***
Chapter 11:
Hooked
***
From the double-sided metal bench, Casper could see the chariots as they began their descent to Nabiil. After the incident with the ophidia the city had grounded all flights for several days until it was safe to travel again. So far there had been no more reports of flying serpents attacking chariots. And as far as he knew that was the first time such an event ever took place over the skies of Nabiil.
‘Chariots Resume Flights After Fatal Crash’ was the headline in the day’s newspaper. Officials questioned all those that lived to tell the tale about the ill-fated trip. He skimmed over the story, searching for the account he gave to the local officials and curious reporters. To his disappointment, it wasn’t to be found.
He turned the page as a top hat-wearing Ahrman took a seat on the adjacent bench. “I was beginning to think you didn’t make it this time,” Casper said, focusing on the newspaper.
The Ahrman crossed his legs, pulling a dark letter glove over his wrist. “Disappointed?”
“Quite. I was hoping I could play with death for a little while.”
“You’re welcome to take it from me if you want it so bad,” the Ahrman replied, watching the citizens of Nabiil as they carried on with their daily routines.
Casper raised his gaze to the skies ahead. “Looks like rain,” he said, noting the towering vertical clouds growing in the distance. “What are your plans now?”
“I’m going to find Farah and kill her.”
Casper folded the paper neatly and sat it on his lap. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we finish what we were hired to do? You remember, right? Hunting down Rebirths and selling them to Caira?”
“You do that,” the Ahrman said, sitting back in his seat. “Nobody crosses me and lives to brag about it.”
“There’s a problem with that. Farah left quite the impression on me, Botis. It might pain me quite a bit if you killed her.”
Botis stood up and pulled the crease out of his vest. “Then I’ll bury the both of you next to each other holding hands.” He looked over his shoulder at Casper and smiled. “Doesn’t that sound lovely?”
Casper turned in his seat and watched the Ahrman walk away. He had never met a man, Midaharian nor Ahrman, whose wardrobe was more suited for weddings than hunting Rebirths. But as Botis disappeared into the crowd, Casper wondered if the Ahrman’s dress code was more of a reflection of the Rebirth he harbored than anything else.
***
The skinny old fisherman and a frail old woman were barely enough to hold Aiden down. He was still unconscious as his body moved violently. “Hold him! Hold him!” the woman exclaimed, as Aiden’s arm slipped through her fingers. She quickly grabbed it again and held it as tight as possible.
After several moments of uncertainty, Aiden’s body became docile. Exhausted, the old fisherman staggered back into a wooden chair. “Is he going to keep doing that?” he sighed, rubbing his hairless scalp.
The old woman felt Aiden’s forehead. “He’s still burning up. Tsk.”
The old fisherman stood up and slowly straightened his back. “I sent word for a medicine man. I’m going to tie him to the bed. I don’t think we can handle any more of his quakes.”
“Will fix him another warm rag for his head,” the old woman said, pulling blankets over Aiden. She stepped down from Aiden’s bed and took hold of a cane leaning against the wall.
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A wood-burning stove was situated in the middle of the room. The entire house was no bigger than most bedrooms. A long curtain that lost its color to the soot of the wood fireplace was all that separated a bed in the corner from the rest of the house. A small round table sat on the floor accompanied by two pillows.
“Kindly bring some dry wood in, would you, Rajul?” the old woman requested.
“I will, Raima,” the old man said. Rajul plucked a flat hat from a nail on the wall, its plaid colors washed away by time. He planted it on his head and left the house through the only door.
The area was home to crude dwellings that squatted on each side of the beaten path. The community of fishermen and their families were rooted at the bottom of a mountain. A few playful children ran past the old man wearing little more than worn tops and torn sandals too big for their bodies. The adults' attire wasn’t that much better.
At least the weather was dry today.
Rajul strolled up the dirt path to a stack of small logs. Stronger men than he always kept the supply of wood healthy. Too bad they were never around to carry the logs back to his place. He collected a few then turned to head home.
“Excuse me, sir?” a voice called from behind.
“Yes?” Rajul responded, turning around. An unfamiliar face stood before him. It was a woman, her body obscured by a long draping cloak. Her hair was parted and twisted like no other in the community.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said. “Do you live here?”
“I do. What can I do you fo, little ladyr?"
“I’m looking for someone; a friend. He took a terrible fall down a river not too far from here. Maybe you’ve seen him?”
“I don’t know. What does he look like?”
“Well,” the woman paused. “He’s young and about as dark as I am. And his hair is an unnatural color.”
Rajul shifted his feet under the weight of the logs. The woman was describing Aiden. He was sure of it. But why does the young woman’s presence make him weary? He lowered his gaze. “No, no, I think I would remember if I saw someone like that around here.”
The woman looked over the man’s shoulder at the community behind him, searching for any sign of her friend. “I was certain he would have ended up here,” she noted.
“Come back in a few days,” Rajul said. He turned and motioned to the open water. “Lots of fishing over the next few days. Someone might spot a body floating out there.”
“A body...” the woman said, dismayed. “It never crossed my mind that he might be....” She hesitated. “Maybe it’s for the best.” The woman covered her head with the hood of her cape and turned away. “Thank you, sir. You’ve been most helpful.”
He kept the woman in his sights as she navigated a curved path around the mountain. She was out of sight.
Rajul hurried back to his house, being careful not to drop his load. Who was that woman? What did she want with Aiden? Is she responsible for his condition? Did I do the right thing?
He needed to talk to Raima about it. He needed to get back just in case the boy had another spasm. Despite the urgency of his thoughts, Rajul suddenly came to a hard stop. Two men were outside of his house speaking to Raima. What’s going on now?
Rajul took a long look at the men's padded armor and half capes. “Tax collectors,” he sighed. He never thought he’d be happy seeing them at his door. Once a month they’d come around collecting ten percent of everyone’s income. If anyone refused they would be arrested and their homes demolished.
Those arrested are never seen or heard from again. Just like no one knows where the money given to the tax collectors goes. Most simply assume that the Ahrman lieutenant that lives up the mountain was pocketing the money for himself.
As the tax collectors moved on, Rajul made his way to Raima, hoping that she kept Aiden out of sight. For the longest, it had just been the two of them living there. If the tax collectors saw Aiden they would charge them an extra ten percent. Paying the regular tax every month was hard enough on them.
“Kept them out of the house,” Raima said, addressing her husband’s concern before he could express them. “Had a hard time. Tsk. They are so nosey.”
“Forgot it was tax time,” Rajul said. “Let’s go inside.”
He placed a log in the stove and glanced over at Aiden. “How is the boy?”
“Resting. Once his fever breaks he should wake up.”
“I met someone just now; a fancy lady probably from Nabiil. She was looking for him.”
“Oh?” Raima strained to lower herself on a pillow on the floor. She picked up a pot by its handle and poured a thin, dark liquid into two cups. “Is she coming to get him? Tsk. Don’t think she should move him right now.”
Rajul walked over to Aiden and stood over him. “I didn’t tell her he was here.”
“Why?”
“Telling her didn’t sit well with me. Do you think I should have?”
“Tsk.” Raima took a sip from her cup. “We’ll see.”