Sheeva rubbed at her eyes, more tired than she would like to be. An arguing couple had been at each other’s throats for most of the night, and when not kept awake by angry screeching, she had been kept awake by a near-constant buzzing in her brain as a drunk, confused man kept trying to enter the wrong room and triggering her spell. She eventually opened the door, urged the man down the hallway towards the correct room, and hastily scurried back to her own to replace the ward she’d broken by leaving the small space.
She stared at the map held in her hands as she blinked at it, bleary-eyed. Not only had he recreated the tattered sketch of Llyud she had shown him with spare canvas, the painter had crafted such a wonderful map, Sheeva almost didn’t want to mark it up as she was about to. She tossed an extra coin in the pot to show her gratitude.
Examining the map, it seemed Roussell was set in the bowl of a crater, and as she compared this map to the tattered map of Vivroa, the temple she grew up in was located at the bowl-end of the long tail the meteor had left behind in its wake–what was known as the Urul-Maizen Pass. The oblong city was divided up into quadrants, with the fabled clock-tower in the middle and the remains of the city’s long-abolished castle not far off. Within each quadrant, there was a centralized plaza for the farmers to sell their hard-labored goods, grown locally in the vibrant, fertile fields around the city.
Plotted carefully around the quadrants were obelisks or shrines, each dedicated to one of the twelve gods of the continent, though Sheeva wasn’t sure what they were or what they stood for. She had never ventured into the grand churches dotted around Raynak.
The quadrant just inside from the gates she had entered was shaded yellow and labeled “Southgate District”. Three circular spots noting the shrines available for three of the gods, rested within the quadrant, each with their own corresponding symbol: a pair of fish swimming around in a circle to the south, a thunderbolt to the left, and a scroll and goblet to the right.
The shading pattern continued to the left, but instead of shaded yellow, the area was a light, grass green and noted “Westside,” also with its own symbols: a pair of scales for the westernmost location, a trilithon with two different colors on its base that merged together in the lintel across the top to the left, and a spiral of stars for the shrine to the right.
The northern quadrant, shaded red, was called “The Northern District,” with a regal crown symbol in the northernmost circle, a bow and quiver of arrows in the circle on the left, and a blacked-out sigil to the right. Ignoring the anomaly for now, Sheeva continued down the page, though the question of what might have happened to the particular shrine tugged at her curiosity.
The final quadrant to the east was shaded blue and called “The Eastern Quarters.” Facing east, a symbol of a lute and a sackbut–an early trombone, by the looks of it–crossed each other. To the right, a three-tonged pitchfork was scrawled into the clear space. To the left of the instruments, a broadsword and shield were neatly drawn.
She not only appreciated the exquisite detail, but also found herself mildly envious for the man’s meticulous organization.
Backtracking towards the shrine she had passed the day before, she paused to admire it for a moment, wondering if the inscription chiseled into the marbled limestone would offer some enlightenment. The shrine was dedicated to “Goddess Giovina, Tamer of Torrent Waters,” and the silver pitcher she held in her hands sparkled as she poured a trail of water onto the ground, fashioned from marbled blue crystal. This particular shrine was depicted on the map by a symbol of fish swimming in a loop ad infinitum. Sheeva took her to be something people prayed to for a seafaring voyage, but considering there were no large bodies of water in the inner-most area of Vivroa, she thought against it and decided to look it up if she visited the library.
Hoping to enlist the help of the city’s guards and military as she had done while in Raynak, Sheeva headed toward the military barracks located in the southeastern corner of the town, an odd, circular layout sandwiched between the shaded Southgate and Eastern Quarters’ boundary lines. According to the map, there were three other such posts, though not as grand in size.
She paused outside the entryway to the training grounds and checked her reflection in a mirror. She focused, and as she felt her eyes burn, opened them to watch as they changed their color. From the center of her slightly beveled pupils, the deep, rich ruby color spiraled into a light lilac–as close as she could manage with such little practice–to mimicking one of the most common shades of purple irises from people native to Pacem. She hoped the guards would not think twice about a traveling Pacemian.
Just inside the cobblestone courtyard, another statue stood tall, though not of a warrior as she had expected to find. Rather, it was of a scholar, with a tightly wound scroll in one hand, made of ivory, and a jug of wine in the other, made of shimmering ebony. His robes were green, made of jade, though all else was made of the same, grey marbled material as the previous statue.
She dropped her gaze to the placard set in the base of the statue.
Vokken the Wise, Purveyor of Truths, Sheeva read, then looked around herself at the barracks. Truly, the statue did not fit for the ambiance of the place–an area littered with soldiers, weapons, and a strictly-kept regimen did not seem to have place for a wiseman.
“Yeh seem puzzled. Are yeh lost?” A voice said behind her, causing her to whip around and reach for the handle of her sword in alarm.
Before her stood the same guard she had spoken to the day before, an apologetic look on his face for spooking her. She settled, then crossed her arms to fidget out her spike in adrenaline.
“Not lost, no. I was just…” She defended, glancing back at the statue, then looking around herself again. On second thought, maybe it was a good idea to encourage wisdom and honesty when it came to training someone for such a thing as war.
“Ah.” The man nodded, stepping up to the statue, himself. “Pacemian like yerself isn’t used to all the gods, are they?”
She tried not to feel embarrassed for her ignorance.
“Oh, um…no,” She muttered, avoiding eye contact and worried that the man could sniff out the deceptive cover she tried to foster.
“I don’t understand why there would be…” She trailed off, looking back at the statue in question, then around herself again. Surely, the god denoted by the “sword-and-board” would be better fitting for a military barracks. Maybe, there was something she had missed.
“A wiseman in the midst of this place instead of ‘Valrigard the Great?” He chuckled. “Yeah. I didn’t understand it, myself, at first. Almost seems a juxtaposition, doesn’t it?”
Sheeva nodded, feeling a little bit less embarrassed.
“Anyway, the gods: there’s twelve of ‘em, yeh see. We only have shrines here, but in the capital, there’s churches dedicated to each one. Been on that pilgrimage once in my youth. It’s quite the journey; I recommend takin’ it sometime,” He stated with a reminiscent smile.
“Hm. Perhaps, someday.” She half-heartedly agreed. “But, I don’t have the time for that now.”
The man stared at her for a moment, a disapproving frown on his face that reminded her of the same frown the temple leader would get on occasion. It pierced her toughness, and she avoided his look again as her courage began to crumble.
The man crossed his arms, tsked at her comment, and shook his head.
“Piece of advice, from an old guy to a young’n’ like yerself: there’s always time to appreciate the little things in life. If yeh don’t, yeh’ll end up regrettin’ it–maybe one day, even trying to drink it away.” He stated, shuffling his hands in his pockets to thumb the one-year-recovery token he carried with him on a daily basis. “A life not well lived isn’t a life at all.”
Sheeva’s stare hardened, and for as much as she wanted to spit that he didn’t understand her trials of woe in the slightest, a dawning of realization in the back of her mind kept her from it. Perhaps, he did understand, having lived a life in hardship and, apparently, war. Maybe, he’d lost someone close to him, as well.
After a moment of awkward silence, the man cleared his throat and spoke up, offering a hand for her to shake.
“Been talkin’ to yeh this whole time and I haven’t even introduced myself. The name’s Tyler Feezell. Pleased to meet you, miss…”
“Sheeva Jules,” She replied, trying to dismiss the worry associated with giving her actual name as she reached out and shook his hand. He seemed taken aback by her firm handshake, but the flash of surprise was quickly reigned in.
"What are yeh doing here, anyway? Did yeh find a safe place to stay for the night?"
“I’m here to enlist some help from the local guards. I figured it would be faster to post something here and notify whoever’s in charge that there’s someone dangerous that may pass through,” She answered, retrieving the newly painted sketch of Llyud.
“I gotta say, Miss Jules, I know yeh say this man’s a murderer and dangerous, but why are yeh going so out of yer way to stop ‘im? I assume yeh followed this man all the way from—
--This bast—She began hastily, then sighed. Rashness would get her nowhere here. “This man killed my mother and threatened my community. Wherever I find him, he either manages to get the drop on me or threatens the lives of innocent people, including children, which I cannot forgive. I’m done with him hurting people, and I want him to—She stopped herself, unwilling to disclose that she wanted Llyud to draw his last breath by her own hand. “I want him to pay.”
Tyler held his tongue for a moment, finding a likeness to himself when he was younger, angered about the loss of good friends—those he’d grown up with as though family—in battle. Of course, he had a whole army of people he blamed for it, rather than just one foe.
“If yeh don’t mind, another word o’ the wise…” He offered, waiting to ensure Sheeva was listening.
Even though she crossed her arms and scowled, the tilt of her ear in his direction suggested she was.
“Seeking revenge isn’t going to bring anyone back. Been around death much, mahself, ‘xcept, I turned to drinkin’ and starting bar fights. Lost mah best friend of twenty years to an arrow that sailed through his chest. He was right next to me, and if that arrow had been a few inches to the right, he’d’ve lost me.” He explained, lifting his eyes to the statue, who smiled back at the world.
Maybe, Gustav woulda handled it better, and not drank himself to stupidity, Tyler thought.
“Anyway,” He waved his hand at the tangent, wanting to get back to his intended point. “If yeh stop to think on it, the ones yeh fight so strongly for might be disappointed in how yeh’ve chosen to live yer life.” He advised, finding he’d struck a well of something as she crossed her arms harder and avoided his gaze.
With a heavy sigh and a drop of her shoulders, Sheeva kicked at the ground while picking out the differences in the situation. Llyud wasn’t a friend of hers that had died; he was a tyrant that had made her life hell, as did the orphanage she was abandoned to as a young child, and as the “woman that birthed her” had before that.
“What does all that matter, if he’s just going to keep killing people and torturing me with it? I don’t have a choice.” She grumbled. She became confused when, after a moment of mild frustration, he simply sighed and seemed to settle about something.
“There’s always a choice, Sheeva. It might not matter much to yeh now, but once yeh’ve accomplished your goal, it might start to,” Tyler offered, amber eyes staring at the base of the statue while he thumbed the recovery coin in his pocket. As his fingers brushed the small stack of cards he carried with him, he fished one out.
“Yeh might start to wonder who yeh really are and where yer going—whether or not it was all worth it, in the end. When, or if, it does, and if yeh need to,” Tyler paused and checked the card to make sure it was the right one rather than the one he’d use for the old “My Card” gag, then gave it to her. “I lead a support group, fer all kinds of things. If yeh have some free time to, yeh should stop through.”
Annoyed, she took the card from him anyway and looked at it. Blue lettering on one side listed a time, place, and the days of the week that the group met, but she didn’t take much note of it, not even half-interested. She noticed that the only two days not listed were in the middle of the week. On the opposite side, two of the same sigils she had seen on her map were found, a vibrant, shiny, spiral of stars wedged within the space of a dual-colored trilithon.
“Who are these for?” She asked, pointing to the sigils on the back of the card.
“The spiral of stars is for Alena, Goddess of forgiveness and purification, patron to physicians. The trilithon is for Zira, Goddess of the family and of the home, patron to churches.” He explained.
Sheeva gave him a second look since he lacked the clean, pressed robes of those she’d seen running around outside the eleven churches in Raynak.
“Are you a warrior turned priest?” She asked, confused even more when he began to laugh.
“Not a priest, no!” He laughed even more. “Ah, no. No, not at all. Just a…an old man who’s been through some stuff. My wife helped me through a lot of things, and this is just my way of showing appreciation—of giving back to the world.”
After a moment of silence, Tyler spoke up.
“Welp, let’s take yeh to someone who’ll help yeh better ’n me, huh?” He offered, beckoning her to follow him through the shaded corridors. Eyeing the statue one last time, she felt a twinge of homesickness for the courtyard dotted with wisteria trees and housing the “Lady of the Water” statue in Malfa Temple.
“So, did yeh find a place to stay?” Tyler asked, rounding a corner and pausing as someone also rounded the corner, needing to make a quick step aside so they didn’t run into each other.
“I have found a place,” She answered.
“Hmph,” Tyler grunted, not seeming convinced. “Is it a safe place, then?”
“I’m doubtful. The Cozy Cat just happened to be the first place I—
–By the gods! Are yeh really staying there?” Tyler blurted in interruption. “Why?” He asked, looking her up and down again as she struggled to match his long pace. He slowed his gait and chuckled at himself. Perhaps, she had no clue where she was staying.
Relieved to not have to stretch her legs as far to keep up, Sheeva slowed and caught her breath, thinking. Judging by his statement, she could have probably stayed in an alleyway and been safer than in the shoddy hotel.
“As I was saying, it was the first place I happened to find. That, and the innkeeper does not seem to care who is there, so long as they pay. I figure—should Llyud come looking for me—I will be less likely to be sold out.” She explained.
Tyler scratched at his chin, finding she had a point, but still couldn’t shake the embarrassment he felt on her behalf.
“Yeh know it’s a, uh, a ‘cathouse’, right?” He asked.
When her reddening face betrayed her, it was obvious she didn’t.
“Yeah…I highly recommend yeh find some other place,” He heavily suggested, stopping at a door labeled “Captain’s Quarters”. With a knock from his big paw, a man’s voice granted permission for entry, and as they stepped inside, Sheeva felt a wave of warm air rush over her, thankful.
“Morning, Captain Yates, Sergeant Wedge,” Tyler greeted, removing his cap to tuck it beneath his arm. Sheeva glanced between the insignia on the shoulder pads of the man sitting at the table with Captain Yates, then at the desk with Sergeant Wedge, then to Tyler’s shoulder pads and found him to hold the same status as Sergeant Wedge. She held her question as to why Tyler, who was obviously much older—and surely, wiser—than the two in the current office, did not have a seemingly cushy, lax job as sitting behind a desk.
“Morning, Ty—er, Sergeant. Apologies. Might never get used to that—seeing you here in the office and not at your house for the occasional dinner.” The man sitting at the captain’s desk asked, fighting a sheepish smile for his slip-up.
“Don’t worry about it. Yeh’ll grow into yer rank eventually.” Tyler dismissed with a wave of his hand.
“Yeah, well…hopefully it clicks soon. Anyway, how’re things? What can I do for—He paused as Sheeva stepped out from behind Tyler after shutting the door, and blinked a couple of times to ensure he was really seeing a lady with a sword attached to her hip.
“Uh, um…” He stammered, catching glances with his sergeant, who had a similarly perplexed expression. Wedge slowly mouthed with his best guess: Maybe royalty?
Micah’s eyes widened with alarm; he hadn’t yet committed to memory all the crests of the high-status families in Vivroa and their neighboring islands. He shook his head free of its confusion and looked back at the woman of obvious Pacemian descent, considering the plum-colored eyes. Accompanying the look of impatience on her acorn-shaped face, he watched the silver chain of a pocket-watch, with a seemingly intricate insignia on the plating, dangle and wave as she checked it, then tucked it back into the pocket of a specially crafted and tailored leather vest. Her pants, though spotted with dust, were of fine threads, also tailored and form-fitting. The boots on her feet rose to wrap around her calves, and he wondered if they’d been crafted from the thick, sturdy hide of the Midnight Drakes rumored to hide in the Pacemian forests.
Maybe, he hadn’t been given the heads-up that someone might be swinging by. He stood, intent on minding his manners.
“Lieu—Ah, Captain Micah Yates, at your service, Ma’am!” He blurted, correcting himself verbally while cursing himself mentally. Though he had attended a formal meeting once before, he tried to remember how to greet a person of high status: a bow of the head, and a reach of the hand, awaiting the delicate reception of her hand, which he was supposed to grasp lightly and shake in formal greeting. A bit too formal for his tastes, but, as any up-and-coming officer had to, Micah had to memorize and follow through with the practice.
“Sheeva Jules,” She replied, grasping his hand firmly and shaking, in the manner she’d often seen of businessmen working the docks. He looked up in complete shock from his head bow as she took firm hold of his hand and shook, unlike any manner of a handshake he’d been told to expect of those in royalty.
“Wow, you have quite the handshake for someone of the royal guard!”
Silence filled the room and Sheeva turned to look at Tyler. It didn’t seem so, but perhaps, this was his idea of a joke.
“I…don’t understand. Is this a prank? Perhaps you could clue me in next time,” She chided, pursing her lips and crossing her arms in a huff. The thin-lipped line slightly curled into a smile as she recalled the few pranks she and her friends had played around the temple.
She wondered if Hasch had ever found his shoes, though it was doubtful, having hidden them in the belfry of the eastern watchtower.
Tyler began to laugh hysterically, holding his hand to his forehead in embarrassment on Micah’s behalf.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Royal guard, indeed! Hah! That’ll be one to tell Tazaro!”
Micah turned a shade of red from realizing his mistake.
“She’s not—He paused to turn to Sheeva. “At least, not that you’ve told me?” He asked, to which Sheeva shook her head adamantly and allowed the small smile to break.
The relief on Micah’s face filled the room with a calm, and Sheeva turned her back on the man to spare him further embarrassment as she tittered to herself. As Wedge snickered behind an open, upside-down manual he was pretending to read, Micah mouthed at him to shut the fuck up, and quickly composed himself.
“Well! If not here for business, then, what, uh, brings you here…Ma’am?” He asked, biting his cheek to prevent jokingly referring to her as “Your Highness.” His fingernails dug into his palms to help distract from the desire.
Sheeva handed him the renewed painting.
“I’m looking for this man, Llyud Halma—though he may decide to use a different name. He’s responsible for the collapse of the mines in Agonia and is also responsible for the deaths of the guard post in Teafshire,” She began. “I have reason to believe he will either cross through here or…is already here, and I want to…prevent a further bloodbath.”
Before getting the chance to really look at the painting, Micah raised his head in alarm upon the suggestion that one man was behind the slaughter of an entire post; previously, they had thought it to be the work of a well-formed assassination team.
“Are you sure?”
Sheeva frowned and crossed her arms, disappointed with the reality of the situation.
“The man likes to hear his own voice, and he gladly bragged about the feat while trying to throw me to the wolves.” She summed up, not about to admit that she had been caught in a magical trap after stepping into a glyph hidden beneath leaves on the forest floor. After beating up the group of bandits lying in wait to capture her, it was only thanks to draping a trail of their corpses in a path that jarred the sigil’s hold that she could escape the room.
“Anyway, he persuaded a group of bandits to take control of the outpost, as a promise of power. While the bandits tried to capture me as a bargaining chip in their coup d’etat, Llyud snuck into the kitchens and poisoned their meal with Valerian Root extract. It’s a paralytic. He then proceeded to…torture those who hadn’t already suffocated to death.” She explained, then sighed in pity as her expression soured and turned remorseful.
“They wanted the outpost? They had to have known it was never going to work–it’s one of our more crucial ones, even though it’s not very…” He trailed off as Sheeva suggestively raised her eyebrows and gave him a knowing look.
“He…never meant for them to succeed, did he?” Micah summed, and Sheeva nodded, withholding the fact that Llyud had boasted about that, too, while locked in a swordfight a couple of months later in Maizen, one of the towns bordering the pass leading into the “bowl” of Vivroa.
“Such is Llyud’s way. He gets what he wants, and he manipulates people to do so.”
Micah cleared his throat and finally looked at the painting in hand of the seemingly dangerous man. He held back his initial, surprised impression of the man on the page, astonished at the unfortunate size and crooked shape of the man’s nose.
“Alright, well, while we look into that–and I do hope you fill me in on the rest of the details so we can corroborate–do you mind if I hold onto this for a short while until I can get copies to distribute? Let’s hope this man’s ugly mug doesn’t break the printing press. You’re welcome to come back here to retrieve it.”
Even though she didn’t know what the machine was, Sheeva chuckled at the insult and nodded. She had the old copy that was worn to shreds, and if parting with the better painting meant that Llyud would have less of a chance of getting away with things, that was more than enough. Sheeva was pleased with the fact that things were getting done, that she might have the upper-hand this time around, and she felt relief from a weight that had been lifted off her shoulders.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Captain. I appreciate it. I will be back later for that painting.”
Captain Micah gave a broad, cheery smile.
“You are welcome. Give us a couple of days to get it copied, at least, and then you can swing back on by. I’d also like to set up a time to discuss what happened to the soldiers in Teafshire, if you’re able,” Micah stated, as he headed to a ledger on his desk, opened it up, and grabbed a quill and ink to scribble a meeting reminder. Sheeva sighed and shook her head.
“Unfortunately, I don’t know anything else about that, aside from what Llyud boasted about.” Sheeva stated. Micah stopped, and looked up from his hunch over his desk, quill ready to drip ink on the page.
“And you believe his word?” Micah asked in mild disbelief.
“I saw his word, sir,” Sheeva hissed, lip curled in an offended snarl as her eyes hardened their stern stare, disappointed with the man’s lack of faith in her word. At the immediately worried look on his face, Sheeva bid herself to relax. She wondered what might have come of the young, driven, and particularly kind sergeant if he hadn’t been eviscerated from genitals to chin. The removal of such a good man seemed a great loss to the world. Perhaps, if she’d been able to stop him before he fled after leaving her to fend off the group of bandits, such a loss would have not come to pass.
“Oh,” Micah uttered, realizing that the woman’s warrior get-up wasn’t, in fact, a facade. He set the quill down and stood up, then fixed his jacket straight in his moment of humility. “My apologies, Ma’am. Your vigilant struggle is, uh, commendable.”
Sheeva ‘tsk’ed and crossed her arms in a mild pout, uncomfortable with being considered “vigilant,” since her struggle with Llyud had always been more “vengeful;” she'd set off to right the wrong of Rose’s early death, and any other fatalities along the way were an unfortunate consequence of her failure to measure up.
“There is nothing to commend. If we are done here, I shall take my leave,” she insisted, pausing in wait to see if Micah has anything to add.
"Oh, ah, no. No, nothing more." He stammered, aware that he had struck some kind of nerve. By way of apology, he hurried to the door and opened it for her, stepping aside to let her pass.
Sheeva quickly gave thanks to Tyler for his troubles, then walked back out into the slightly chilly weather. She retraced the path they'd taken from the statue of Vokken, then took a moment to examine the statue again.
So far, it still didn't seem to fit.
With a deep breath and slow sigh, she let her feet carry her towards the compound entrance as she drew up a plan for the rest of her day.
The next order of business was to retreat to the Cozy Cat and retrieve her belongings in search of a better, safer place to stay. When the clerk from the previous day didn't question her early reservation withdrawal and instead commented with a "pleasure to have ya, tootsie," Sheeva wasted no more time in the building and rushed herself outside.
A good chunk of time that she wished she could have spent towards searching and interrogating for the whereabouts of Llyud was spent searching for better lodgings, instead. She found that none of the other places had nearly as good rates as the Cat, and wondered if she might have to return there with the proverbial tail tucked between her legs in shame.
She stopped and scoffed at herself.
"Bastard probably wouldn't even care," she realized, supposing she should be grateful to have a temporary roof over her head.
Checking her coins once again, she found she could spare a couple of coins for a small bite to eat, and, referencing her map, she located the same plaza she had stopped in the day before. It was due east, and she took a moment to appreciate the setting sun as it cast an eventide glow over the horizon. With the clocktower piercing the sky, and the old castle off to the right, she felt a twinge of homesickness, and made a note to stop by before sailing elsewhere in her pursuit.
Munching on an apple and a chunk of bread that happened to be on sale because it wouldn’t be as fresh in the morning, she paused to drop a coin in the painter’s pot, thanking him once again for the detailed map. A sudden chatter of a crowd snared her attention, and she looked up in time to see a flux of people leaving a shop that she hadn’t yet explored. The people in the crowd held mixed expressions, some cheerful, some sad, some seeming in a hurry to leave.
In the doorway, bidding goodbye to the group, stood Tyler, and Sheeva recalled his invitation to whatever support group he fostered. Curious to know the nature of the group, she muttered an “excuse me,” to the painter, and crossed the plaza. Many of the patrons she passed seemed hopeful, empowered as they held their heads high as they made their way, some even greeting her with a chipper “g'evening, ma’am!”
She stopped a few yards away when he gently waved to acknowledge her presence, then stepped off to the side to wait out the conversation he was having.
The shop they stood outside of was a bookshop that allowed cats, and she stooped to pet an orange tabby as it meowed and weaved between her feet. When it pushed itself into her arms, Sheeva sighed in mock-annoyance, sat, and pulled the cat into her lap to massage its cheeks and scratch behind its ears while it began to purr loudly with content. The collar around its neck was red, and the tab jingling on it read: “Squirt. If lost, please return to ‘Prints and Paws Co.”
The name of the company sounded familiar, and she looked up at the sign hanging overhead the door. This particular company had a couple of stores in Raynak, and she recalled a couple of quiet evenings she had spent inside the shop after hours, having broken in to find a safe, warm place to sleep if she hadn’t made enough to cover a room for the evening. Plus, the company of cats was pleasant, and helped keep her warm on a frigid night.
Considering Tyler apparently frequented the place, breaking and entering this shop would be a quick way to spend a week or two in irons.
“See yeh’ve met Squirt. He’s a needy boy, but we love him all the same,” Tyler announced, stepping over to Sheeva. Even though he towered over her while standing, from her seated position, he seemed a giant. It was intimidating, and she urged the cat out of her lap to stand and feel less of a shrimp.
“I noticed,” She chuckled, brushing off the copious amounts of orange fur now stuck to her clothes.
“If yeh wanted to join in on our little soiree, yeh missed it by about an hour, Highness,” He stated with a smile, ushering Squirt into the store as he held the door open.
“Feh!” Sheeva huffed. “Highness! Far from it–I could kill a man with my bare hands!”
Tyler hummed in thought about something, then cleared his throat as though to get her attention. With a wave, he beckoned her to follow as he headed for the produce stand.
“How goes the search for Llyud?” He asked, plucking some rogue tomatoes, sprigs of rosemary, and a sack of potatoes from the stand. A bunch of kale and a few onions followed suit, and after grabbing a couple of carrots, Tyler finally reached into his pocket for his sack of coins.
“After getting help from Captain Yates, I am feeling more confident, but until I can secure a place to stay, it’s on hold for the moment. Until I can fill out some bounties, the only place I can currently afford is a room at the Cozy Cat, and I’m not keen on going back there,” she admitted.
The side-eye she caught in her peripheral did not go unnoticed.
“Yeh know…” Tyler began, looking at the bags of groceries in hand. “If yer willin’ to help me out, I’ll give yeh room n’ board,” He offered. “And, not just fer help carryin’ groceries–yeh’ll be put to work. My wife n’ I have lots to do, and I think she’d appreciate the help. I know I would.”
Tyler noticed her hesitance while she weighed her options.
“Look…the work I’ll ask of yeh’ll be safer than chasing down petty thieves, so that’ll be enough. And, the house is off the regular path. Easy to lose a tail if yeh feel yeh’ve got one. And, if that’s not enough, I’m still up to speed with my swordwork, unless yeh’ve got somethin’ yeh can teach me. Might be an old dog, but even old dogs can learn new tricks!” He laughed.
Sheeva took a deep breath, held it, then sighed.
“I will stay for a month–long enough to gather enough coin to make my own way–but no longer. It’s too risky,” She bargained. “That being said, if the work you have will be longer than a month, I...I wouldn’t mind sparing some time in the day to assist.”
He hummed in contemplation, then nodded in agreement, offering her a bag to take, then a hand to shake on the deal. She secure the bag beneath her arm, then took his hand, the large paw encompassing hers in entirety. Still, she didn’t let it phase her.
“Wow! That really is a surprising handshake for someone of the royal guard!” Tyler cackled.
Sheeva huffed, irate with the unequal comparison to someone who was likely primped, polished, and spineless.
“That is enough of that, thanks,” She insisted, breaking out of the shake and walking beside him. She shuffled the bag underneath her left arm to keep her right hand free to draw Abraxas if need be.
Tyler traded stories of war for Sheeva’s stories of ambush, and she pocketed every tidbit of advice he could spare for tactics to use, if need be. The veteran had apparently been all over the world, from the floating lands of Tarrakk, to the burning sands of Cruinia Island, and even the snowfields of Vivroa’s northeastern tundra, where they might have crossed paths if Sheeva had stopped in Fort Magh for rest.
Before long, Sheeva found that she had difficulty remembering what streets they had turned on, or perhaps, Tyler was meandering to offer her firsthand evidence that it would be easy to lose someone as they seemed to take one too many lefts that caused them to go back the way they came by a block or two.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a wooden fence blocking off a small yard with an array of sprouting plants, some that Sheeva recognized as vegetables, others that she had no idea what they were. The prospect of tending to a garden filled Sheeva with a budding joy and a sense of home, recalling the hours she’d spend watering and pruning the plants and herbivorous fungi in the temple greenhouse. She was curious to know what all had been planted there.
Beyond the rich, fertile soils and vibrant plantlings, a large, yellow house with a porch stood, with an obvious repair project happening on the porch’s right support pillar; a temporary beam boldly steadied the rest of the porch cover to keep it from caving in.
Tyler unlatched the front gate and stepped through, holding it open for Sheeva. Still, she caught herself hesitating and glancing over her shoulder.
“Listen: Not that I’d ever do this anyway, but I wouldn’t’ve brought yeh here if I were plannin’ on ambushin’ yeh or hurtin’ yeh. I fought to keep the violence outta my home, and I’ll not subject my wife n’ stepson to it. Please. Trust me, n’ trust yerself, and stay a couple of days–and if yeh find yeh can’t relax, yer welcome to leave, alright?” He assured.
Sheeva, moved by the convictions of his words, slowly nodded and stepped through.
They stepped up onto the porch, where Sheeva gained a better look at the repairs happening to the roof. The ceiling cover threatened to bow and cave, held in place by a few more two-by-fours nailed across as a temporary fix, while a folded ladder and stack of fresh, new planks rested to the side beneath a burlap cover. A bucket of paint also rested nearby, with old painting supplies ready for use.
“Tazaro, my stepson, is helpin’ me fix the roof, but I won’t ask yeh to help, unless you wanna learn a new slew of curse words.” Tyler chuckled, holding out the bag of groceries to Sheeva to take. From the moment Tyler set his hand on and twisted the knob, an excited barking sounded out from behind it, and he smiled.
“I’ll try to hold Jax so he doesn’t trample yeh, he can get too uppity sometimes,” Tyler warned before opening the door.
From the bare crack in the door wiggled a golden retriever that barreled out and pounced up on hind legs to steady its paws on Tyler’s chest and lick at his face. Its three tails wagged and thwacked against the doorframe with reckless abandon, and it didn’t seem that the dog cared that it could potentially be breaking its tail, too happy to see its owner.
“Ah, yes, happy to see yeh too, Jax! It’s been so long, forty days, forty nights, and forty years!” Tyler exaggerated, hooking his fingers beneath the dog’s collar to guide him off and calm him down. “Alright, yeh floof. Go find Mildred!” He ordered, letting him go.
As the dog disappeared inside the house, Tyler turned to grab the bags of groceries from Sheeva’s hands and stepped inside to set them down. Sheeva was still stunned by the size of the dog that she imagined she could have ridden into battle at thirteen.
Tyler emerged a few minutes later with a woman about his age, though with fair skin, greying hair, and milky, clouded eyes.
“Sheeva, this is my wife, Mildred Chorea. Mildred, this is Sheeva. She’s agreed to help us out with things for the next month or so while she saves up money for rooming elsewhere.”
Mildred reached out a hand, waiting for a reciprocal grasp, and gasped as a silhouette appeared in the darkness to her right. She found immediately that it was not the same as others she had come across, but rather, a slightly larger, looming presence that ebbed and flowed with a brilliant, dark-purple aura. Within the halo of violet swirled the woman’s “palette,” as Mildred came to describe. The mystery woman’s kaleidoscope of emotions lay bare for her to read.
And read, she did, as a mosaic of primarily yellows, followed by the natural blues and purples one would have upon meeting a new person, rippled like water. The young woman seemed hopeful; optimistic, though reserved and cautious.
“Ah! Such a bright young lady!” Mildred began, causing a wave of pink to filter through, a sign of mild embarrassment. “And, how fascinating!” Mildred continued, staring in wonder at the visage, likening the violet aura to the same, long-forgotten-aura of the goddess that had given her the gift of sight. “You have been blessed by the gods, child!”
The yellow colors were instantly swarmed and overcome by harsh, solid greens, signaling deep worry, then red as Sheeva’s hand tightened on Mildred’s. The hand became instantly sweaty, and the controlled evenness of her voice told Mildred she’d stumbled upon something the woman preferred to leave unsaid.
Stunned into silence, Sheeva could only stare at Mildred, surprised of the woman’s gift. She felt greatly unnerved that her well-kept secret may have been discovered, but perhaps, only her thoughts were being read, as her friend Cassie would occasionally do. Considering Cassie had never known of Sheeva's Ta'hal side until she had told her, Mildred's ability seemed something completely different.
What do you mean by that? She wondered, curious to know the extent.
When Mildred said nothing but continued to gaze in wonder, Sheeva dismissed the possibility of mind-reading.
“Ex-excuse me, but…what do you mean?” She asked, hoping that she was wrong.
Mildred paused as a small spot of yellow and a dash of blue appeared in the midst of greens and reds. Whatever the reason, the young woman had definitely not aired her secret.
As a swirl of reds and oranges swept in, Mildred became acutely aware of the combo; it was one she had seen often in Tyler before he’d sought help for the mistakes of his past and those of others that carried around shame and self-loathing.
“Well, I…I…” Mildred began, still amazed to find another god-blessed Sferran, even though she didn’t know which of the eleven gods had blessed her. The quick, intermittent flux of colors was distracting, and Mildred dropped her hand and brought it to her chest, fishing a necklace out from beneath her shirt. She thumbed the engraving of the spiral of stars and thought for a moment.
“My apologies, I must be mistaken,” She answered. “You have such a strong light, I thought perhaps you, too, had been blessed. I haven’t found someone of the sort in a long, long time.”
Sheeva couldn’t think straight, too boggled by the fact that she had been seen completely through. She began to wonder what kind of light shone from her and if it gave cause for alarm.
If so, would it give a reason for her to be discriminated against, as it had the previous family she’d tried to stay with?
Afraid to further disappoint or frighten them into an attack for self-defense, she stepped back.
“Perhaps I should find someplace else,” She decided for them, turning tail. No sooner had she stepped off the porch did she bump into someone, who firmly grasped her arms as he barked out a surprised yelp and fought to steady the both of them. In her moment of panic, Sheeva didn’t hear his apology beyond the rapid beating of her heart.
With a quick shove of her arms between them and a rough buck of her forearms against his to break his hold, Sheeva shoved past him and hurried to the gate at the end of the pathway.
“Dearie, wait!” The old woman called, causing Sheeva to flinch and freeze, arm extended in its reach to the lock on the gate as a pang of ache stabbed in her chest.
“Dearie.” That’s what you used to call me, She thought, finding it hard to breathe past the tightness of longing in her chest. Though she’d been called “dear” by other old ladies that ran the shops, she chalked it up to the simple fact that not only did they seem to call everyone "dear," but they also didn’t see her for what she was, never allowing anyone to look so closely. But, in the span of seconds, Mildred had seen through her cautions and seemingly into her being, and it was a frightening concept.
Sheeva huffed away the knot in her throat, realizing that Mildred hadn’t reacted with disgust or fear but rather fascination and cheer.
And, calling her such a bright young lady?
She could hardly believe it, but the tickle on her eardrums and the echo of the phrase in her head told her otherwise. With apology ready, she turned back to face the family, finding Mildred had ushered the others inside and was waiting patiently, though with hands on her hips.
“Please, young lady. Allow me to say something to you, and then you may leave if you still wish,” Mildred beckoned, holding out her hand. Sheeva approached, but didn’t take the woman’s hand, uncomfortable with being read, then cleared her throat to announce her presence.
“What–you don’t want to take an old lady’s hand?” Mildred asked, calling Sheeva out on her hesitance.
“Forgive me for not wanting to, ma’am,” She stated, unwilling to be peered at without mercy. “It’s been a while since–
–Since you’ve been vulnerable, tam. I saw so, under all that weight you’ve been carrying. A pity you must have to bear that, and by yourself, too?” She asked, tsking in disapproval in such a way that Sheeva felt she was being lectured somehow. Recalling the hours of talking she and Rose would have following a nightmare or snap-back to her past, it certainly felt the same.
“So you see…what I am.” Sheeva muttered, eyes downcast in shame. The hardness in her sternum didn’t go away, and she built on it, eager to buffer the hurt of the coming dejection.
Mildred wasn’t sure what Sheeva was referring to, but in any case, a connection to the gods was absolute.
“That’s…so, but rather than seeing what you are, I like to believe I can see who you are. And would you like to know what else I saw, dear?”
The frustration burned on Sheeva’s face. Why did Mildred insist on dragging the “get-away-from-me-you-freak” conniption fit out?
“Not really,” Sheeva admitted. Fed up with beating around the bush, she spoke at her most blunt. “No offense, but if you’ve got something to say, how about you–
–I saw hope,” Mildred announced. Sheeva snapped her head up with an astonished “What?” met with a knowing, shit-eating grin that she didn’t expect to see on an elderly woman’s face.
“Yes, Miss Sheeva. Hope. And, with hope, there’s resilience. There’s tenderness and determination. There is faith, trust, and compassion. With as much strength as you foster towards your shame and self-loathing, there’s an opportunity for that strength to be put towards forgiveness and empathy…and imagine what you could accomplish through that!” She spoke softly, sagely, and as Sheeva listened to her words, she likened the wise woman to the leader of Malfa Temple, which fueled an ability to really listen to what was being said.
Feeling too bare for comfort, Sheeva lowered her gaze to the worn wood of the steps on the porch.
“My apologies, ma’am,” Sheeva mumbled humbly, crossing her arms to soothe the feeling of nakedness.
“Apology accepted. Now…would you like to come inside and rest awhile?” Mildred asked, turning towards the door. With an outstretched hand to guide her way, she found the knob and opened the door, stepping in and disappearing further inside, leaving Sheeva behind in a stupefied puddle.