Ren considered his options. He still hadn’t found work, and he wasn’t making enough in tips at Garam’s from picking up the odd table when Norn was overloaded. He wasn’t deluded enough to think he was actually skilled with the Ney yet, even if it did feel more enjoyable now. Still though, maybe he’d try busking.

The door to the inn slammed open, followed by a cabal of men in sooty clothes of rough make. They made their way to a table, bumping into the other guests as they went.

Ren sighed, glancing at Norn who was already busy taking orders from the regulars seated in the corner. He took a deep breath and approached the newcomers. Their smell matched their looks, iron and smoke and sweat. Factory workers.

“Heard you lot sell some kinda foreign honey-juice,” said one of them, entirely too loud.

“Fitting that the boy-lovers in the spice lands would have to put sweets in their drinks to take them.” This second man’s voice was familiar. Ren didn’t know where from until the man turned to look at him, revealing an ear that looked like melted cheese. He also noticed a yellow mottling under the skin of his face from nearly healed bruises. Looked like Cheese-Ear had lost another fight.

The man’s eyes narrowed, sizing Ren up. “You fucking foreign dogs. Ya all look like women to me. I’ve heard the men wear dresses out east. Even let women rule.” He barked out a laugh, and his friends joined in.

Ren’s cheeks grew hot as his heart warred between anger and fear. He returned to his breathing, to the play between the candles’ lights and the shadows, and stone walls that held in warmth.

The man was referring of course to the great dragon empress, who had come from the far east and conquered the known world over a thousand years ago, spreading knowledge of cultivation and building the Spice Road infrastructure. Ren’s mother wasn’t even from there, she was from the islands even further to the east. But he would never expect unthinking brutes like this guy to know the difference.

“Can I get you anything?” he said, finally. His voice neutral, not even quavering.

“Oh, it speaks,” said Cheese-Ear. He stood, towering over Ren. “How about you get us some of those honey drinks that the dress-wearers like so much and then go the fuck back to where you come from.”

His breath was hot with the stench of stale ale and rotting teeth. It smelled like gutters and beatings and cruelty. Ren found his knees shaking, but he couldn’t quite find his voice.

“Lay off the kid, Raz,” said one of the other workers. “Look how he’s shaking. You’ll make him piss himself.”

They all laughed.

Ren stumbled away, his heart had climbed into his throat and was pounding like crazy.

“Hey,” shouted Cheese-Ear, “send that saucy minx to bring our order. Those southerners may have a bit too much sand in their blood for my taste, but at least she’s Ardinian. I can’t stand how ugly you foreigners are.”

Ren just needed to get to the back room.

As he passed Norn she stopped him. “Are you gonna let them talk to you like that? You start rolling over like a pathetic dog and the world will just roll over you.”

He pushed past her. What was her problem?

*******

After Ren disappeared into the back room, Norn squared on the newcomers. She saw Garam rounding the bar, no doubt to stop her, but she was already too close for him to have his way.

As the ugly guy with cauliflower ear looked up, she kicked his chair out from under him. Air exploded from his lungs in a gasp as he hit the floor, and he was still mustering the breath to growl something at her when she slammed her heel down on his solar plexus.

The other men started to stand and she swung a palm out, clapping the ear of the goat-fucker who had insinuated Ren was going to wet himself.

The man reeled back—dazed—and the blade of her hand found his throat, turning his yell into a croak and sending him to the floor too.

It was only then that she realized she may be in over her head. By now the other two were standing at her flank and one of them grabbed her by the hair, jerking her around and lifting her so her toes barely touched the ground.

That was when a shadow appeared over the standing men, and two huge hands clamped down on their shoulders, pressing them back into their seats and squeezing until something cracked and the man who had her hair let go.

“You can either take a free drink as compensation for the beating my server gave you, or you can get the fuck out,” snarled Garam. His face was savage and dark. A bear defending its cub.

Norn grinned. He had only given them two options and both were disgraceful. Run with their tails tucked between their legs, or admit a girl half their size had beaten them.

They left.

*******

Garam climbed the stairs. He’d released Ren from his duties after what had happened earlier, but he knew the boy would need someone to talk to. The fear in his eyes hadn’t been just about those men, it had been a deeper terror. A primal thing from a wound festering deep within.

Ashok, the cleansing flame, taught that such wounds fed on the shadows of the soul and could only be healed in the light.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Soft music played through the hall as he approached the door to the attic. It wasn’t an instrument he was familiar with, but the song was quite enchanting. He knocked and the music stopped.

“Can I come up, lad?”

“Ya, sure,” Ren replied, his voice heavy.

Garam was impressed how clean the boy kept his room. He looked around, but it seemed the instrument was already hidden away. Oh well.

“Kid,” said Garam, sitting on the floor beside him, “you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Ren was a bad liar.

“You don’t have to talk about it, but I’m gonna sit here till you ask me to leave.”

Ren didn’t say anything, so they sat in silence.

“Why is she like that?” Ren asked, finally.

“Like what?”

“She’s always giving me shit. Even tonight when those assholes were getting on my case, she called me a pathetic dog.”

Ah, that was right, the boy hadn’t seen Norn’s true reaction.

Garam scratched his chin. “Look kid, it isn’t my place to speak for her. I’ll tell you a little about her though, so maybe you’ll understand better. Hopefully, you can ask her directly sometime and she’ll tell you more.”

He heaved a big sigh and started his story.

“Norn grew up in the deserts of Ardus, to the south. There’s less law down there. More bandits.

“She had a family. A mother and father… and a little brother.

“I don’t need to tell you what happened. But she was alone by the time I found her while I was passing through, tiny little thing that she was. I let her tag along and brought her north with me. I suppose we were both running from something. The pain and memory of what we’d lost. Gods was she little back then…

“It’s my guess, she sees her little brother in you. Not that she’d ever admit it. But it’s good for her. You’re good for her. Something softened in the lass ever since you showed up.”

Ren was quiet for a while.

“What happened to those guys?”

“Norn kicked their asses.”

Ren chuckled, finally meeting Garam’s eyes. Then the boy’s jaw dropped as he saw the seriousness on his face.

“I wasn’t always an innkeeper, you know. Used to spill blood rather than wine. I figured a girl who’d been through what she had ought to know how to defend herself. Though I wouldn’t exactly call what I saw last night self defense.” Garam laughed to himself.

Silence filled the room for a time. The boy picked at a stray fiber from his shirt, face placid.

“Could…” Ren’s voice was unsure and there was a quiet plea in his words. “Could you train me? To fight, I mean.”

Garam raised an eyebrow. “I suppose I could teach you a few things. Gonna have to give you some heavier work to build up some muscles though. You alright with that?”

Ren nodded, and Garam swore he saw the flames of Aziroth, the fire of war, burning in his eyes. So the kid had some heat in his blood, after all.

“But more importantly,” Garam said, “how about you take that instrument out and play in the tavern one of these nights. We can put a hat out for you, and if we start getting more business I’ll be able to give you some wages.”

Norn wasn’t the only one who enjoyed Ren’s spluttering reactions.

*******

The key to performing in front of a crowd was to keep his eyes closed. At least at first.

Wind Tickles the Leaves helped too.

When the first couple nights had been a huge success and more new faces started showing up at Garam’s, the innkeeper had invested in a couple pieces of sheet music. Thankfully, Ren had been tutored by both his mother and uncle and it wasn’t too hard to convert the music to something that worked with his Ney.

All of these songs were easy compared to Sapling Song of the Autumn Breeze. Mostly just classic Ardinian drinking songs, that often resulted in a chorus of drunkards thumping on tables and singing over his flute.

***

Ren often regretted the request he’d made of Garam. But it was too late to go back now. As soon as he’d started taking on the heavier work at the inn Garam had developed ‘back issues’. These debilitating injuries only seemed to affect the big man when Ren was trying to get out of work.

It had started with small things, like tipping the barrels to get the last of the booze out of them before carrying them empty back to the distillery twelve blocks away. Ren was sure he’d seen a donkey drawn cart come around to return the barrels before.

Then, for some reason, it became urgent, and he was running all the way with the empty barrels, which were bigger than him.

It didn’t take long for the work to become a little easier, and Garam was never stingy when it came to feeding him.

But then it got worse. Supposedly, there was a recent upsurge in the rat population and Garam needed the floor cleaned under the rack that held the full barrels of rice wine. To top it off, he cited some old Parvethi superstition about not letting spirits rest directly on the ground. It was a serious puzzle to Ren, and he was definitely sure he’d seen Garam just slide the barrels off the racks onto the floor whenever he’d needed to move them. Though he was certainly sure he’d never seen the man clean behind them when they were full.

In the end, it was a matter of ingenuity, he used the end of one chair as a fulcrum and levered each of the barrels onto another set of chairs. Getting them back on the rack was even harder.

He’d been sore for three days after that, and hadn’t seen a single rat.

“That’s how you know you did a good job,” Garam said.

Finally after a month of this, he sat the big man down to tell him he’d had enough. Somehow the conversation had ended with him agreeing eagerly to intensify his training.

The ‘combat’ training was even worse.

Even a mule could grow stronger with food and effort, but all the grace and comfort he’d been building in his body working at the inn abandoned him as soon as he stood in Garam’s shadow and saw the man’s face change into something dark and violent. It was a side of the innkeeper he hadn’t seen before, and now wished he’d never seen.

It was different from the playful, vicious cruelty of Basher. There was no levity, no enjoyment, just deadly purpose. He wasn’t sure which scared him more.

Logically, he knew Garam wouldn’t really hurt him, but something had broken in him those first weeks on the streets. He could sense a true predator, and when he did it filled his veins with ice and his mind with mud.

But then he’d think about Ryu. About what his older brother had done to their father the night he disappeared. About how he’d been unable to help.

He’d think about the countless times Sig, or someone like him, had hit him, pushed him, held his head underwater.

He’d think about months of running through the maze like a rat, powerless and weak.

He’d think about the jobless protesters who had come to Lake Street that night with torches, screaming for blood and justice and their jobs back.

And he kept on trying.

He would beat this fear. He would save his family. He would never be helpless again.