Alexey had never been so close to Zhakagrad, the northernmost part of the Winterlands. Every Winterguard hopeful prayed to the Stars that they would be stationed there. Despite no longer being a Winterguard hopeful, he was somewhat anxious to see the city.
Since the city also extended into the Midlands, the Guardsmen there could enjoy authentic Midland brothels, which Alexey remembered they often boasted about. “Midland women have much darker and richer skin than any Winterlander!” one Guardsman said. “Who gives a shit about that? I prefer them for their freakiness!” another had boasted.
Alexey had been riding in the same carriage for several days, stuck with the same carriage driver, a dopey older man named Boris. Boris endlessly complained about how terribly cold he felt, but Alexey had never known such warmth. Boris wore more layers than the recruits had while traipsing through the Forest, and Alexey only had his cotton undershirt and linen pants. Whether he simply was immune to everyday cold or Boris was quite vulnerable to it, Alexey did not know.
“I st—still think you oughtta w—wear more layers, k—kid,” said Boris.
“I’m quite all right, Boris,” Alexey reassured for the trillionth time.
“N—not even the W—Winterguardsmen I m—meet are this st—stubborn with the c—cold,” Boris retorted.
“Whatever you say…”
“You k—know, you never t—told me why y—you are headed to Zhakagrad,” said Boris.
“You’re right.”
Boris hesitated and stammered. “So, why are y—you headed there?”
“I’m in search of something new. A better life, perhaps,” said Alexey.
“You kn—know, life may not be g—great in the Winterlands, b—but we don’t have c—constant wars like the N—North does,” Boris contended.
“I can’t argue with that. However, there’s more opportunity in the North. What can I do in the Winterlands, eh? Join the Guard? Break my back in the Pit? Donate my food to the Arch-Senator?”
“Be careful you don’t let anyone hear you talk like that.” Boris’ cold shivering voice mysteriously evaporated into frustrated concern.
Alexey rolled his eyes and sighed. “Is he here now? Northbound in a roofless carriage just waiting to hear people voice their displeasure in handing over their livelihood to satisfy the demands of him and his thugs?”
Boris looked back, his mouth agape. “W—well, n—no… He’s not here, b—but, still, y—you should be c—careful.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m as careful as I need to be,” said Alexey.
Days later, the carriage reached the vast open field before the gates of Zhakagrad, a great tundra that began fading into the beginnings of a grassland. The city walls were gargantuan, constructed with formidable stone painted over with white and dark-brown stripes. The Winterland Snowflake draped over the white sections while the Midland Sun flag draped over the brown. Just as one of Alexey’s childhood books had described, the city was several times larger than Volkograd, and it appeared a remarkable symbol of the joint prosperity held between the Midland Coalition and Winterland Republic, but Alexey knew that appearances were often dishonest, and that the only way to know for sure was to see it for himself.
The main gate was open, and the traffic of civilians, traders, merchants, horses, and soldiers freely went in and out of the city. All the people seemed relaxed and happy to be where they were, unlike most anyone Alexey had ever met. The ethnic Midlanders wore colorful gowns and the ethnic Winterlanders wore brilliant white tunics. The traders cheered and boasted of the wines, foods, and fabrics they were selling, while the civilians and soldiers seemed to treat one another as friends. Winterguardsmen and Midland soldiers appeared at ease, often drinking together.
The Winterguardsmen wore much lighter armor than they had down South, lacking the long-sleeve undershirts Alexey had grown accustomed to, but the white of their uniforms and the Winterland Snowflake on their breastplate were still unmistakable. Although he had never seen them in person before, Alexey easily spotted the dark-brown armor of the Midland soldiers. The men from both factions had armor that seemed to mimic their skin color and they all appeared friendly with each other.
As Boris’ carriage passed the soldiers into the gate, Alexey overheard their conversations.
“Why’re you fellas so relaxed? Aren’t you all supposed to be at war with two of your neighbors?” a Winterguardsman asked.
“They would never attack here, no. Zhakagrad is neutral ground, wouldn’t ya say?” the Midlander replied with an accent Alexey had never heard before, the Midland accent. It sounded more elegant and benevolent than the Winterland accent.
“Yeah, between the Midlands and Winterlands. The Firelord and the Robinswhore won’t give a shit about that, wouldn’t you say?”
The Midlander guffawed after gulping his ale. “Robinswhore? I hadn’t heard that one before!”
“I heard it from Igor! He definitely heard it from someone else, he’s too stupid to come up with something that good,” the Winterlander chortled.
Robinswhore? He thinks that is a good and funny name? Seriously? Alexey thought. He had not heard much about Vaishalla Robinson, but he had overheard someone discuss her victory at Robinsport when he was leaving Volkograd, so she had to be more than just some whore, Alexey believed. Anton or Viktor would have thought up a much better name than that.
The city had begun immediately upon entering the gate. Every building was even more colorful than the Midlanders’ gowns, furnished with extravagant marble colored brightly in red, yellow, white, brown, green, or blue. The streets were constructed with the most finely crafted and densely packed stone Alexey had ever seen. Boris was forced to slow his carriage before the mass of joyous people throughout the street. No wonder all the Winterguard wants to be garrisoned here, Alexey reflected.
The carriage began to slow down, the clanks of the horse hooves becoming decreasingly frequent, and Boris steered over to the side of the street where a collection of marble hitch posts lined up along the length of the street before a brown stable building. He climbed off the carriage and proceeded to tie the reins to the post. Alexey remained in the back, continuing to admire the surrounding buildings.
“This is our stop, child,” Boris called.
Child? Alexey looked at Boris with a polite smile. “Good a place as any, I suppose.”
“Do you need any directions?” Boris asked concernedly.
“No. I’m fine,” Alexey replied curtly.
Before Boris could reply, Alexey tossed a gold piece at him, quickly patted him on the shoulder, and scurried away. He quickly found himself hidden in the crowd, surrounded by countless well-dressed Midlanders and Winterlanders. He had originally had the goal of remaining inconspicuous, but he was the most poorly dressed person by far, wearing his tattered and dirt-stained shirt and pants, evidence of travel apparent all over him. I certainly fit the profile of a recent deserter, he reflected.
Alexey looked for any hint of a tailor’s shop or an inn. He began searching for patterns of any kind, like where the Midlanders centralized, where the Winterlanders centralized, what color buildings meant what businesses, and he immediately noticed a trend: while there was no clear separation between Midlanders and Winterlanders, the color of the building tended to match that of a trade: yellow buildings meant food, red meant medicine, green meant inns, blue marked residences, and white and brown buildings were tailors from the Winterlands and Midlands respectively.
By and large, the Midlanders and Winterlanders wore the clothing style of their respective cultures: the Midlanders in white tunics and the Winterlanders in colorful gowns stood out like sore thumbs. If I wear Midland clothes, I will stand out. If I wear Winterland clothes, I will stand out. If I keep my shitty clothes, I will stand out. He instantly felt trapped, as if none of his options was viable, but he knew he had to decide. He walked over to the nearest white building, ready to pass the questions of any curious Winterlanders.
Walking
up the marble steps leading to the tailor’s shop, Alexey passed a few Winterlanders and Midlanders, and he began to eavesdrop.
“It only makes sense for Robinson and Miller to join forces. The only person capable of stopping either is the Chairman,” a Midlander claimed.
A Winterlander cleared his throat as if he knew better. “Chairman Howell has proved somewhat victorious over the now-dead Robinson, but his new opponents are much more capable. If they do join forces, Howell will be facing a serious threat. I’m not sure if he—”
“You may not have faith in the Chairman, but I do. Not only is he capable, but he has the best counselours on the planet,” the Midlander replied with some bite.
“A counselour’s advice is not useful if the man he advises doesn’t implement that advice,” the Winterlander informed, undisturbed by the Midlander’s tone.
“The Chairman is capable of making his own decisions yes, but don’t speak so ignorantly. He considers the advice of the Dawnlands’ greatest advisers in his decisions. You can’t say that isn’t true,” the Midlander said.
The Winterlander chuckled. “You make a good point. You headed over to Prescott’s Palace?”
“It’s the best place to get Midland food.”
“You make another good point! I’ll join ya,” the Winterlander said joyfully.
The two men walked down the stairs and into the streets. Alexey stopped a moment and briefly pondered their conversation. He had not learned much about the Northern war beyond the fact that it existed. The only one capable of stopping the Emberlands and Rocklands is Howell? Have the Headlands been defeated? Alexey had read many books about war ranging from strategy to logistics, making him feel knowledgeable on the subject. Even still, he did not understand the implications of the current war. How will my life be affected if I make my way North? Will I be conscripted? Alexey had deserted the Winterguard to avoid a terrible life, but he could be walking into an even worse one. Most Winterlanders understood war as pervasive throughout Northern history, yet they all romanticized the life that Northerners had: more wealth, more food, better weather. Was all that a lie too? He no longer knew what information to trust.
Alexey snapped back into the moment when a hand was waved in front of his face. The hand moved away to reveal a young Winterland woman, dressed in a long-sleeved white dress. Her outfit highlighted her curves and Alexey was momentarily hypnotized by her cleavage.
“You see something you like?” the woman asked playfully.
Alexey quickly gulped and looked away from her body, his eyes darting frantically between her sapphire eyes and the door behind her. “I, uh, yeah… I like the, uh, store.”
The woman giggled. “I would hope so. My family owns it. My father is the head tailor.”
“Oh, uh, that’s…” Alexey continued to stammer.
The woman giggled again. “What’s your name?”
“A—Alexey…”
“I’m Natalie. Why don’t you come inside, and I’ll show you our selection? I’m sure you’ll find something that interests ya.” She ended her sentence with a sultry smile, turning around and opening the door, gesturing him inside.
Alexey smiled nervously and walked into the shop. The smell of fresh leather and silk instantly filled his nose as he spotted many finely crafted clothing racks filled to the brim with assorted tunics, dresses, caps, pants, undershirts, and undergarments. The clothing was even nicer than the selection back at his father’s house: a testament to the prestige of Zhakagrad.
Natalie closed the door and caught up to Alexey. “Where are you from, Alexey?”
“Me? Uh, s—south of here.”
Natalie could not help but chuckle. “I gathered as much, Alexey, based on your accent and need for better clothes. Where in the South are you from?”
Volkograd, Alexey thought. “A farm several miles south of Volkograd,” he said, stammer mysteriously gone.
“I like a man with humble beginnings. Did you come to this city for anything more than clothes?”
“A bath,” Alexey said.
Natalie burst out laughing. “Yeah, I was thinking that, but I didn’t want to bring it up and be rude.”
Alexey found himself at ease, smiling, hearing Natalie laugh. “I can handle rude. I’m a Winterlander after all.”
Natalie laughed again. “Most Winterlanders don’t have a sense of humor, though.”
“Well it’s pretty damn cold down South. Humor does better where it’s warm,” said Alexey.
“I can’t argue with that,” Natalie said while smiling and walking over towards the clothing racks. “Now, what are you interested in?”
“I take it the white tunic and pants are the standard?”
“You can’t go wrong with it,” Natalie said.
“How much is the outfit?” Alexey inquired.
“Five silver pieces,” said Natalie.
Alexey would normally consider five silvers a steep price, but it was a drop of snow in a storm now. He quickly snuck his hand into the purse, grabbed the five silvers and handed them to her.
“You’ll want the correct size?”
“You have a fitting room, I assume?” Alexey asked.
“Of course, just up the stairs,” said Natalie.
“Do you also have a bath upstairs?”
“Yes, but wouldn’t you rather go to the inn for that?” Natalie asked.
“Well, I simply like efficiency. I just arrived in the city, I don’t really know my way around, and getting the outfit and bath I need at the same place would help me get settled in. I don’t want to spend too much time roaming around unwashed and in farmer’s clothes, ya know?”
While Alexey spoke, Natalie looked at him quizzically, but she nodded and smiled as he explained his reasons. “I can understand that, Alexey. New cities can be intimidating.”
Natalie sorted through the tunics to find one approximately Alexey’s size. She then sorted through the pants and undergarments, handing him the ones she picked out. She then glanced over to the stairs and back to Alexey. “Let me take you to your fitting room. And your bath,” she said, taking his hand and finishing with a coy smile.
Natalie walked with a small sway to her hips that Alexey tried hard not to stare at. Growing up, Alexey had spent little time chasing girls. He may have kissed a couple of them at some point, but none took his attention away from his hunger to be a Winterguardsman. Since he was no longer burdened by such idiotic desires, perhaps it was time to indulge in a new one…
While he and Natalie glided up the stairs, Alexey’s stresses and anxieties seemed to vanish. His eyes were fixated on Natalie’s curves, his crotch tightening. It had been too long since he had felt such desire. As he continued to take in the sight, he began feeling himself hunger for her, wanting to see what her dress was hiding. However, he could not reveal his desires: he had no idea how. I can’t just outright tell her I want her, he thought.
Once onto the second floor, Alexey’s hand still in Natalie’s, she took him through the white velveted hallway which was decorated with paintings of the sun, ocean, and Winterland wilderness. White doors with gilded handles lined up the entire length of the hallway, and a black door marked the end. Natalie stopped by the last door, turning around to face Alexey.
“The bath is just in here, Alexey,” said Natalie.
Confidently, Alexey pulled a gold piece out of his pocket and held it up, smirking. “Is the bath all you’re offering?” Won’t need this money once I find the Guild.
Natalie furrowed her brow at the sight of the coin, then looked at Alexey with an irritated expression. “I sell clothes, Alexey. I’m not a whore.”
Completely startled and feeling immediately guilty, Alexey clenched the gold piece in his hand and tried to recover. “N—n—n—no, that’s n—not what I meant! I, uh…”
“Yeah? Well how did you mean it?” Natalie crossed her arms, hiding her cleavage.
“I just, well, I, uh… You were k—kind enough to let me use the bath, so
I wanted to pay for it…” Alexey stammered.
“You could’ve bought twenty tunics with that coin, and you’re gonna pay for a bath with that!? You’re telling me you weren’t trying to buy something else, huh? Now be honest.” Natalie’s face was flabbergasted.
Alexey resigned and sighed shamefully. How much truth can I really tell her? “Truthfully, I wasn’t trying to pay for you, or anything like that. I don’t need the money I have, I’m fine with giving it away.”
“Then what was with the all you’re offering thing ya did there?” Natalie questioned.
“I—uh…” Alexey stammered, unable to muster a response.
Natalie rolled her eyes while sighing angrily. She threw the door open and walked back down the hallway with heavy and frustrated stomps. Alexey looked away shamefully still, unwilling to look at her as she strutted away.
“Fuck,” he softly muttered.
Alexey looked at the open door and shuffled inside, gently closing the door behind him. He rested his forehead on the door, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. What the fuck is wrong with me? he wondered. He slid his hand into his pocket and clutched the Artifact, but its scalding-frigid touch offered him no answers. He then ripped his hand out of his pocket angrily and tossed his new outfit to the room’s vacant corner.
What isn’t my fault? Alexey reflected. He had been blaming his father for the Winterguard lies, the Winterguard for all the death he had seen during his march, and the Artifact for finding its way into his possession and leading to the subsequent deaths of his brothers. I should’ve been smart enough to be skeptical of father, I should’ve avoided the Winterguard completely, and then Anton and Viktor would’ve never met me, and they would still be alive. If Alexey had such a track record of personal failures, it was no wonder why he would colossally ruin something as small as a shot with a girl.
Alexey looked at the rest of the room. A silver-colored and symmetrical bath sat in the center of the room, grated drains were just beneath it, and various sponges, towels, soaps, and oils were spread across the vanity. He shambled over to the bath, studying the faucet. His arm felt weak and heavy as he reached out to turn the drain. The sound of hot water bursting from the faucet and splashing onto the bath pierced Alexey’s ears, echoing fiercely through the room, eventually morphing into a persistent ringing which steadily built into a disorienting climax.
The Darkness of Dawn Page 48