by Kim Wedlock
"Are you not resting well?"
"...No, I suppose I'm not." He frowned. "No, I'm definitely not."
"You have a lot on your shoulders," she told him lightly, though not without consideration. "Anyone else would react the same way in your position - or worse."
"Perhaps."
"If it's not too bold, when did you last take a moment for yourself?"
He thought for a moment. It wasn't so much a question of recalling the last time, but rather the first.
She smiled, slightly. "Perhaps a walk through the forest would help to settle your mind. It's helped me in the past."
"Really?"
She nodded.
"Mm...perhaps that isn't such a bad idea..."
She studied him for a moment, and he suddenly felt too uncomfortable beneath her gaze to notice how nervous she was with the action, but something still encouraged her to persist. "It's more than just the war, isn't it?"
He hesitated again.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, finally looking away, and though he breathed a little easier, he felt something in him lurch at the idea that she'd given up. "That was a bold assumption of me, forgive me."
"I've been having strange dreams."
She looked back at him in astonishment for the statement he'd all but blurted out. "Strange dreams?"
He nodded. "There's...a place I've dreamt of a few times now. A forest, with animals, blue sky, thick trees. But it's somewhere I've never been - somewhere I don't think could ever exist. But it's so...so normal at first glance, like it really could stand somewhere within our own borders, but I know that it doesn't...and the feeling I get when I'm there...it's so..." he groped for the words. "The place is more than peaceful, more than beautiful. More, somehow, than perfect."
"You dreamt it," she replied. "A refuge your own mind created, probably as a ward against your stress. It's likely a sense of belonging and absolute safety that you feel."
"Yes..." his brow creased thoughtfully. "Perhaps that's it...that could well be it..." He looked across at her. "Have you ever experienced a dream like that?"
She took a slow, steady breath. "A few times in the past," she confessed, "when I was young and struggling with things." Her cheeks suddenly flashed red in shame. "It has never affected my work, though, I assure you, Keliceran."
"I know it hasn't," he smiled. "There's no mark on your record."
"But why do you believe these dreams of yours are strange?"
He found himself suddenly reluctant to respond - not so much to enlighten her, but rather to acknowledge the reasons - but as he looked back at Taliel, who watched him patiently from the other side of his desk, her brown eyes focused yet gentle, it suddenly seemed a very small matter.
"I used to wake from the dreams feeling calm, refreshed, focused," he replied slowly, "and it would last for most of the day. I would go to bed wishing for those dreams, and every night that they came I would wish for them even more the next. But about three weeks ago, something changed. I would wake up feeling calm, but as the day dragged on I'd become distracted and frustrated, just...enduring the time until I could go to bed again. And I feel this...longing for something, something I can't work out, but I know it isn't for sleep or for the dreams, and now..."
She continued to watch him patiently.
"Now I find myself..."
"Afraid."
"Of course not!" He snapped.
Her cheeks flushed red. "Forgive me," she said quickly, "I do not mean to suggest that you fear sleep, of course, only that you have an anxiety towards to it, and that, perhaps, you have been avoiding it..."
"And how would you know I've been avoiding it?" He demanded.
"I don't, of course, but your office light is on into the smallest hours while those of your home haven't been seen for days."
His harsh blue eyes hardened further and something within him changed - or something dislodged suddenly fell back into place. He sat taller, an air of authority enshrouding him, and all of his patience and humour vanished as though it had never been.
Taliel noticed, but rather than shrink beneath his stern gaze, she turned her eyes away and re-assumed her position as a subordinate. She took the transition quite easily - almost gratefully - and rose from the chair.
The crevice of rank and authority sprawled between them once again.
"Permission to leave, Keliceran?"
"Dismissed."
She obliged immediately, and he watched her leave.
A now familiar wave of defeat washed over him as the door's latch fell back into place, followed by an abrupt strike of regret.
...What had he been thinking?
Chapter 24
The air hummed with energy, as if spirits beyond the black-blue clouds were poised to release a volley of thunderbolts and were merely waiting for the most devastating moment to do so. They were already deploying an assault of needle-sharp rain across miles, and after two days of the relentless deluge, it appeared that their supply was inexhaustible.
Moods were grim as the group moved sluggishly through the dark and early morning - all but Rathen, however, who found himself quiet and ponderous, strangely relaxed even in the downpour and despite a non-existent breakfast. His stomach duly rumbled, but he only half-noticed. It had been protesting for days.
For the past three, they'd been running on fumes. Garon's route - the one he'd claimed they had enough food to see them through, even if Petra remained with them - had taken them through barren land with little to no prey to catch, and it hadn't earned him any friends. They'd rationed drastically, and when their bags had finally come up empty and animals began dotting the fields, they were moving through small farmlands. A detail that seemed to have escaped Garon's planning. In the end, Petra had convinced him that they had little choice but to take one of the beasts, and though they left compensation on the farmer's doorstep, it had left a bad taste in Rathen's mouth.
The city ahead of them would at least end their hunger, but he felt another anxiety begin to creep in to fill the space that solution left behind - one that increased as Carenna's unsavoury skyline finally loomed into limited view through the early afternoon rain, and it crushed the final remnants of his curiously tranquil dreams to dust.
The others shared his unease, albeit for different reasons, but while Anthis seemed worse than the others - short, irritable, distracted and generally bitter - Petra appeared almost completely unconcerned. She continued a few hankering steps ahead of them before she noticed that Garon had drawn the others to a stop just out of view of the main road, and she returned to them with visibly restrained impatience.
"It's been just over a month since Mokhan," the inquisitor announced, ignoring the humourless glares he received, as well as the strained atmosphere that had been growing steadily over the group for the past two and a half weeks. "It's old news by now, so it shouldn't cause us any trouble in the city, but we still shouldn't chance drawing attention to ourselves - you least of all, Rathen. The rain will help to mask our arrival - the streets will be quieter and no one will bat an eyelid at people wearing hoods - but we still ought to avoid the front gates. We--"
"Then we should use the west gates."
Garon gave Petra a flat, disapproving and unappreciative stare. "That is the red-lantern district."
"Yes, Garon, I am well aware of that," she replied curtly, "which means that the guards there are distracted. They'll pretty much ignore a handful of travellers, and we'll draw less attention than if we try to enter without using any gates at all."
Rathen nodded reluctantly in agreement. "She has a point, but I can't say I'm happy about it..."
"Just cover Aria's eyes," Anthis snapped, and as Rathen sent him far from the first scowl, the suddenly petulant young man started towards the road without waiting for the others, glower up at the sharp rain.
They stared after him, wondering at his increasingly prickly attitude, but Petra was the quickest to shake it off and follow along behind, even overta
king him as her hold over her apparent urgency was released. Rathen's thoughtful frown shifted onto her instead. She'd been keen to keep moving even after they'd left the reach of the Wildlands, the journey out of which had been welcomingly quick and uneventful, and he'd yet to work out why. But when his empty stomach lurched and a wave of nausea followed it, he abandoned thought in favour of simply putting one foot in front of the other, and suppressed his climbing anxiety.
They trudged through the rain as Garon tried to maintain the lead over Petra, and avoided joining the slick road that rolled straight towards the city, keeping to the shadows of the trees instead.
The height of the old walls were all the rain would allow them to see, but as they drew ever nearer and skirted around towards its western side, the tallest roofs began to poke out from above it, and one wide silhouette soon dominated the city from its centre. It could only be the Crucible. Carenna was a city of rough society - thugs, thieves, gamblers and very much more - but its ancient arena was a magnet to combatants who sought to prove themselves as both clever and capable warriors. Considering that fact, it was no wonder Petra was so eager to reach it...
Rathen, however, only felt his disquiet rise as they left the concealment of the trees, and he bitterly realised that his month-long association (though it felt twice that) with these three people had done nothing to assuage his fears of public areas. And the nature of this city only worsened the hammering of his heart.
Aria squeezed his hand as they followed the far less orderly road towards the western gate, just as she had upon entering each settlement past. He smiled down at her gratefully and tried to appear reassuring, then took a deep breath to steady his own nerves.
He instantly regretted it. A sickening mixture of burning scents hung in the air as they neared the side entrance. Some were perfumes, others incense, and while they'd perhaps have been pleasant individually and in far smaller doses, together they threatened to turn his stomach inside out. Fortunately it was so empty that nothing would have come of it, but it certainly exacerbated his headache.
What the western gate lacked in size and impact, wide enough only for one small wagon while the main could have easily handled three abreast, it made up for in activity. There were more people here than any of them had expected for such narrow streets, but while some wore the rich and elegant cloaks of the upper class and others what seemed little more than tattered blankets, every one of them carried the same shifty, furtive eyes.
And the noise! It was deafening - at least by Rathen's standards. Above the immense din of the rain, there was a cacophony of laughter, shouting, jeering and other such debauched sounds, and the confusion almost overwhelmed his spinning head. Aria squeezed his hand now for her own sake, suffering in much the same way.
Steeling themselves, they walked two abreast through the small gate, moving cautiously while trying to seem at ease, and though the guards did indeed not hassle them, Rathen felt scrutinised even under their half-attentive gaze. Then, not two steps into the city, they were engulfed by bodies.
Scraggly children with starved expressions brushed close by them, managing to keep one sharp eye glued to the guards and the other on everyone else's coin pouches all while still looking hopelessly desperate; good-humoured and over-friendly men called out from the edges of the street to lure travellers, including themselves, into their shops to 'sample' their goods and no doubt pressure a purchase; women, scarcely clothed even in the rain, whispered seductively to any who passed or simply reached languidly out towards them, and every one of them seemed either too weary to notice that Petra was a woman, or were simply unconcerned by it.
Rathen pulled Aria close alongside him.
"Daddy, you're hurting my hand."
"You'll live."
They made their way through the district as quickly as possible, and breathed a collective sigh of relief when they finally stepped out onto broader streets and the assault on their senses waned.
But despite the nature of their welcome and the city's reputation, they didn't stay together.
Anthis was the first to leave, continuing off into the city as the others slowed to a stop without so much as a 'see you later,' let alone an explanation. They stared after him, but none could say they were too sorry to see him go.
Petra was the next, but she at least paid them the courtesy of stating hurriedly that she had something to see to, even if it was vague, and she then turned and walked away with that same purpose in her step, leaving only Garon, Rathen and Aria together.
"Are they coming back?" Aria asked, looking up at them both hopefully.
"Anthis had better be," Garon replied as he watched the historian turn down a nearby street, rummaging feverishly through his bag as he went, then he turned towards the two who remained. "This wouldn't usually be the best place to split up, but given recent events, it might not be a bad idea."
Rathen hesitated.
"But not the three of us," Garon clarified, and the mage's doubt faded. The inquisitor looked around at the city, busy despite the weather. "We'll get the supplies, and there's someone I'd like to talk to while we're here."
"Who?"
"A contact. There are a few things I want to check up on. We've been out of touch with the world for a while."
"What a shame."
Garon gave him a flat look then turned and started through the city, leaving the mage and the child to follow obediently behind him.
The variety of food available in the market was almost overwhelming, and Aria, led by the growling of her stomach, wanted absolutely everything she saw. Fortunately she was not the one with command over the purse strings, but one wistful old shop keeper was so taken by her smile and enthusiasm that she allowed her a small sweet-bread bun on the condition that she would never lose the sparkle in her eyes.
Once they'd procured the food - and Rathen had silently decided that it was enough to see them to Tarun - they moved deeper into the city in search of Garon's contact, leaving not only the bright colours and deceptively pleasant smells of food shops and stalls behind them, but much of the malignant atmosphere.
As they moved towards its heart, Carenna quickly began to change. The roads narrowed, the buildings that lined them were no longer of brick but of chiselled stone, they became more round than square, and at the centre of it all, looming above them even while standing several streets away, was the Crucible itself.
Aria was bowled over by its sheer size and its crown of crumbling peaks. She stared up at its curved and ancient walls, and peered down the length of alleyways to get a clearer view of it whenever the opportunity rose. But she didn't voice her awe, nor her thousands of precise and unanswerable questions. She knew her father was in no mood to entertain them, and she doubted Garon was about to break his habit of all but ignoring her. He had yet to respond to her in any kind of friendly way - though that hadn't stopped her from trying.
But she spared her father a glance anyway, hoping he was enjoying the sight at least a little, but instead found exactly what she'd expected: his head slightly bowed in his hood, his shoulders pulled back tightly, and his sharp eyes darting around to note each individual and every divergence of the roads. Her lips pulled downwards. There was nothing she could say or do that would help, and he seemed worse in this city than he had been in any other.
But she squeezed his hand anyway, tugging his attention towards her, and gave him her best, most reassuring smile. "It will be okay."
He nodded and smiled in return, but, as she'd expected, it was fleeting, and he quickly returned to his rigid and watchful tension.
The city's tone gradually improved to offer some vague idea of safety as they continued through the archaic district. Carenna had grown and sprawled out from around these carven buildings in far more recent centuries, and though its seed was undeniably elven, whether it was pre-magic or short post-magic, they really couldn't know. Even had Anthis been with them he probably wouldn't have been interested in discussing it given his recent tu
rn, and no one would have been inclined to ask. But its lack of ostentatious elegance at least made it clear that it was old even by elven standards, and for that, Aria found herself only further enchanted.
Rathen's anxiety, however, rose with every passing moment despite the air's improvement. He tried to predict where they would be stopping, searching almost desperately as they walked for any kind of authoritative establishment, and he felt he might explode with apprehension as the roads began to widen and fill with people once again. But he followed in silence, biting his tongue, suppressing the leaps of his heart to focus instead on breathing while berating himself for being so foolish - though he wasn't sure if the voice in his head was chastising him for being afraid, or for having left the scowles in the first place.
Finally, Garon brought them to a stop beside another aged building, and Rathen felt a desperate touch of relief at their arrival. But he had little chance to enjoy it. Confusion tumbled in as he noticed that the glass in its elegant, iron-wrought window panes was fogged and clouded, and the scent of damp and rose petals tickled his nose. He frowned up at the elven building, and the crease only deepened as he spotted the comical basin -shaped sign that hung above the door. This was no authoritative establishment.
"A bath house?" He asked sceptically as Garon continued ahead and opened the door. "Your contact is here?"
"And you're welcome to take full advantage of the fact," he replied drily. "Otherwise, don't stray."
The heat was the first to hit them, engulfing them before they'd even stepped inside, and the smell was dragged close behind it, damp overpowered by floral fragrances that concentrated in the muggy warmth. Next was the light, but not for its weakness. Even as the door closed behind them, it was far brighter than Rathen had expected. The elves had positioned their windows precisely, making the most of daylight whatever time it might be, and the few burning torches seemed to serve primarily as ambience, casting soft shadows over the delicately carved screens that shuttered the entrance from the old baths beyond.