Hyrestl stood behind his bar and rubbed the wooden mugs with a light coating of oil. The afternoon was quiet. Usually, there was more activity with the Sun Festival approaching. But it was Clysday, nearly the end of the week. People were looking forward to Raladay when they could relax.
His unfocused eyes stared out of the front windows, only half-aware of the passing of people, carts, and donkeys. There were a few people sitting at the bar, one of those being Jak, the person closest to what Hyrestl would call a friend.
His body was extremely sore. He didn’t entirely remember what happened, but he sported more than a few bruises, which he hid with his long sleeves. He had other cuts and abrasions that he had covered with bandages. A little more worrying were the traces of blood he’d found on his knife, like he had stabbed someone and done a sloppy job of cleaning it.
He tried his best to redirect his thoughts. He always descended into depression when he let himself linger on what he could have done. He took a deep breath and winced. Thankfully, he had the perfect excuse for his stiffness. Traveling by foot to the capital and back at his age left a soreness through his whole body, never mind his bruises.
He distracted himself by listening to the light conversations around him.
Talith and Rasha were chatting back and forth in the kitchen about the latest rumors, a handsome noble they had seen the other day, and sharing complaints about their parents. As long as their chatter was interspersed with the sounds of brooms brushing the floor, tableware clinking, or the sound of food being prepped, it was simply background noise to Hyrestl. He had a hard time focusing on it.
Jak was facing away from the bar, talking with his friends about how he was letting his son run the shop by himself for the day. He sounded proud but also apprehensive. The fact that he kept coming back to the topic meant that it was on his mind. It wasn’t the first time he had left his son to tend to the smithy. The other times hadn’t turned out very well. There had been an angry customer, a broken tool, and an order incorrectly taken. Each time Jak left, something went wrong.
Hyrestl had never worried about Rylen when he left on supply trips. He never really thought about it. People shortchanged Rylen because of his race or verbally abused him, but he didn’t complain much. Hyrestl didn’t try to rectify those situations, either. Trying to do that would be like fighting against the entire town. He had fought a few people in the past, but only because they had threatened or used violence against the boy.
The fact was Rylen could run the inn by himself. Not that he couldn’t a few years ago, but now he had the ability to protect himself as well. Hyrestl could leave the place to him and go.
Only he had failed again. Not that he had expected to succeed in the first place. He knew he was grasping at straws. Getting past the gates in hopes of escaping was a fool’s hope, or a desperate man’s hope. He hoped he was the latter.
He had a glimmer of hope that getting past those gates would break the spell on him. Sleep overcame him before he could every time. Sometimes, he didn’t even make it into the city before he turned back.
Oh, he’d tried many other ways. Once, when Rylen had only been a little babe, Hyrestl had climbed down the face of the Edge, the cliff that had given the town its name. Exhausted, he had fallen asleep on a ledge halfway down. When he woke, he found himself back in his bed with a fire going and Rylen fast asleep beside him.
He didn’t know the extent of his sleeping self’s abilities, but he had a good idea that they exceeded his waking self’s. He wasn’t someone else when he was asleep, was he? Surely, he wasn’t the same though. He had no intention of staying, yet his sleeping self always brought him back.
Was it this place? No, if he was always drawn back to a specific place, then he’d be back in Ara-Era by now. No, he’d be back in Telam with his family. It was as if his sleeping self had a mind and plan of its own. What it was Hyrestl didn’t know.
What else had he tried? He had traveled with Rylen when he was just a toddler. That hadn’t worked. He had tried trekking through the mountains. That failed. He’d hitched a ride on a wagon and tied himself with a knot he couldn’t undo, then gave his knife to the driver. He’d lost a good knife and had still ended up back at Edge. Once, he’d even committed theft in the capital and let himself be thrown in jail. He didn’t know what happened once he slept, but he’d found himself on the road back to Edge.
He was always careful when traveling in the capital after that. For all he knew, he had busted the door down, killed the guards, and run off into the night. Or bribed them. He dearly hoped he had merely bribed them.
Hyrestl roused himself from his thoughts with effort. It nagged at him, persistent and unyielding. It was like a thorn’s tip embedded in the sole of his foot. There were no bars, but he felt like his body was hedged within a perimeter. There was no jailer, but he felt like one lived inside him. There was a key within the prison bars, but it was made out of air, invisible and ungraspable, only the knowledge it existed was there to torture the prisoner.
Jak asked for a drink. Hyrestl picked a clay mug from beneath the counter, filled it with beer, and said, “Here you go!” before sliding it down the bar to Jak.
Now, Jak never sat facing the bar. He always liked to lean on it so he could talk with his friends sitting at the nearby tables. He could call for a drink and when it was ready, Hyrestl would call it out and Jak would reach back and catch it without looking. They had done this hundreds of times and never messed it up. Only this time Hyrestl had slid it just a little too early.
Jak put his hand out back behind him but the drink skimmed by and over the edge of the bar where it crashed and spilled. Jak looked to Hyrestl confusedly, a smile still on his face from jesting with his friends.
The barman blinked stupidly for a moment, then got out a rag to clean up the mess.
Jak turned around. “Hyrestl, I can tell something is on your mind.” He looked around himself, his eyes lingering longer on the corners of the room and the people strolling by outside. Then, he cocked his head, as if listening closely to something. Satisfied, he motioned to Hyrestl. “You’re worried about the pickup, right?”
Hyrestl frowned as he picked up the broken pieces from the floor.
“The pickup?” Realization came upon him like water washing away dust from stone. “Oh, yes, you could say I am.”
The other men with Jak took notice of the conversation, but pretended not to hear. Instead, they tried to look askance as they talked and joked with each other.
Jak shifted in his seat. “You ready? It’ll be any day now. I gotta say, I’m getting antsy. Torch it all, the whole nation is getting antsy. Everyone can feel something is missing. The royals don’t know what’s up either, but they think what’s hollow is the king. They’ll be trying to replace him whether he wants it or not.”
Hyrestl finished wiping up the spill and took the pieces back into the kitchen to be dumped in the waste bin. He returned, wiping his hands with a new rag.
“I don’t think the royalty has the guts to act this soon,” Hyrestl said. “The king will make his power move, and it will come out of the blue for most of the kingdom. The royals won’t even see it coming, I assure you.”
Jak shrugged. “I almost wish something would happen. I’ve been here so long I’ve gained belly fat.” He took a pinch of his middle and shook it, though there really wasn’t much to pinch in the first place. “And look at my hair.” He ran his fingers through it. Still thick.
Hyrestl eyed it. “You’re only peppered.”
Jak sighed. “I have a family now. Once this is all over…” he shrugged. “I’m retiring. The king’s coin will come due, and I’ll get to live the rest of my life without this whole ordeal hanging over my head.”
Hyrestl filled another mug and this time set it down in front of Jak.
“On the house.”
Jak grinned and raised the mug up in a salute before taking a gulp.
“What about you? What’re you going to do?” He motioned around the interior. “You’re doing pretty well for yourself already. You could do a lot more with what’ll be coming to ya. Even set up shop in the capital, I’d say. The king’s orders would carry you right through the paperwork and permit fees. Might even land you a piece of property for yourself.”
Hyrestl looked noncommittal. “I haven’t been outside Gwyan for a long time. I might go traveling.”
Jak almost choked on his ale. “Traveling? At your age?”
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Hyrestl tilted his head as if to say Why not?
Jak raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “That’s…different. Well, it’s your retirement.” He thought on it for a while, and soon his head bobbed in agreement. “Yeah…yeah, you could do it. After everything settles down, you wouldn’t have to take care of anyone. Now me, I got a family now. King’s orders and all. I can’t just go running off like I used to.” Jak grinned. “Did I tell you what my boy did the other day? He made his first knife, just like how I taught him. I’ll be selling it right along my own, and I’d wager no one could tell the difference.”
Hyrestl picked up the mug Jak had finished and wiped it. He wanted to talk like Jak did, about his family and his children, about the troubles he had at home, the difficulties of being a husband and a parent.
But he couldn’t. Those were only memories now, over two decades old, and he himself was quickly nearing half a century in age. The thought made him pause. How old were his kids now? Yasi would be…twenty-six years old. Almost as old as he had been when he left. She would be married now, right? No…yes…maybe. And Molo—what had happened to him?
The realization sucked him in deep. His mind whirled with the implications. He had tried so hard not to think about it. He had focused on escaping. But now, his thoughts turned every which way, unbarred, like a dam in his mind bursting into a valley.
What had his disappearance done to his children? His departure would have cast his family into insecurity. They would be held under Suspicion. It wouldn’t be easy for them. Without him there they wouldn’t have good training. What of his inn? Was it doing well? Was it providing for them? If they had poor martial training, where would they be sent for extended schooling? Gresou? Yes, that was most likely.
His hand clenched the mug. His children may have gone out to battle. Were they dead? Or maybe not. Those under Suspicion were more likely taken advantage of. Or they would be pressured to try harder than all the rest. There were stories of Suspects groveling or begging for advancement. They lowered themselves even beneath Suspicion to Dishonor. Some even sold their bodies…
The mug cracked. He sucked in sharp breaths, tensing more and more with each one as terrors more frightening than anything that could happen to himself rolled through his mind.
The clay shattered in his grasp. One of its edges cut his hand, which broke the spell.
Jak watched him warily, as did the others.
“Hyrestl,” Jak said carefully, “I think you’d better let off some steam. I think the stress is getting to you. Really. I’ll get someone I trust to help run the place. You just…you just go and calm down. Okay?”
He nodded, trying to bleed his tension by breathing deeply as he would in a fight. He wrapped his cut hand in the cloth. Then, he turned and stiffly walked into the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom.
There was only one thought in his mind as he left. He was going to die before he ever returned. He was going to die. He would die and never see his family again. He squeezed his fist, and he felt a hot tear roll down his cheek.
***
Rylen hurried through the town with Pahanna. They had stopped by a few of the farmers’ stalls in the morning and put in orders for vegetables, butter, pork, and milk. For the rest of the supplies on their list, such as flour and beer, they would have to go to the main marketplace in front of the temple gates.
Rylen rarely went to the main market because it was simply too expensive. Hyrestl traveled to the capital to get the more expensive wares, which were much cheaper there. Out here in Edge, goods like spices, fruits, nuts, sugar, and the better-quality beers that Hyrestl liked to keep in stock were more rare. They had nearly exhausted their supplies. Since another trip to the capital would take at least two weeks, they would have to make do with the minimum.
Pahanna tagged close behind Rylen carrying a leather bag with a couple things they had already picked up for the inn kitchen. There were also a couple of wooden spoons, a knife from Jak’s smithy, a small bundle of cleaned rags, and a bundle of candles.
The boy let Rylen lead their way through the narrow streets, which grew more crowded each day. There were times they had to step aside with their backs against the wall just so a group of out-of-towners could squeeze past in their cart. Rylen made sure to keep his satchel with the ledger in it close to his body. He wasn’t worried about pickpockets, but he’d heard of stranger things being stolen from unsuspecting people. He had an idea that petty thieves stole strange items just to give people a turn.
At the market, Rylen quickly went to the sugar and nuts merchant. Both of those commodities would be in high demand come festival time, and he couldn’t afford to not have a supply of those.
He motioned Pahanna to stay back as he neared the stand. In one sense, it was unfortunate they were low on supplies at this point. Hyrestl’s trip was supposed to have their storerooms brimming to the top so they could focus on the rush of people who came with the festival. Now, they were on the edge of being unable to serve customers because their stores were so low. On the other hand, the thick crowds would allow Rylen to take advantage of a trick he’d learned from Leyla. He waited until the merchant had his back turned, then removed himself from the crowd and leaned against one of the poles supporting the merchant’s stand. He acted weary and sat down. Then, he watched the crowd move by as he listened to the merchant bartering with various customers.
The table of wares would block the merchant’s sight of Rylen except for his legs. It wasn’t uncommon for people to sit in the market. Come festival time, it would almost be necessary. Sure, there would be places people could rest, but the main market would be hard to get into just because of the thick and constant flow of people into it.
One time, it had taken him an hour just to make it into the market square, then another twenty minutes to get to the stall he wanted to visit. On festival day, a person could sell a time slot of ten minutes to sit on a chair for a rani coin. However, one rani could also buy two solid meals during the holiday period, so most people just sat on the ground and took up walking space. It wasn’t uncommon to get stepped on.
He listened to what prices were struck between the merchant and buyers and which arguments succeeded in lowering the price and which ones didn’t.
What he heard wasn’t encouraging. With the festival nearing, the prices had jumped a whole tak per pound for both sugar and nuts. He could have bought a pound of nuts for just one tak a week ago. Now each pound cost two.
Rylen took out the ledger from his satchel and started running numbers in his head.
They wouldn’t have enough. Even with the money Hyrestl hadn’t spent in the capital, they wouldn’t be able to buy what they needed. Not if the prices of sugar and nuts were anything to go by, which they usually were.
He frowned and flipped back in the ledger. Somehow, he thought they’d made more than this. It wasn’t very noticeable from week to week, or even month to month, but after he had flipped back a whole two years, it became apparent. The inn was slowly making less money.
Hyrestl hadn’t said anything about this. Was that why he was acting so strangely? The look Hyrestl had given him came to mind.
Am I the cause of this? Does Hyrestl blame me for the business losing money?
But no, it made sense. Gwyanians detested Erans. Even though the war had been twenty years ago and the king had declared peace between the two nations, the grudge remained.
Legally, nothing could be done against Rylen. Hyrestl had procured both of their citizenships when Rylen was just a young boy. But that didn’t stop people from taking their business elsewhere.
He watched the flow of people pass him. Some were wealthy, most were not. As the time of the festival neared, the prices, as he was experiencing now, rose dramatically. Only the poor or exceedingly rich came to the festival early. The poor came early because they couldn’t afford the prices of even the simplest foods on the day; the exceedingly rich because they had the time and money to save the best spots for accommodations. After a certain date, unless you had a friend who lived in Edge, you would be forced to set up a tent in the fields after harvest.
Hyrestl obviously didn’t want to tell Rylen he was a financial burden.
But wait—how does that explain not getting supplies in the capital?
It didn’t make sense. They had the money for supplies. At least some supplies. He mulled it over in his mind. It didn’t make sense. Was Hyrestl giving up?
“Zufa, are you taking advantage of this boy?”
“What? No.”
“You’re bartering with a boy.”
Rylen’s attention was drawn back to the merchant. A man was arguing with him. Rylen got his feet under him just enough so he could peek over the edge of the stand. Zufa, the merchant, looking quite embarrassed, was talking to the stall owner next to him. Peeking over the baskets and bags of sugar and nuts were Pahanna’s eyes and nose. The young boy saw Rylen and his eyes crinkled in what Rylen could only guess was a smile.
That mischievous little dragon breath. He got up to remove the little troublemaker.
“Zufa, cut him a deal. He don’t know better.”
Rylen quickly dropped back down.
“That’s what whoever sent him wants. I can’t make a business catering to every little kid who smiles at me.”
“Fine, give him the flat rate.”
“That’s still a deal. Do you know how close we are to the festival?”
“It’s a month away.”
“Only a month! Last year I sold out too early. I could have raised my prices and made more money on my stock.”
“Hey!”
The two men paused at Pahanna’s interjection.
“I’ll trade something, instead of money.”
The other stall keeper chuckled. “Perhaps I underestimated him. You had best listen to his offer.”
There was a moment of silence, one so long that Rylen risked peeking over the stall’s counter.
Pahanna was whispering in the man’s ear. The youth slid back down.
Oh no! Is he going to sell the inn? Tables? Chairs? The bricks of the fireplace?
Knowing Pahanna, it would come as no surprise.
“Black crowns!” Zufa said. There was a pause. “If you can get me that, I’ll give you your order for sugar and nuts along with what you want for fruit too. Sorry, I don’t deal in Shabik spices, or I might help you out there too.”
“Thanks! I’ll go get it, then!”
Rylen could hear Pahanna’s beaming smile in his voice. He ran past, shooting Rylen a grin. But something inside him twisted in worry.
“What did the lad offer?” the other shopkeeper asked. “To get a deal like that out of you, he must have a golden tongue or be dealing in gemstones.”
“Aw, shut it, you kauming plague. If I told you, you’d use the same tactic on me. Let’s just say it’s something I can find a very profitable buyer for, and leave it at that, eh?”
Rylen waited a few more moments, then stood up and let himself be carried away by the crowd. He met Pahanna where he had left him not ten minutes ago. A grin as wide as the Arnaw was plastered on the kid’s face.
“What did I tell you?”
“To wait here.”
“And what did you do?”
“I got you sugar, nuts, and fruit.”
“No, you didn’t stay there. Now, tell me what you pawned off from the inn.”
Pahanna motioned Rylen closer, and he leaned in.
“I said I’d give him that barrel of beer we never use. The one marked Eighth Year of the Twenty-second King.”
Black. Kauming. Crowns.
The beer tucked and hidden in their cellar! The spawn of the first harvest of the blackened and blood-soaked ashen fields of Edge. The first and last beer to be declared illegal by the king. The beer that, if drunk, was considered a celebration of the destruction Ara-Era had brought upon Gwyan. The Dragon Brew, Red Ash, Black Grain, Battle Draft or, as some people called it, the Best Kauming Brew Born from Dragon’s Breath and Death This Side of a Legend.