by A. S. Etaski
Gavin and I received a triple bow at the introduction. Mourn continued. “The role of the Shuang family is to be the gatekeepers of the enclave. If one means no ill, a visitor or trader knows to check in with them first. Murei was kind enough to meet us halfway and outside in private.”
The spike of fear in my gut was sharper than I wished it. Gavin showed similar hesitation.
Mourn had his hand raised. “May I? I told you the truth about Yong-wen and the rest of the city. It is better they see why I brought you in here.”
City of the Dragon Spirit, indeed.
Exhaling, I lowered my hood. “Go on.”
Gavin had to follow my example before Mourn would unravel his spell, which he did without enthusiasm. I could tell the moment our Paxian faces vanished by the looks on theirs. They weren’t prepared despite not blinking an eye at meeting the tall Elf-Dragon in an alley.
“Bakgwei!” exclaimed the younger man on the left, his voice hushed. He looked away, strange hand gestures in motion.
“Le nirjwai, yun gel-siyu!” the elder Murei said with clear irritation at his son, who quickly bowed his head as if in apology.
Mourn smiled a tiny bit; it was not obvious, but he enjoyed the exchange. Gavin stayed in place through this reaction to his dry, pale skin and his night eyes, watching them without a blink. I glimpsed his long fingers twitch like he was prepared to act. Likewise, it would only take me an instant to summon my spiders in a leap.
After chastising his son with another grunt of a word, Murei avoided eye contact with Gavin, focusing totally on me. The elder seemed fascinated, going so far as to move a step closer and note some comparison between Mourn and me. He asked the half-blood a question directly, to which Mourn responded with hand motions and a verbal answer. They went on, back and forth, and Gavin and I sensed a mutual acceptance and relaxed.
The mercenary certainly was fluent in Yungian. And not just the words.
With more bows, Murei bid us welcome to their city, or so we were told, and granted a farewell before leaving with his sons. Their calm gait expressed the dignity of those accustomed to privilege and influence on those around them.
“There,” said our guide, putting away the light. “Word will spread regardless but coming from Shuang will help it stay in the enclave, and you will not be harassed by mistake.”
I smirked. “By mistake?”
“Thinking you are mere Manalari mortals and not spirits in flesh.”
“Spirits,” Gavin repeated with a flavor of skepticism that could only come from a death mage. “Is that the meaning of ‘bakgwei’?”
Mourn turned his head to show his teeth. “Broadly, no. Specifically, bakgwei is a ‘white ghost’ and recently made a curse for the Ma’ab. But the ancient legends also tell of pale spirits crossing over from the land of the dead, often linked to the imminent or recent death of family.”
“What startling precision,” I commented with a smile.
Gavin grunted, lifting his chin to look around as we exited the shortcut between buildings. “And what did the elder deem a Davrin?”
“Nirjwai,” Mourn answered. “The closest word they have to an Elf of any color.” The Dragon son paused oddly. “Interestingly, Sirana, your white hair suggests wisdom to the elder Shuang. He thinks you are an extremely old immortal. If that spreads as well, you will be shown more respect than any woman in Yong-wen.”
I bit my lips neither to laugh nor snarl. “But not respect above you.”
“Dragon spirits are strong guardians and bringers of good fortune regardless of perceived age,” he said in a reasonable tone. “The residents here are often glad to hear I am in town. But I wager most will not speak to the grey mage at all for fear of bad luck or death coming to their homes.”
“As if ignoring death stops one from meeting it,” Gavin said.
The dry quip made me chuckle.
“Some here would agree, Deathwalker,” Mourn said. “You might meet some. Come. Let us continue.”
We raised our hoods but Mourn did not replace our disguises. With greater trepidation than either of us wanted to admit, Gavin and I followed Mourn out into the street. I was aware of Yungians looking our way before quickly minding their business. It was as if the reemergence of three, unharmed males in an alley had given permission for the commoners to reveal that they were aware of us, whether or not they had been from the start.
As we moved deeper into the enclave, I tried to read the body language of those doing business in early evening by lanterns on the street. Several shared whispers and glances, some indelicate pointing. Some obviously thought of doing something bold; they were trying to gather the courage to act.
I paid attention to Mourn’s body language, his hands for signs, and his frequent scenting of the spicy, floral air. He was alert but calm. Gavin wasn’t enjoying the attention but merely looked down and frowned deeper.
Finally, one older female approached. Her head was uncovered, and she had streaks of white and iron grey in her long hair, which had been plaited and coiled into an accomplished bun. Her yellow and pink clothing was not ragged, though it was not as new and nice as what the Shuang men had been wearing, and it possessed the same silken texture and stylized, floral decoration.
Her eyes, elegantly slanted upward and without the deep eyelid creases of the Paxian and Noiri Humans, were direct and deep black, her mouth set firmly but with an emotion I wasn’t sure about. I could see her wrinkles, the lines at her nostrils and the corners of her mouth, the loose skin at her jaw and neck. Her hands were more like Gavin’s, gaunt with raised blue veins and prominent knuckles, though her fingers were quite short. She was close to my height.
If this was an elder female Human, then I could see where the assumption of “wisdom” might come from with the color of my hair. I could see her experience; she was a matron of some kind.
The Yungian elder approached Mourn, her voice soft and respectful, both her hands out, palms up, as she lowered her head in a bow. We slowed and stopped when Mourn did, and the woman was encouraged enough to remove a simple silver necklace with three opaque, blue stones, which had been beneath her silken shift.
She reached out and let it gently slide along the bracer of Mourn’s forearm, muttering something that sounded like a chant to me, except I felt no magic pulse. Nothing had happened, it was a simple, mundane gesture.
Nonetheless, Mourn pulled a sleight-of-hand that I almost missed: one hand had removed a tiny vial, and he slipped it into her palm as he accepted her gift of the necklace with obvious ceremony. He said no words. The woman was not stupid; she palmed the vial, hiding it, bowed several times as she backed away from him, speaking the tone of gratitude, and left quickly.
Several others emboldened by the show started forward, but only to one side; they gave Gavin and his mare a wide berth.
“Keep walking,” Mourn said lowly to us. “Do not attack them in any way, do not hurt them. If they offer you a gift with both hands, simply accept it no matter if you want it. It is a crippling insult and a shame to their family if you do not.”
Rigid. I refrained from making a face. “How many might try?”
“Only the bravest willing to touch a spirit.”
Soon, I saw exactly what he meant when a poorly dressed, younger female approached me and touched my cloak lightly with her fingertips as I passed. Had the mercenary not warned me, I would have thrown her to the ground long before she made contact.
“What are they doing?” I asked.
“They hope for some Dragon luck. Just keep up with me. They won’t steal from you.”
“Won’t they?” Gavin muttered cynically, gritting his black teeth, which kept everyone away from him.
I hated this strange behavior as well, feeling surrounded except for Gavin’s side; hearing many words I did not understand; smelling unwashed bodies and clothing and bad breath as they made their pleas and prayers. I didn’t like them touching me, be it my glove o
r my bracer or my cloak covering my shoulder, but none reached for my face or my middle or impeded my gait if I did not stop. They reached for Mourn as well, but he was so much taller that he could still see in front of us. My view was blocked by the peasants.
My heart began to pound as I wondered if this would be continual the entire time we were in this enclave.
“Xi-ung gao, nirjwai,” said an older female dressed in blue and black, probably of middling wealth. She offered me something wrapped in blue cloth, presenting it with both hands and bowing her head to look at the ground.
What I smelled inside made my mouth water.
What had Mourn said? Accept any gifts?
I took the wrapped—and warm—foodstuff with a slight nod, and the woman reached up to touch the edge of my hood, as close to my white hair as she could get, smiling to show one missing tooth before backing away, bowing like Mourn’s first woman.
A few women approached and offered me fruits and wrapped edibles; one gave me a large, purple flower. Mourn received pieces of jewelry in addition to a cloth-wrapped meal or two. Our hands were getting full; a bad thing if we needed to use our tools.
Eventually, at last, we escaped out of the cluster of Humans onto a street less populous, only a few curious children following us any farther. Gavin passed me an empty sack from Nightmare’s satchel for the food, and I tucked most of the pieces in, except for the first one given to me. My appetite had returned like a storm. I had to eat that delicious-smelling package this instant.
Mourn had pocketed his new jewelry. He smiled, adding his meals to my bag as I unwrapped the woman’s gift, sniffed it again in a cursory attempt to detect any toxin my body might reject. I took a bite.
“Like it?” Mourn asked.
It was a small hand pie, wrapped in an incredibly thin, stretchy crust. The mixture of minced meat and vegetables inside was seasoned in an astonishing balance of sweet and savory. There was a lingering bit of heat in my mouth after the second bite.
Oh, fuuuck.
“Yes,” I answered after I swallowed again. “It is very good. Complex.”
“Filling, too,” he reassured me on the third bite.
I smiled and continued eating as we eventually left even the curious children behind. Mourn did not lead us in a straight path toward wherever we were going but shed stragglers and gave me time to eat my fill from the bag. I viewed a lot of the streets on the way, mapping them in my head how I did underground tunnels and caverns, except Yong-wen possessed many unique landmarks. It was too easy.
Signs of growing wealth became concentrated as loiterers on the street lessened. There was an air of importance among those riding in their carts, pulled either by a beast of burden or a single other Human, depending on how much cargo was being transported. Flowerpots and boxes became common, freshening the air amid close living quarters.
Finally, we reached a well-crafted building of dark wood, approaching from the rear. Peering up the alley and along the roofs, I guessed it sat at a prominent corner with closed shops and the evening taverns opened farther down the way. At the back, there was a small stable with tending buas, and I could see some of the other animals deliberately bred to look prettier than Nightmare.
Mourn instructed Gavin to take what he wished off the mare, for she would be staying here among the others.
“Is that a good idea?” the death mage asked.
“Will she eat the other steeds?” Mourn asked in all seriousness. At our twin expressions of surprise, he added, “The tenders do not understand what we are saying.”
How nice to be sure.
Gavin shrugged and answered the question. “Only if they are already dead. She won’t eat any feed, however, and if they check her teeth…”
“Then let me warn them.” Mourn grinned, turning to the buas. He spoke in their native tongue, using his hands where necessary, indicating Gavin’s mount in a similar way he had introduced us to the family Shuang.
The two young males’ dark eyes widened, and they bowed their heads in understanding. One asked a question, Mourn answered him, and an agreement was reached.
The half-breed took it upon himself to remove the saddlebags and drape them over one shoulder, somewhat to Gavin’s annoyance. As my scholar removed the saddle, the mare was unnaturally still; it was not necessary for anyone to hold the reins. The boys looked convinced, staring with awe, and whispering to each other like they were planning their night.
“What did you tell them, exactly.” I crossed my arms.
“That she is a mare of the spirit world and only eats meat,” Mourn said.
“Hm. That is refreshingly accurate.”
“Also, that they should keep her away from the others,” he continued, “and need not exercise her or tend her as they would a mortal horse. They only need to feed her a few rats and come tell us if someone lingers or hassles her. They have agreed.”
“On your reputation alone?” Gavin asked.
Mourn smiled. “More on your appearance, bakgwei, but they are glad to receive instruction from the Dragon Spirit, for I have been here before.”
How often Mourn chose to simply be truthful, and yet this seemed to fit well into how the Yungians saw their world that they did not question it. The Witch Hunters would have been in screaming murder fits by now.
“And where is here?”
“A Guild house in Yong-wen.”
Gavin grunted, seeming satisfied. “I doubt anyone without magic would be able to take her if they tried. She simply will not move. They must be strong enough to carry or drag dead weight.”
I smirked at the pun and spied one of the young handlers trying to peer into my hood. I looked directly at him, and he moved behind a post, averting his eyes. I could hear his heart pounding from where I stood.
Mourn noticed as well, flicking his tongue once in the boy’s direction. “No need to delight in scaring them.”
I blinked. “He was staring. I only looked at him. He did it to himself.”
“He hasn’t fallen to his knees,” Gavin muttered in my defense, “weeping and babbling incoherently.”
“Yes, it was a thrill for him,” I agreed. “You said I could show my face here. I was just standing here.”
Mourn grunted, leaving it at that.
We waited for Gavin to direct his mare to follow the boys as they put her in the empty stall farthest from the door. The other horses grew nervous, and we left as the boys began shifting steeds to different boxes away from the otherworldly mare. It was useful they were so cooperative with the “Dragon spirit,” but I pondered how much influence Mourn really had among these people, what he used it for, and what he had to do to maintain it.
We entered the building into a large, quiet kitchen which had space for ten servants to be working at once. Richly decorated pots hung on racks suspended from hooks in the ceiling. Bags of white grains and baskets of root vegetables abounded with drying herbs and a rack of spice bottles. Two wide cooking hearths, one on each side of the room, were clean, orderly, and well-tended.
There were two Yungian women present, which might have been why Gavin covered up as much as he could, including hiding his hands tucked in his sleeves. He hunched down, again hiding the fact that he was not much shorter than Kurn. I understood not wanting to be stared at further but did not think he needed to hunch. Mourn drew greater attention with his height and the fact that he left his hood down.
Across the room were stone steps leading up from the kitchen into a polished, wooden hallway; I assumed we would go there. Before we could leave the mat at the doorway, however, Mourn plucked up a stout bristled brush next to a bucket of fresh water, dunked it, and began to scrub his bare, taloned feet. Gavin and I stared at him as he knocked off dirt between his toes.
“Remove your boots,” he told us quietly. “You may carry them with you, but there will be a mat on which to place them in your room. Use that.”
Our room?
I glanced at the women’s feet, noted they wore stockings and open, tough-bottomed sandals on their feet. Neither wore boots meant for outdoors as the stable buas had worn. By comparison, how muddy and travel-worn my boots were, even if I did clean them regularly.
So, Yungians were a people concerned with indoor cleanliness. Not a bad thing under an open sky with so much rain mixing with soil, not to mention the manure in the streets and stables which could be tracked in. Not having to constantly clean the floors or worry about filth getting into the food and beds would give the servants time to focus on other things.
I complied, using the bristle brush after Mourn to scrub the bottoms of my boots, making sure to land the clumps of filth on the mat to be shaken out. Gavin was much slower to follow.
“Not a custom at the monastery?” I asked with a smile.
The mage grunted, “No. The cleaning of mud and dung off the floors was one of my endless tasks.”
I chuckled. “Yungians must think Manalari monks like sheep in a field.”
Gavin had not seemed to consider that before. He removed his boots and dingy socks as well, letting his pale feet and long toes with their black tips be seen by the servants as he cleaned his boots after me. They averted their eyes and found ways to rearrange their herbs.
We passed through the kitchen to the far door, the stone beneath our feet smooth and clean swept, climbing three steps to what I assumed was the main living area, maybe a dining space. In another dark paneled, decorated alcove, Mourn greeted an older Yungian woman with a bow and a word. She smiled widely at him, well-dressed in a royal blue silk robe and possessing an air of authority as she returned his greeting.
I peeked out of the alcove and through a curtain of beads woven on threads hanging down, spying a large dining space. Three long tables and chairs, beautifully carved, exquisite trimmings draping, craft displays, and murals on the walls. The color gold and long, serpentine reptiles were common accents.
Hm.
I thought it odd that Mourn did not introduce us to this woman by name as she briskly directed two younger females to lead us to a smaller hallway to the left, away from what I noted was the street-facing front of the building. I tried to catch her eye, but she would not look directly at either Gavin or me. She excused us and herself before I could speak.