CHAPTER TWO: KINDLING THE RAIN (PT. 2)

(v.) arouse or inspire (an emotion or feeling).

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After grabbing the biggest (and worst) books they could care to risk being drenched, the Ashmoun twins darted out of the clock tower to the streets of Avaris with even more haste on their feet.

They ran and ran, passing lanterns loosely hanging from buildings sharing stories with one another in decrepit alleyways. They held each other’s hands, crossing empty streets of concrete marigold, avoiding puddles soaking overgrown grass plastered to the side of pavements, and briefly taking shelter under the awning of a shop that struggled to flicker its lights. They were still far from the main road. It wouldn’t be us if our house wasn’t that far away, Louay lamented his fate.

As opposed to where the twins came, this side of town was not empty. There were a few shopkeepers stuck in their places, so that much was normal — one even offered shelter inside, to which Youna firmly denied; they were in a hurry.

Then came a march in black and all things the twins considered peculiar. However, as far as the truth went from whispers crawling about, they were simple religious men and women making their way to the great city after much work on their expedition.

“Holy crap!” Youna gasped with an expression she rarely used. She squeezed her brother’s face, “Look, look!”

Among them were Authors — the twins recognized their attire — but not ones sticking to their pen and paper. These were actual practitioners of The Word, the ones who chased it for a profession anyway. They could project their imagination and bring about magnificent creations into reality by use of their trusty tools: the quill and the ink. Louay had to pull Youna back from trying to reach into their pockets.

“L-Let’s follow them,” Youna said, her eyes lost as was her head.

“Hey, what about breakfast?” Louay held her back.

“Breakfast?! Seriously, now?! These are Authors, Louay. Authors! If I don’t get a chance with them now, I won’t get another later.”

Whenever Authors appeared in town, they brought strange tales that aroused more rumours and gossip to keep the mouths going. And Youna had to know what they had to spill this time around; she was only a girl of fourteen, after all, and curiosity peaked high at such an age.

And here I thought you’d be the sound one, Louay sighed.

As Youna dragged him in a chase, Louay found himself bumping into someone and falling right down into the puddle-filled ground. “S-Sorry!” he muttered despite his current dilemma.

“Why, you look like a lousy rabbit late for his meeting,” the man said, lending in a hand.

Out of all the people around here (save for some giants tagging along), this man was much broader and taller. While the others were all dressed in the same garb as if they were soldiers in uniform, he had himself wrapped in a sleeveless overcoat and a suit of black patterned with waves of blue; it appeared almost foreign-made. But the most peculiar of all was his black shades.

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Strangely enough, his clothes weren’t soaked in the least bit despite not carrying an umbrella. The rain moved on as if he were never here. He sighed and smiled after helping Louay up, “Quite a bothersome morning, don’t you think so?”

“I…” Louay struggled to formulate a word and so did his sister.

It was the first time they were ever standing face-to-face with an Author, and a high-ranking one at that — from the look of the diamond badge he was sporting.

“Well, I personally think it’s perfect for a warm cup of coffee,” he kneeled down on one leg to take a look at the dripping young boy.

“But— I think a nice, hot shower would suit you better. What do you say, old sport?” He paused for a response from Louay but all he gave him was a gaze of awe, “No? That’s all right. There’s not a better shower than this rainfall after all. And I got a better solution.”

Right then, he pulled something out of his pocket, which quickly grabbed the twins’ undivided attention.

Gripped tightly in his hand was none other than a quill.

It was sharp to the tilt; long enough to be mistaken for a magic wand; and adorned an extravagantly-coloured feather of both orange and violet from the bottom-up. Contrasting those bright colours was the dark hollow shaft down till the tip. Most quills appeared as feathers nearly half the time, however, this one stuck out like a sore thumb. No matter how one looked at it, it was extremely peculiar.

Flickering the quill in a lemniscate wave, a glimmer of gold dust flowed out of the tip, accompanied by the faint echo of a tingling bell. From the gold dust, letters were formed—written. Those letters gathered into words, and those words became sentences, all in thin air.

The words then scattered and spun around Louay like a whirlpool fast enough to garner attraction from the wind. Louay felt himself floating for a moment as a hot gust blew into his face and slithered around his body. When he came to, he felt refreshed and no longer drenched in water; in fact, though the rain still persisted, there wasn’t a single droplet falling at him — it was as if there was an invisible force right above his head.

“There we go!” The man grinned wider than a child who just received his first Christmas gift. “This should last long enough for you to get home, so don’t wander off, all right?”

Louay nodded.

“Oi, Shogo!” A gruff voice called to the man, “This isn’t a time to be playing with kids.”

The man stood up and turned, “Thanks for the reminder — much appreciated. Sometimes I forget what time is it.” It wasn’t clear whether his words carried a tone of sarcasm or honesty.

“Yeah, yeah,” the other man continued, “carry that tone with you to the Alarish and see where that gets you.”

“All right, all right, I give. I’ll be right there,” the man laughed. He glanced at Louay once more, his smile sparkling youth lost from his peers, “See you around, old sport!”

With that, the man with the mysterious getup walked away.

Not a second passed and Youna was quick to grab Louay to her side. She was lost for words but he, on the other hand, seemed to have calmed down almost immediately. So what if he got to meet an Author? So he had an invisible umbrella. What was the big idea? It’s not like their house wasn’t filled with its own set of mysticality.

“And you’re just silent?!” Youna said in a frenzy of disbelief.

“Yeah…?” He almost felt danger in his uncertainty.

“Didn’t you hear them? That’s Shogo— that’s Shogo Kuriowa!”

“Who?”