Alistar awoke to a strange sensation. His body was lax and loose, warm beneath a heavy quilt, his head cushioned by something soft.
W…where is this?
He was alone in a spacious room, lying on a large bed that was generously furnished with an unnecessary amount of pillows and rich blankets. A real bed, like his parents had slept in when they were his age. He had never woken so comfortably in his life, had never felt so well-rested.
Walls of smooth stone were outfitted with large, ornamented paintings, along with low-hanging tapestries of thick, grey fabric. A heavy desk sat up against the wall on his right, the padded seat of a wooden chair tucked neatly beneath its surface. Beside him sat a broad night table with the same smooth finish as the chair and the desk, the most stylish wood that Alistar had ever laid eyes on. A great dresser with knobs of polished brass took up nearly half of the leftmost wall. The room was very neat, more lavishly decorated than he’d thought possible. Thinking on it, this was the first actual room he’d ever been in.
Looking over, he noticed a tall glass of water sitting on the night table. It wasn’t until he laid eyes on it that he realized the dryness of his mouth and throat. Without thinking, he reached out and drew the glass to his lips, guzzling the contents down like a depraved beast. Placing the empty cup back on the table, his mind slowly began to sober. What was going on? Last he remembered he had been dying by the side of that mountain road.
Throwing off the covers, he saw that he was naked save for a light pair of grey trousers with the legs cut off at the knees. Somebody had changed him out of his clothes.
A sudden panic shot through him.
The crystal!
If whoever had saved him had also undressed him, then there was a chance that they had discovered his prized possession. What if they had unknowingly handled it and died after saving his life? What a horrible way that would be to repay his unknown savior.
His worries diminished once he spotted his old clothes resting atop a large chest at the foot of the bed. Somebody had done their best to fold them, but regardless of the care taken they appeared as nothing more than a pile of stained, dirty rags.
Come to think of it, he had been a bloody mess when he’d lost hold of his consciousness, yet his bare skin was smooth and unmarked, his hair light and clean. Bemused, he retrieved the translucent red crystal, tore off a small patch of the ragged clothing—which smelled terrible now that he’d been properly cleaned—and wrapped it around the crystal before slipping it into one of his pockets. His slave bracelet rattled as he moved his arm, and a sequence of unpleasant memories played through his mind. Not wanting to face reality, he decided to leave the room in an effort to find out where he was and, if he could, who had saved him.
The stone floor was cold beneath his feet, his first steps sluggish as he headed toward the door. His body was slow to respond, unnaturally heavy. He grabbed a handle of lustrous brass and stared at the stained wood in front of him, which was covered by strong bands of matted black metal. He opened it.
Tepidly, he walked out into a warmly lit hallway, made up of the same stone as the room that he was leaving behind. Dozens of doors sat shut along the walls, which were covered in similar grey tapestries to what he’d already seen. A large bird of silver thread resided at the centre of each tapestry, its head turned to the side and its wings spread in a noble gesture. It was similar to the serpents on the surcoats and tabards of the guards back in Crystellum, but it was more inviting, pleasant, even.
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Several fine tables lined the walls, supporting delicate white vases that sported beautiful flowers of gentle whites, purples, and blues. Unsure of where to go, he followed the hallway all the way to the end, using the wall as a crutch. Faced with a steep set of stone steps, he sighed and braced himself for the coming struggle. He ascended them with expected strain, passed through a broad archway and found himself in yet another hallway. This one was even grander than the last, with more decorative furnishings and walls of smoothly polished wood.
Amazed by what he saw, Alistar would never have guessed that wood could look so beautiful. The upper halves of the walls were set with intricate carvings that depicted various sceneries that captured the raw beauty of nature. The lower sections were covered in fine spruce paneling, inlaid with rosewood. Like on the level below, there were many tables that supported vases of flowers, though those up here were embossed with flowery designs, in a gentle golden colour. Everywhere he looked was beautiful.
What a curious place.
He inspected even the finest details of the most unremarkable things, as his eyes soaked up the surroundings with unfettered intrigue. The artwork was magnificent, and shamed the primal drawings that he and Kaila used to sketch out in the dirt. The colours and the skills of the artists brought the paintings to life, as if he were truly present within the scenes they described. His mother had told him about painters and portraits many times, since painting had been a pastime that she had adored as a girl. There was a sort of reverence to this hallway, as if it were giving him a glimpse into his mother’s old passion.
Alistar wandered around for a time, inspecting everything around him with curious eyes. He wound up in another hall that stole his breath away and stilled his saddened mind like the contents of a cup of water recovering from a sudden disturbance. He’d been told that outside of the mines, people collected paintings. He had been under the impression that the previous area was some sort of sacred collection, but it paled in comparison to the wondrous works that filled this hallway.
Splendid paintings and life-sized portraits covered almost every section of the walls, to the extent that only a small amount of polished wood was visible beneath the grand arrayment. He froze after a few steps, for it was at that moment that he noticed he wasn’t alone.
A girl around his age stood midway down the hall, staring up at one of the larger paintings with her pretty face scrunched up as if in deep thought. Her long hair was draped over her little shoulders, hanging halfway to her slender waist. Combed to perfection, the glossy strands were as red as the setting sun, which made Alistar wary, so he quietly kept his distance. Because of the guard captains that he’d encountered over the years—all of which had fiery, red hair—he couldn’t help but wonder if this girl was also a terribly mean person.
This couldn’t be the case, he thought, since he’d never seen a less intimidating individual in all his life. Her jawline was light and her cheeks flushed, with a button nose above a pair of thin, rosy lips. Her grey slippers matched the silver of her fine, sleeveless dress, accenting a shiny locket of the same colour that graced her delicate neckline. Alistar had never imagined that a girl could look so clean, so pretty.
He hadn’t run into anybody else since he’d woken up, so he decided to see if the girl knew about why he was here.
“E—excuse me.”
His voice was raspy from lack of use. He cleared his throat just as she looked over with a start.
“You’re awake!” she exclaimed, pointing a tiny finger in his direction. She seemed genuinely surprised. “I thought you’d never wake up.” Her face reddened. “Where are the rest of your clothes?”
He looked down at his trousers. “It’s all there was.” Coming up at her side, he stopped to introduce himself. His mother had taught him that when meeting someone for the first time, it was proper to introduce oneself before engaging in conversation.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he held out his hand. “I’m Alistar.”
“Alistar what?” She bit down on her lip, as if in annoyance, and ignored his extended hand. “It’s rude to not give your full name when introducing yourself, you know.”
Her eyes, he thought, seeing their silver sheen. They’re just like Mama’s.
“It’s just Alistar. I’m only nine years old, so I haven’t received my second name yet.”
She fixed him with an icy stare, the irises of her wintery eyes like a heavy cloud in the moments before a downpour. She seemed unamused. “If you’re going to look down on me, then don’t bother speaking to me.” She turned her head.
What’s with this girl?
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”
“Even peasants have two names. No one has just one name! And your tenth birthday is when you get your third name, not your second.”