Syra

From atop a distant heath, Syrelone shimmered with the might of a thousand diamonds. Syra savoured the bustle of the city, the hum of gushing waterfalls and the mindless clamour of crowds. She threw back the hood of her cloak; her hands gripped tightly around the harness as she soaked in the view.

“So…what do you think Bayce? The lands of Eternal Waters.” She leaned forward and tenderly patted the Velura gently on its neck. The beast warbled in response as the feathery fronds cascading down its neck trembled softly.

“I know, choukums, you must be tired. So, for now, we’ll worry about our stay Downestream tonight. Syrelone can have at us tomorrow.” She pursed her lips and let out a sharp whistle. The Velura perked its head, the deer-like contour of its face thrown completely out of whack by its bulging eyes. They headed downhill towards the Vylarth fork.

Hmph, the Lower Reaches are really as charming as they say, she thought smugly, raising an eyebrow and grimacing at the scene before her: scores of unkempt docks leading to impoverished houses, patched together with any salvageable material—cloth, rope, wood, metal. Necessity and innovation.

Her body swayed in rhythm with Bayce’s gentle canter alongside the muffled jingling of various trinkets in her saddlebag. She didn’t pack lightly, but fortunately, her steed could withhold a remarkable amount of weight.

Tall grass ceased tickling her legs as they finally came across a path, flattened, worn and muddied by recent rainfall. The edges of the trail were littered with wildflowers and weeds. I’ve forgotten the comforts of a road. I've been relying on my wits to get by on directions for weeks now, and I am glad that’s come to a stop. Navigating her way out of the Disdained Territories was easy enough, using the aritma-canta; songs of the land were her only guide as she weaved her way cross country like a needle and thread. Once they reached the Royal Province, they faced tyrannical mountains, miserable streams to ford, and some of the most volatile weather known to man.

Bayce stopped briefly to inspect a pile of fish entrails that’d been dumped onto the road. Syra tugged on the ropes to carry on. The amorphous chatter of the markets was getting louder, and the cawing of various seabirds nearby scavenging for food.

They instantly caught the attention of passersby, mostly local and nomadic merchants trading in stalls surrounding the town's entrance. The white noise of running water trickled faintly in the background. The sight of a peculiar visitor shocked many of the townsfolk out of their daily minutiae. Syra was impossible to miss; the unfamiliar cut of her cloth, shade of her skin and foreign creature she rode with noble flair. Many edged back with wary glances as she approached, gawking shamelessly at her and the mysterious beast she was mounted upon.

A noticeable quiet had befallen the market. She felt herself being sized up. She fought to keep the corners of her mouth from rising.

They’ve never seen a Yoshuni woman in their life by the looks of it. Pleasant aromas began to override the sharpness of salt, dirt, and fish—the burning of mint-infused incense, steamed garlic-muscles and honey-smoked cured meats. So, it’s not all grime and muck around here…I suppose. Her stomach rattled intensely, overwhelmed by the smell of food. She placed her hand on her belly. Directions first, food later.

She made her way over to the nearest stall, selling talismans. It was being run by a couple with one child. He looked to be around four or five and was preoccupied with honing drills—basic exercises to develop mystical control. Two bowls laid before the young boy—one filled with water and one empty—he tried desperately to guide the water from one to the next. He had almost managed to do so but lost concentration once he saw Syra, sending a sopping wet mess of water over some of the items on display.

“Rilei! What have I told you?! You need to pay atten—“ She caught glimpse of what her child had seen. The little boy ran over and clung onto his mother's leg.

“Apologies, I fear Bayce must’ve frightened him.” She chimed in. Her voice carried a natural, regal cadence. She hopped off of Bayce with one swift jump, held onto his reigns and walked closer to take a good look at their stock. What fool made these? Their collection of protective charms was abysmal, the designs were identical save for different gems embedded within the pendants; all sprawled out in an untidy fashion. The absence of power emanating from the talismans alarmed Syra. Doubt any of these work at all.

“He looks intimidating, but I promise you, Veluras are some of the most placid creatures in Arquara.” She reached up and patted Bayce behind his ears, his soft feathery down gave them an almost velvety appearance. He leaned into her touch, rumbling softly, his fluffy ears flicking in contentment. The little boy giggled.

“It’s not your fault. If he had followed instructions, nothing would have interrupted his flow. No Current rages within him just yet only ripples.” The father answered, indifferent to the odd-looking traveller. His slender frame was unbecoming of his dark and bassy voice. Syra nodded reluctantly in agreeance. With a swish of his hand the water dissolved off of the items and begun to refill back into the bowl, he turned around, sat down at his work station and returned to crafting talismans. These works must be tainted with his wretched spirit.

“Forgive my husband; Zyena herself could ride past Osku, and he wouldn’t even bat an eye.” The woman swatted her child away like a fly. She was sightly, with voluminous frizzy hair spun like silk, and dressed in ink-stained ceremonial rags; humble clothes reserved for the spiritually devout. She approached the front of the stall in two quick steps.

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“From the river, we come…” she welcomed, her tone of voice begging for a response. Her golden, beady eyes brimmed with inquisitiveness. Syra returned an aloof stare. Oh, not this nonsense.

“You say ‘to the river we go’,” the lady whispered, prompting her.

“To the river, we go,” Syra replied quietly while fiddling with a quartz pendant, an engraved blessing written in Arthian script. Her smile was wrought with discomfort. Mother would spew if she heard that. ‘Such words have no place in a Yoshuni mouth’ according to her.

“Not familiar with the Chronicle of Midnight Sea, I take it?” The woman pressed on.

“Only one copy exists within my lands.”

“What a ridiculous lie!” Osku butted in from behind.

“Osku! Behave yourse—“

“Hundreds of missionaries venture into Shunarth every year; there's plenty of—“

“I’m not from Shunarth,” Syra interjected smoothly, turning her attention sharply back to the woman. “I’m looking for Lord Calypso…where might I find him?”

Her words sent a frantic wave of whisperings amongst the market. Osku turned around to face her, his stern countenance replaced by a look of utter confusion. He peered over at his wife to ensure he heard correctly, got out of his seat and approached Syra. So, now he has time to soak in the foreigner.

Her hair fell neatly past her shoulders like liquid obsidian spilling from her crown. Her skin glowed with a bronze vibrance, stark against the pale hues of everyone around her. Her diaphanous facial features radiated an ancient beauty unknown to these lands for hundreds of years; subtle asymmetry kept her from ascending to the heights of godhood.

He might just piece it together, but this ought to seal the deal. She undid the top button of her cloak, revealing an ornate sapphire necklace resting just below her collarbone. It was shaped like the Duarven Shark, a legendary aquatic predator of immense size, its two dorsal fins jutting in opposite directions. The sight of her jewel turned the couple to stone, dumbfounded by the sight before them; their son was indifferent to her status, staring intently at Bayce with wonder.

“A…duarven shark?” The woman asked, her face frozen in surprise.

“The sigil of my people.”

“And which people would that be?”

“Sunna, don’t entertain this!”

“Arymanzis Yoshunthra.” The Old-Arthian rolled off her tongue like honey.

“Y-y-yoshun?” Osku stammered in noxious disbelief.

“Yoshuni people don’t set foot on Royal land and haven’t for centuries,” Sunna countered calmly. Osku stepped in front of his wife, nudging her and Rilei towards the back of the stall and assuming a defence stance.

“What business would anyone from Yoshun have with a nobleman like Calypso? Disdainers aren’t welcome here enough as it is. Implore elsewhere!” His voice wavered slightly as he shouted.

Well, that’s a warm welcome if I’ve ever seen one. With a dash of fear, too, delightful. Syra looked down, sighed, and smiled to herself, confusing the merchant couple even more.

“Tsk tsk tsk, now that word is a bit hard to swallow. Disdain? My people know nothing of Disdain. We’re survivors, guardians of Abihtran wisdom. Clinging to our ancient ways is all we’ve ever done—so tell me, who truly holds the disdain?” The buzz of everyone’s stare vibrated off of her, and the weight of her words cut like an axe. So many prying eyes…and open ears. I’ve gained enough attention as is.

“‘Help those of the river, as we all flow towards the same sea.’” Syra spoke softly. Sunna peaked over Oskus's shoulder.

“Thought you weren’t familiar with the Midnight Sea Chronicle. One copy, eh?”

“Those words have passed through the mouths of Yoshuni people since the Rise out of the Rubble, agers before they were scribbled down by some common Rivermyst.”

“SCRIBBLES?! You have the gall to say—“

“Enough!” Sunna reprimanded her husband, shoving him back into his seat with surprising force. “Settle down. She doesn’t plan on eating our baby.” She added, a wry smile curling at the edges of her lips.

“Sunna, she speaks ill of our faith. How can you stomach this?”

“Because we help those of the river, we of all people should know.” The sincerity in her voice melted away the cold exterior of Osku’s advances, and he surrendered.

Now, if they’ll just tell me where Calypso is! How am I supposed to enter the Sanctum of Eternal Waters without him?

“I’ll take this talisman and pay double the usual for your troubles. Then, I’m out of your way just like that.” Syra said while carefully lifting the pendant up. She studied it intimately and read the blessing. Exquisite words, the unassuming prose, pierced the veil of religious indifference, signalling a greater truth.

“Your name?” Sunna asked.

“Syra.”

“Well, Syra, you made an excellent choice.” She reached out her hand and grasped the talisman from Syra. "This is the Litany of Zyena.” Sunna reached underneath the stall counter, grabbed a quaint wooden box, and placed the pendant inside.

“It’ll provide protection, guidance and mystical abundance. Do you know when to use it?”

It’s supposed to just do its job, isn’t it? Syra shook her head in confusion.

“Repeat the litany twice in the morning and twice in the evening. It’s the only way to ensure the talisman is doing it’s job.” Suna smiled and politely handed the box over to her.

“I don’t have any local currency just yet, but I got plent—“

“No need,” Osku interrupted. “Everything you see here is free.”

That certainly explains the shoddy work. “That’s no way to make a livelihood. Selling your works for free—is that how things are run on Royal lands?”

“We are currenbinders. We sustain the people’s connection to Zyena. In return, the Rivermysts help us get by.”

“An admirable vocation.” She replied. Spread the word, and reap the rewards. “So, where might I find Lord Calypso?”

Sunna chuckled, acknowledging Syra’s growing impatience.

“You’ll want to head to the Broken Boardwalks—it’s the largest tavern in Downestream, so you can’t miss it,” Sunna said, moving over to Rilei. The young boy was now affectionately patting Bayce, who had lowered his head to enjoy the attention.

“Calypso owns the place, one of his many establishments. You’ll find someone who knows where he is there.”

“Thank you.”

“From the river, we come,”

“To the river we go,” Syra answered. She adjusted her cloak, a spark of anticipation flickering behind her eyes. The path to Calypso—and whatever awaited beyond—was finally within reach. She gave Bayce a gentle nudge and set off, the murmurs of the market fading behind her as she stepped into the unknown.