THE BORDER BETWEEN CATANIS AND RITORÀ
[THE BANK OF RIVER FÚLIN]
The rooster had just crowed. Customers were pouring into Yilius' tavern. These were men who had no good plans for the day. To be in a tavern at this time of the day left no good impression. The first one to enter was already drunk wherever he had come from. It seemed as if he wanted to be completely knocked out by Yilius' strong wine. He had definitely had too much to drink already, but maybe he just was not satisfied yet. He trudged to the wide counter where he saw the owner of the tavern.
He was dressed like a bounty hunter, even if he was not. He was bald, the tallest man in the tavern, and his back was riddled with massive muscles. There was a dagger in his belt, and a coiled rope hung from the other side. He wore thick black boots that made him at least 3 inches taller.
He tapped on the counter where Yilius lay, and the latter opened his eyes, startled. Yilius was shocked to see such a huge figure leaning over him. He knew Mafik well, but he wondered if he had got into some kind of trouble with him. Mafik was Yilius’ customer, and he was always in Yilius’ tavern, but he had never come this early.
Mafik was feared. He was not involved in any open crime, but most people had concluded he was involved in shady businesses. The fact that he walked and roamed the village with a dagger always stuck in his belt proved he was involved in something that was not pure.
Yilius' eyes widened the moment he caught sight of the huge man leaning over him. He rolled to the other side of the counter. There were already so many customers waiting to be served, so he ordered the little boy who had just walked in to serve the others. He usually helped Yilius at the tavern for money and sometimes free drinks. Yilius had no family and the boy who was homeless, made a good team in bringing their customers to satisfaction as they were always available. They basically had nowhere else to go, and after working for an entire day, they'd both find a warm place in the tavern to sleep.
Yilius realised Mafik had come for a drink after all. He heaved a sigh of relief when he realised he had not trespassed. No one would want to cross Mafik’s path.
“Give me that one drink, the very drink that'll send me to slumber,” Mafik said, and Yilius nodded. He nodded, even without making sure to understand Mafik’s point.
"What is it that your tongue desires?" Yilius asked the hunky man in front of him - on the other side - as he pulled out a wooden board.
Mafik gave him a stern look, and he trembled. He was a man of few words, and repeating words was just not something he could be seen doing. Yilius realised this and decided to keep his mouth shut. He figured Mafik just wanted a strong wine. He had so many barrels that contained strong wines, but he wasn't sure they could do what Mafik had asked for.
“I’ll pay you double if it knocks me off my feet,” Mafik said, and Yilius nodded. Money was one language Yilius could never misinterpret. He knew just what he had to do to grant Mafik’s request. He knew he had to result to using the red powder.
Yilius' tavern was large and spacious. There were no less than 12 round oak tables, each with three chairs to accommodate more customers. There were several oak barrels of various wines. All the barrels were arranged in a manner behind the counter that it looked like a wall to someone standing at the entrance.
The floor was made of smoothed boards arranged from the door to the wall behind the barrels. They were arranged so close together that a spilled drink had to be scrubbed off to keep it from getting on the floor.
Yilius nodded at his request as he scrubbed the inside of the tankard in his hand with the end of the brown rag that lay over his right shoulder.
Yilius turned to his barrels and poured a small amount of four different drinks into the tankard, and a mixture of all four filled the tankard to the brim. He was not done yet. He slid his hand under the counter top and pulled out a rolled-up sheet. He unrolled it and it contained a fine red powder.
The powder was "ílís", the substance obtained from the petals of a flower called "blairos".
It had once been a dangerous weapon against the Kranians, but since they had disappeared, all but Yilius had banned it from their homes. Yilius had found that it was a potent substance that could satisfy anyone, so he kept it in powder form to spice up drinks for customers. It had an unpleasant smell of burning feather, but when added to a drink and it dissolves, the smell becomes a bit more pleasant.
Yilius pushed the tankard filled with a mixture of drink and powdered Ílís in front of him, the bottom of which slid across the countertop and clasped the man's braces. It spilled a little on the counter as the tankard hit Mafik’s palm.
"That would knock anyone out. That would be twenty kartis. You said you'd pay double if it knocked you off your feet, so 40 kartis," Yilius said, demanding twice the amount of the drink, because he was sure the man would not get up after the first sip.
He gulped it all down, from the rim to the last drop, groaning and slapping his hands around his head as he felt the world spin around him. This was what he had been looking for.
Yilius was right. His legs could no longer hold him up. He slumped onto the chair in front of the counter. He slapped his head and held on to it tightly. He could literally feel his head burning from the inside.
He slapped the bottom of the tankard on the countertop and demanded a second round. This round was supposed to send him to sleep. While Yilius was mixing, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a tiny pouch filled with objects that banged against each other, making a sound that was not new to Yilius' ears. It was Yilius’ favourite sound.
It was a bag filled with coins. Round, thick metals formed into perfect circles and covered with silver, the "kartis," the only currency used in the West.
He emptied the pouch on the counter and did a rough calculation - he gave Yilius 60 kartis instead of the 40 kartis he had asked for. Yilius was a greedy man. He received it without returning it back to Mafik. It was his lucky day.
While Yilius mixed him another drink, a shadow was cast in his direction. He raised his head, and so did every other person in the tavern. Their attention was drawn to the entrance. They stared at the figure and observed in silence.
The shadow was that of a young lady. She stood outside the door, preventing the warm light of the morning sun from reaching those present in the tavern. She had intended to enter, but had stopped only to observe. She made sure to scan every one's face before taking a step another step forward.
She wore a hood over her head, coming off a narrow, tight-fitting cloak of black leather. It was laced across her chest. The coat reached her calf, and from there to her waist it merged into a slit.
Unlike what most women and young girls in the West wore - a dress - she wore black leather pants that reached down to the boots she wore. She had stepped into them with a pair of boots that reached her shins.
As she took a step into the tavern, she propped her right leg on the wooden floor and disentangled herself from the sand particles that had attached themselves to the sole of her boot. They were the very coarse grains of sand found in Northland.
In her left hand she held a dead rabbit, fresh blood dripping from its neck. With the rabbit in her left hand, she strode all the way in. When she was close to the counter, Yilius saw that there was a bundle of arrows sticking out from the quiver behind her left shoulder, and he also noticed that there was a bow slung over her back.
Yilius, like everyone else in the tavern, had not said a word since she had entered. As she approached the counter, she removed her hood and her glossy black hair fell over her shoulders.
Yilius had handed the drunk his drink, and he had already taken two sips.
Yilius wondered, as did every man in the tavern, why such a beautiful young lady seemed so tough.
She threw the dead rabbit on the counter and its blood splattered on the surface. The sound of the meat on the countertop made Yilius shudder. He could not even be bothered to clean up the bloodstain. He was more concerned with his own safety.
The young woman stroked her right hand, and though she wore a pair of gloves, Yilius sensed that something was wrong with that hand. He averted his gaze from the hand and looked into the girl's eyes as she spoke.
"I need to find someone," she said, leaning over the countertop to make sure she was heard. She could not be any louder than that. Her voice was not as intimidating as Yilius had thought.
All this time, the drunk sitting in front of the counter had done nothing but ogle the girl leaning over the counter. His smile betrayed his interest in this young woman.
"I'll give you whatever you are looking for. All you have to do is sit down and have a drink with me, beautiful," the drunk gushed, and every single man in the room laughed. Yilius, who had not been drinking, knew better.
She ignored him after a quick glance at his face and turned her gaze back to Yilius. She could not waste another moment looking at him. She needed help. That was her priority.
"Who are you looking for?" asked Yilius.
The drunk did not take her silence at face value. He thought she would respond better if he tried something else, and so he stroked her shoulder.
He should not have done that. She didn't let her condition weaken her.
She stomped her feet on the chair he was sitting on and its legs broke, causing him to fall to the floor.
Sounds of laughter from different corners of the room reached her ears. They laughed at the fact that such a well-built man was kicked to the ground by a young lady.
She turned back to Yilius to answer his question, and before she could say a word, she felt herself choking on the rope tied around her neck. He would not accept defeat. He wanted to prove himself to everyone.
She choked, but her hand made it to the dagger in his belt. She pulled it from his belt and jammed it into his thigh.
He groaned through clenched teeth, trying to pull the dagger out as he staggered around in pain.
She allowed him made a fool of himself for a few moments, and then countered his final attack by smashing a vase over his head.
She went back to the counter to talk to Yilius, and Yilius gulped. After what he had seen, he would do anything else but delay her.
"W-who are you looking for?" He stuttered.
"A healer!" she exclaimed.
"You're not well, yet you defeated a man like Mafik. Who are you?" Yilius asked. She said nothing to him, leaving him to wonder.
"You said you are looking for a healer. They are so many of them here," Yilius said to her.
"Castar, son of Aldéris," she said.
The sun shone over all the lands in the west. The wind whistled over the mountain top. There stood Alderis' house, basking under the sun and on the top of the terraced mountain. Other houses that surrounded the mountain were all basking in its shade. Its top was wide enough, and well levelled to accommodate a house as big as Aldéris’ house. There were six rooms in all. The living room was small. There were a few armchairs that stood, with no table to cling to. It was the least useful part of the house, as it was used to receive visitors. And for those who had fewer guests, like Aldéris' family, it hardly came into use. Part of what made the house seem large was the four bedrooms and dining room it had. Isher pulled aside the curtain and stepped outside. The sun shone, blinding him. He stroked his eyelids as he walked to the backyard. The sound of a blade driving through thick wood reached his ears, and he sighed. He knew Castar went out so early to fetch more wood. He wondered why
Everywhere in the village, of Ritorà torches were lit in the houses. The children would run around in the moonlight and chase fireflies. Even if the night was cold, they would have played in the rain and their parents would have run after them, but since it rained all evening, that might have changed the normal routine. It was night; the rain had not stopped since sunset, people had retired from work to warm themselves by the fire in the hearth at their homes. Aldéris' house was no different. "Malak!" "Malak!" A voice called out to him. He could see nothing. All he saw was darkness, darkness in its entirety. It was nothingness. He could neither feel, nor see, nor speak. All of his senses were called to rest except for one, which allowed him to listen and understand. He could hear only one voice, that one voice called to him in a strange dialect. "Malak!" it called to him, echoing through the endless darkness. The voice of a middle-aged man, cold, raspy, and deep enough to make one
A night had just passed. It was the time that lay between night and day. The sky was pale blue and interspersed with grey clouds. The very thick clouds that covered the sky made the land appear darkened. It was not too dark to speak of night, but dark enough to make out the horizon dimly. The grasses were still damp, and the cold wind that came with last night's rain whistled through the tips of the grasses in the wilderness. The stifling silence made it possible to hear the whistling wind better as it travelled all the way from west to north. People hardly crossed into that area. They thought it to be dangerous based on its history. In the north country the reliefs were predominant, and among the great variety there was one that stood highest of all. It lay far beyond all lands in the north. In a wilderness that lay far to the north. This wilderness had long been isolated from man, and even after the disappearance of the Kranians, man had refused to occupy the land, as the wolves ha
“Where the sand reigns, the water perishes,” was the most popular proverb in the East, and it was not only a proverb, but a line used to describe great Denark. Denark was a land of sand, a place covered with fine golden grains of sand. It was a great desert in the east, under intense sunlight during the day and blown by an extremely cold wind at night. The largest land in the east and the other lands, Pilo and Fyrmot, were green lands because they were far from the Denark desert. Denark was the home of a tribe of people. The only tribe destined by their nature to roam the land. It was they whose greed for treasure led them to choose the desert as their home. Their eyes desired everything that glittered, and Denark was once a land of many treasures that delighted the eyes buried beneath the great sands. They went far beyond their tents in the community and wandered to the middle of the desert and even beyond to collect lost treasures, some of which were even older than they were. Fyr
ALDÉRIS' HOME Zyra had been up since dawn, trying to prepare something for breakfast. She had already finished serving the fresh bread, and all that was missing was the sweet wine in the pitcher to be brought to the table. There, in the middle of the table, was a basket of fruit with a fruit knife buried in it. The smell of the sweet wine as Zyra poured it from the jug into the cup, brought Castar back to consciousness. His face was buried in the pillow, but that did not stop the smell of the wine from reaching his nose. It was his favourite, and so there was no way he could not smell it, even when he was outside the house. "Fatras!" He muttered into his pillow. He sat up the moment he realised breakfast was being served. The floor was cold against his feet, having absorbed the chill of the previous rainy night. He could hear the plates being moved on the dining table. The door disengaged from its lock, and Castar raised his head. His gaze met Isher's as he entered. "Castar, break
The morning sun poured over his face and he groaned. He had slept too deeply and was beginning to feel like he was in his room. He was in pain, but still he had managed to get this far in his sleep. It was only the sun that kept flooding him and the warmth he knew he would never get in his own room that woke him up. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He had been sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall closest to the door. He stayed there, Since Isher had locked him out last night and he could not go back to Garissa's house to spend the night. Garissa had been harbouring him all day, and even if she had not complained, Castar was sensitive enough to know that his return to her house could have raised a lot of questions. He had been hurt by his own brother, what would he say to Garissa about it? He would try to say that they had quarrelled, that was something that most brothers often did, but Garissa would ask about the reason for the quarrel, and after thinking about everyt
Castar had refused to leave his room since he learned what had happened to him. He had already lied to them. None of them knew he had healed the huntress. They all believed him when he said her blood fought the poison and suppressed it. Isher had doubts at first, which got him nowhere, because it was not as if he had evidence that Castar had actually cured her. Zyra had always been blind to Castar's lies. She could have known about his magic long ago, but since she never wanted to doubt him, not even for a second, she remained ignorant of everything that was happening under her nose. The burning in his hand had not stopped. His fingertips were blackened, and he had not stopped staring at them since he'd found out. He looked out the window and saw that the sun had already disappeared from the sky and the moon had risen. The stifling silence made the situation worse. He was alone with what he had brought upon himself. He knew he was doomed, even if he could not tell what lingered in
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 w