Kyrie journeyed alongside the wandering troupe. Despite the matriarch's influence keeping the others at bay, Kyrie could feel the distrust directed towards him. However, he found solace in the familiar confines of Wesh's coach, the rhythmic jostling of the caravan lulling him into a contemplative state.
It had been nearly a week since his ring had extinguished its comforting glow, a stark reminder of the distance that now separated him from Völundr. The absence of its light weighed on him, a tangible symbol of the toll his prolonged absence was taking on his connection to the old man.
As the sun rose early that morning, casting a warm glow over the landscape, Kyrie found himself roused from his thoughts by the approach of the matriarch, Tshaya. Her presence brought a sense of calm amidst the lingering tension within the troupe, and Kyrie offered her a small smile in greeting.
"How do you feel?" Tshaya's voice was soft, her eyes warm with concern as she inquired about his well-being.
"Pretty good," Kyrie replied, his gaze drifting to the horizon where the sun painted the sky in hues of gold and pink. "The morning is warmer today."
Tshaya's smile widened at his response. "It's good news. In an hour, we'll arrive at Hay," she informed him, her tone filled with anticipation for the day ahead.
Despite not feeling particularly excited about the upcoming visit to the city, Kyrie knew his role within the troupe. As they neared Hay, where the troupe would showcase their performance, Kyrie steeled himself for the tasks that lay ahead. Accompanying Tshaya as she went shopping, he set out to explore the bustling downtown area, the sounds of merchants hawking their wares mingling with the chatter of passersby.
The vibrant colors of the market stalls caught Kyrie's eye, the scent of spices and freshly baked bread hanging heavy in the air. He offered to pay for their provisions, but Tshaya was quick to refuse, insisting that he was her guest for the day. Reluctantly, Kyrie followed Tshaya through the winding streets of the city, his mind drifting back to the comfort of his own thoughts.
Later in the day, as the sun reached its zenith, they found themselves at a quaint inn, the matriarch explaining that it belonged to a friend willing to accommodate the Roma troupe.
"This is a friend's inn, the only one in the town that is willing to lodge us," Tshaya informed Kyrie, a note of gratitude in her voice as she ushered him inside.
The inn's cozy interior provided a stark contrast to the bustling city outside, the scent of wood smoke and warm incense enveloping them as they crossed the hall on their way to the tavern. Once settled on a table, they ordered some food.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Kyrie's offer to pay for their meal was met with a swift reprimand from Tshaya, who playfully bumped him on the head. "You are my guest!" she scolded; her tone firm yet affectionate. "Don't make me repeat that."
Kyrie nodded, a small smile playing on his lips at Tshaya's insistence on being the gracious host. The inn they entered was a bustling establishment, filled with the chatter of patrons and the clinking of glasses.
Once done eating, they made their way up to the third floor, where Tshaya unlocked the door to their chamber, revealing a spacious interior adorned with a large bed swathed in crisp white blankets.
As Kyrie stepped into the room, a wave of exhaustion washed over him, his limbs heavy with the weight of his travels. The sight of the inviting bed beckoned to him, and he succumbed to its call, sinking into its soft embrace within moments of lying down.
Meanwhile, Tshaya busied herself in the kitchen, as the crackling of the fire in the chimney filled the room with warmth. The aroma of tea brewing on the stove wafted through the air mingling with the wood smoke.
The chamber itself was cozy and inviting, with two separate rooms with a single bed each covered with colorful quilts, a compact yet functional bathroom, and a modest kitchenette equipped with the essentials for a simple meal. A worn brown cloth sofa sat against one wall, bathed in the soft glow of a lamp perched on a nearby wooden table, surrounded by mismatched chairs.
When the tea was ready, Tshaya called Kyrie from his slumber, the tantalizing smell stirring his hunger to life. He sprang to his feet eagerly.
Between bites of some savory cookies, Tshaya probed Kyrie about his recent encounter at the Gate, her eyes curious and attentive as she listened to his recounting. "Tell me what you saw in the Gate," she prompted, her voice gentle yet insistent.
Kyrie paused; his gaze distant as he revisited the haunting images that had unfolded before him. "First, I met a cat and then the spirit of my little daughter," he began, his voice tinged with sorrow and wonder. "As a payment to see the Truth, I had to give up my left arm. It was a strange trade; ironic that I can now use my right arm, which had been crippled most of my life."
Tshaya's brow furrowed in concern as she absorbed his words. "Which Truth was shown to you?" she inquired; her voice soft with curiosity.
"I witnessed the history of humanity unfold in a matter of seconds," Kyrie continued, his expression troubled. "The vision led me to a ghost town called Pasovyshche. I don't fully understand its significance, but I know I must go there."
"Pasovyshche?" Tshaya echoed, her eyes widening in recognition. "It was a Jewish town abandoned after a tragic massacre by the Ottoman army fifty years ago. The area is now a military exclusion zone, off-limits to all."
Despite the daunting obstacles ahead, Kyrie's resolve remained unshaken. "I have to find a way to go," he declared, determination shining in his eyes. "I know that once I reach Pasovyshche, I will find the answers I seek."
Tshaya regarded him with a mixture of admiration and concern. "Answers to what questions?" she pressed, her gaze searching his face for clues.
Kyrie's expression was a mask of uncertainty as he admitted, "That's the problem... I still don’t know what questions."