When they had arrived at the town, they expected the gaps in the walls to be guarded, but the south entrance had no one waiting for them. Fatigue gripped Zhanna, and she steadied herself on the weathered cobble wall of the town, covered in creeping ivy and little bursts of wildflowers. The rags they had fashioned to hide their collars made her feel stupid, and she desperately wanted to be clean again. An old woman was brushing a chestnut horse at a nearby stable and eyed her with suspicion. Zhanna and Emir ignored her and passed under the archway. They walked down the cobbled road, lined on either side with young trees, barely taller than Zhanna. The visitor spots were relegated to the East and West entrances it seemed, since that’s where most travellers came in. The road stretched on for a while, past rows of quaint houses. Their walls were whitewashed beneath rooves of terracotta.
After nearly twenty minutes, they reached the town square, which brimmed with life. The large, diagonal shape was centred around a large statue of Maximus Arula, atop a shimmering fountain. It was surrounded by stalls of every kind, overflowing with fresh fruits, vegetables, and flowers, a riot of colours, and a symphony of enticing smells. Artisans peddled their pottery, jewellery, and hand-woven textiles in myriad vibrant hues.
The buildings surrounding the square were numerous, from a grand bathhouse to a large temple, a public forum, and even a library. For the first time in a long while, Zhanna was elated. Emir smiled back at her. They still looked out of place, since they were so filthy, and received many a stare from customers and stall keepers alike. Zhanna didn’t care, as she walked close to her companion, and plucked a handful of strawberries from a distracted fruit seller. She lit up in pure ecstasy as she bit into them, offering one to Emir too, and he gladly accepted. They smiled at each other with pink teeth and continued.
Zhanna wanted to go to the bathhouse, but Emir said that their appearance would make them more sympathetic to the blacksmith. They intended to find one, preferably on the less busy end of the spectrum, so that they could have their chains removed. They were fortunate not to receive their brands yet, but still. Emir told her to let him do the talking since her Doranic was so dreadful, but Zhanna pointed out that they may be prejudiced against Catfolk. Emir shrugged.
“If they are, I doubt they’ll be helping me anyway.” He said as they left the bustle behind.
The rhythmic clanging of a hammer was their first clue as the raucous sounds of the square faded away. The stench of hot iron and burning coals wafted on the breeze as they approached a modest smithy, nestled between two stone houses. Outside, a fat, broad-shouldered man in his late 40s, skin streaked with soot, was intently striking a piece of glowing metal on his anvil. The muscles beneath his flab strained with each ringing blow. He looked over his shoulder as they approached, his weathered face creasing with a frown as he took in their dishevelled appearance.
Emir stepped forward and cleared his throat. He began to speak, his voice smooth and confident despite the grime coating his fur. He spun a tale of misfortune, of a master that had freed them but left them to fend for themselves, not even stopping to remove their chains. The blacksmith’s stern gaze flicked between the Cat-man and the young woman beside him. When Emir finished, there was a tense silence as the blacksmith considered the request, the sounds of metal replaced only by the lick of the flames. The man set down his hammer on the anvil and stood as the glowing metal began to cool.
“Stop it.” He commanded.
“Stop what sir? I’m sorry, I tend to ramble under stress.” Emir blubbered,
“Stop lyin’. I know you are. It’s illegal to leave a slave’s chain on after being freed. You’re escapees.” He accused, his voice only containing some of the Hinterland accent since they now neared its edge. Zhanna froze in fear and looked at Emir desperately.
“No, no. That’s not true. This master didn’t care, he was a criminal already.” Emir replied, voice unsteady. The blacksmith raised his blackened palm and shook his head.
“I said stop. If yer master committed a crime, take it up with the guards. In fact, why don’t I call them for you.” He said, and walked over to the edge of the patio. “Guards! Guards! I’ve got runaways!” He shouted, and Zhanna began to pull at Emir.
“We have money, lots of it, please!” Emir pleaded, but it was too late. Metallic footsteps quickened around a corner, and Zhanna broke into a run. Emir cursed in the tongue of his tribe and chased after her.
“That’s right, clear off!” The blacksmith shouted after them as they panted desperately. It was becoming more obvious what they were to passers-by, while the smith conversed with the guard in the distance. They stole through an alleyway and slammed their boots into the pavement as hard as they could.
They had finally shaken off their pursuers. Zhanna’s heart pounded in her chest, her body slick with sweat as she drew in ragged breaths. Her muscles ached, but she knew her companion was worse off, clutching his wound and struggling to stay quiet. He had lagged, and for one terrifying moment, she thought he had been captured and she was alone. Her skin felt like it was on fire until relief washed over her as she caught sight of him. He shuffled towards her. Together, they took refuge behind an old, abandoned cart, its wood pale and broken, providing just enough cover in the shadowed alley. Zhanna spoke.
“That went well.” She said, managing a weak smile, her voice a shallow whisper. Emir didn’t return her levity, his golden eyes turning to hardened shards of amber. They narrowed, on edge, darting in every direction. His ears followed them, twitching at every sound.
“We should keep moving, somewhere secluded preferably.” He said, baring his teeth in pain, glancing down at the wound, where a Lizardman’s talon had dug into him. She nodded and began to follow as he stalked away. Even she could tell they stank.
“That bathhouse, if they have private baths, that could be a good place to hide out for a while.” Zhanna suggested, and Emir stopped, looking pensive.
“Maybe, I suppose we’ll be harder to spot in a crowd, and I don’t think our appearance is helping any longer. How much money do we have?” He asked, and Zhanna stuck a finger into the pouch, feeling around and looking down. She counted slowly.
“Three gold coins, seven silver, five bronze ones, is that good?”
“Copper. And yes, not bad, that should last us for a bit.” He said, rubbing his eyes.
They wound through as many side streets and back alleys as they could. Zhanna thought about the blacksmith the whole time. How could someone be so full of hate? She wondered. As she walked further, she tried to remember a single Doran who had treated her without malice. Only the boy, and he’s dead because of me. She answered her own question and her lips began to quiver with anger and regret, her fists clenched as she followed Emir. All Dorans become like that eventually. Cruel, callous, unfeeling. Any Rodin in the same situation would help us, even if we were foreigners. She told herself, with a hint of doubt, but ignoring it as best as she could. She steadied herself and soldiered on.
Eventually, they had returned to the square, from a different angle, and the raucous activity of earlier was dying down in the late afternoon. A few stalls were closing, and customers seemed few and far between. They walked quickly, not wanting to linger with such a sparse crowd, and headed straight for the bathhouse. The carved pillars stood tall above them as they ascended it’s steps, and Zhanna’s eyes lingered on the depictions of the gods, or at least she assumed that’s what they were. She thought of her God, and how one day he was promised to rip down the temples of the unbelievers, to scorch their rivers dry, turn their cities into dust, and deliver all the Rodin to Paradise. Her God had no name. She wondered what the names of these were, and if they had a similar plan.
Inside, the smell of perfumed oils was overwhelming, coupled with the gentle trickle of water. Beyond the entryway was the grand public bath, and on either side, a maze of corridors leading to many other rooms. The finely robed, aged man at standing in the atrium stared at them with hard eyes and immediately pinched his nose. Emir tried his best to smile, and hide his limp.
“Would you believe it, two shipments ready to be picked up today. Then, our horses saw some tiny creature, threw us both into the mud and ran off. Just our luck, eh?” He said with all the confidence he could muster, turning to Zhanna, who nodded and smiled meekly. The man’s stare didn’t falter. “We’d like a private bath if possible, please. A hot one, and do you serve food at all?” He asked politely, and the man finally cleared his throat.
“Today we are rather crowded, and there is a surcharge. 4 grisa, and 5 fusca additionally.” The man told them, and Emir frowned, Zhanna could almost see his mind working.
“Four gold and five silver? That’s… extortionate.” Emir said, trying to contain his anger. The man rolled his eyes and sighed loudly.
“Four silver and five copper. We serve spiced dried peas and lentils, as well as wine. One silver for wine, and five coppers for the food. Shall I order them?”
“Yes, thank you. And sorry for my confusion. It’s been a very long day.” Emir said, and the man nodded. His eyes seemed to move to their necks and the filthy rags bound to them.
“For a certainty.” The custodian said, before turning on his wheel and heading for another room. “You are down the east wing, third right. Enjoy yourselves.” He called as he walked away.
Zhanna tried to remember all the details of his face, whether he had suspected them, but his features were so rigidly neutral that it seemed impossible. Emir hadn’t seemed to notice. She didn’t care either way, she was ready to fight ten men for every minute in that bath. They found their room and entered eagerly, to see a cozy stone chamber, warm moisture clinging to the air. In the centre was a sunken pool, tendrils of steam rising languidly from the shimmering water. Zhanna breathed deeply and prepared herself for the divine feeling that lay ahead. Emir had started right away, discarding his clothes in a corner near the hot brazier and descending the small steps, his furred, muscular torso sinking into the water with a contented sigh. He kept the rag covering his chain on, and the hardened paste on his wound seemed to keep water out. She looked away from his nakedness and undressed behind him. She kept her rag too and slid into the pool to hide beneath its surface quickly. Emir had closed his eyes as his head gently bobbed, floating without a care, and she was glad for it. All concerns about the custodian’s curiosity had escaped her. If only for a shining moment, they were in paradise. She looked at Emir’s peaceful face with curiosity, watching the pleasant smile he held.
“I thought catfolk hated water?” She said, finally feeling comfortable to speak lightly. Emir opened his eyes with a smile.
“You’re thinking of actual cats. Did you think I had never bathed in my life?”
“Well, you know, I thought you all licked yourselves.” She answered, embarrassed.
“If we all did that, we’d be extinct by now. Think of all the diseases.” He said. She fixed her eyes on him with penetrating doubt.
“Diseases come from miasma, not from whatever you’ve got in your fur.” She declared. He looked genuinely concerned.
“And to think they call us savages. Diseases come from tiny things in the dirt and bodily fluids, that sort of thing. Not some green cloud like a children’s story. They are so small we cannot even see them.” He said with laughing eyes.
“What, so you expect me to believe there’s some tiny disease bug, so small it's invisible, crawling up my nose? You’re trying to trick me.” She said, splashing water in his direction playfully. He shielded his face and looked at her with feigned seriousness.
“This is a game you will lose, Zhanna Koreleva.” He replied, before suddenly clapping his hands together and sending a wave in her direction. She turned away, letting the warm water wash over her head, and giggled. She couldn’t remember the last time she had giggled. Laughing was one thing, but this was another.
Zhanna leaned her back against the stone edge of the pool. Her scars still stung, but the cleansing heat felt good, melting the tension from her body. She grinned at Emir, pressed her feet against the wall, and launched herself forward with her palms outstretched. A blast of water slammed him in the face, making him sputter, laugh, and duck beneath the water. Zhanna’s momentum took her further than she intended, and she bumped into him as he rose out of the water and stood still. She steadied herself, pushing back against the current and rose in front of him. For a moment, they fell silent, and Zhanna’s body brushed lightly against his chest as she breathed. His golden eyes stared down at her, suddenly serious, and she returned the look intensely. She placed a hand on his chest, and slowly traced downward.
“Zhanna…” said Emir, but the spell was broken as the door suddenly opened. A plainly dressed young slave – no chain, a servant in truth – walked through the door, carrying the spiced lentils and wine. Zhanna pushed herself away from Emir, touching the bottom with one foot. Her face was red, and he turned away, deftly slipping into Doranic. “Thank you very much.” He said, as the boy placed two glasses, the dark red bottle, and the plate down at the side of the water. Zhanna let herself float back to the edge as the little waves died out. Her heart was pounding, and she wanted to hide away. The servant left, and they were alone.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
She bit her lip angrily as Emir’s gaze turned to her. He looked sad and seemed to be struggling for words.
“Zhanna… You need to understand something about my people.” He said.
“Let’s just forget about it, all right?”
“Please let me explain.” He blurted, and took her silence for an answer. “The thing is, women are only born to our people rarely, perhaps one for every ten of us. They are considered sacred. But this attitude applies even outside of the tribe.” He told her, and she looked at him with rising confusion and furrowing eyebrows.
“Catfolk men only choose one woman, and once they do, they are bound to her as a guardian for life. If he and her other guardians do not try to protect her every waking moment until death, they will be denied entry to the Nightlands, and sit alone in the dark fields of grass forever.” He said, and her pupils narrowed as she stared into his eyes. He continued. “If we are not fit to watch over our loved ones in life, then we are not fit to do so after.” He looked at his reflection in the water. Her gaze had grown cold.
“And you really believe that?” She asked, spreading her arms behind her on the cool stone surrounding the pool.
“Yes. I do.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to understand why I act the way I do. I know that you hold some attraction to me, but I could never be apart from you if we continued down this road. I would protect you until death. I don’t want to manipulate you. We’ve been in a tense situation together, that can make people confused.”
“I’m not confused. And I already told you I don’t need protection. Who said I’m att-“
“-And I know that you would never want that, and that’s why I won’t inflict it upon you.” He said finally. They stared at each other for a long time, the steam rising from the waters around them. She felt angry, but wasn’t sure why. She tried to hide it. After a few moments, she thought of a question to distract herself.
“…Why are there so few women?” She asked, and Emir shrugged, looking away.
“Some say it is a curse. Nobody knows for sure. But they need the support of their guardians. When our women do give birth, it is never less than four younglings. I have twenty-seven brothers and three sisters, from six fathers.” He told her, and her eyes widened in surprise, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Did the other fathers care for you too?” She asked, more sincerely.
“They acted more like uncles, but we simply call them by their name. Qamaredi was my favourite. He taught me how to hunt, and forage, and introduced me to fermented milk. The first man I killed was his murderer.” He expressed, voice shivering as he finished.
“I see. I’m sorry that happened Emir.” Zhanna said softly. As he continued, she slipped her arms back into the pool, waded over to the wine glasses, and poured the red liquid near to overflowing.
“No need. He died protecting my mother. He went to the Nightlands gloriously, as I hope to do one day.” He replied, a wistful smile playing upon his lips as he spoke. Zhanna sipped her wine pensively and began to reply.
“…I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s strange to me, this dream you have. The desire to die in service of someone else. One who has so many others serving her as well.” She spoke carefully, hoping her words did not land too harsh.
“For that service, I gain someone who I love unconditionally, who returns that feeling to me, and the companionship of her other guardians and all our children. Who would not dream of a life so full of dear friends and loved ones?” Emir responded, and Zhanna felt the beginnings of understanding take root within her. She nodded slowly and handed him the glass. They drank deeply in unison, and Zhanna’s thoughts returned to Emir’s earlier words. She felt a darkness gnawing at her, and couldn’t help but try to shake it off.
“How many people have you killed?” She asked suddenly, and the air itself seemed to grow colder. Emir put down his glass with a heavy clink that echoed off the stones.
“Why do you wish to know?” He asked, and she took a bold gulp of wine before answering.
“I want to understand what kind of man you are.” She said, and he nodded. Emir stood a little taller in the water, the wet fur of his chest rising from the water’s surface.
“Six souls left this world because of me. Two cat-men, two humans, two elves of Alamun.”
“Why did you kill them?”
“The first killed Qamaredi. The second killed my mother. The Doran attacked me. The Rodin betrayed me. One elf imprisoned me, and the other screamed.”
“Your mother as well? I’m so sorry…” Zhanna murmured, voice thickened by the wine in her throat. She paused as her brow creased. “Did you say the last one screamed? What do you mean?” She pressed him, and Emir stood motionless as a statue, staring into the water. She began to regret her question in his silence. After what felt like minutes, he spoke.
“I had escaped from the cage they kept me in. This is not the first time I've slipped the shackles of slavery.” His tone was flat and devoid of emotion. “My captors were a father and daughter, and the father was crueller than you can imagine. When I had torn out his throat, she ran. So far and fast. We might be quick-footed, but the humans and elves have time on their side.” He looked up again and met Zhanna’s gaze. “She was running towards an encampment of soldiers, and I had taken her father’s crossbow. She was screaming, desperate for help. But I had no choice. I shot her in the back and her cries fell silent. I hid in the forest for three days after.” He said. Zhanna sat motionless, her eyes deepening at the revelation.
“And… what happened then?”
“The soldiers had moved on, and I found her body in the grass. She must have been around your age, but I had never really noticed how young she was until then. I took rocks and buried her on the ground, beneath the sky, as the Alamun prefer, and marched north, back to Rodina.” He finished his story, and silence fell over the chamber, broken only by the soft lapping of water and the drips of moisture from the ceiling.
Zhanna took in the sight of Emir. Eyes, ears, mouth, fur, shoulders. She tried to remember how she had seen him only moments before, but there was something darker about his presence now. She thought how strange it was, that mere words can morph someone’s appearance so much. She didn’t know what to say and resolved to simply sip her wine and pick at the plate of lentils in silence. She crunched a mouthful of them, the spices dancing across her tastebuds, but the pleasant sensation was overwhelmed by her thoughts. She saw the dead little boy in her mind’s eye once again. Zhanna turned away from Emir, her scarred back facing him, and covered her face with her hands, as she began to cry.
“Zhanna, I’m sorry, I did not mean to upset you.” Her friend called out, wading forward and sending waves splashing against her back.
“It’s not because of you, I understand why you did what you did. I just can’t stop thinking of the little boy.” She said, her voice hoarse as she tried to wipe the tears away.
“If I am blameless, then how can you not be?” He asked, reaching a hand out to her bare shoulders, but hesitating.
“You did what you had to, it was survival. I turned him away out of selfishness. Because I was annoyed, that was what he died for. My precious fucking comfort.” She bawled. He placed the hand, and she winced.
“He died because of the anger, the savagery, of those Lizardmen. You did as many would do in your situation. You could never, ever have predicted the outcome, sweet thing.” He said. Her cries caught in her throat. Her father called her that every day. She strained her neck to look at him, her cheeks red raw, her eyes seeming larger than ever. She threw her arms around Emir’s neck, caring nothing about their nakedness. His muscles tensed up in surprise, but he soon softened and embraced her. She sobbed into his chest.
“I’m so sorry.” She said, over and over, until her throat scratched so much it hurt, until whispers became silence, and she could only mouth her silent apologies. She didn’t know if they were for her father, the boy, or Emir. They stood there, arms around each other, for a long time. Eventually, he lifted up her chin and looked down at her. Her eyes were still red, but tears could flow no more.
“You need sleep Zhanna. Finish washing up. We’ll find an inn.” He told her. Their bodies parted, the waters were almost tepid, and she had no idea if she’d been here for hours or days. It felt like she barely had the strength to stand, and had to grip the wall. Emir looked at her sympathetically, and scooped up some warm water, gently letting it fall onto her head. She closed her eyes, and he ran his fingers through her hair. He was clearly taking care not to scratch her. He untangled knots, loosened dirt, and kept the water coming. Her breath was shaking as he carried on washing her hair, using the tips of his claws to comb it straight. Soon enough, she had never felt cleaner. And she smiled up at him.
“Thank you.” She said, finally calm and feeling stronger. She kissed him on the cheek. He winced and laughed.
“Don’t do that, the whiskers are very sensitive.” He said playfully. She chuckled, and walked towards the stone steps, rising slowly from the pool, her red hair reaching down to the small of her back. Zhanna glanced behind, and Emir quickly averted his gaze. She smirked and slipped on her loincloth. Gripping her mother’s necklace, it felt warm against her cheek.
“Let’s wash our clothes too. The brazier will dry them quickly.” Zhanna suggested, taking them, and dipping them in the water. Emir got out too, and they sat next to each other in their underwear, chatting idly, washing their filthy garments and finishing off the wine and lentils.
The water was practically black by the time they were done, and cold too. Zhanna moved her boots out of the corner, expecting to see the coin purse behind, but finding nothing. She bolted upright in alarm.
“What’s wrong?” Emir asked as he held his shirt taught over the heat of the coals.
“Purse is gone. Did you take it?” She said, turning to him.
“No, I saw you put it in that corner...” He trailed off, and followed it up with a curse in his native tongue. “That servant boy!” He snarled, slamming his damp clothes onto the ground.
“Little bastard. I’ll strangle him if I find him.” Zhanna said, pulling on her boots and stomping over to the door.
“Zhanna wait, he could be long gone by now. That’s something like two month’s wages. We don’t want to draw attention.” He said cautiously.
“Well what are we supposed to do now? No money for an inn, food, or new clothes. Damn that little shit.” She spat.
“We’ll just have to sleep outside, preferably outside the walls. We don’t want a curious guard checking what’s underneath.” He said, fingering the fabric over his chain. Zhanna threw up her hands, sighing in acquiescence.
The night sky was blacker than the muddy water they had left for the servants. It hadn’t taken long to find a bundle of dirty fabric sheets to steal. That would at least keep them from the muddy ground, but they were rough as sand and smelled entirely wrong. They walked for a good while around Florenum’s wall, eventually throwing the rags down beneath a tree by it, far from any potential onlookers. It was far too cold, and Zhanna shivered as they flattened the rags out. They lay down on the coarse fabric and tried their best to get to sleep. Her breath was ragged, and she was sure Emir could feel how much she was shaking. She was about to turn to him, when she felt him move closer, and place a furred arm around her.
“I have an unfair advantage.” He rasped, already drifting off. She smiled as she closed her eyes, and soon slipped into a deep sleep.
She had many strange dreams, none terrifying, but none too pleasant either. She imagined herself as the wife of a handsome noble. She had at least a dozen children, but their faces seemed to change whenever she began to recognize them. The same day repeated endlessly, always ending with her going to the dusty attic, and trying to cast a spell on a wooden doll. Each time, her husband would catch her in the act, and stand completely still and stare. Her ears would start to ring, and he was completely in silhouette, except for his eyes, open so wide they looked white. She sank into the floor as he glared, and when she could see nothing more, her day would start again.
Her last dream was less unsettling, but just as odd. A middle-aged Doran centurion, with deep brown eyes and a cleft chin was speaking to her. He was smiling, showering her with compliments. She was going to say, ‘Piss off’, when she felt a curious absence around her body. It was only as she saw Emir being dragged to his feet by three Doran soldiers, she realized she was awake. One soldier out of the crowd spoke.
“We’re in for some fun tonight boys!” He said, grabbing his crotch and grinning at Zhanna. The centurion whirled, his face flashing with rage.
“No! Neither you nor anyone in the camp shall touch her.” He turned back to gaze upon Zhanna again, a smile returning. “This is the goddess Erasta given flesh. We will take her to Doros, and she shall be my wife.”