A fire crackled, and red-hot embers glimmered as Sheeva poked at the tiny mountain of slanted logs with a stick. The low flame rose with the added air when she turned one over, and as she stared into the orange coals, she took a deep breath and sighed, dropping her gaze to the circle of rocks she’d placed to create the makeshift firepit. Tiny, slender hands clutched at a tattered black cloak held together with an iron clasp. When a gust of wind pierced the weathered fabric, Sheeva threw the hood over her head and shivered, inching closer to the meager fire. Her unevenly black hair draped over her shoulder from beneath the hood, the frayed ends of a red ribbon peeking out amid thin strands.
Hopeful, she grabbed a log she’d set nearby to dry out before adding it to the fire and carefully stacked it on the dwindling flames. It took, and as the flames grew, so did the heat. Satisfied with the warmth, Sheeva shuffled back to lean against the trunk of a tree. Apologetic for the three gashes she had made in it as trail markers, once for the first time and the other two for the second and third loop around, she decided it would be better to rest than to keep aimlessly wandering.
Curious to know how long she had been wandering aimlessly for, she pulled an equally tattered notebook from her bag and thumbed through it, pausing on a hand-made calendar. The light from the two moons, Celeste and Kursu, was not enough to pierce the canopy, and she squinted at the pages in the dimness, trying to angle the book towards the firelight. The dim, orange glow still wasn’t enough.
With an effortless wave of her hand, a twinkling white ball of light rose from her palm. It hovered behind to illuminate the pages, flickering like a candle-lit lantern hung from the lowest branch of the tree she hunkered beneath. She flipped through the first couple of pages until she found the current date, then hastily crossed it off with an x.
Apparently, she had been lost for nearly two weeks, forced off-trail by a black bearog–a fuzzy, three-headed creature that had a slew of tricks up its sleeve. Not only could they rip her to shreds with their claws, but their festering bites were equally as nasty, and, to top that, some could do magic, including heal themselves. It was a foe meant for a team to take down, and considering she was only one person, she immediately backed down and fled.
Back to the calendar, she checked off the days that had passed in the nine-day week, wondering if there were any significant events she had made note of and might be missing. The rumoured “northern lights” would be taking place on a neighboring island, and she wished she was attending the festival associated with the phenomenon rather than being lost in a vast forest.
Had she succeeded in slaying the man she’d been chasing after for years when last they’d met, she would have been.
She snapped the book shut with a disappointed sigh, but not before a page slipped out, waving at her between the pages. Pages threatening to fall was nothing new; the red, leather book had gotten so much use, she was surprised it lasted this long. Retrieving the waving page and opening it to view, she scratched off the name of a town from a list scribbled in the margin and scowled at the man’s face, his yellow eyes cold and calculating, only lit with passion when murdering someone for the hell of it.
Llyud Halma, much as she disliked to admit it, had gotten the better of her, again, this time employing the help of some bandits and ambushing her inside a cave. She’d barely gotten away with her life, forced to slaughter the lot after baring her wings to save herself from a fall into the pit. While she might have been able to convince others that the news of a “winged Sferran” was pure conjecture, the lot of bandits had tried to grapple her into a cage, and she had no choice but to fight her way free, not keen on being the subject of cruel experimentation, again.
She supposed the ambush was retribution for her slander against him in a town farther north, where she’d tried to sway the help of guards by telling them he was after a noble’s gold–because saying: “I’m searching for, and want to kill, the man that killed my mother,” seemed a surefire way to spend time in irons. Sheeva scoffed; if anyone had taken the time to know her, they would know that killing people for shits and giggles was not something she cared to do, limiting herself to only do what was necessary.
Unfortunately, her infamous heritage as a Cruinian coupled with the fact that “no one can tell tales if no one’s left to tell tales” had become something she had to employ more than she cared to.
She directed her thoughts back to the sketch. Aside from being one of the few to do magic like she could, his bright, piercing, yellow eyes were unique to him, considering the five main eye colors found among the planet’s denizens, each indicating what island they or their ancestors hailed from.
Having committed them to memory, she didn't need to view the notes she'd jotted down from the massive library in Vivroa's capital city, Raynak, but glanced at them anyway. Perhaps, in her exhausted delirium, the hand-smudged cursive might reveal something new.
On Vivroa, the vast central island, the native’s eyes were some form of orange. Some people’s eyes were light enough to make her double-take and reach for her weapon in alarm when she'd first started her extensive search. Eventually, she learned to dismiss her needless worry since not only were their eyes rich, deep citrines or golden-yellow topaz, most Vivroans were naturally fair-haired or had some shade of brown in their typically wavy locks. Vivroa acted as a hub between the four surrounding islands, and the capital, Raynak, rested smack-dab in the middle of the land. She considered it more of a stand-alone continent than an island and sometimes wondered if the surrounding islands had been a part of the landmass at some point in time.
There had not been many from the farm-loving countryside folks of Pyurita, an island a couple of weeks sail from the northwestern region of Vivroa. It did not surprise her. They preferred sticking to their many feasts, most held in the capital city, Virn’nost. Pyuritans had green eyes of some shade, varying from grass-green to the shade of valuable emeralds that Vivroa mined for and exported. Produce and spirits were the farmers’ main exports, and the latter could be some of the most expensive items on the market. Some of the more dangerous things dwelled in the underground markets where stolen items, mind-altering drugs, or other forbidden contraband could be found.
Pacem’s steep, towering, mountain-of-an-island pierced the sky off the southwestern coast, and their folks had variants of amethyst in their irises. Traveling in bands, they were more commonly found in larger cities on the other islands if they left their capital, Shizu-Konnyye. There was no surprise there; most of them held an uncanny ability to read minds or predict outcomes and would often set up gypsy camps in various places to peddle tricks for cash, food, or shelter. Sheeva tended to avoid these groups, worried they would see she was not entirely Sferran.
Tarrakk’s residents, generally with azure eye color, preferred to stick to their northeastern island, spending their days tinkering with inventions or researching the various habitats amid the floating masses of land, their nature disturbed by the previous massive wars between Cruinia and Tarrakk. Cruinia’s people, in a moment of desperation and revolution, had tried to free themselves of oppression and take the land by force, but Tarrakk’s residents had technology on their side that none others could imagine, and after a show of their prowess, Cruinia retreated to the southeast in defeat. Now, only the capital, Polvolet remained.
Not surprisingly, there were incredibly few ruby ones from Cruinia. The island’s tyrannous state left most of the residents dead or jailed in the penitentiary in Torde, stricken with cotton mouth thanks to the harsh desert heat. If Cruinians did manage to escape or scrounge for cash to make the journey to abandon their roots and seek better lives on the neighboring islands, they were often turned away to rot in the wilderness or, in larger cities, enslaved and sold like cattle in the underground markets.
For this reason, Sheeva altered her eye color to mimic a deep shade of mauve, hoping it would pass for enough purple to mimic Pacem’s typical trait. She had been working on it for only a few months after being turned away from a food bank in Anidelle strictly because of her eye color. While the spell did not last long, it lasted long enough to get whatever she happened to need to buy or barter for.
As she mused on her target's heritage, Sheeva wondered if maybe the man she pursued was a Sferran-Ta’hal like her, and to her knowledge, this made them the only ones of their kind. When she had pressed for information on the beasts of legend to the librarian, the woman only raised her eyebrows in question and directed her to the slim pickings of disappointing books.
Llyud also being super-Sferran was a frightening thought, and she wondered what other nasty tricks the man had up his sleeve.
Perhaps he could take flight, like her, and disable her wings to plummet her towards the ground to her death if their fight soared into the skies. Maybe, he could use the earth to heed his call and bury her in rich, moist soil that would strangle and suffocate her in her final moments. He already enjoyed shocking her into stupidity and breathlessness, and she was sure that she would have suffocated if he hadn’t been interrupted by the Snow Sahagin that spit hallucinogenic slobber in his face. While he dissociated, she had been forced to flee as well as she could while partially paralyzed as the slimy, poisonous lizard turned on her, taking her for the easier meal. The tumble down the mountainside had been her only saving throw.
She sucked in a sudden breath and shivered, the phantom grains of snow, dirt, and tingles of fading shock shuffling down the back of her neck and up her arms an unwelcome feeling. The blanket pooled around her sides, discarded for the brief moment of recollection.
She was grateful she hadn’t been spat on by the Sahagin but figured the bash of a horned rabbit’s poison into her palm was instant karma.
While Llyud would likely bury her entire body–not just to her head as the master of Malfa Temple had–she wouldn't be surprised if Llyud might also try to use Rose's root-binding spell on her to terrify and break her of her will. She spat in distaste as the sweetness of roots tingled her memory, then frowned as her stomach growled at her.
With the seeming game of cat-and-mouse, the frustration of near-misses and near-successes, and the illusion that Llyud was uncatchable, Sheeva found herself discouraged.
“Is it even worth it anymore?” She wondered aloud. The shadow of thought that Rose wouldn’t want her to be running her life this way was fleeting, and Sheeva shook her head to clear it away, aware that she was being selfish.
She reminded herself that Rose’s sacrifice and untimely death, coupled with countless others Llyud manipulated, riled up against her for the upper hand, or flat-out killed, justified her revenge, and rather than acknowledge the creeping heartache, she scowled at the man's crooked nose. Recalling how it had gotten that way brought a smile to her face.
Aim always impeccable from practice throwing her wallet, writing pen, or even her shoe when irritated enough, Rose had gotten in a good nose-shattering punch before she fell, dying unfairly at Sheeva's bound hands and feet.
Flinching as the scream of an animal in the distance pierced the air and tore her from morose thought, Sheeva's hand flew to the handle of her sword as adrenaline stabbed its way up her tense spine. Listening hard beyond the heartbeat pounding in her head, the returning calls of elk made her huff in relief, and she settled back against the tree with an exhausted sigh. Willing away the need to walk out her false alarm, she further fought to displace herself as she thumbed the hilt of her weapon, Abraxas.
The lupine teeth, once sharp and pristine, were now dull and stained with dirt and blood, and the wrappings around the handle were frayed and beginning to unravel from their tight bound–something she had a mind to fix if she returned to the temple walls before setting off to another island, should her journey take her that far. Abraxas had been a gift for Sheeva’s thirteenth birthday, something that Rose had wanted to mark as unique...as though baring her wings for the first time wasn’t enough. Aside from clashes with Llyud, beasts, and bandits, they’d been through much in the last ten years: narrow escapes from packs of dire wolves, beating criminals into submission for their bounties and even helping her survive a rough battle with a behemoth. Her mouth watered as it remembered the velvety, flavorful steaks the meat provided. The tail-whip scars had been worth the struggle.
As it sang with a metallic hum when she unsheathed it from its sturdy leather case, Sheeva examined the straight, single-edge blade. Abraxas was steadfast and reliable, the center-set, thorned vine design still etched along the fuller part of the blade, though not as lustrous as it had been on day one. The steel of the pommel stone was tarnished, more likely from nervous fidgeting than exposure to weather or blood.
Abraxas, it is a great shame that the first blood you tasted was Rose’s.
She returned Abraxas to its scabbard and nestled him within reach in a cradle of the tree's roots. Sheeva took a deep breath and sighed in misery, leaning her head back against the bark of the tree she craned under and slid back to curl closer against another chilly breeze that rustled the long pine needles.
Perhaps when you’ve been sated with Llyud’s, we can give you rest.
Would the man’s death come from the heat of battle, and would the up-close-and-personal kill satisfy her need for vengeance as she’d run him through? Would she drive the man to his knees and stare him in the face as she beheaded him? Or...would she force Abraxas through his chest, as he had done to Rose, and watch the light fade from his deranged yellow eyes, as she had done for the woman she considered “mother”?
She scoffed, then promised herself she'd at least follow Rose's steps and shatter his goblin nose. Her lips curled at the thought, and it ignited a sense of superiority and sedition within, but as she began to entertain darker, more sadistic thoughts, Sheeva uttered an "ugh" of self-disgust.
As often as she’d thought about it, she couldn’t bring herself to imagine torturing the man. It was unbecoming and unlike her, and certainly not who she wanted to be, nor how she'd been raised. She owed the master of Malfa Temple and Rose that much.
No. A quick death is in order. Sheeva reminded herself. She was determined to not be a sadist like he was, though if she were honest, Sheeva couldn’t know what she’d be inclined to do upon their final meeting. She had a funny feeling that the wise, aged leader of the temple would offer her a similar personal thought.
Uncomfortable with her current string of ideas, Sheeva sat up and prodded at the fire again in need of purifying her horrid mindset. His cackle sounded in her ears as though ringing out in reality, and she stilled and drew in a sharp breath as it shot terror down her spine. She snatched the handle of her blade and whipped it into her hands, wide, angry eyes piercing the dark forest around her.
Nothing sounded but the pops of sap pockets in the wood and the curious hoots of owls.
Irritated, Sheeva settled, and returned Abraxas to his resting spot in the cradle of the tree, then tightened her cloak back around herself as she scooted closer to the warm fire.
I’m running out of places to search for you, bastard! Surely, you must know I’ve been searching for you by now. Where the hell are you? She mused to herself, looking at the uncrossed names of towns in Vivroa on her list: Roussell, Urul, Maizen. Finally, she would travel to Ostansya, a port city where she would be forced to take a boat to Pacem to search there. She did not want to but would become a stowaway if she needed to.
She winced as her stomach growled and took a deep breath to help ignore it, swallowing the sour spit that rose in the back of her throat as her guts threatened to regurgitate lime-green bile. Since she started to run low on her rations, she tried not to get worked up unless she needed to, but worrying about Llyud or the future often left her panicked and on-edge. She searched her bag for the satchel that held them and peered into it. Nothing left but shreds of jerky, energy cubes, and pain pills.
As her stomach grumbled again, she relented, scraping for the bits of jerky and a cube and popping the savory trifles into her mouth. Hopefully, it would shut her grumbling stomach up and not be a total waste.
She stood, stretched, grabbed her water pouch, and drank deeply, hoping to further subdue her hunger. Feeling another chill of the night’s air across her skin, she sunk back to the ground and stirred the fire again. The flames rose a few inches with the addition of air, covering her with its warmth.
Her stomach growled again, and she sneered in distaste at the thought of how eager she was to eat anything...even a scavenging forest rat, bland and gamey as they were. Perhaps, she’d been scaring away all the animals, or maybe the town nearby had overhunted the area. She shook her head at herself. Overhunting had to be the problem; she felt she had been too quiet to scare away anything. Bucks seemed scarce, and any females she had come across she’d let live to care for their offspring.
They may have been easy pickings, but she refused to hunt Tinker Owls. She had a soft spot for the cute and fluffy creatures, worried they might be on the brink of extinction because she had not seen many in this forest. She yawned again and slumped down onto the ground. Scowling at her hunger, she crawled into her sleeping bag and forced herself to sleep.
***
Several hours after struggling through broken sleep, Sheeva rolled over, rubbed her eyes, and groaned as she sat up. A knot from the tree had gifted her with a stiff knot in her back, and after willing herself to move and work it out, blinked tiredly at the canopy of the trees. Beneath the old, lumpy sleeping bag she'd crawled into in the middle of the night, she dug around in her pocket for the pocket watch Rose had purchased for her upon their first outing to one of the neighboring towns. Blinking at it in confusion, she tutted, rolled her eyes, and shook her head as she remembered it did not tick ever since it had broken a few years ago and placed it back in her pocket. The next time she was in a larger city, she would ask a clock’s smith to look at it...so she continued to tell herself. She found she couldn't trust anyone, fearing it would end in someone else's pocket or, worse, in the underground market.
Sheeva crawled out of her sleeping bag and looked up at the sky, her view veiled by the thick canopy of tree branches. Needing a better view, she climbed a tree, balanced on one of the small branches at its apex, and looked around. Celeste, the blue-tinted moon, was still visible on the eastern horizon, but Kursu, the smaller and cuter teal moon, was already hidden below the mountain’s edge. The gleaming, orange morning sun wasn’t far above the western horizon.
Surveying the forest that spanned down the steep mountainside and tapered off into hilly plains, Sheeva was not sure where she might be. Even after squinting, she couldn't even see the bend in the mountain pass that helped to further obscure the temple from prying eyes. Shielding her eyes with a hand from the gleaming sun, Sheeva thought she saw a town in the distance, but with temporary blindness, her search was futile.
I must be imagining things now. Sheeva told herself and continued to span the view.
“Damn, I really need a better map.” She muttered, chiding herself for her foolishness. A map of the Urul-Maizen pass, the “bowl” of Vivroa, and the plains inside would have been a wise purchase, but, thinking she could wait until she reached Roussell, she passed up the opportunity. Unaware of how dry her throat was, she croaked and coughed, finding it raspy and a little sore.
It must have been colder overnight than she had expected, spring still struggling to break free of winter’s hold. While the last week had been pleasantly warm, perhaps they had been foolishly hopeful, and Vivroa would be blanketed with a fresh, unwanted sheen of snow…despite the many feet of snow they'd been graced with over the winter. Nothing could be done about the mass amounts of snow blocking the roads, and while she supposed it was for the better of all the plants and the current year’s harvest, it still hindered her search more than she’d have liked. Sheeva had had little choice but to hole up and wait out the long winter storm in the attic of a pub in a backwater town in northern Vivroa, doing odd jobs and babysitting to pay for her stay.
Secretly, she did not mind too much, happy to occupy the innocent children’s attention by casting magic tricks that blew their little minds. A smile crept to her face in fondness, pleased that she could assist in giving them joyful moments. With a silent blessing, she wished them well and hoped she’d be seen as a supportive, positive impact in their early lives.
A frown formed on her face as she realized that, maybe, caring for them so had been her way of trying to make up for the lost opportunity she had missed as a child when she was their age. Sheeva huffed the epiphany away, knowing it would only come back to haunt her in the wee hours of the morning.
As she turned to climb down, a glint of gold caught Sheeva's eye from far away, and she jerked her head to the sky first in alarm. Finding nothing but pale blue sky and fluffy, sorbet-medley-colored clouds, Sheeva looked to the horizon for the source. It came from where she had been looking before, and she realized she had not imagined things as a city slowly came into better view. She crawled down, snuffed the coals of her fire with loose dirt, packed up the rest of her supplies, and began to walk towards the city in the distance.
A few hours travel placed her at the edge of the forest, the still-growing sea of wheatgrass calmed her as she stared out at it, and the glint of gold caught her attention again. She searched her brain for the city’s name, then checked her notebook when she couldn’t recall it. In delicate, curly cursive and a slight shade of graphite dust from the smudge her hand made while writing across the pages, she stopped at the quickly scrawled note she'd left herself.
Roussel, the city “made of gold.” Though, in her further questioning, she learned that the only thing made of gold was the clocktower and found the nickname silly. Apparently, their king’s and queen’s reputations as generous people made the city one of the most sought-out places to live, aiding in the city's ridiculous misnomer.
Nicknames aside, Roussel was the second-largest city in Vivroa, dwarfed massively by Raynak, and she hoped her search would bear even a tiny morsel of fruit.
Her stomach burbled at the thought of morsels, and as though to agree with it, a relieved smile crept to her face as she thought of all the food she could eat. She looked forward to making a meal of cluckatrice meat, rogue tomato juice, and roasted parsnips and potatoes with a fluffy, buttery sweetroll to finish it off.
Excited, she stepped onto the dirt road that cut across the vast plains to the large, metal gates. The growing wheat reached for her arms as she ran through them, tips tickling her palms as she held them out. Perhaps, if she were still around in the months of harvest later in the year, she could assist the farmers in their chores in exchange for a small satchel of flour.
As she neared the town, she slowed, gazing in confusion at the gates. They were rusted over, and she frowned again and shook her head in disapproval. Despite the city’s reputation, there seemed to be no effort of upkeep. Sheeva found herself upset as she thought that maybe the town had fallen to one of the neighboring islands. She hadn’t kept herself up to date on current events, only paying attention to news related to Llyud. With a scoff, she dismissed the idea that the city had somehow fallen; ignorant as she could be, news of war would have dictated how she had behaved.
Her stomach growled at her, and she winced at the thing. Despite the nervous brick, it was less upset about potential capture and enslavement and more upset that it had not been filled.
She closed her eyes to focus her altering spell and felt her eyes burn a little as the irises changed their color. Grabbing the small mirror she kept tucked away, she checked her reflection. It would hopefully do, though they were a little redder than she would like. She dismissed her inability to cast the spell properly due to hunger and exhaustion.
Nervous, she approached the closed gate that towered over her. There was a defensive line of spikes on the ground and a sloped canopy along the top, as well as roofed ramparts with patrolling guards. She pursed her lips in annoyance at the roadblock–there went the idea of waiting at a possible blind spot until nightfall, baring her wings, and flying over the thing.
Maybe, there would be a sewer grate that she could blast open with a fireball and crawl through. but scrunched her nose in distaste at the idea. Not only did she not want to deal with the stench of waste, she didn’t want to accidentally ruin the foundation of the wall and send it crumbling into a useless heap.
She crossed her arms, reasoning that, while she had been holed up over the harsh winter, so too had Llyud, and she was only psyching herself out. She owed it to herself to at least see if they’d heard any nefarious rumors or had let him through the gates.
“Mornin, traveler. What can I do fer yeh?” A guard asked, taller than her by at least a foot and with a much broader build. Beneath the bill of the slate-grey cap that matched his uniform, his eyes were amber and his eyebrows held grey hairs. Sheeva cleared her throat, trying to keep herself calm, and fished around in her bag for her notebook. She pulled the sketch of Llyud, unfolded it, and handed it to him.
“I’m searching for this man; name’s Llyud Halma. Tall–about as tall as yourself. Yellow eyes. Raspy voice. Have you seen or heard of him?” She asked, beginning the start of what would be an extensive, exhaustive search. First, from the point of entry, she’d scour every bar, inn, and shop, then work her way clockwise around the town as she closed in toward the center. Perhaps, she would even brave the red-light district if none of the other locations proved useful.
“Yellow eyes? That’s…new.” The guard grabbed the sketch, wiped at his eyes, then squinted at the page. Retrieving a pair of glasses, he donned them and raised his eyebrows as he focused on the previously blurry details.
“No. Never heard of him. Never seen him, either–don’t recognize the yellow eyes. That-that’s not normal, is it? Yer sure he’s not from Cruinia?” He said, glancing back at Sheeva, unnerved. She’d wondered if maybe Llyud was from Cruinia since she often tried to remember if they'd crossed paths before that fateful day, but considering his eyes were so yellow, he was more likely from Vivroa than anywhere else. Perhaps it was a bizarrely light shade of citrine.
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“Ah, well…I am not sure,” Sheeva admitted. “But, I have been chasing him for a while. Bastard always seems to slip from my grasp.”
And I, from his, Sheeva added silently. She wiped at her tired face, feeling the phantom, burning sting of Sahagin spit as her eyes became blurry by tears.
“What–is he some sort of criminal?” The guard asked, handing the sketch back to Sheeva.
That’s putting it lightly. Sheeva huffed through her nose at the fitting comment and pocketed the sketch, somewhat hopeful for the circumstance. Llyud hadn’t passed through yet.
Or, if he has, the guards posted have not seen him, her cynical brain reminded her.
“Yes. He is responsible for several people’s deaths, as well as manipulating people to stall, imprison, or harm me or innocent people. I’m hoping to finally put a stop to that here.” Sheeva admitted carefully, not about to clue in the guard on what she intended to do once she caught the man. Ambiguity was the better part of caution.
“Hm,” The guard scratched at his chin, then held out his hand. “Can I take another look at that?” He asked. Sheeva pursed her lips to hold back her annoyed scoff, retrieved the page from her pocket, and handed it back to him.
He glanced over it again, longer this time, then looked up from the page.
“Mind if I show this to the others?” He asked. Sheeva nodded, grateful for his willingness to aid in her thorough search. She followed it with her eyes as the sketch was passed between the three other guards standing watch, further relieved when each of them said they hadn’t seen the man.
It seemed she had arrived first, and would have time to build a positive reputation before he came along and crushed it.
“Just because he didn’t pass through this gate doesn’t mean he hasn’t passed through the other three, though. Yeh should check there, as well.” He offered, stepping aside to let her through.
“Oh. There are other gates?” She asked, feeling mildly discouraged.
“Yeh. Roussell’s divided up into quarters. This gate’s the Southgate entrance, facing south. Yeh have the east gate at the entrance to the Eastern Quarters, the west gate at Westside, then the northern gate at Northside.” The guard explained, pointing them out in an obscure direction. She couldn’t see the tops of the gates beyond the peaks of the two-and-three-story houses, but trusted his directions. Hastily, she scrawled the note down on a new page in her tattered notebook, not caring that her hand smudged the charcoal across the page.
She sighed, thanked the guard, and stepped into the town beyond, mildly relieved that the interaction had gone so well after being so indiscriminately run out of the last town.
The capital city had been built on a grid system, and the streets of Roussell seemed no different as she followed the main street, Southgate, further inward. She wondered whether the four main roads converged twice, like Raynak, or only once. Curious, Sheeva searched for the giant clocktower she’d spotted from a distance in the forest. Unoriginally, or maybe conveniently placed, stood the towering construct, regal and shimmering in the distance as it pierced the sky, though not as central as she had thought. An old castle peaked just beyond, and Sheeva felt dwarfed in comparison as she realized just how big the city really was. It might take her half a year to search as thoroughly as she did.
She paused as she came across a small statue just inside the gates, and upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a shrine, recognizing the fish sigils, swimming ad infinitum, on the obelisk as one similar to a sigil on one of the twelve churches she had passed by in Raynak. Figuring Llyud to not be a religious man considering all the damages he had done, she had never entered one of the twelve churches, each with its own specific symbol. Deciding she should look into the twelve gods and goddesses at whatever library Roussell might have, Sheeva jotted down a reminder to do so at a later time.
She, herself, was not religious, though the temple she had grown up in held its own beliefs and garnered its own creation stories–something that she enjoyed learning of the “outside” cultures of Sferra.
Curious as she was, it would need to wait. The first thing on her tried-and-true checklist was to find an inn, and she didn’t much care where it was, so long as she could afford it with the small amount of Inue she had jingling in her coin purse. Generally, inns were closest to the entrances of any town and, after passing by a few clothing and specialty shops, she spotted a large sign for an inn.
An eyesore compared to the large-windowed displays of the fancy clothing shops Sheeva hurried by in impatience, The Cozy Cat stuck out in its disrepair of missing shingles, chipped-paint, and window shutters that were missing slats. She briefly wondered if it had been shut-down, but as a group of people shuffled inside of it, Sheeva decided it hadn’t. Stepping through the door, the musty smell of wood, stale air, and potent tobacco wafted through her nostrils and stung into her eyes. It was almost enough to knock her back, but, pressing on, she stepped further inside and shut the door behind her.
To the left, a dining room could be seen, filled with chattering people busy slurping on soup, and as the diminished smell of cluckatrice broth permeated the stench of the unkept building, Sheeva’s stomach gurgled at her in need.
Waiting in line behind a couple, Sheeva stepped toward the counter as they left, hustling upstairs. She eyed them briefly, confused about their excitement considering the drab state of the place, then directed her attention to the nameplate on the desk. Tom, it read, though considering he hadn’t even greeted her, she decided not to use it.
“Do you have a room available?” She asked. “If so, how much?”
The innkeeper merely glanced up from the book he was reading, green eyes looking at her disinterestedly for a brief second before flitting back to his book.
“Room 2B, twenty Inue, per night.” He grunted shortly.
Her lips pursed in displeasure; the price far outweighed the state of the place since the much fancier inn she had stayed at in the capital was roughly the same price. She contemplated her options for a moment, scanning the entrance room again. It didn’t need to be fancy, she decided, but the steep price had her considering turning heel and searching for a better price elsewhere.
Still, she found herself somehow persuaded to stay by the man’s poor customer service; lacks of fucks given meant less chance she would be remembered if something went wrong and she had to flee the town.
She fished in the coinpurse, finding it more wanting than she had anticipated, then handed him the four lackluster silver coins denoting five Inue, each coin worn by heavy exchange of hands since their minting. Curious to know how much she had left, she peeked in between the fading leather folds, where several copper one-piece Inue and a few two-piece Inue clinked back at her. One precious silver twenty-piece fell out from a hiding spot as she went to close it.
It wasn’t much, altogether just enough to pay for one more night and maybe a full meal.
“How much for a meal?” She questioned, hoping he would say something more reasonable than the price for the room.
“Ten Inue.”
“Hm,” She hummed through pursed lips that stretched to form a line of disappointment. There went the idea for another night and a meal.
“How much for soup?” She asked instead.
The man gave her an irritated look and pointed a long, bony finger at a sign next to the entrance of the dining area. Beneath the “meal of the day” rested Cluckatrice stew, five Inue written in cursive.
Sheeva peeked at a customer’s bowl as a waitress walked by with a tray; it didn’t seem there was much to be found for meat or potatoes, and she frowned, feeling a bit ripped off on their behalf. She might be better off buying a peck of apples and feeding on those for a few days, despite possibly making herself sick of apples.
“Is there a mercenary guild nearby?” She asked, dismissing his annoyed sigh.
“What, you didn’t see the barracks when you came in?” He grunted, pointing in the assumed direction with his thumb. “Big construct, northeast of here–Even you can’t possibly miss it.”
Sheeva felt the frustration in her brow, but caught the haughty scoff in her throat and masked it with a strained “Heard.” While it wouldn’t do to spit words with this man in case it escalated to a physical fight, the challenging tension in the air reminded her of her childhood rival. Familiarity calmed her somewhat, and she took a clearing breath in through her nose.
Perhaps the man was intentionally trying to piss her off as Hasch often did.
Feeling reluctant to ask if they had any postings on hand lest he give her another sardonic answer, Sheeva looked around once more for a bulletin board. As the door opened and closed, the gust of fresh air it brought fluttered a heap of pages tacked to a board. Grateful that she didn’t have to ask the man what might seem like another dumb question, she strode to the corkboard nailed to the wall.
Amid posters for lost pets, many flyers were “lost and found” items, if not listed as “stolen,” some items listing a hefty reward, and others, what she would consider trinkets, were not worth her time or efforts. A few that she had to dig through listed disappearances of people, and as Sheeva recalled the faces of the unfortunate few Llyud had killed and pinned on her to run her out of town, she felt sorrow that their faces didn’t match, meaning more wasted deaths.
Plucking a “help wanted” request for assisting a family with moving boxes for some quick, easy cash, she folded and pocketed it. Scouring the board, she tore down a couple of other odd “information on disappearance” requests in addition to a bounty on a thief’s head, pocketed them as well, then retrieved Llyud’s sketch from the depths of her pocket.
Bothering the disinterested man once more, Sheeva set the sketch on the countertop, cleared her throat, and asked her question. He looked at it, barely, before returning to his book.
“Nope. ‘Aven’t seen him,” He dismissed.
“But, you didn’t even look at it!” Sheeva argued.
“Sure I did. He’s got greasy black hair, piss-yellow eyes and a nose that looks like a diving board for pixies.” He shrugged. “And I’m telling you: I haven’t seen him.” He stated, fully breaking away from his book to look her in the face as he shoved the picture back toward her across the counter.
She pouted, unappreciative of his mockery, snatched the picture up, and shoved it into her pocket, not caring how it crinkled in her grasp.
“Aw. Aren’t you cute?” He sneered, equally pouting his lips as he talked down to her briefly before turning back to his book. Sheeva hardened her stare.
“Suppose–if you’re that serious–you could search for him in The Undergrove. Most folks that make their way here usually stop there,” He stated, with a wide, thin smirk that curled into his right cheekbone. “Maybe, I’ll even see you there.”
Sheeva eyed him skeptically.
“What is The Undergrove?” She asked, not wanting to be duped into touring the underground markets packed with contraband and questionable “medicine,” passing up a tincture obviously concocted of Sleipnir urine and Quadricorn blood. Con artists aside, she’d had her fill of the corruption putrifying Raynak and had almost become one of the slaves trapped in a cage for it.
“You’ll just have to find out,” He grinned, and Sheeva fought the curl of distaste as it triggered the flutter of warning in her stomach.
“I don’t think so,” Sheeva dismissed, highly disinterested until she gathered more information from other people in town. At the thought that she might ultimately have to, she kept back her weary sigh. It would be the last of places to search, she decided.
“Don’t tour the sinner’s corridor much, do you?” He cackled.
Embarrassed at the understanding that The Undergrove was somehow linked to the similarly-named brothel district that Raynak had, Sheeva turned heel and began to walk off, already feeling her cheeks flush red. His laughter pierced her ears.
“Hey, tootsie!” He called after her, the delight evident in his voice.
“Don’t ‘tootsie’ me!” She snapped, sending him a warning look over her shoulder as she fought to hide the embarrassed face that betrayed her normally stoic self.
“You forgot your key,” The man reminded her, swirling the key around on his finger. Sheeva hurried back, snatched the key from his outstretched hand, and wheeled back to hurry through the door and escape his snickers. She stormed down the main street for a while before she calmed down, stopping at a fountain of a farmer carrying a bushel of wheat upon his back. The water streamed from the bundle of wheat and splashed into the dark, jade-encrusted pool. Sheeva reached into it and slapped some water on her face to cool down.
Even though she didn't know what Llyud might be interested in when he wasn't terrorizing her or other people, if he indeed took part in what Sheeva saw as “carnal pleasures mimicking wildebeests,” scouring the Sinner’s Corridor would still be the last thing she did.
After taking a moment to collect herself, she pulled out the notebook and made another note of the locations, sketching out a rudimentary map.
Down the way, a small plaza could be seen, and, eager to see what produce they had available, Sheeva headed for it. The first cart held meager offerings; a few fruits, some meats, and some vegetables that were far tinier than the ones she could find at the capital or even at Malfa Temple.
Still, she dished out more than what she felt was necessary for an apple, a chunk of salted, cured beef, and a small red bell pepper, costing another silver five Inue coin and a copper “one-peice.”
Nibbling on the tasteless, dry apple, she turned to view the rest of the plaza.
Towards the middle, hiding in the shade of a prominent, defaced statue, sat a man on a stool as he painted a majestic setting on a canvas. Hoping he might have a painted map of Roussell, she headed towards him.
“Excuse me,” She interrupted. He paused and looked at her expectantly.
“Do you happen to have a map of this city? I am new here and…find myself lost easily,” She stated, not about to let on that she might accidentally walk into The Undergrove unawares.
His bushy eyebrows raised, then dropped and fused together as he shook his head.
“No, ma’am, but it's not hard to find your way. Roussell is set up with a grid–
–grid system. Yes, I know…much like the capital city."
He fell silent, unappreciative of being interrupted.
Sheeva sighed and took the tattered sketch out of her pocket.
"I'm looking for this man, and I plan to leave no doormat unturned," She stated, reminding herself to be patient about beating the dead horse.
"This painting's in shreds," He commented, glancing back up at her.
"I have a plan to replace it soon," She countered dismissively. Until the sketch was so torn that it turned to dust in her pockets, it would join her pocket watch in the realm of "things broken but couldn't trust to have repaired."
"In addition to a map, I wouldn’t mind repaintin’ that one for you, miss–for a price,” He bartered, pointing to another sign. It listed the different sizes of canvas, as well as the different styles of paintings he could do: landscapes, portraits, and caricatures, with a variety of prices to match. He didn’t have anything smaller than an eight-by-thirteen-inch stretch of canvas which ran for eight Inue.
Sheeva crossed her arms in thought. With just enough left for one night at the inn and a few pieces of produce, she initially told herself she didn’t necessarily need something so big. But perhaps, bigger would be better, since she could mark it as she needed to.
“If it’s just a map you need, I could cut a smaller stretch of fabric,” He offered.
“I think I’ll just take the smallest canvas you have. Better to have room to mark it if I need to,” Sheeva refused, fishing around for the coins and plucking them from the pouch. A silver five, a copper two-piece, and a copper one-piece jingled as she set them in his outstretched hand.
She stepped aside, nearly tripping over a pot that rattled with loose coins as he grabbed at a pair of crutches, leaned against a nearby podium, stood, and swung himself towards a stache of clear canvases pre-set onto wooden frames. He selected one, set it on the easel, and swung back to the stool.
“It’ll take some time for this to get done. Feel free to come back later.”
Sheeva looked down at the pot she had nearly knocked over, then bent down to set it straight. The coins jingled around inside.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to kick it,” She stated.
“Nah, don’t even worry about it. It’s a temporary thing, anyway. Once I get my prosthetic leg, I’mma kick the sucker across the fields and back like a kickball!” He commented with a grin. Sheeva looked down at the pot, fighting a look of concern. The porcelain thing would break with the force of a solid kick, especially from something hard like wood or metal.
“I…see. How, uh, how much until you have enough?” She asked, watching him as he filled an inkpot with powdered charcoal, likely from charred animal bones. He dribbled some water into it to create a thin, sturdy paint, then dipped the straightened edge of a paintbrush into it. Likely, the bristles were made of the thick, coarse hairs of Sleipnir manes, a type of horse with eight legs and various elemental affinities depending on the regions they were found in; some could billow breaths of fire, while others would jolt foes with thunder. The ones that dwelled in the snowy banks of the northeastern tundra could summon hailstorms with a simple nicker.
“I’m just getting started, sadly. Lost my leg this winter–a bad case of frostbite. Figured I’d try getting used to this new lifestyle, but I don’t much care fer hopping everywhere.” He explained. He tsked at himself and waved at the tangent. “Anyway, I’ve a ways to go.”
Sympathetic to his plight, Sheeva dropped a coin into the pot.
“I wish you good fortune, then. In the meantime, I’m looking for work and picked up a quick chore. Can you point me to this address?” She asked, retrieving the ad she pulled from the board.
Grateful for his directions, Sheeva tucked the paper in her pocket and began to walk towards the side street. The sound of a child crying about something caught her attention, and, distracted, she turned to look for it, then looked back as someone bumped into her on their way past. The flash of her red coin purse could be seen before it disappeared into the depth of the stranger’s pockets, and, surprised, Sheeva called out to the person before giving chase.
The person looked back and, upon seeing Sheeva running after him, picked up his speed and attempted to dash into an alleyway. Sheeva turned into the same alleyway. He had gotten ahead of her, but not far enough. With a quick trace of a sigil in the air as her fingers glowed brown, she slapped her hand through the sigil and snapped. From the ground ahead of him, roots sprang up to lash at his feet to trip him, and as he fell with arms outstretched, they sprung up to cushion his fall and wrap around his limbs and mouth, muffling his frightened screams.
Sheeva huffed, drained as the instant sap of energy left her body as the cost to pay for the spell, and stepped closer to him. She wrestled the coin purse from his pocket, along with a golden watch, a pearl necklace, and a set of lockpicks, though miserably bent into a shape no longer useful. Scowling at him, she shoved her precious coin purse into her pocket and tossed the other things aside.
“You will not speak of this encounter to anyone, do you understand, boy? If you do, I will–” She stopped and turned around as she heard many footsteps close in behind. A group of children, all appearing ragged, dirty, and younger than the boy stood in her way of the outside road she’d just come in from, having emerged from the old, wooden crates nearby.
“What are you doing to him? Let him go!” The oldest of the remaining bunch demanded, sounding terrified. “He’s just trying to take care of us!”
Sheeva softened, and looked back to the boy caught in her trap.
“Is this true? Are you taking care of them?”
He feverishly nodded as well as the roots would let him. With a sigh, she raised her hand, loosening some of the root’s bind.
“What were you hoping to get by stealing from me?” She asked. Upon hearing one of the kids run towards her, she turned and waved her hand.
“Bereich!” She barked, causing a web of shingles to materialize in front of the dark-skinned child, who barreled into the thing. He dropped the knife in his hand as he stumbled to the floor and held his nose.
“Look, all of you, calm down!” Sheeva ordered, hands raised. The boy caught in the roots screamed as the roots rose in the air, guided by her open hand. She gave an exasperated sigh and lowered the hand holding the binding spell.
“Listen…if you promise to hear me out, I will let you go. Is that agreeable?”
Stunned into silence, the boy in the roots nodded, and, still holding his nose, the boy on the ground also nodded. Nodding in relief, Sheeva lowered her hand and waved it, dismissing the roots wrapped around the thief’s limbs. They retreated back into the ground, leaving cracks in the ground.
None of the children moved, and as Sheeva settled, she took a sip of water from her water pouch and popped an energy pill in her mouth. The revitalizing effect was almost instant and cooled her throat like eucalyptus.
"Now, listen up: I'll make you a deal. I don't turn you in for trying to steal from me, and you don't turn me in for doing magic," She bargained.
Mouth still hung open in shock, the young boy nodded. She turned to look back at the others behind her, and they slowly nodded, too. She drew in a clear breath and sighed.
“What were you hoping to gain by stealing from me? What were you going to do with,” She paused to see how much she had left. “Twenty-three Inue?”
The boy with the blue newspaper cap, shaggy, dirty-blonde hair, and eyes such a dark shade of orange they nearly appeared brown looked down at his feet.
“Buy food, ma’am.” He admitted, shuffling his feet together and pouting. “Got tired of scraping through the trash.”
Sheeva’s lips pursed as her stomach churned and mouth filled with spit, instantly taken back to the putrid scent and ache of her salivary glands after she’d taken a bite of sour, rotted food in desperation as a child while suffering under the negligence of the “woman that birthed her,” as Rose took to calling the woman.
“You should not–She began, wanting to scold them to stray them from accidentally making themselves ill, but they were children who were also doing what anyone living on the streets would.
“Ahem,” She corrected herself. “You should be more careful,” She insisted. “You can make yourselves sick eating from the trash.”
Uncomfortable with their position, Sheeva sighed and peered in her coin purse. While it was nearly empty by this point, Sheeva rationalized that she was about to go work for some quick cash and could afford something for them. She looked behind her at the other children, then beyond them into the plaza. The corner of the produce stand run by the fair-haired lady was visible behind the brick-layered corner, and with a heavy, relenting sigh, Sheeva beckoned them to stay in the shadows.
“Wait here. I will be right back.” She decided, heading for the stand loaded with colorful produce. Upon making small talk, Sheeva learned of a greenhouse nearby the city’s arboretum, which she immediately planned to visit if her pursuit ended in Roussell.
Walking away from the cheerful vendor with a sack of carrots, apples, a large loaf of bread, and even a large slab of jerky that the children could split, Sheeva felt slightly relieved to find that they had followed her order.
“Here. Take this as a sign of good faith that I will not turn you in. Is that fair?” She asked, handing each an apple, a carrot, a chunk of bread, and a tear off the slab of jerky, taking a small portion of the meat for herself. By the way they devoured the food, she figured it had been a while since they had eaten a decent meal.
The boy in the blue cap seemed to be the oldest of the bunch, with dirt upon his cheeks and holes in his rugged clothing. His eyes were bright orange, filled with hidden tears and glee as he devoured his food. Beyond the faded, tan shirt that was too large for him and tinted with stains, Sheeva spotted the redness of worn skin from his struggle against the roots she’d summoned to stop him from escaping.
A pair of what she thought might be siblings based on their similar facial structures hunkered side-by-side, though bickered with each other about who was in who’s space. The girl had the bushiest, tangled knots of hair that Sheeva had ever seen, and she noted that the girl was the only one to perch like a bird upon a stoop. The boy had already finished his food and sat back with a contented sigh, blue-green eyes half-lidded as he seemed ready for a week’s worth of sleep.
The young, dark-skinned boy that had charged at her when they’d first met sat on a crate off to the side, and Sheeva had to admit, she was impressed with his courage. His hands were marbled with burn scars, and he seemed to keep a watchful eye towards the entryway to the alley. She wondered what hells he may have been through to warrant being so skeptical at such a young age.
The youngest of the bunch seemed blissfully innocent and hummed a happy tune to herself as she ate. Her long brown hair was also in tangled knots, and the clothes she wore seemed to have been plucked from a bin at random, being so big that the sleeves dangled over the end of the girl’s hands and nearly touched the ground.
“You know–you didn’t have to do this for us, miss,” The boy in the cap stated.
“If you want money, I would imagine there are plenty of doorsteps to sweep,” Sheeva commented, refusing to acknowledge her charitable act–though she didn’t have much, she had the skills and know-how to get what she needed otherwise.
The boy in the cap paused inhaling his food and began to talk, bits of carrot falling from between his teeth.
“I won’t tell…if there’s more where this came from,” He stated. Sheeva scowled, and shot him a look.
“How dare you!” She spit, leering down at him and standing as tall as she could, what with a height of five-foot-three. “As you saw, child, I had almost no money, so your extortion is pointless!” She snapped.
“Almost. But you have more, don’t you?” He asked.
“I just spent the last on you, boy!” She fibbed, having reserved some to replenish the stock of medical supplies tucked away in a separate pouch of her bag. “Be grateful!”
He blinked, and Sheeva mildly relished in the sheepish look of embarrassment as he looked down at his feet and mumbled his apology.
“Well? Can I assume I have your silence, now?” Sheeva asked, standing to leave.
The boy in the cap looked at the others, who all nodded in agreement.
“Yes’m,” He voiced.
“Good.” Satisfied, Sheeva stepped past them and towards the plaza to resume heading towards the listing for the “help wanted” ad she intended to fulfill, but stopped as one of them called out to her and asked for her name.
“I’d rather not say, nor do I want to know yours, either. Call it…an insurance,” She suggested, sighing heavily as she thought of the outcome of the farmer couple she had briefly stayed with before Llyud came along and convinced them that she was something sinister and potentially harmful. “Besides, you wouldn’t want me to implicate you in any crimes, would you?”
Before they could protest, Sheeva hurried away.
After finding the house she was looking for, the owners immediately put her to work moving boxes and assisting the elder couple in loading up a wagon. Sheeva didn’t ask questions, and thankfully, they didn’t either, seeming to be in a great hurry to get out and on the road. While the task took most of the evening, the old couple paid her handsomely for her efforts, and Sheeva walked away with enough cash for a couple more night’s stay at the ridiculously-priced inn, as well as a bundle of clothes to replace the ones she’d worn through and through.
The painter was still there as she passed back through the plaza, working on a painting of the setting sun as it disappeared towards the eastern horizon. Sheeva dropped another coin in the pot, grateful that he had finished the map and assured him that she would put it to good use.
Upon returning to the inn and heading to her room, Sheeva immediately locked the door behind her. With the trace of a sigil against the back of the door, Sheeva cast a warding spell that would buzz at her if someone were to open it, then crossed the room. She secured the shutters to the window closed, placed a ward on those, too, then stopped the tub and stripped while it filled.
The first step into the tub made her swoon, pleased with the rare luxury of a bubble bath, and as she washed off the sweat and worked away the calluses on her feet, Sheeva took a moment to appreciate the fact that she could soak and care for herself. It was a luxury she rarely afforded herself, but had always been something she had done to raise her spirits or encourage herself to keep trying.
Tomorrow, the tedious search would begin.