Abbey’s Alehouse and Inn is right where I remember it, along the thoroughfare past all the piers and boat houses, directly across from Caster’s Jetty.
The public house consumes the entire lower level of the inn aside from a stable around back. The pub level is constructed of old moss-covered stone masonry that’s been stained with the red tint of the Scarlet. I recall a few stories of great floods several generations ago. This building has been standing since then, and it looks the part. The upper level appears to be an afterthought. I’m sure it’s anchored in some fashion, but if a fisherman were to share a story of a wooden boat washing ashore and planting itself on top during one of those great floods, I would believe him. It’s a whitewashed structure with portholes and radial shutters to match. And a cute white trim. The vessel is stacked on top of the old stone structure. It manages to give the ancient building a cozy appeal.
I walk Helios to the stables and make my way inside the public house. It ought to be littered with gossip and drunken fishermen more than willing to share, but it isn’t. The door creaks shut behind me with a loud knock when it hits the jamb. I flinch.
The barmaid gives me a funny look as she cleans a nearby table. I dismiss it and hurry to the counter where another woman polishes the glassware with a rag.
“A room please?” My voice is shaky. The simple act of opening my mouth to allow my tongue to work intimidates me. I was always shy as a child. And having been secluded for four seasons seems to have amplified the matter.
“Aye, half a copper,” she declares.
The gold rib fumbles out of my grip and I slap a palm down to stop the loud clinking, inadvertently slamming it onto the counter. I draw more attention with that act than the clinking of the coin alone would have. I sneak a glance over my shoulder and see the barmaid eyeing me again and the few customers strewn about too. “And I’ve a tiger in the stable too,” I add wearily.
“Ah, a full copper then. We’ll get it fed and groomed.” She swipes the gold rib from the counter, looks me up and down, then gives the coin a suspicious once over. She pockets it and counts out nine silver ribs and nine coppers, sliding them across the counter as she does.
“And how much for a bath?” The question comes out as a whisper. But she hears it well enough.
She cocks her head, her eyes giving me another inspection. “For you, lad…it’s on the house. Looks like it’s been a while.”
I nod my appreciation and turn around to face the open room. It feels as though everyone is staring at me. They’re not. But I move quick to find a seat at an empty table anyhow.
The place isn’t as crowded as I imagined it would be at this hour. Though, I have no concern I’ll be pointed in the right direction of a Healer. And if I’m lucky, I can dig up some information on the Woman-in-Red as well. I wait only a few moments before the servant approaches. The same barmaid that’s been interrogating me with her eyes. She’s a young girl, older than me, but still young. Probably twenty-some seasons. She has dark hair with… Blue eyes! A Lahyf! A Healer! She must be.
“What can I do you for, young sir?”
I’m taken aback temporarily when her boorish vocals sound off. It is far from matching the sweet, innocent visual. One of those enigmas you happen upon from time to time, I suppose.
It feels rude to immediately ask for help, so I order a meal first. I should get a feel for the public house and who this servant is before asking any suspicious questions. In truth, I’m unsure how to approach it, or what to ask. I figure I have all night to work up the courage to find an aid.
“A spiced ale and whatever meat you’re serving tonight please.” The shakiness in my voice eases. My third, no fourth interaction with someone outside of Jay or Goose. I wonder if I came across this sheepish to the Woman-in-Red. I was too busy fearing for my life to recognize it if I did.
“The spiced ale I can do. As for the meat, you won’t find nothin’ but freshwater pickin’s in this alehouse. Breaded cod, smoked salmon, seared halibut, sautéed swordfish, ginger calamari, crab cakes, lemon zest eel strips, you name it. What would you like, sweetie?” She sees I’m caught off guard by the list. “I’d recommend the cod,” she suggests with a smile. She leans in and whispers, “Regardless of what you ask for, lad, it’s the only thing they pull from the delta anymore. And it’s all you’re gonna get. You’ll just cough up a few more coppers with the others. Something about a delta demon runnin’ amuck or somethin’. It’s scaring away the food supply.” She straightens back up, “The cod then, young sir?”
“Y-yes,” I stammer, “the cod please.”
“You got it, sweet cheeks.” She smiles with a wink and scuttles back to the kitchen.
It has to be a tall tale, but I suppose the delta is large enough for such a creature.
The Scarlet Delta is the largest body of water in Vedora. All rivers, streams and creeks eventually flow into it. A massive lake of sorts. It can get shallow during a drought but not so shallow that the fishermen’s vessels cannot get around. History has it written there once was a drought so long it lasted multiple cycles of the seasons. It was a time in which the winters were warm, the spring and fall were unpredictable, and the summers were unbearable. It’s labeled in the texts as the Season of Solitude. And that’s the only time in history the delta has been reduced to an endless pit of mud. Ever since, it’s been flowing strong enough to be Greenport’s lifeline. Without it, the anglers would resort to casting their lines into the treetops of the Broken Forest to hang themselves. I’m sure of it.
“Caster once angled a demon, you know it. I saw it meh own eyes!” A voice sounds from the table nearest me.
“You a lyin’ mudsucker! Caster hasn’t been ‘round for ages,” says another.
“Nah, I didn’t see him reel it in, idiot. He kept its razor ivories. I seen ‘em at the healers’ place when I was gettin’ this taken care of.” I don’t bother to see what he’s gesturing at in fear I’ll stir up ruckus for eavesdropping. “If he can angle the demon, no doubt we can too.”
“Of course we can. We just have to find the right bait. I hear rumors that in the Blood Plains there are bodies of water that are much larger than the delta. And along with it, the fish that swim there. And the waters make you thirsty too. No doubt we can get some Delta Demon bait down south.”
Everyone knows a fisherman who doesn’t lie, doesn’t fish. Their stories aren’t to be taken serious while sober. But he mentioned a Healer.
The barmaid delivers my spiced ale as I watch the crowd grow larger. I’m careful not to stare too long in one direction. The lot of men lingering here is much rougher than the crowds my parents used to acquaint with—and any crowd I’m accustom to. From a glance, every man dons ragged wools similar to mine, which offers me both comfort and a self-awakening. I do require a bath, and a new wardrobe. Where I stand apart from them, I don’t have the thick wiry beard and leathery skin. Or missing digits or limbs, for that matter. Compared to the men of Parliament I’m familiar with, this is life in the gutter.
I presume they’re honorable men, though. Strong and proud. And I doubt anyone of them would choose another life if they had the choice. All except for one.
One man sits alone on the opposite side of the public house, dressed in a cream-colored hooded cloak, which conceals his face. I can’t see him, but the lighter colored cloak and lack of missing limbs gives him a much cleaner, more respectable aura than the rest of the gents in the pub.
The barmaid returns with my meal after a short while. It only took one ale to calm my nerves, so I take the opportunity to question her this time. “Umm… excuse me. I couldn’t help but notice your transfixing pale-blue eyes.”
“That courageous after only a single ale, eh? A moment ago, you were shivering like a pup lost its mum. Well, save it, honey. You’re not my type. I prefer a man with hair on his balls. Unless, of course, you have silver hiding in those rags somewhere…” She winks at me.
I startle a bit, hoping she’s not offended. N
ot because of her sailors’ mouth or her slight against my manhood, but because of her uncharacteristic voice. It catches me off guard once again. I give her a fake laugh. She gently slaps my cheek and caresses my jawline with her thumb before heading off to take care of the regulars.
“Wait. Please. That’s not what I was getting at,” I call to her.
She gyrates and sends me another wink and a smile. “Then what is it you were getting at, young sir?”
“Your eyes. They’re blue.”
“What of it?”
“You’re a Lahyf. Or am I mistaken?”
“Indeed, sir, and why does that interest you?” she asks suspiciously.
“Do you by any chance practice your talent?”
Her suspicions lift. “By talent, are you referring to my talents behind the stove, my seamstress talents, or my unforgettable bedding talents? If so, then yes.” She smiles with her chin up, looking down at me from the corner of her pale-blue eyes. She has pride in what she does.
“Er…none of those, sorry. I’m referring to the seasonal sciences. Your ability to heal.” I’m sure it’d cost me more than a silver for the latter. I shouldn’t waste, but she is attractive.
“Sorry, child. Never did learn much of that. But if you’re in need elsewhere…” She gives me a sidelong, seductive glance.
I shrug my shoulders and give her an awkward grin. “What about that man over there?” I inquire. I nod in the direction of the man wearing the cream-colored cloak.
“Which one? The white cloak across the way?”
“Yes. I hear there’s a Healer in town. Is he by any chance that Healer?”
She smiles with a short snicker. “Sorry, sweetie. You have it wrong.”
“Oh. He’s not a Healer, then?” I lower my gaze to my dish.
“No. That’s not what I said.”
I knock over my ale when a small shift in my seat turns into an exaggerated flail of an elbow. I glimpse it but pay it no mind. I look to the barmaid. “So, he is a Healer?”
She frowns and shakes her head. “He’s not a man. Her name is Astor Greyheart, born and raised in Greenport. And no, she’s not capable of healing. Not in the sense you’re intending, I presume. Why do you ask?”
“Oh…” The servant gal pulls a rag from her waist and cleans my mess. “No reason. He…she just caught my eye amongst the crowd. That’s all. Are there any Healers in town you know of?”
“No true Healers I’m aware of. None that practice. You’re lucky to find anything but a lyin’ fishermen ‘round here. Even their fisher-wives aren’t trained in the seasonal sciences. As you can see amongst the company…” She eyes the crowd. “Many have injuries that never healed properly. You’re not going to find a Healer worthy of healing anything critical in this town. And you’re rather horrible at lying. What’s your goal, child? Do you need some help?” She sympathizes, which seems uncharacteristic from her first impression.
“I’m not a child. I’m aged seventeen seasons.”
“Well…when you’ve doubled that, you’ll think differently. Now, what’s your game, child? Do you need some help or not?”
Ugh. There it is again. Calling me a child. But she says it in a soothing tone with a thoughtful expression, so I brush it aside and, reluctantly, open up.
“Well…I don’t need help…but I know someone who does. She’s had a serious accident I thought I could handle myself, but her wounds have taken a turn for the worse. Do you know anybody that can help?”
“Yes, sweetie. I do.”
A sudden rejuvenation fills me, and I sit up straight. “Who?”
“You look like you’ve had a rough day. Finish your meal, then I’ll introduce you to her.”
Azure deceives us. Her weather patterns are unpredictable. We know not whether we’ll receive an icy glare or a warm summer’s kiss. Her red waters seem to fill us with life, however. I question whether we’re compatible.
10 Goose
T he Broken Forest demands darkness. Always. And it presses upon us now. Not the dark of an overcast sky or the dark of twilight on a summer’s day, but dark like a deep cavern where the blind roam in comfort. It’s a surprise my flesh is free of shrooms with the amount of grueling darkness we’ve endured over the seasons. I am ready to be free of this. Soon.
The sun has set over the horizon, leaving only the red ambiance of Cerise and even that is faint. Beyond that, sporadic sparks of thunderbugs flash on and off, lighting the occasional bush or tree trunk. If Cerise weren’t looming overhead, I wouldn’t be able to see my hand if it were right in front of my face.
“We need to stop and rest for the night,” I mutter to Jay, exhausted from the unplanned excursion. “I would prefer not to setup camp on the forest floor. We’d be too vulnerable to the creatures of the night. What are the chances you can climb a tree with that leg of yours?”
After scouting the nearby trees with the assistance of the thunderbugs, I glance back at her, seeking a response. I can hardly see her, but it’s clear she’s digging deep. When she realizes I’m staring at her, she doesn’t even have the decency to pretend as if she’s wiping her nose or picking some of the crusty buildup that occasionally accumulates around the nostrils. No, she just keeps on digging with half a finger up her nose and continues on without a care that I’m watching.
My lips curl. “You’re going to charm some boy right off his feet someday, you know.”
“Whatever,” she retorts.
“You’re disgusting.”
“Not really. My theory is that our nostrils are almost the exact size of our fingertips and our fingernails are blunted like a shovel rather than razor sharp like a blade. So, they’re obviously designed to go right up there and snatch any unwanted obstacles. It’s simple logic. It’s not disgusting. It’s natural, and you and everyone else in the world merely hide your nose picking anyways. You can’t tell me you don’t do it.”
I stare at her for a long silence. “You’ve put far too much thought into that theory.”
She shrugs. “Anyways, getting back to your question, I’ve hobbled and hopped halfway through this dense wood, and the other half, you’ve been carrying me. What do you think?”
“I think that’s a yes.”
“There’s no way I’m climbing a tree,” she spits back.
“What are you saying? You can’t do it?”
“That’s not what I said!” she retorts. So predictable. “I can do it. I’d just rather not do it. I do have to confess, though. I’d sleep much sounder knowing we were out of reach of those nasty Lost Souls. What should we do?”
“We find a tree with low branches. C’mon. We’ll push on a bit further.” It’s not a hundred paces until I see a fitting ash for a good night’s rest. “That’s it.” I point to the tree I’m somehow expected to hoist her into. “That one has a solid layer of branches to nest in for the night. Now, how do we get you up there? Here. Get on my shoulders.” I crouch low for her to climb on. “Do you think you could grasp one of the low branches and pull yourself up from there?” I ask.
“It doesn’t hurt to try, but no guarantees.” No sarcasm as I would have expected, but she still has that go get ’em personality. A sign of wits. The injury isn’t overcoming her yet, but it is draining her.
She drapes her bad leg over my shoulder. I help her gain balance before rising to my feet. She stabilizes herself against the tree. Jaymes is a petite girl, and after an entire day of traveling on foot toting her behind me, she feels as light as a pillow.
I shuffle to the closest branch, waiting for her to grab hold. She squirms and grunts, but I have no visibility above my brow to see what the holdup is.
“What’s going on up there?”
“I’m trying, you bucket of snot! Be patient!” She spits back in a tired and whiney voice. “I can’t reach it. My arms aren’t long enough.”
“Hold on a moment.”
“I have been!” She fires back.
I press my palms firmly into her thighs. She
lets out a deep moan as my fingers inadvertently dig into her bandaged wound. It’s soft and glutinous to the touch. A stark contrast to her other thigh, which is firm and slick with sweat. I ignore her pain and hoist her over my head. I can feel her weight now.
“Got it?” I wail as my arms are ready to collapse under the pressure.
“Yeah. Now what?”
“Can you pull yourself up?”
“I’m trying.”
“Hurry. It feels like you’ve been stuffing your face with an unlimited supply of cream puffs up there. Your weight has tripled.”
Her heel slams into my chest, causing my knees to buckle. Jaymes is no longer on my shoulders. I look up, and she stares down at me with a smirk stretching from ear to ear.
“Chump. Never discuss a lady’s weight. Now, get your ass up here before one of them Lost Souls eats you.”
She still has her fire. Proof it takes a lot to bring her spirit down. And the best part is, it’s contagious.
Dawn comes in the blink of an eye. I wake not from the morning sun that’s impossible to see in this forest but from an eruption of owls. An aggressive wake-up call, but a sight beyond words and worth the startle. There are hundreds and not all of the same variety. It’s disturbing I wasn’t aware of all the birds surrounding us in the night, even sharing the same branch, yet on the contrary, it’s so beautiful to see such power and elegance take flight.
My mother lived for nature. Her passing passion helped me recognize several of the species. Hawk owls and smaller elf owls. Great horned owls, spotted owls, and snowy owls. But the few that grab my attention are the renowned eagle owls whose wingspan is twice that of the next largest owl.
I escape my mother’s world and fall back to self-control—my father’s world. I recognize what an oddity this must be. Owls don’t travel together.
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 10