Origin: Rooted Within

CHAPTER NINE

He breathed out.

His deep breath expressed a fine mixture of fear and pain.

He looked at his fingertips and they were as black as the darkness he saw through the window. He had brought something upon himself, he knew it. The pain was not as excruciating as before, at least he didn't have to wince every time he touched it.

The sheets covering his legs were pulled away as he struggled to pull his legs off the bed.

This was the only place he had been in the last two days. He glanced at the plate of cold soup staring back at him and massaged his temples.

He had not eaten for a long time, and that was not his main concern. He was more concerned with what lingered in his vein. The Isher case and his misunderstanding with him were not even something he had to worry about anymore. He believed that Isher would eventually come around, and so he worried less about that aspect. The physical pain, on the other hand, was something he could not overlook.

He straightened and trudged up to the window. The chilly wind of the night blew in his face and his eyelids fell shut, as he drank in the peace that came with it.

He felt a peace he had not felt in days. He looked into the distance and let his eyes wander. He enjoyed the view of the mountain on which their house stood. He felt like an eagle soaring through the air and nothing was hidden from him, for he could see almost all the houses around the mountain.

Castar remembered what Zyra had told him about Metrá, and he sighed.

While his eyes were still closed, he recalled everything from fragments of memories to complete images. The strange being Era had spoken of was the only thing that interested him. Metrá had always been his dreamland, a place where he wished to spend a few days off from work, but after what Era had said, the mystery she was about to reveal in Kin hill beyond Metrá had made him even more impatient. His mother had forbidden him to ever enter that land, and he was having a hard time coming to terms with that rule.

When he opened his eyes again, he noticed something.

He noticed lanterns and torches being lighted in a large store among the houses in the mountain's distance.

A jeweler’s store, long since closed, called “the night market.” It belonged to a great Shefan merchant, the only tribe that sold jewels, gems, and many other glittering things.

They had not ventured into the land for more than a year, and the people of Ritorà had long awaited their arrival from Denark.

Castar was not left out. He had been waiting for their arrival for a long time. Each time the merchants came, he got a new bracelet for his collection.

He stroked his thigh to feel what was left in his pocket. The sound of gold coins fighting with each other caught his ears, and he dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of 200 artà.

That was a lot of money, at least for a jewel purchase. He could only think of one thing - going to the store to look at the new collections.

After all, he had not gone out in days, and a visit to the store would help clear his head of all the worries, even if it was only for a few hours.

He dropped the pouch back into his pocket and put on his gloves.

He hurried out of the room and went straight to his mother's door. He took a deep breath before reaching for the door with his knuckles without knocking. He wondered if it would be better for him to just leave. After a few moments of holding his knuckles up, he let them bounce on the dense wood of the door.

"Just walk away, Isher. You are not ready to listen to me anyway," Zyra said from the other side of the door.

Isher had come to check on her so many times that day, but she refused to let him in. She got out whenever she wanted, prepared the food, and left him to help himself, but whatever she did, she was careful not to break the silence between Isher and her.

She vowed not to allow him that privilege until he apologized to Castar. This was something Isher wanted to put behind him, but he felt too big to apologize to his younger brother. He was puffed up and preferred to try his luck by knocking on Zyra's door from time to time, hoping she would just forgive him without fulfilling the condition she had set.

"Go away, apologize to your brother, if you want things to go back to the way they used to be," Zyra called out to Castar, thinking it was Isher standing at the door.

Castar closed his eyes when he heard this. He was unhappy with the way Zyra was treating Isher. He felt hurt by Isher's behavior toward him, but he did not think Zyra's way of doing things would solve anything. He believed it would only make things worse, and he was right, Isher was becoming even more stubborn.

"Mother, it's me. May I come in?" said Castar in a low tone that expressed so much concern. He could hear Zyra's footsteps as she hurriedly walked to the door.

She unlocked the door and froze.

"Castarius, my boy," she called to him as she hugged him. Castar rested his chin on her head, and she remained in his arms.

"Mother, this is not the best way to handle things. With what you are doing, it's only going to get worse. You should know Isher by now, he does not bend to any conditions," Castar said and Zyra broke away from the embrace.

She wondered if she had heard Castar correctly. She stared into his eyes and wondered what kind of person he was. She thought he would be satisfied with the punishment he was imposing on Isher, but he was not.

"Your soft heart can no longer help your brother. He is becoming a man driven by anger and malice, this is not how I raised you. Sometimes I wish he was more like you," Zyra said to him, and he hung his head, not knowing what to say.

"The Shefàn traders are back. I'd love to see some of their new collections. It's a good way to clear my head a bit. If you do not mind," Castar told her and she nodded.

"Be careful, son," she said to him and he nodded. She gave him a kiss on the forehead and he smiled at her.

She watched Castar walk out the front door and sighed. She was proud of the man he had become.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Zyra had retired to bed after preparing dinner. The food that only Isher ate. She could not sleep, not with all that was happening in her house. She was restless.

She heard a knock on her door and remained silent. She knew for a fact it was not Castar, so she had decided not to answer.

“Mother,” Isher called out to her.

“Mother, please, your silence is killing me.”

Silence reigned after his last words as he put his left ear to the door - expecting a noise to at least make him think Zyra would change her mind and open the door.

“It’s night now, and I have not heard from you since we last spoke. I could only see you when you served me dinner,” he said.

“If you want things to be as they were, do as I asked. Apologize to him, apologize to your brother, Isher!” said Zyra.

She raised her voice as she changed her last statement. Isher clenched his fist and teeth and punched the wall behind him.

The sound of his clenched fist hitting the wall made Zyra tremble. She was not sure she knew the man he was anymore.

“The rage in you! That’s it... My son was never like this, what has gotten into you?” Zyra shouted at him.

Isher had not stopped gasping, he watched himself bleed. He hurt himself in the process, and he could only blame Castar for all the pain he was going through.

“I do not even recognize you anymore, bring me back my son!” she screamed.

“Can not you see he has poisoned your heart against me? You see only him now. You never shut him out for his faults. Do not you see that he has ruined us? Do not you see that he has destroyed our family?” Isher shouted at her, and Zyra trembled once more.

“The only crime he committed was showering you with so much love. Love that I have seen you clearly do not deserve,” Zyra told him, and he could not bear another word from her. He left her door to his room to tend to his injury.

T H E N I G H T M A R K E T

From the entrance of the market, he heard the cultural music of the Shefàn. It welcomed customers and attracted more from within and to announce their arrival to the people of Ritorà.

This music was rich in strings and was accompanied by one or two wind instruments.

If the Shefàn tribe were known for anything other than selling jewels, it would be for their ability to make beautiful music from any available instrument.

Each store in the market had two or three musicians at its front, each playing different music.

His gaze roamed. He could see everything, even though it was night. That was because the market was well lit and the shopkeepers cleared their shops of darkness so that customers could get a better look at their collections.

“Excuse me!” He stuttered as he bumped into someone.

“Young man. Good evening, you!” said the man to him. He had a charming smile on his face.

Castar nodded.

“Trógon,” said the old man, and Castar’s brows drew together. He was surprised that the man could tell his tribe.

“You smell like two medicinal plants I know,” he chuckled, and Castar grinned at him as he stomped past.

After taking a few moments to smell both of his shoulders, he started moving.

He entered a store. There were over twenty open shops in the market, so he went into one shop to his right.

His eyes wandered, as he strolled to the inner chamber of the store. It was like a dragon’s lair, for he knew their penchant for collecting treasures. There were several things that caught his attention, and he could not keep his gaze on one particular thing for more than a second.

The first thing he touched was a bracelet. One made of fine leather, from which hung three tiny blue, spherical stones, known in the West as sphi stones. They shone even where there was no light.

“Forty kartis!” he heard a voice say behind him, and he turned, letting go of the bracelet.

He realized it was the shopkeeper. A man who should be in his fifties, he thought. His hair was cut in a way that did not hide the wrinkles on his forehead. He wore a robe and a pair of sandals.

“It’s a delicate piece, is not it? Those are genuine sphi stones found beyond the shores of Pishark. It would suit a man whose countenance expresses such ferocity,” he said.

“I am not so fierce,” Castar told him.

“The bracelet, the way your fingers traced it. It revealed everything... Anger, rage... Maybe fear,” he said.

Castar’s eyebrows met as his gaze sank into the man’s eyes, as if he had the answers to all the questions in the world. He was indeed surprised, and for a moment, he wondered if the Shefà tribe were more psychic than treasure hunters.

“What?” he asked, and Castar shook his head.

“My name is Darìo. This is my son, Elada. He will help you run the sale tonight,” the man said, pointing to the shy boy who had refused to come out from behind the wooden shelf lined with necklaces.

“I am afraid I must retire to bed now,” he said to Castar, and began trudging toward the entrance-leaving Elada and Castar to do the business.

“You are... shy indeed,” Castar told him. To a passerby, it looked like Castar was talking to himself, for the boy had refused to come out, instead remaining hidden behind the shelf.

“Do not blame me. After all, is not it a night in a foreign land?” The boy whispered. His head slowly pushed out from behind the shelf.

“I can assure you that the land of Ritorà is clean, yet pure of evil. You have nothing to fear, you have my word,” Castar told him.

There was a moment of silence and perhaps thought on Elada’s part before he responded to Castar’s statement with a nod.

He stepped out from behind the shelf and cautiously approached Castar, who was still standing near the stand with the sphi stone bracelet at this point.

“Is this what you want?” asked Elada, pointing at the sphi bracelet.

“I believe it is,” Castar said.

Young Elada shuffled over to the shelf after staring at Castar for a long time. He realised he could not reach the bracelet because it was on the very top of the shelf, so he took a stool with him.

He stood on it and tried to reach it. Even with the stool, he was not tall enough to reach it, he knew that, but he was not willing to give up trying.

“Let me help,” Castar stuttered, noticing Elada struggling with his height to reach for the bracelet.

“No! I have been given specific instructions, one of which states that no customer is to take anything from the shelf,” Elada said, eager to follow his father’s instructions.

Castar said no more, but only threw his hands in the air (submitting to the boy’s will)

It was not long after his last word that Elada’s foot slipped off the top of the oak stool.

Castar reached forward and caught him. He managed to keep the boy from tumbling to the ground, but there was something else. Something he could not get a grip on. The thing that had slipped off Elada’s jacket. Supporting the boy up with his right hand made him flinch, but he couldn't let the boy fall.

Castar made sure to carefully push the sole of Elada’s shoes to the ground, helping him to stand firmly on the ground. As he did so, his eyes had not left what had slipped off the boy’s jacket.

“Thank you!” said Elada to him, waiting for a reply, but he heard none.

He saw Castar was lost and doubted that he had heard the “Thank you!” mentioned.

Castar’s eyebrows drew together as he knelt down on one knee to pick the item up off the ground.

“This, what is it? I think you dropped it,” Castar said to Elada.

Elada put his index finger to his lips to signal Castar to stop talking.

He grabbed Castar’s wrist and pulled him behind the shelf with him.

“I do not know what it is, I just found it like I found other pendants,” Elada whispered.

Castar was surprised why Elada pulled him into a closed corner and started whispering.

“Why are we doing this?” asked Castar in wonder.

“What?” whispered Elada.

“You pulled me here and we started whispering,” Castar said, gesturing as he spoke to the boy, and Elada silenced him.

“You did not steal it, did you?” Castar whispered, and Elada shook his head incessantly.

“Father warned me not to take it. He would be very upset if he knew I still had it here, in its entirety,” Elada said (whispering).

“Why is that?” he asked.

“Father believes it is an instrument of great evil. He has asked for it to be destroyed, but I just could not bring myself to follow his order,” he said.

Castar’s gaze fell on the pendant in his hand, and he could only think of one thing - buying it. He had no idea why, something was driving him.

“Is not it an old, yet beautiful piece?” said Elada as Castar stroked the pendant with both thumbs.

“What was the reason he called it evil?” asked Castar, not looking at Elada, for he could not take his eyes off the pendant.

It was lust.

“He had no reason. He called it evil, because we have seen nothing like it,” he said. Elada would do anything for an extra Kartís. He was told the reason it was called evil, but he did not want to lose his chance of making a good deal.

“Let me take it. I am sure it would fit in my collection, even if it’s not a bracelet,” Castar told Elada. What did he just say, a pendant in a collection of bracelets? He pondered about what he said to the young boy and realized it made no sense. How would a pendant fit in a collection of bracelets? He wanted it anyway.

“A hundred kartis!” said Elada, raising his voice above what might be called a whisper.

“Very well! I will pay in Artà,” said Castar.

“Fifty Artà,” said Elada.

Castar dropped the pendant in his pocket as he left Darìo’s store.

KIN HILL

The silence had not ceased to linger in their midst. Era did not know what Nero Spiliá was, unlike the man before her. Perhaps she was too young to know what it was, or perhaps she had gained no knowledge of it yet.

“Nero Spiliá, my ears have never heard of it. I have traveled through all four lands, but I have never ventured there,” she said.

“Of course you have not. That is because Nero Spiliá is not meant for you or any of your kind. It’s only meant for people like Baraka - those who do not deserve to live among humans,” he said, and Era’s eyes widened.

“Nero Spiliá, is this a home for his kind?” asked Era.

“It is a prison realm, a prison for all Kranians,” he said.

“The Kranians, I have heard of them. An evil tribe that once lived here in Northland. My foster mother used to tell me a story about them. And how they disappeared without a trace,” Era said, remembering when Sicca told her the stories.

“Yes, she mentioned a name. I can not remember exactly, but she said that it seemed the Kranians believed it was some sacred ground,” she said.

“Nero Spiliá was never a paradise. The first Kranians who escaped our watch was those who fell on this hill hundreds of years ago. They evolved into humans over the years and blended so well in appearance. They found their way out of the portal and settled into the great wilderness of Cresva,” he said. His voice was raspy, and just as deep and eerie as the darkness around the hill.

Era had not spoken another word since their last conversation. She was pondering.

“They bore children of their own kind and multiplied. And so they raised them to go their way. They learned all the secrets about who they were, their powers were revealed to them, and every other advantage they had over humans except how they came to be. The Kranians who walked the Earth 25 years ago had been lied to by their ancestors - the early Kranians. They were raised only to believe the story that Nero Spiliá was a paradise.”

“They were never an Earth people,” he added.

He clasped his spear tighter and put on his hood, then turned his back on Era and began walking toward the edge of the hill.

“Where are you going?” called Era to him.

“I have to find it!” he called back - without looking at her.

“What, are you talking about the Kranian, Baraka?” the voice of Era called out to him again.

“I need to find out what Baraka is after before he does,” he said.

“The key!” He said to her.

“I must find the key.”