(Thirdday of the Second Week of Mossro, 669 A.C.)
Fluffy, gray clouds cast the world in a hazy state, with the scent of rain seeping from every pore of the earth. Eko angled his wings, using that and his magic to bring him higher into the sky. At his altitude, he probably appeared as a large bird to anyone in the city below. Eko peered down at the maze of streets and buildings, but though his eyes were sharp, he wasn't able to pick out much about any of the individuals swarming the roads.
Wanily was down there, somewhere. Without Eko to protect her, she was probably stumbling around, this way and that, avoiding dangers by the sheer dumb luck that always seemed to cling to her. But she hadn’t wanted to endanger Eko by bringing him into town--humans were always so fearful of monsters, after all, especially ones of his caliber.
It was sweet, if foolish. Eko was able to look after himself, and all the gods knew that Wanily needed him to do the same for her. Still, without knowing where she was, it would be stupid to go roaming around a city all by his lonesome. Maybe during the night he could head down into the streets and look for her--but then, Wanily would probably be inside one of those buildings, asleep by that point.
No matter. He’d find her later and make sure she was doing alright without him there to keep her alive. For now, he turned himself and pulled on the air surrounding him to switch directions, leaving the city behind him in favor of swooping over the surrounding forests in search of prey. Normally, he’d be hunting for himself and Wanily, but that wouldn’t be necessary for the next however long she stayed in the city.
She better not plan on staying long, Eko thought. It wasn’t like he missed her or anything. It was just depressing to spend every day entirely by himself. Griffins were creatures that flocked together, and it was simply in Eko’s nature to want his flock around. That was all.
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“What’s the first thing she’s going to teach you?” Dahlia asked over breakfast, smiling at Wanily sitting on the bed across from her. She could hardly believe it--when Wanily came back to the church yesterday after meeting with Harriet, she came bearing good news. Harriet had actually agreed to teach her, and Wanily couldn’t have been more ecstatic.
Dahlia was happy for her. Harriet obviously didn’t like Dahlia, but she had still put that aside to teach Wanily. It was sweet and proved that maybe the people of Fris really could be redeemed after all.
“I don’t know,” Wanily said, leg bouncing against the ground. She bit her lip, eyes positively shining. “I already know the basics of motion, so I hope she can teach me something else. I’d love to learn how to make fire or what can be done with space or time magic or even just more about physics. I’ve gotten good at amplifying or lessening forces already present, but I still can’t make something move from rest. Now that would be cool. Can you imagine just--just moving things around with your mind?”
Dahlia nodded along, picking at her scrambled eggs as she let Wanily’s words wash over her. She had very little idea what she was talking about--she didn’t even know much new magic so she certainly knew nothing about old magic. But Wanily was obviously excited, and so Dahlia would be excited, too.
“That does sound like it would be cool,” Dahlia said. “But she told you not to come by until Sixthday, right?”
That made Wanily deflate a little, but she perked back up only a beat later. “Yeah. But that’s okay, it’s only a couple of days.”
“What would you like to do with that time?” Dahlia asked, smiling. Wanily had no money and no friends in town, so it only stood to reason she would be spending it here at the church. Maybe it was a little presumptuous, but Dahlia hoped they could do something together. Dahlia could teach her how to sew or knit--she liked to make clothing for those in the city that couldn’t afford new ones at the moment, not that anyone ever took anything she offered. It was at least better than trying to make food that would just go to waste. At least the clothes wouldn’t go bad.
Maybe they could make some meals, if only so Dahlia could teach Wanily some of what she knew. They were supposed to be getting a shipment of goods in today, more food and more light crystals and whatever else the church had been able to secure for them. More cloth and thread would be great, but Dahlia wasn’t holding her breath on that one. At most, she hoped to receive enough flour or rice to last for another few weeks.
“Well, I’ll probably head out into the forest today,” Wanily mused. “Eko, my--uh, well, I’m traveling with a friend that doesn’t like people very much. So he’s staying out in the forest while I learn some more magic.”
Dahlia felt her brows rise in surprise. By the way Wanily talked the night they met, Dahlia thought she was traveling alone. “Oh, I didn’t know you had a friend with you. You said his name is Eko?”
Which was a little concerning to Dahlia, the fact that Wanily was apparently traveling with a male. How old was this person? What were his intentions with a girl Wanily’s age?
“Yeah,” Wanily said, suddenly not meeting Dahlia’s eye. That wasn’t a good sign. “Like I said, being around other people doesn't really agree with him.”
Dahlia frowned. That was more than a little concerning. “Are you sure you want to go meet with him today?” she asked slowly. “You don’t have to. If you don’t feel safe with him, you can stay with me.”
Wanily’s gaze snapped back to hers, scowling. “What? Of course I feel safe with him. Eko is my best friend. He does so much for me, and he agreed to wait for me while I learn more magic. The least I can do is go visit him while I’m stuck waiting, too.”
Dahlia winced. Wanily was obviously offended on her friend’s behalf, but Dahlia just wanted to make sure that Wanily wasn’t being taken advantage of. “Well, would you like me to go with you?”
“No!” Wanily stopped, looking surprised at how quickly and harshly she’d responded. Dahlia frowned at her, more and more alarmed with every word Wanily said. Wanily tried again, much softer but no less nervous, “I mean, no. Um, he’s not very nice to strangers, either, and doesn’t like people, I keep saying that. But you don’t need to worry.”
Dahlia hesitated. The fact was that she was worried, very much so. “I really don’t think--”
“It’s fine, Dahlia,” Wanily interrupted, standing and putting her empty plate on the counter of the kitchen. “I can wash the dishes when I get back, okay?”
Which was a way for Wanily to escape this conversation, and Dahlia wasn’t about to have it. She might not have met this friend of Wanily’s, but she didn’t trust him. Her mind was already going to the worst possibilities--a mercenary biding his time, a Frisian barbarian trying to convert her to worship of the old gods, a member of the Wandering People attempting to kidnap her and sell her to a slave trader. “Wanily--”
“Bye, Dahlia,” Wanily said loudly, grabbing a satchel from beside her pack and hurrying out of the room. “I’ll be back.”
Dahlia scrambled to her feet, setting aside her plate and rushing to the main room of the church. “Just be back before curfew!” she called after Wanily, wringing her hands. Wanily was obviously not from Fris, but that didn’t mean the curfew didn’t apply to her. She could still find herself in some trouble if she wasn’t back in time.
Dahlia spent a few hours sitting on one of the pews in the otherwise empty church, stitching together some shirts by hand. The repetitive motions did wonder to calm the nerves she found festering in her mind, worrying after Wanily. They hadn’t known each other for more than a scant couple of days, but Dahlia could tell Wanily was one of the good ones. She hated even the thought that she was being taken advantage of in some way.
It was sometime in the afternoon by the time she heard some voices calling to each other outside the church. It was too early for a mob to forming outside, so Dahlia assumed that it was the carriers from the Empire come to drop off some goods. She set aside her needle and thread and headed to the front door, heaving it open and poking her head out.
She was met with the sight of two carriers unloading a couple of crates from a wagon at the base of the front steps. A man stood off to the side with a clipboard and pen, scribbling something as each crate was brought out of the depths of the wagon and stacked on the ground. He looked up when Dahlia called out a greeting, smiling and tucking his clipboard under his arm and his pen into his breast pocket.
“Ah, hello, you must be Sister Dahlia,” he said, walking up the steps and holding out his hand. They shook, with Dahlia wincing at the strength of his grip. “Gren, at your service. We have some special goodies for you in today’s shipment. Foodstuffs and some new trinkets from General Magicks that will hopefully make your life a bit easier.”
Dahlia felt her brow rise in surprise. “I didn’t think the church could afford to send me anything from General Magicks. Aren’t their goods expensive?”
“Well, sure,” Gren said. “At least, they used to be much more expensive, but they’ve just finished building a massive workshop back in Tiranda. The way I’ve heard it, they can pump out over a thousand of their magic items a day.”
Dahlia gasped. “Really?”
Gren nodded, smiling. “That’s right, sister. Of course, anything that requires a crystal to run still costs a shiny mark. But their basic enchanted goods just became much more affordable. Even if they weren’t, from what I’ve been told, this shipment is entirely donated right from the top.”
Dahlia’s eyes widened. “You mean Atlas Stellar?” She gestured to the ten crates stacked by the wagon in slight wonder before pointing back to herself, saying, “He donated all of this to... me?”
“So it seems,” Gren said, giving her a toothy grin. “Put them to good use, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Dahlia said a bit breathlessly. She cleared her throat. “I mean, I will.”
Gren directed the other men with him to begin bringing the crates into the church. Dahlia hurried to prop the door open for them, smiling and thanking them as they passed her. They nodded to her in turn, huffing and puffing as they carried the crates inside.
Once all of them were inside, Gren had the other men pry them open with crowbars. He told Dahlia, “Empty them out, and we’ll come back in the evening for crates.”
Dahlia nodded, smiling. “Thank you so much, Gren.”
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“No need,” Gren said, chuckling. “Just doing what I’m paid to do. Oh, that reminds me.” Gren pulled his clipboard back out, lifting up the papers until there was only a single envelope resting against the wood. He grabbed it, easing it from the metal clip holding it in place, before offering it to Dahlia. “This is from a Wriv. Or a Triv?”
“Quiv?” Dahlia asked, perking up as she took the envelope. That was her youngest brother. He had sent her a letter? The only letters she had received so far had been from her father, but he always told her everything that was happening in their household anyway. Why did Quiv feel the need to write her himself?
She turned it over in her hands, but on the back it simply read To Dahlia at the top, with smaller, more cramped writing at the bottom that said from your favorite brother. She smiled at that.
Gren snapped, pointing at her. “That’s the one. Well, I think that’s all you need us for, sister. We’ll see you later when we come to pick up the crates.”
“Yes, thank you, Gren,” Dahlia said, glancing up. She managed to smile again despite the inkling of dread curling through her gut. Whatever was in this letter, she had a bad feeling about it. “I will see you tonight.”
Gren nodded to her, whistling to his men and motioning them to follow as he left the building. Dahlia wandered after them, letter clutched in one hand as she closed the door behind them. She waited until she heard the clatter of the wagon wheels departing to return to her pew and stare at the unopened letter.
She bit her lip and opened it, reading it once, then again, and again. It wasn’t until she set the piece of paper down in her lap after the fifth read that the tears began to well up.
Dear Dahlia, the letter read.
Mom and Dad said I shouldn’t write you. They said not to worry you because you have a lot to worry about already being in Fris. But I’m scared, and you were always able to make things better.
I’ve been real tired lately so Mom and Dad took me to see Father Charles. He said that I’m dying. That I only have until the end of Azonra.
I don’t know what to do. Mom and Dad said we have to pray extra hard to Amera so that she remembers me. I don’t want to be remembered. I want to keep living. I know you’re doing really important stuff in Fris, but can you help me? I’m really, really scared. But you always say Amera’s love cures all wounds, and I thought you could ask her to cure this one, too.
Sorry, I know you probably have more important things going on. In case I don’t get to see you again, I love you.
Love, Quiv
Dahlia closed her eyes, folding the letter back up and gently tucking it back into its envelope. Only once it was safely on the pew beside her did she bury her face in her hands and weep.
Her brother, only nine years old, was dying. Azonra was only two months away. The summer months of Krakrenra and Krakrenro were fifty days each, as was Azonra. They were already into the second week of Mossro, also fifty days long. If Quiv was lucky, he had about another one-hundred and seventy days.
Dahlia--she needed to go see him, right? She couldn’t just--it was only a twenty day journey across the strait separating the eastern and western continents. That meant she could go and visit with her family and be back in the church in less than a month’s time. But then, when she accepted her mission to come to Fris, she’d been told she couldn’t return to Tiranda until her five years was up. She had to stay here, in this empty church, surrounded by people who hated her, while her brother was dying half a world away.
She tucked her knees to her chest, resting her cheek on them and staring at the half-finished shirt beside her. The sight only reminded her of everything she’d lost to come to this land that hated her, filling her with rage and something like determination.
She would write to the church and see if they would make an exception for extenuating circumstances, but if not, she would make a difference here. She would make at least one person in Fris see the error of their ways and begin worship of Amera. She would make them glad to be part of the glorious Tirandan Empire.
And if she couldn’t accomplish even that much, at the very least she would be able to help Wanily. She might not be able to save Quiv or even say goodbye to him, but there would be at least one person she could help in this gods-forsaken land. She wouldn’t just give up.
She tucked the letter into a pocket in the depths of her robe and stood. She would write her own letter to the priest that had given her this mission before Wanily returned for the night, but in the meantime, she needed to empty the crates of goods that had been delivered.
Staying busy would help, too, she thought. So she headed to the crates and peered into the first one, fishing out a large, glass sphere from the straw packed inside to protect it from breaking. At first, she thought it was a small viewing sphere--she’d seen them in some magic shops and other fancy stores that could afford such things--and tried tapping it to see if she could get it to work. From what she understood, a viewing sphere could only display predetermined places it had been tied to. She didn’t understand how it was made in the slightest, but it didn’t matter. The moment she tapped it, the sphere turned black with several white dots floating inside it.
Dahlia turned it back and forth, and it took an embarrassingly long time for her to recognize the formation inside. Amera knew she had drawn it enough times in the Empire’s school growing up, even if it wouldn’t be visible if she went outside right now and looked at the sky. It was the third constellation, Khidoh, in the shape of an infinity loop.
She reached back into the crate, pulling out a stand for the sphere to sit in. It was nice that General Magicks had sent it, but, well, she hadn’t the foggiest idea where she would put it. She didn’t exactly have much counter space in the kitchen and there weren’t many other surfaces to hold the somewhat bulky sphere.
She set it aside and dug deeper, pulling out another glass sphere, this one smaller than the first. When she tapped this one, it displayed a shining, incomplete circle in its dark depths, a slice of it missing. As Dahlia watched, however, the missing portion became slowly but steadily smaller. This had to go with the other sphere, but what did it mean?
She pursed her lips, thinking. The first sphere showed the daystellations and constellations that made up each hour, so maybe this one displayed the minutes and seconds? She would have to check it again later to confirm.
By the time Wanily had returned that evening, Dahlia had finished emptying the crates and lining up the different goods on the pews while she tried to figure out where to actually put them. Part of the problem she ran into was not having any idea what was magical and what wasn’t. She had no less than six of the glass spheres which were definitely magic, but also several new dishes and utensils, three crates worth of different clothing articles, another full of books, one of light crystals, and only two of them contained foodstuffs. Mostly oats.
The discovery had made Dahlia deflate. There was only so much Dahlia could do with oats.
Maybe she could try to sell or trade some of the clothing? She certainly didn’t need that much. But then, she also would rather donate it if possible. Not that anybody in this city ever took anything from her. Besides, if she tried to barter with any of the merchants in town, they would probably give her an awful deal anyway.
She held up an admittedly fine coat, the dark blue cloth of good material and the stitching of expert quality. She sighed, and it was at that moment that Wanily came barreling back into the church. Dahlia turned when the door opened, smiled when she saw it was just Wanily letting herself in, and folded the coat over her arm.
“Hello, Wanily,” she greeted. It was always easier for Dahlia to worry about someone else’s problems, so she asked, “Everything go okay with Eko?”
“Yeah,” Wanily chirped, stepping over to where Dahlia stood by one of the pews. She frowned and looked around. “What is all this stuff?”
“General Magicks saw it fit to donate some goods to us.” Dahlia gave a wry smile, raising the arm ladened with the coat. “I don’t suppose you would like a new coat?”
Wanily’s gaze snapped to it, and she gasped. “Really?” Her eyes narrowed, and her tone was more skeptical when she asked, “You would just give it to me?”
“I don’t need a new one right now,” Dahlia said. “I’d much rather give it to you if you do.”
Wanily smiled. She held out her hands, and Dahlia transferred the coat to her waiting palms. “This will be going in my pack,” Wanily said after she inspected it for a moment. “Thanks, Dahlia.”
“Of course,” Dahlia said, a pang of sorrow striking through her chest. What she wouldn’t give to be able to help Quiv right now instead of a near stranger. She did her best to stomp down that sentiment and instead gave Wanily a tight smile. “So dinner?”
“I already ate,” Wanily said, much to Dahlia’s shock. “I have some leftover berries if you want? I don’t think they’ll stay good for very long, so we better eat them up.”
“Oh.” Dahlia felt strangely disappointed. She shook herself slightly to try to get the feeling to let her go. “Well, sure, I’ll take anything you can spare. I’m sure it will go great with porridge.”
They moved to the other room. Wanily regaled Dahlia with trivial details about her day, like her search for the raspberries she gave to Dahlia in a little pouch and her walk out of the city with all the sights and experiences that came with that. She didn’t talk at all about Eko, which Dahlia found concerning.
Dahlia smiled and nodded along to her words, only able to halfway focus on what she was saying. The letter burned a hole in her pocket as she set about making more porridge for her dinner. Maybe that was why, when Wanily eventually asked Dahlia about her day, Dahlia froze in the middle of pouring water from her large pot to her smaller kettle.
She swallowed hard, her sight blurring with tears once again. She blinked furiously against it, but try as she might to fight them, they began to spill down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook under the force of it.
“Dahlia?” Wanily asked behind her, sounding concerned. “Are you alright?”
“I just wish I was able to help someone here,” she choked out. “Everyone in this city hates me. I just wish--there are so many hungry children and poor mothers and wounded fathers. I just wish they would let me help them.”
Then maybe all of this would be worth it. She might not be able to say goodbye to her brother, but then she would actually be doing something important like all the things her family imagined she was doing.
Wanily was silent. Dahlia set the kettle on the counter to wipe at her eyes, still not turning to face her. How pathetic, she thought. Wanily was still young, barely more than a child, and here was Dahlia unburdening her heart on her. But Wanily was just about the only person who would listen to her within about a thousand miles.
“I got the news today that my youngest brother is dying,” Dahlia murmured. “And he practically begged me to fix it. Even if I could, I’m here instead of there. And what am I even doing here? Everyone here hates me.”
“Not everyone.”
Dahlia finally risked a glance behind her, where Wanily still sat on her bed. Her expression was pinched with what was probably discomfort but was difficult to read beyond that. “What?”
“I don’t hate you,” Wanily said. She smiled. “I actually think you’re really nice.”
Dahlia bit back a sob. Pull yourself together, she chided herself. She didn’t need to break down in front of Wanily over such a simple statement. But it was nice to hear.
She sniffled a little, wiping at her eyes and taking some deep breaths to calm herself down. “Thank you, Wanily,” Dahlia said, offering her a watery smile. “I’m sorry you... had to see all that.”
Wanily shrugged. “Everyone has problems,” she said. “I can’t help your brother, but I can try my best to help you, even if that’s just by listening.”
“You’re a good soul, Wanily,” Dahlia said softly. “Now, why don’t you get some rest? I’ll try to be quiet while I finish up my dinner.”
Wanily shook her head. “I’m more interested in the books you got in,” she said. “I’m going to check them out. If you don’t mind.”
“Oh, of course,” Dahlia said, turning back to preparing her porridge. “Feel free.”
She listened as Wanily got up and went into the main room. Dahlia finished hanging the kettle above the fire and stirring in some oats by the time Wanily returned, her arms full of books.
“Looks like they’re mostly story books,” Wanily said, setting the stack on the floor by her bed. She picked up the top one and sat back down, the pages rustling as she opened to the first one. Without being asked, she began to read it out loud, “Back in the time of mages and towers, there was a young orphan boy who dreamed of defeating the gods.”
She continued to read, and Dahlia allowed herself to be swept away by the story. She finished making her humble dinner and sat on the bed across from Wanily as she read. Dahlia eventually came to recognize it as one of the tales of the Nanshee folk hero, Diablo, the man who would become the first pirate, stealing from the temples of the gods themselves and looking very dashing while he did it.
It was a nice distraction, and Wanily was kind to provide it. When Dahlia finished her dinner, they continued to sit for a while longer. It was a good moment, and Dahlia would allow herself to be in it. The rest of her troubles could wait until tomorrow--right now, she was with the one person in Fris that didn’t hate her.