by Wil Ogden
“The two of you are the first outsiders, other than Diten, who can get herself invited anywhere, to be welcomed into our camp since Thomas disappeared.” Jonah pointed to a clearing where a dozen tables were covered in plates of bread and bowls of stew. “Sit anywhere,” he said. “I have to go guard the camp during the meal.” He tapped the sword hanging from his belt. “I’ll eat later. Enjoy your meal.”
Diten sat alone at a table. She waved for them to join her.
“We don’t know anyone else,” Heather said, sighing, almost growling. Still, she walked to the table where Diten sat. Charles did as well.
Diten bowed her head as they sat, Heather across from Diten and Charles next to Heather. “Welcome,” Diten said.
“Jonah said you didn’t know Charles, but everyone else seems to know him as someone else,” Heather said.
“No one here is old enough to know Kehet,” Diten said. “This is my twenty third summer. The Gypsies are all human; none could live the thousand years it’s been since Kehet disappeared.”
“But you recognize him?” Heather asked.
“Kehet was a strong handsome blonde man, as pleasing as any to look upon,” Diten said. “I’ve seen a lot of beautiful people, but none match Charles. He could only be Kehet.”
Charles had started to eat the bowl of stew, but on hearing Diten’s words, he choked. He had to turn away from the table for fear he’d lose control of what he’d been chewing.
“I’ve always thought he was cute,” Heather said, “But not the most handsome man in the world.”
“I suppose it’s a matter of taste,” Diten said. “Still, he looks just like the old statues and paintings. Usually those are idealized, but in Kehet’s case, they don’t do him justice.”
Having given up on eating, Charles had his mouth free to ask, “Statues? Paintings?”
“You’re the king of an entire species,” Diten said. “Of course there are statues and paintings and stories and…well, everything you’d expect.”
“The queen called me the prince, not the king,” Charles said.
“The Unicorns had a king once, but he died, since then they’ve only had a prince, but don’t be fooled by the title, in every aspect you are the absolute monarch of your entire species.”
“I’m still not convinced I’m not human,” Charles said.
“I could prove it,” Diten said. “It might hurt, but I could prove it. If I’m wrong, don’t worry, I’m the chosen of Beldithe, I can heal you.”
“Oh, damn,” Heather said. She sighed and rolled her eyes at the mention of the Goddess of Love’s name.
“Chosen?” Charles asked.
“It’s a misleading title,” Diten said. “The goddess didn’t choose me. I inherited it from my mother, who inherited it from hers and the chain goes back for thousands of years. We each have a single daughter who takes over the position upon coming of age. We are the highest of the High Priestesses of Beldithe.”
“Have you met her?” Heather asked. Charles was about to ask the same question but Heather beat her to it. “I’ve never known anyone who’s actually met a god.”
“I said I’m her Chosen,” Diten said. “I spend the majority of my time in her presence. I guess I should tell you, Heather, that you’re not exactly correct in thinking you’ve never known anyone who’s met a god. Kehet is, according to legend, not only a god, but one of the twelve founders.”
“We’re all Maia worshippers in Blackstone,” Charles said. “We barely speak of the other gods. What is a Founder?”
“The twelve original gods: Kehet is one, so are Beldithe and Maia,” the Chosen said. “Seven of other nine are Osris, Lord of Demia, Takel, the war god, Reina the goddess of the home, Caro, Lord of Paradise, Feasle the Crafter, Temistar the Huntress, and Theris, the goddess of knowledge. Then there are two whose names are lost to the mortals of the world. I’ve met all the gods I can name except for Temistar and Osris. Hang around the Temple District in Melnith for any length of time and you’ll see a few of them.”
Charles looked at Heather. She looked thoughtful. He’d expected her to seem as confused as he felt. “Kehet, me? I am an original god? I’m too young to be this Kehet. I am barely in my twenties.”
“Are you sure?” Diten said.
“I…,” Charles couldn’t be sure. He had only three years of memories. If he’d lost his memories, there really was no telling how old he was.
“For all we know he’s barely three years old,” Heather said, laughing as if she’d made a joke.
Charles couldn’t see the humor. Maybe he was only three. He couldn’t think of any true reasons to believe he was or wasn’t any particular age.
“If he were just a Unicorn and three, he could look like this.” Diten gestured to Charles. “Unicorns age very fast to maturity then live a thousand years or more. But you found him like this. Tell me, has he aged, gained or lost weight, or shaven since you found him.”
“I’ve never needed to shave,” Charles said. “I’ve never even had to cut my hair.” He undid his ponytail, letting his hair fall across his shoulders.
“He still looks exactly the same as he did when I found him,” Heather said. “Then again, so do I.”
“But you trim your hair when the ends get too frizzy?” Diten asked. “I’m the Chosen of the Goddess of Beauty and even I have to trim the ends of my hair twice a year.”
Heather nodded but was examining the ends of Charles’ hair. “No damaged ends,” she said. “I guess there wouldn’t be since it has all grown back since I burnt it away.”
“You what?” Diten asked.
“Everyone else knows already,” Heather said. “I exploded and burned away our entire town, including Charles, but he healed somehow.”
“Hair doesn’t heal,” Diten said. “Hair is dead matter. It cannot be healed. Unicorns do regenerate, but they have to grow their hair back over time. Kehet is something much more than a man, even much more than a Unicorn.”
“I’m starting to believe you,” Heather said.
“I don’t know what to believe,” Charles said. Everything the priestess had told him made sense, but it was just too much. He couldn’t fathom being a god. “Could we sleep on this before we discuss it further?”
“When you say ‘we’ do you mean you and I, you and Heather or the three of us sleeping together?” Diten put an unusual inflection on the word sleeping. Charles was stunned. He wasn’t sure if he’d been propositioned or not.
Heather’s chuckle was clearly forced, but she answered, “It’ll just be me and Kehet tonight, thanks. Where are we going to sleep anyway?”
Charles noticed she’d used the name which Diten and the Queen had called him. She really was starting to believe.
“That carriage over there is yours. Mine is the one next door, so if you change your minds, you know where to find me.” Diten pointed to a carriage just off the dining clearing. The one she’d indicated as theirs was painted white and a very royal shade of purple. “If you ever find yourself in need of companionship, and I mean ever, just knock on my wagon door.”
“You might be crossing the line into rudeness,” Heather said. “I know of your goddess’ ways so I can only assume your morality matches hers. Kehet is quite taken.”
“I’d only be rude if my offer was only to one of you,” Diten said with a mischievous smile and giggle. She then left the table and headed off into the Gypsy camp, away from their wagons.
Heather grabbed Charles’s tunic and dragged him toward their carriage. “Don’t plan on accepting her offer, ever. And I mean ever,” she said, mimicking Diten’s voice.
CHAPTER 17: PANTROS
When the carriage arrived at the palace gates a man in an ornate guard’s uniform approached one of the doors. Estephan stepped out of the carriage and met the guard. Pantros could hear the conversation through the open window.
“Your highness,” The guard said and then bowed in a very crisp but short bow. “By orders of the King, No one b
ut royal family and household servants may enter the palace today.”
“Why?” the prince asked.
“‘Orders of the king’ is all we’ve been told, highness,” the guard said.
“I’ll see about that,” Estephan said, dismissing the guard with a gesture of his hand. The guard returned to stand in front of the carriage as Estephan leaned into the window. “I’ll be back momentarily,” the prince said. He then walked past the guard and into the palace. As he passed each guard, they gave the same crisp and short bow.
“This is unusual,” David said. He sat across the carriage from Pantros but leaned to Pan’s window to get a better view of the palace. “King Reginald is usually very open with his palace.”
“The last time the gates closed was when the prince was born,” Meredith said. “I didn’t think the queen was pregnant again after so many years.”
“I haven’t seen her in a year or two,” Norda said. “She’s not too old to bear children.”
“Over there,” Pantros pointed to a mangle of tents a few hundred paces away. Thousands of people moved in and around tents as far as he could see in that direction. “What’s going on there?” he asked.
“You’ve discovered the illustrious Mall of Heroes,” David said sarcastically.
“There are some large statues scattered around it, but you’d be hard pressed to notice them among the shoppes and shoppers,” Meredith said. “It’s half a square league of tents and carts and has long since been known not as the Mall of Heroes but as The Pit. It’s said that if you can’t buy it in The Pit, you can’t buy it anywhere.”
“Looks like heaven for pickpockets,” Pantros said. Even from a hundred paces away he could see the people were bustling so densely that the bumps of passersby would be completely unnoticed.”
David laughed, as did Meredith.
“There’s a joke there?” Pantros asked.
“Quite,” David said. “You know we have the biggest thieves’ guild in the world here, right?”
Pantros nodded. “I’ve heard it said.”
“Thieves run the city,” Meredith said.
“If the guild is as big as the tales, then it would have to,” Pantros said. “I’d hate to be a constable having to deal with the thieves.”
“You don’t understand,” David said, still chuckling. “Thieves are in charge of the public peace. It is the thieves’ guild that is the city government. The constables work for the thieves.”
“How could anyone live in such a city,” Pantros said. “No property could be safe.”
“Quite the opposite, actually,” David said. “With thieves running everything, they are responsible for the welfare of the public. The income from the thieving activities supplants the taxes. Pickpockets may only target purses that haven’t paid the weekly purse tax. Burglars recover the balance plus a penalty from anyone who fails to keep up their property taxes. Its remarkably efficient and a whole lot less violent.”
“I could see that. We don’t even have a thieves' guild or even a gang in Ignea,” Pantros said. “The pirate crews are too quick to organize against such endeavors. Thieving is a profession performed at great risk.”
“That’s true in most places,” Norda said. “I’ve seen people face the gallows over pilfered pennies.” He then pointed out the window, “Estephan is returning.”
The prince was walking from the palace, his face noticeably blank. He didn’t pay any heed to the bowing guards, and stepped up into the carriage. “It looks like you will need to find other accommodation this evening. The king has indeed closed the palace.”
“Why?” David asked.
“I’ll catch up to you later and explain,” Estephan said. “I assume you’ll be staying at Galina’s?”
“With this rabble?” David nodded towards Pantros and his sister. “Unless you care to dole out some baronages, we’d not make it past the stables.”
Sheillene climbed forward through the carriage. “I know a great place by Westgate. The Rampant Gelding.”
“I know the place,” David said. “The most expensive inn by the gate, but the fairest card tables in the city.”
“That’s the one,” Sheillene said. “I have a permanent room there and there are always a couple open suites for people with money to pay for them.”
When all eyes in the carriage turned to Pantros he just shook his head and sighed. “Fine, I’ll cover two suites. I don’t have a satchel of gold from spending it at every opportunity. You’ll each owe me a meal or something.”
“I have to attend my father,” Estephan said. He then returned to the palace.
§
The Rampant Gelding reminded Pantros of The Hedgehog if the Hedgehog was twice as large and watered down its beer and mead. Having spent three days sitting in a carriage, he took the drinks as a chance to loosen his muscles.
Meredith left, promising to find a healer for David’s leg. It was still too tender to stand on so they’d carried David into one of the three cards tables and left him there. He seemed to be a regular as the dealer called him by name and didn’t hesitate to advance him a handful of gold coins.
Thomas and Tara took a table while Sheillene negotiated with the innkeeper leaving Pantros and Marc sitting at the bar.
“Do you know the games at the tables?” Marc asked.
“I know them, I don’t play them,” Pantros said. “Trusting chance with anything is a sure way to fail. That’s one of the things I say back home. I also say that drink dulls the reflexes and dims the senses and yet, here I am drinking beer.” Being in a strange bar that obviously catered to a wealthier clientele than any in Ignea had made Pantros fingers itch. He chose to drink to try to relieve the stress that choosing not to pick the plump pockets was causing him.
Sheillene tapped Marc on the shoulder, “We’re on as soon as we can get our instruments tuned.” She pointed to a stage. “Vic, the innkeeper, saw Thomas’ hat and wanted him to go on alone, but I convinced him that we were working together for a while. I wasn’t sure you two would want to take on such a large crowd without more experience.”
Marc stood up and glanced around the room. Pantros followed the giant’s eyes. The taproom was large and every chair was filled. He estimated half again over a hundred people in the room. “It wasn’t this full before my beer or my mead,” Pantros said.
“They’ve been coming in since just after we did,” Sheillene said. “Thomas’ hat is legendary.” Seeing Thomas sitting in a taproom while wearing the blue hat reminded Pantros that he had seen a man frequenting The Hedgehog years earlier who looked very much like Thomas.
“And I’m sure none of these people are sitting her because they recognize you,” Pantros said, nudging Sheillene’s elbow to ensure she understood his joke.
“They’ll be getting both,” Sheillene said. “We’ll all be taking the stage. Come on Marc, time to tune that big guitar of yours.”
“Duty calls.” Marc gave Pantros a pat on the back as he got up and left with Sheillene.
Knowing that once the music started he would have a difficult time moving around the taproom, Pantros headed towards the door. He put one hand David had given him a ribbon assured him that as long as he had it tied to his pouch it would be safe from pickpockets, but that didn’t reassure Pantros.
The streets of Fork seemed different on foot than in a carriage. Pantros hadn’t realized just how crowded the city was until he had to bump shoulders with dozens of strangers just by walking from the Rampant Gelding to the taproom of the next inn down the street. He found himself constantly checking his belt pouch. The Three Diamonds was a much quieter Inn. The taproom was surprisingly sparsely populated compared to the streets. Though there were a dozen people in the room, Pantros could hardly hear anyone speaking. The crowd on the street outside made more noise than any of the conversations. Even the four men at the lone card table were mostly silent. Pantros sat on a stool at the bar and gestured to the bartender.
The bartender, a middle aged
man with nearly shaved graying hair, came over and handed Pantros a mug of beer.
“How did you know what I’d want?” Pantros asked.
“We only serve one thing,” the man said. “That’ll be six tramps.”
“Tramp?” Pantros asked.
“Not from around here?” The barkeep asked, more commenting than seeking an answer. “Ignean from the accent, I’d guess. You’re not a sailor, though, no rope calluses and not enough sun in your skin. Tramps are the local bronze coin, but let’s not worry about that right now.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve got a wager for you,” the man said. “If I can guess what you do for a living, you give me two silver coins; if I can’t, you drink for free.”
“I don’t think you’ve got a chance in this one,” Pantros said. “I’ll take the wager.” He set two silver coins on the counter.
“Give me a minute,” the barkeep said. He walked out from behind the bar and studied Pantros from his hair to the soles of his shoes. “Well, that was too easy. Don’t take this the wrong way, but this is where I’m going to ask you to leave.”
“Pardon me?” Pantros said.
“You are Pantros?” The barkeep said.
Sure he’d see a familiar face; Pantros looked around the taproom again. None of the faces seemed familiar. None of them were even looking at him as if they were in on the gag. “How would you know that?”
The man nodded and smiled. “First, your clothing is silk. Now, I know that silk is much cheaper in Ignea, being a middle port in the oceanic trade, but even so, most sailors would choose something more rugged that they wouldn’t mind soiling in their work. Merchants and Innkeepers tend to dress not too far above their clientele. These folks would own silk but rarely wear it other than small social functions and you’re here alone, in public. Your shirt is also just slightly worn, showing that you wear it often. It’s also dark in color and tight fitting. It’s actually tailored just for you.”