by Raven Bouray
Emmaline was near to tears now. She could feel them welling up and stinging her eyes but found that in her haze, his eyes shone with unshed liquid as well.
His voice was rougher now when he spoke, “And so I blamed ye, as it was easy. But ye were only a child, no’ worthy of my anger and still no’. And I did no’ even know if ye… I’m…” He struggled with speaking now. Frustration alighted his visage beyond the tears. “Ye will find memory in time. It seems ta have begun even now. But I have no ken how.” He released her wrist, and Emmaline let it drop to her side even though she itched to embrace him. To chase away his pain with her comfort as her family had done when she had needed it, but that gesture may not be received well and so she let him retreat and turn from her even with a question on her lips.
Through her tight throat, she asked, “What has begun?” The strangled words did not even cause him pause as he leapt into the tree above, shirt still untucked and bulky cloak left upon the earth.
Instead of pressing him, she turned away also and found her breaths coming in pants, her heart racing, and tears running down her cheeks. She shakily sat down upon the ground with her back against a tree and tried to calm her racing mind. He had been tortured for years, and she had yelled and pushed and fought with him but knowing that, would she really have done anything differently from the start? Perhaps...but perhaps not. Something had always been off about him, but even with his confession, she knew that they had hardly broken through the thinnest of secrets. Again and again, he hinted that she was important to his people. The part that maybe scared her the most was that some part of her believed him now more than ever. But if that was the case, then that truly meant that the people she loved most in all the world have been lying to her for years and years, and she didn’t think that she could stand even the thought of it.
Instead she took several slow and deep breaths before she closed her eyes and found her tree to lose herself in it. While her meditation was relaxing on its own her search for her lost memories, ones that she had been told of for years, and those that were woven by the man in front of her but her search proved fruitless. It only led her to sleep and half broken images of bright blue almond shaped eyes, golden hair and a kind face of the woman that she had called mother in her dreams and of the grim, green eyed boy named Kel, whose face, along with his spirit, had once been whole.
Chapter 35
Despite their shared moment the night before, Kelithor still gave her the silent treatment much to Emmaline’s frustration. “We are no’ far from the city,” was the only vocalization he offered as they set out for the day. One step forward. Two steps back.
She felt this odd pang of disappointment paired with relief that this journey was soon to be over but did as bid. As they picked their way through tree, shrub, and root, she noticed that the dense forest was thinning out. The trees were spaced further apart now and shrubs less thick as well. “Kelithor.” She turned to him, and he turned his head to her slightly in response.
“Yes?”
“About last night… Are you alright?”
“I am well and sorry about my...poor behavior. It was no’ needed and I did no’ mean ta scare ye.”
She drew closer to him as if to reach out and touch but refrained, “You didn’t scare me--.” At his raised brow and disbelieving look, she amended her statement. “You didn’t scare me that badly. I’m glad you told me. Makes me feel less like some burden or a prisoner and more like a friend perhaps?”
“Friend?” His brow furrowed in confusion or contemplation. She wasn’t for sure which.
“We did not have the best start but maybe we can be friends if you want.”
“Maybe.”
This time she did reach for his hand and he didn’t spook or pull away from it. The leather once more encased calloused and scarred palms but it was still warm. He had picked up his cloak from off of the ground before she had awoken and it once more covered him nearly from head to toe. “I’ll take maybe. Did you have many friends from before? Or not? But even then, sometimes talking about things helps even with someone who isn’t a friend. It can lighten a burden of fear, hate, sadness, and even joy. Maybe I might remember more if we talk more and it might help us both.” She gave him a small smile but she wasn’t sure if she actually believed it.
“Such light from ye. It can blind some and make others want ta snuff it out as a breath to candle. Thank ye for the words.” He squeezed her hand once then pulled away. “Perhaps once we cross the bridge ta the north, I can tell ye more o’ what I remember.”
Emmaline nodded, and they continued on through the brush with the air between them lighter than it had been before. Maybe this was progress. But to think such a thing was foolish until she knew it for sure. They would talk more until they reached Metrine and she left his company or maybe she could ask her parents if they could come with her. Such thoughts excited her step and the day went on. In the distance as sun set against the horizon, she spotted the familiar walls, towers, and battlements lit with torches in the distance of her grandfather’s city. They were still far enough away that no one would see them with the encroaching darkness from both the canyon that led to the Half-Sea and the road.
Emmaline spotted several different kinds of berries and mushrooms as they walked and scooped down to pick them up quickly and even popped a few of them into her mouth. Kelithor did the same.
Darkness descended with all the quiet that it usually did, but she could now hear the creak of wagons, sounds of hoofbeats, and of cattle and horses, dogs, and people that traveled along the stone road to the city gates. She could even hear some sounds from inside the city. They sat down in a field still a ways off the road and they ate a dinner of nuts and berries. She stared in his direction as he ate until he looked up at her with an arched brow. It stretched out his scar, and she gave an internal chuckle. “Yes?”
“I was thinking... Yes, again.” She glared at him before he was able to interrupt her. “We haven’t sparred or trained or anything of the sort for the last few days, with everything else that was occuring.”
“Ye be righ’. We have no’.”
“Can we?”
“Why?”
“I feel unsettled and nervous for some reason and I want a distraction.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugged and finished off the last of his food. How he didn’t get the juice from the berries all over him was a miracle because she was sticky, and she used some of her canteen water to wash the mess off.
Kelithor stood and unclasped his cloak. He caught the fabric and folded it gently before he put it down on the ground then turned to face her.
Emmaline watched him while slowly drying off her hands. Her gaze landed on his revealed form with the light of the moons and stars she admired what she could, looking over his decently broad shoulders, muscled waist, down his legs, and perhaps she was a bit too obvious or looked too long, because he cleared his throat and her eyes snapped up to his face. Cheeks turning red, she scrambled up and fled his presence to retrieve her staff from where it rested on Arya’s hindquarters. It had been hard for her to secure it but she didn’t want to have to hold it constantly.
When she returned, he had both blades out from his belt and he was set in a lazy defensive pose. One of his curls dropped in front of his eye as he shifted, and she watched him brush it back with a palm.
Emmaline took up her own stance with staff at the ready, and with a nod to Kelithor, they began.
The first crack of sword to wood was loud, but the next was softer and each spin, twist, feint, duck, and parry was met in kind with ease. Even a few were met with surprise from his end with his blade barely catching her staff before it scored a hit. She even managed to block a few of his more clever moves, while yet having some catch her unaware.
Sweat coated her brow, and she felt the cool wind raise gooseflesh on her arms and back but she was having fun and she didn’t want to stop. In fact, the moon was high in the sky, and she was panting with exhau
stion and brimming with accomplishment and pride by the time she called for their mock fight to cease. He was even panting a little bit, and she noticed a thin layer of sweat at his forehead, but he gave her a nod before she trudged off to her packs and brought out her bedroll and blankets. She was sure that the moment her head touched the ground she fell asleep but did not know until the next morning as the sun rose over the horizon.
It was early when they started up, and instead of walking right to the city, he diverted their path to the road. They noticed quite a few wagons laden with both goods and people and pulled by beast and human rolling into the city. Before reaching the edge of the tall grass, he pulled them to a halt, “Mount up.”
“Why?”
“Ye need ta ride. Ye would look odd if ye walked next ta me, yet with horse laden with nothing but cloth? But first come ta me.”
“What for?” She asked warily as she watched him rifle through his pockets and pull out a vial of powder.
“Ye canno’ wear a hood into the city so ye need a new face.” He explained and uncorked the glass vial before he strode over to her. Again he was in her personal space, and she tried to retreat, but he rooted her to the spot with a glare. She watched him pour a generous amount into his hand and chant a quick few words to the powder before he blew it right in her face.
She sputtered and coughed as it settled strangely on her skin and tingled where it touched. “What was that?”
“A new face. It will only las’ a few hours, so put ye hood up after we get ta the city.”
“How?” But her question was answered when a lock of her hair fell from her braid and she noticed that the color was darker, brown instead of her usual red-blonde. “What did you do to me?” Her tone was one of shocked outrage.
“Only a few hours.” He tilted his head. “Brown does no’ suit ye wit’ hair or eyes.”
But he turned from her and rifled through another pocket and pulled out a necklace which his placed over his head.
A strange ripple surrounded his face and she gasped as his angular features softened. His scar disappeared and his eyes took on a less intense green. His ears had even rounded out and she could only gape. “What was that? Why do I get choked with a powder and you get jewelry?”
“Special charm,” he offered cryptically but turned from her. “We must go. Mount up.”
“I suppose.” In truth, she wanted to ride again. Walking was still tiring and still hurt, so she hopped up onto Arya’s back and they set off again. His hood was back up, and she had lifted hers as well. The road most often held merchants and travellers but often those of the unsavory kind as well and she wanted no attention brought to them from those sorts.
They blended into the line with ease, and no one even looked up at their arrival. The snorting of animals, children’s cries, and clanging of pots and pans took up most of her attention but she looked ahead at the looming gates.
Metrine was a shining gem of power and riches brought to life by her grandfather and it certainly showed. The high walls could withstand a long siege and were made of granite imported from the dwarven mountains. It was some of the hardiest rock that could be mined, and they sold it for quite the sum as well. The battlements were patrolled by guards in shining iron armor and the gate was made from adamant, a very strong metal, also mined and sold by dwarves.
The castle rose highest above it all. She knew that it was made from marble for looks because no one would be able to get through the walls. Her father had told her that with a snort. Nothing was indestructible. She took her eyes from the city then looked around and behind them. Even for travel to Metrine, there were more people than she would have assumed on the road this time of year. But with the beginning of autumn came winter, and all travel and trade nearly ceased in those cold months, so perhaps the number may not be so odd. Last crop sold, last money to be made, food to be bought and preserved for later use. Families taking refuge in the city or moving out of it to try their hand at country life.
Something strange drew her eye as they neared the gate. It was a large white flag draped high over the battlements. It had only one thing on it… The symbol of Nyxa. A black moon surrounded by grey flame. One that large was only brought out when someone important died. A high lord or king or prince. She placed a hand over her heart as a pang shot through it. Did her uncle perish? Or her grandfather? Or some other elderly Lord? She would find out soon regardless. They would have Criers out to tell the news soon, but she could not hear them now. Was the burial over? Would she be able to pay her respects? The thick walls and portcullis loomed closer as they passed through unmolested with the guards only giving a cursory glance to each person as they walked in. For a short time, she and Kel pulled their hoods down. They didn’t even give a second glance to either of them when they passed through and with their entrance the clamor and smells of the city washed over them in a wave. Children ran, some half naked, through the streets with small dogs nipping at their heels as they threw rocks and balls at each other and buildings. Mothers screeching at said children, gossiping conversation, the sounds of linen washing, the smells of less savory things in the poor district that they found themselves in.
It was shiny from the outside but inside the walls was hardly anything to swoon over.
Merchants covered in dirt and peddling things that were much dirtier than they should be shouted at each passing traveller as if the volume of their voice would determine how much money they made. The sudden influx of noise soon caused her head to start throbbing and pressure to dim her vision. With not having been in the city for weeks, her sensitive hearing had lost some of the buffer that she had attained over the years and with the sounds of nature being usually gentler on the ears, she knew that she needed something from the apothecary and soon before her headache got out of control. She stole a glance at Kel and found that he was also tense. Nyxa’s mourning flag hung nearly everywhere as well, but she heard no shouting of the boy Criers with the news, and no one seemed to be talking about it, from what she was able to hear.
However, aside from the merchants, no one paid two strangers much mind, and they continued on through the streets until the scents and sounds of the poorer district were behind them.
It had been some time since she had been to Metrine, years in fact, but she didn’t remember it being so loud and disgusting. She definitely did not recognize the darker district that they were venturing into, but at least it was quieter. Street after street and they turned right, left, another right and passed by some rather unsavory looking people along the way that made her nervous.
But then they came to a brighter area with chatter, laughter, and the sound of dice hitting tables. A tavern district. This would be the perfect place to get lost in the crowd where she could slip away without causing too much distress. All she had to do was find a map of the area. If she remembered correctly, there were always maps at the taverns, the good ones anyway. They were most likely going to get a room here from the way he was looking around them, and then she could make her escape.
He stole a glance back at her and hissed under his breath, “Put ye hood up. The powder be wearin’ down.”
She did as bid as a fine tremor seized her while she basked in the anticipation of the moment where she could flee and he turned again down another street. Two taverns stood high and proud ahead of them and both looked as if they were run by someone who was at least mostly upstanding. The outside of both were clean and well maintained and they did not stink of ale and urine, as some places did. Muted sounds of instruments, singing, and the rousing cries of those who gambled echoed through both windows. One had the image of a mug overflowing. The Tipped Cup is what the sign read.
The other had an image of a fox and the words Wily Den inscribed beneath. Several people still lingered outside both taverns, and Emmaline even spotted some shops a couple doors down. But this was a quieter area and that would prove challenging if it stayed this way.
He came to a halt in front of the Wily De
n and turned to her, speaking in a low tone, “Wait here. Ye should be fine as I get us a room and Arya a place in a stable as well.”
Emmaline nodded but swung her leg off to dismount, coming down less than gracefully and in the process of doing so her hood fell from its perch on her head. She quickly pulled it back into place and hope that no one had seen.
She stroked and scratched Arya’s neck as she looked around their surroundings. People were still walking by, some hand in hand, some deep in conversation, others just trying to get from one place to another quickly, but something caught her eye. A bulletin board. That wouldn’t hurt, to cross the street and look at the news, would it? Emmaline walked around Arya’s head and crossed the street to get a better look at the dingy board when she felt a presence directly behind her. Before she could react or scream, a hand covered her mouth and she was pulled back against someone then dragged back into an alleyway. She kicked and tried to bash her head back into her attacker’s face but she missed and continued to struggle until a familiar voice wheezed out, “Emmaline. Stop. It’s me.”