by Aaron Dennis
Scar held her hand. Milvena popped back in with bowls of rabbit stew and cups of mead. During the meal, the barkeep asked about their business.
“We’re looking to live here,” Ylithia stated bluntly.
“Really?” Milvena was shocked. “Not to be rude, but I don’t know that you two are the types of people fit for a town like this. We’ve got no troubles here, and we aim to keep it that way.”
Scar smiled, saying, “We’ve had our fill of trouble, and that’s precisely why we’re here. Ylithia visited as a little girl, and now that she’s ready to live a normal life of her own accord, she wants to stay in the place that makes her happiest.”
“And you?” Milvena asked leaning forward on her elbow.
“I’m sick of being lied to and manipulated by kings…I have killed in the names of Zoltek and Gilgamesh. I have fought the Khmerans, the Dracos, and even put down a Bakunawan assassin. None of it has brought me pleasure, and none of it has brought me closer to who I am,” he grieved.
“But now Scar is with me,” Ylithia placated by rubbing his shoulder. “We have travelled together and grown to love each other. All we seek is honest work, a small home to call our own, and to live life for ourselves without the orders of Gods and kings.”
Milvena was taken aback by their display, their words; they were good people and little Othnatus might benefit from such. She thanked them for their honesty, took the emptied bowls and instructed them to take the stairs around the corner of the bar to the last room on the left.
“I don’t think we’ve any vacant homes for the time being, but you’re welcome to board here so long as you’ve got coin,” Milvena stated.
“We’d like to look for work first thing in the morning,” Scar told her.
“Well,” the barkeep thought out loud while dusting her apron. “You’ll do well to talk to the mayor then. Her name is Jordana. She lives in the largest home on the opposite side of the lake. Don’t go too early, though.” Milvena then added with a laugh, “She’ll certainly be nursing a hangover.”
They all said goodnight to one another before Scar and Ylithia bolted up the stairs to find their room, toss their smelly garments aside, and have a roll in the hay. They fell asleep in a gentle embrace.
****
The travelers awoke the following morning to sunlight beaming on their faces. The modest accommodations of wooden walls with animal hides and horns hung about had provided great comfort, plus pelt beds were far more conducive to a good night’s rest, or a rough night’s play, than the hard ground. They headed down for breakfast wearing only their garments; Ylithia wore her furred top, and sub regalia covered by a short cloth skirt. Scar left his chest plate behind and strolled about bare chested. Their weapons and armor, they believed, were safe upstairs.
A pot simmered over the fireplace by the far corner. Taking some bowls from the counter, the two helped themselves to more rabbit stew. It was not as fresh as the previous night, but still tasty.
“I can’t wait to see the town bathed in sunlight,” Ylithia said.
“Me too,” he agreed. “Hopefully this Jordana will help us out. I don’t think these people want a guard, though.”
“I’m sure they’ll have something for you,” she consoled. “I’m more worried about me.”
“Why?”
“Well, what skills do I have?”
“You said you can play music…and you’re father was a tanner. Certainly, if great harts are abundant, they’ll have a tanner here. Maybe you could apprentice or something.”
She grinned and said, “Thank you. Your optimism has done wonders for me.”
“We should probably try to get some clothes though…and maybe a bath.”
About that time, Milvena stumbled back to the bar looking as though her rest had been cut short.
“Thought I heard some ruckus,” she mumbled.
“Where can we get clothes and wash ourselves?” Scar asked.
“We got a tailor here, Johannys,” Milvena answered. “He’s blind as a bat, but still good with fittings. There’s a communal bath house at the center of town. Probably filled with the townsfolk washing the barf out of their hair. Relax here, enjoy your breakfast, and meet everyone when they stumble in with achy bellies.”
An hour or so after making idle chit chat with Milvena, they learned a Draco bard inhabited Othnatus and though his voice was pure as honey, he was terrible on the lute. Ylithia offered to play in his stead if there was anywhere to procure a violin. The barkeep suggested traveling to Oralia or waiting for a trader to come by, but should Cormaire, the bard, accept the accompaniment of a violin, she was more than welcome to split the tips with the old man. Eventually, the townsfolk started milling in, and Milvena consistently introduced everyone and explained that strange travelers were looking for a peaceful life.
“You look like a big, strong man,” Dario, the carpenter said. “Good with an axe or hammer?”
Scar quickly made friends with the muscular, aged Fafnirian and let on that he could clear a forest on his own, but had no knowledge of putting wood to good use. Dario reassured that if his words were honest, he’d talk to Jordana on his behalf and hire him as a lumberjack while training him in the skill of carpentry. Ylithia also met Rothbert, a Slibinish tanner. He was a tall man with knobby muscles and cascading, blonde hair. Then they both met Johannys, the Fafnirian tailor, who promised some meager clothing for a couple of coins on behalf of their new start. Finally, they met Jordana, a middle aged woman with dark bronze skin, who looked more Kulshedran than Fafnirian except for her sharp features and chestnut hair. She agreed that Scar and Ylithia could live in Othnatus provided they stayed out of trouble for at least a month.
That day flew by. First, the citizenry shared their take on the festival; good food, good drink, poor music, and amazing singing. Then the travelers were shown the bath house where they washed their clothes and bodies with buckets of water from the lake. From there, old Johannys, who was as deaf as he was blind, squinted all the way back to his shop where he fitted the two. Scar received a pair of gray, laced trousers and a brown, linen tunic. He gave Ylithia a beige, sun dress and a wool cloak. The lovers gaped at one another. They were finally regular people.
After the fitting, they split up to visit Dario and Rothbert respectively. The carpenter explained to Scar what was expected of him; cut down a minimum of five pines no thinner than his arm—it was a big arm—everyday alongside the other two lumberjacks, Marcus and Renus, strip them of limbs, load them onto the carts, and haul them to the woodworker, Janus. After the communal lunch, Scar was to report to Dario’s shop and start learning the trade of carpentry.
Ylithia was provided a quick rundown of the different types of hides, the oils they required for tanning, how to brew the oils form the animals’ brains, and how to use the proper tools to cut, shape, tan, and boil leathers for different uses- be they straps, sheets, armor, or clothing. Rothbert was a very kind if bland individual with a monotonous voice and stoic expression. She thought he was hiding something, but refrained from asking so early in their relationship why he had come from Wuulefroth to live in Othnatus.
Once they both ended their work day, they met back, along with everyone else, at Curval’s for a communal supper. Milvena was working the kitchen along with two other women. Their appearance was strikingly similar. When Ylithia asked about it, they informed her that they were sisters, all of them were Curval’s daughters.
“Speaking of the dear, old man,” Ylithia started. “Has he passed on? I have not seen him all day.”
Milvena smiled meekly while her sisters continued working and said, “Father is still alive, but he is not well…his mind has left him. Bridgette and Christina tend to him throughout the day while I hold down the pub.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Ylithia empathized.
The barkeep smiled again before returning to cooking and serving the town. Jordana found the newcomers and asked about their first day, which they had enjoye
d very much. It was in the midst of Scar’s recounting the ease of felling trees that a haphazard strumming of the lute started.
“I see Cormaire is ready to regale us once again,” the mayor said.
The pub didn’t quiet down any when Cormaire set his fiery eyes on the townsfolk and recounted the verse of Cullin, a Draco warrior that had personally met Drac, the God of Fire. The man sang about Cullin’s mission to retrieve the sword of fire, a legendary blade, from the alter of Gyo, false God of the Sun. Cormaire’s rich voice overpowered his poor lute play, and everyone clapped when Cullin struck down General Shihar, the evil Gyosh tyrant.
“With a violin, I could surely help to enrich that tale,” Ylithia commented to Scar.
“Then we shall have to get you one,” he replied.
He motioned with his head for her to go talk to the old bard. He patted her shoulder then she left him to go introduce herself.
“I must say that you two fit in quite well so far,” Jordana remarked.
“Glad you think so,” Scar said. “We truly have been through Hell, and wish only to rest our bones in an honest town removed from war. I’ve been wanting to ask, though….”
“Yes,” she asked after his delay.
“Why is Othnatus so removed from the war front? I’m aware of Longinus’s neutrality, but surely there are times when skirmishes cross the border? I witnessed the scorned people of Malababwe. Even though they are neutral, they do not seem to respond kindly to foreigners, yet here you have a Slibinish tanner and a Draco bard, who is obviously comfortable preaching about Drac.”
“Preaching in verse for entertainment,” Jordana clarified. “But the main reason for Othnatus’s peace is that we are protected by a great expanse of sea. The bordering countries are all to the west; Malababwe, which you have already stated is neutral, poses no threat. To their south is Sudai. Munir is too busy bickering with Donovan, even further south, to pay us any heed, and that of course settles the reason for our peace with the Dracos; they are too busy fighting the Gyosh and the Zmajans.”
“That is good news, but I fear these are tumultuous times regardless.”
Jordana pushed back a lock of chestnut hair from her bronze face. She scrutinized the pale warrior for a moment. Then she smiled.
“You have known only of war,” she asserted. He nodded while watching Ylithia laugh with the chunky Draco. “You can relax here. I’m certain there will be no trouble, unless you have brought it with you.”
He turned to look into her dark, placid eyes. There was a degree of fierceness that softened within seconds.
“We will leave before letting any of our problems befall your people,” he affirmed.
With that, Jordana left him to eat and drink. Ylithia returned to his side shortly thereafter with a grin. They chatted together about how good it felt to finally be in a place they could call home, and surrounded with such wonderful people. This was practically it; they were done tormenting themselves with their past, or being beleaguered by others. Soon, the townsfolk trickled out to their respective homes. A handful of them also kept rooms at Curval’s. They wished each other all a good night before retiring to their rooms for sleep and another day of hard work.
The following day played out in a similar fashion. Scar and Ylithia had breakfast, went to their respective jobs, and met back up for lunch.
“How did it go?” Ylithia asked.
“It takes quite a few more whacks to cut through wood than bone,” he joked. “But we took down some thirty pines. The others cheered on during their breaks, and I teased them about their slack pace. They are fun people.”
“Good,” she smiled. “Rothbert is teaching me the finer points of tanning using hart leg bone to prevent nicking the hide. He’s a bland fellow, but extremely kind and patient.”
Others came by to praise them on their amicable behavior. Othnatus was certainly pleased with its new guests. Day after day, they worked, learned their trades, and gathered for meals before retiring to their room for passion.
Occasionally, both the newcomers taught those who were interested a little of swordplay, mostly children and adolescents. Scar even started going out with a party of hunters on chilly mornings to shoot the local harts. With each new hide, Ylithia promised her lover a masterpiece, which never seemed to arrive. Eventually, he laughed it off whenever she made mention of it, but she remained adamant that it was in the works.
A week had gone by as if it was a dream, then two, then three. By then, Scar had single handedly felled so many trees and learned enough of flooring and roofing to convince Dario to help him build a house of his own. The loggers chipped in to help as well, and in three days, Scar and Ylithia had a house blessed by the will of Fafnir under the guidance of Jordana.
The first heavy snow came in at the end of their second month. Laying in bed and conversing over trivial matters, Scar grew silent, distant.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I…it’s just,” he stammered, and exhaled. She held his face and gazed into his gray eyes. “I have not given you a child.”
“Is that,” she started and gave him such a look of empathy and compassion that he was nearly reduced to tears. “Listen, my love, you have nothing to worry over. It might be that I am unable to conceive, but it is no matter. We have each other, and that is certainly enough.
“Thank you,” he whispered and hugged her tight.
Another week into the hard life of peasant living, Ylithia mentioned that her birthday was soon to arrive. Scar was resolute then to buy her a violin.
“I must hear you play, and I think it is a fitting gift; music to bring us all together peacefully.”
“No traders have come bearing violins,” she giggled. “You needn’t try so hard.”
“Please, don’t be silly. I’ll borrow a horse and ride out to Oralia to purchase the best of violins.”
“Well, it certainly will be nice, won’t it? Cormaire also wants to hear me play, says the town needs a real musician…I can only hope I’m not too rusty.”
“So, it’s settled. I’ll ride out soon.”
They made love by the light of candles before growing drowsy. Ylithia pulled the blankets over their bodies and snuggled up to him.
“I should come with you to Oralia.”
“You should stay and finish that masterpiece of leather you promised,” he joked.
“It is already done. I am but waiting for the moment to present it.”
“In that case, we can ride out tomorrow morning,” he suggested.
“That is too soon. Rothbert has fallen ill, and I have taken to picking up the slack for him. All that hide isn’t just for armor or clothes, you know? The town needs satchels, straps, and buckles for all kinds of things. We can leave when Rothbert has recovered.”
“But then I won’t have the violin in time for your birthday,” Scar replied. Ylithia smiled and held his hand while pulling the covers tighter over her shoulders. “I’ll just be gone a day, or two if the snow storm has been worse to the west.”
“I would very much like to play for the town on my birthday.”
“I’ll ride out early tomorrow before the sun rises.”
They kissed and laid back to rest. She fell soundly asleep rather quickly. Since living together, Scar had not suffered from restless nights or odd dreams. That night was different, and sleep did not come for the mercenary. When he deemed enough time had passed, he slinked out of the house with his riding cloak, and jogged down the snowy path to the stables. He found a stocky horse, mounted, and rode out to the northwest.
****
Ylithia woke early due to her lover’s absence. She ate a scant breakfast and went to Rothbert’s with a bowl of soup. It was still dark when she let herself in. Striding past the hides on display and through the work room, she took the stairs to her employer’s bed chamber and knocked on his door.
“Yes,” the man answered with a hoarse voice.
“I’ve brought you breakfast.”
“Come in, lass. Come in.”
She found him wrapped up in his sheets shivering. Placing the bowl on a nightstand, she then touched his forehead. He was running a fever.
“You need to eat,” she cautioned.
“Aye…if I can keep it down.”
“I’ll get started right away,” she said and made to leave.
“No, no,” he coughed. “No need. You go home today. I don’t need you getting sick, too.”
She thanked him for his kindness and promised to check up on him throughout the day. After leaving his home, she strolled about the town for a while. Eventually, she found herself at the lake. The sun was rising over what remained of the pines on the eastern edge of Othnatus. They were mostly saplings or younger trees too thin to harvest. Scar had indeed worked hard over the past months. Ylithia watched some boys casting line off a dock. They were making astounding claims that they had nearly caught Curval’s catfish.
Contemplating over her life, she thought it strange she had not yet gotten pregnant. I wonder if I can carry a child. It didn’t matter much. They weren’t even married, and marriage meant going to a church in Genova. Perhaps it is time to see if Mother still lives….
Most of her day was spent at Curval’s, chatting with Milvena, checking on her employer, and eventually singing with Cormaire. Some of the citizenry asked after Scar. When she told them where he went and why, they were pleased to know he was a loving man.
Winds rattled the shutters, flurries of snow blew into the pub when someone entered or exited; the storm was indeed dreadful. Ylithia added some logs to the hearth fire.
“Thanks, lass,” Milvena said in passing.
“We’re lacking for company tonight, aren’t we,” Ylithia remarked.
“Well, it’s no surprise. People have got to keep the snow from their doors, their fires going, and their children warm. You should go home, too, and get some rest…I’m sure Scar is fine. He seems a rugged man.”