ll be okay with rest.” He takes Alkara’s chin in hand and raises her face to look her in the eyes.
Alkara gaze stays anchored down, away from his eyes.
“We’re paying a heavy price, young one.” Iroshi speaks with an even tempo, measuring each word. “It is not a price I would have chosen to pay.” He squeezes Alkara’s knee. “This city can rot for all I care if it means keeping my family safe, but you…” Uncle Iro smiles, softening his expression with a small grimace, mirroring Alkara’s. “Maybe the dryad was right. Maybe it’s time for us older folks to follow the young ones’ example.”
Alkara shakes her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. “No more.” She chokes out with a gasp. “I can’t do it anymore.”
“Sure, you’ll tell yourself that. And maybe you’ll even begin to believe it. Until the next time you hear someone has been left undefended.” Uncle Iro chuckles softly, “You’ve been this way since you were little, Alkara. Measuring the cost is important, but listening to your gut, even more so. Speaking of which,” He pulls her head forward to kiss her on the forehead, murmuring a small prayer to Urdima. A cool, healing energy focuses briefly in her side, just under her ribcage, and then dissipates. “There. Now Dre doesn’t have to worry about that antidote. Now go sit with your sister. Chiron, do you mind taking care of dinner?”
“I’ll have it ready.” Chiron replies solemnly.
“Good man.” Uncle Iro smiles at the two of them while he stands. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
Alkara sniffs, “Where are you going?”
Uncle Iro’s smile becomes a little grim, “To chat with some old friends.”