The Shattered Vase

53rd Day of Harvest

767 Karloman’s Peace

The familiar, comforting melody of wildlife had become a staple of Ekkehard’s garden. He eagerly opened his eyes to find himself once more resting on the lake bank.

The waters extended far beyond the horizon. Behind him stood the ever-sentinel cherry blossom tree, so massive its canopy merged with the sky, forming a wall of white, pink, and red that obscured the view of the lightless abyss above. Petals fell endlessly, resting softly upon both his naked body and the calm waters. A noble stork, the newest addition to his garden, bathed in the shallows a short distance ahead, joining the many other creatures that called this hallowed place home.

He smiled as he took in the scene.

There were no miraculous transitions today as there had been in Ekkehard’s earlier visits. Those experiences had ended long ago. Now, he was content to simply witness the beauty of the place as it cycled through its serene existence. He needed nothing more than to rest on the lake bank.

What a place this is, he thought, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of the ambient light rest on his face.

Then, a cold chill caused goosebumps to form on his exposed flesh.

He opened his eyes. A shadow enveloped him, cast from high atop the cherry blossom tree. Everything had gone still and silent. The life that had populated the garden, the stork, the birds, the fish, and the other critters, all had vanished. It was as if his garden had frozen, like an image captured on a canvas, beautiful yet merely a false impression.

Naught was left but him, the shadow, and the shrike that cast it.

Ekkehard clambered to his feet to face the invader. Like the tree upon which it perched, the great predator had grown massive. Ekkehard was drawn into the pitiless voids of its giant eyes. Its silver plumage heaved as it hyperventilated, barely holding back its savage lust to rip him apart. As it opened its wings, the world went dark, and it unleashed a shriek so loud that the very wind was swept into a frenzy by its echo.

The beast dived from its perch; vicious talons aimed at Ekkehard. He stumbled back to avoid the creature, falling into the freezing waters of the lake, and woke.

His heart raced, breaths rapid and furious. His eyes were wide, vision blurred by the stabbing onset of sudden daylight.

He was lying on the bench inside the pavilion of Vedast’s garden. He was fine. There was no reason to be afraid. It had just been a bad dream. There was no garden by the lake. That just something he imagined from time to time to comfort himself. The garden was not real, and neither was the giant bird. He sighed with relief and chuckled at his own fear, comical in its melodrama.

Then he heard the cawing and his heart sized for just a moment.

No, not cawing, hooting. He heard hooting. It had been the hooting that had woken him. He sat up and carefully climbed off the bench. He looked around, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand.

There it was. Perched on one of the wooden roof beams of the pavilion was the owl. The owl that had eluded him for seasons. He had heard its hoot and glimpsed its shadow time and time again, and now here it was, standing unbothered before him, as if ignorant of his hunt for it.

The sight of it made him forget the nightmare instantly, and he smiled.

It was tall and regal, its plumage white and sandy brown, just like the one that used to fascinate Cheldric. It was a mighty bird, a hunter, proud and strong, a warlord of the skies. Ekkehard chuckled as he took in its visage. As if noticing him for the first time, the bird’s head slowly turned to him and the heart-shaped features of its face looked down upon him. In its mirror-black eyes, Ekkehard saw his own visage reflecting back at him. In them, he too was tall, strong, and proud.

It was an awe-inspiring sight.

A clunk was followed by the creak of groaning wood, and the owl was startled. Ekkehard watched as it took off from its perch and flew from the garden, following its path as it circled above him and disappeared beyond the roof of Vedast’s house. His eyes lowered and he spotted Florentin standing in the doorway. Ekkehard wondered if his brother had also seen the majestic bird. He doubted Florentin would appreciate it even if he had.

“What are you doing?” Florentin asked as he approached.

Ekkehard glanced once more at the sky, but the owl was gone. He was suddenly reminded of how tired he was, his shoulders heavy, his lower back aching, his every breath an effort. “I came to see Vedast,” Ekkehard answered. “He was busy. I decided to wait in the garden.”

“And you fell asleep?”

“Seems that way.” Ekkehard looked at Florentin and noted his dissatisfied expression. He sighed. “The baby is keeping Auriana up at night. She, in turn, keeps me up.”

“Ah,” Florentin expressed, “I understand. Still, she’s pretty far along. The birth should be any day now.”

Ekkehard suspected his brother wasn’t really interested in Auriana or the baby. He wanted something and was trying to be his version of polite. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Ekkehard redirected the conversation. “Is there something you need?” he asked.

“If you have the time,” Florentin replied. Ekkehard shrugged in response. “Very well. It's Hott. He missed another payment.”

Ekkehard sighed deeply. “Fuck.”

“I thought you’d react like that,” Florentin stated. Ekkehard looked at his brother, who shrugged. Florentin wouldn’t be perturbed by this; it was all business to him, numbers on parchment. For Ekkehard, however, this was difficult. He had let Hott off one too many times, and neither Florentin nor Vedast would allow the man another chance.

“I could send Porfinn, Dreux, or one of the others if you like,” Florentin offered.

“No,” Ekkehard replied, rubbing his throbbing eyes. “No, that is alright. Leave it with me, I’ll have words.”

“It will need to be more than words this time brother.”

“I know what it needs to be,” Ekkehard snapped back. Florentin had the good sense not to argue and simply took a step back from Ekkehard. “I swear all that man ever wanted was to get hurt.” The two brothers stood in silence for a moment. “Was there something else?” Ekkehard asked.

Florentin opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it again, deciding he hadn’t quite found the words yet. Ekkehard eyed him curiously. Finally, Florentin spoke. “It’s not on you,” he said. Ekkehard raised his eyebrows in response. “You can’t help some people. Some people won’t even help themselves.”

The statement took Ekkehard by surprise. His relationship with Florentin was just as strained as ever, and since he and Auriana moved out, the two had barely spoken to one another. Yet here his little brother was, trying to offer words of comfort. “Thank you,” Ekkehard replied. Florentin smiled a little in return, and Ekkehard nodded his farewell as he went to take his leave.

“I think Gerwald misses you,” Florentin blurted out before Ekkehard could reach the door of the house. Ekkehard paused and turned to face Florentin again, surprised to find a vulnerable, youthful expression on his face. He had never expected to see that kind of look in his younger brother’s eyes again, and it shook Ekkehard, leaving him at a loss for words.

“Right,” was all Ekkehard could think to say. “Well, I’ll have to do something about that.”

“I think that is a good idea,” Florentin replied.

“Supper,” Ekkehard suggested. “Tonight, perhaps?”

“I think Gerwald would like that.”

“I think he would too,” Ekkehard said.

“Tonight then.”

“Tonight.” The two brothers nodded and squared their shoulders before Ekkehard turned and left the garden.

As Ekkehard made his way through Vedast’s shop, he paused at the little armoury assembled at the back of the cutting room. It had been Audomar’s idea to put this together, ensuring the house always had access to decent arms in case of emergency. Ekkehard looked dourly over the collection of weapons. Taking a deep breath, he picked a small dagger from among them and tucked it into the inside pocket of his robe.

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Ekkehard didn’t rush to the market stalls. He had no real desire to. Hott wouldn’t be going anywhere, and if he could put off their interaction today, he would. The man was a slug, forever ducking and diving his obligations in a cowardly way, but that didn’t mean Ekkehard wished him ill. Yet today, Ekkehard was the ill that would be visiting the man. He sighed, wishing Hott had had the good sense to avoid bringing this all about.

Ekkehard had killed men before, and that fact had plagued him, but this was different. He wasn’t killing for survival or on the orders of a commander during a just war. Today, he was going to murder a man. For the first time in his life, he would take a life without good cause. He didn’t want to do it, but he knew he had no choice. Hott had taken the piss. He had been given chance after chance, and if Vedast didn’t act, soon others would do the same. Hott had to die. Ekkehard just wished someone else would be holding the dagger.

As Ekkehard sullenly strolled through the Market Sector promenade, he took in the joyful sights of a city at harvest.

Plentiful supplies of grape, grain, and malt, coupled with an overabundance of food and motivated by tradition, led every inn and tavern to massively reduce their prices. Thousands, maybe even tens of thousands, of the city’s residents occupied the many tables, balconies, and gardens, merrily enjoying the bounty of the Goddess Harvest. The city gates had opened to traveling entertainers; musicians, jugglers, jesters, and artists of many kinds now lined the streets. Children of all ages watched in rapt awe, cheering, giggling, and applauding. Ekkehard imagined taking his soon-to-be-born child to see the performers next year. Since he had yet to see his child's face, he always imagined Cheldric’s in their place. There was a bittersweetness to that, but it didn’t make Ekkehard feel sad as it once might have.

Everywhere Ekkehard looked, he saw scenes of joy. He loved this city. It had become the home he had never expected. And it seemed the city loved him too. Heads bowed with respect every few meters. Drinkers raised cups as he passed, and weary people parted to let him through. He had earned this respect, this recognition, this sliver of the status his family once possessed, for he was the man who had killed Haraldr, saving the city from the evil slaver. He hadn’t landed the deathblow, but the people of this city had heard the tale of Vedast’s lieutenant who turned a gang into an army. All were grateful to him because of it.

He wondered how long that gratitude would last after today. The city was bright and joyous, but not nearly bright and joyous enough to turn away the grim cloud that hung over Ekkehard and his intent.

When he finally reached Hott’s tent, Ekkehard noted that most of the trader’s shelves were bare, his wares in the middle of being packed away in dozens of crates. Trying to run after all, Ekkehard concluded. His heart picked up pace and his throat went dry as anger made his business today a little easier to bear. When Hott finally saw him, the man greeted Ekkehard with a broad, almost smug, smile.

“Friend Ekkehard!” Hott shouted. Ekkehard didn’t give the man time to spin another theatrical tale. He stormed toward Hott, grabbing him by the shoulder with one hand and pushing him toward the shadows at the back of the tent.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hott protested as he struggled, arms flailing, against Ekkehard’s might. In his struggle, he knocked one of the few remaining vases off a table, and it shattered on the floor.

“No more waiting, Hott,” Ekkehard whispered monotonously, trying to suppress his own self-disgust at what he was about to do. “You’ve had your chance,” he said, reaching into his robe and gripping the hilt of his dagger. Better to do this quickly, Ekkehard thought.

“I have the money!” Hott shouted. Ekkehard didn’t care; he just pushed the man further into the depths of the tent and slowly began to draw his blade, still hidden from Hott’s eyes. “All of it!” Hott bellowed. Ekkehard hesitated, the tip of his dagger still resting within its sheath.

“Explain,” Ekkehard demanded gruffly.

Hott nodded to a small coin chest resting on a table. “Take a look there,” he said. Ekkehard narrowed his eyes. What was Hott playing at? Was this another attempt to weasel out of a commitment? If Ekkehard released him, would the man bolt? He would not be made a fool of, not by Hott. All of it, he had said. It can’t be all of it, really, can it? Ekkehard wondered.

He released his grip on Hott, giving him a slight shove. Then he squared up to the man, daring him to run. He did not. Satisfied, Ekkehard sheathed his dagger and stepped over to the table, opening the little chest. It was filled to the brim with coins. So many, in fact, that when Ekkehard lifted the lid, several spilled onto the table with a clink and a jingle. This wasn’t just a single payment; this was everything Hott owed and more. Ekkehard was stunned.

“How?” Ekkehard asked, still dubious.

Hott unleashed a heavy sigh of relief, his body relaxing as he brushed himself off. “I know I am late with the payment again,” Hott began. “I should have come around yesterday, and I’m sorry I didn’t, but it was for a good reason. I had a meeting with a new client, a wealthy noble from down south, here for his daughter’s wedding.”

“And that noble wanted to buy pottery?” Ekkehard asked doubtfully.

“Well, yes,” Hott confirmed, “and a lot of it. It appears that his new son-in-law to be, while wealthy, has little in the way of good taste, and his daughter wants to decorate her new home. So, the noble and I met, and he agreed to buy out my entire stock. Every piece. I am just overseeing delivery now, but I was going to come by Vedast’s with payment tomorrow.”

“You should have come first thing.”

“I know, I know,” Hott stammered. “But the deal isn’t done until I make the delivery, and I don’t get the other half of the coin until then.”

“This is only half?” Ekkehard exclaimed, looking around at the empty shelves. Every vase Hott owned wasn’t worth a quarter of the little coin chest’s contents, and somehow Hott was being paid twice that.

“Well, we had some other business,” Hott replied, his tone suddenly more nervous. “Boring stuff, really. I won’t waste your time with that.”

Ekkehard didn’t pay attention to Hott's twitchy demeanour. Instead, he picked up the little chest of coins and stared at his deformed reflection shimmering a hundred times in a hundred different ways on the surface of their gold plating. He grimaced. He had never imagined the day would come when Hott repaid his debt. He had judged the man too harshly and almost taken an innocent life. What have I become? Ekkehard asked himself.

“I’m sorry,” Ekkehard mumbled.

“What?”

Ekkehard put down the chest and squared his expression before turning to Hott. “I said I’m sorry,” Ekkehard repeated. “I should have given you more credit. It was beneath me to treat you the way I did. I am sorry.”

“Thank you,” Hott replied.

Ekkehard looked at the broken pieces of the vase he had shattered. “How much was it worth?” he asked.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Hott said.

“No,” Ekkehard insisted. “It was undeserved. How much?”

“Honestly, I’m not even bothered; it was a rubbish piece anyway,” Hott said, putting the chest of coins away. “You probably did me a favour. I’ll come by with the coin tomorrow if that’s okay with you?”

“Very well,” Ekkehard said. “I’ll let Florentin know.”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Ekkehard nodded to Hott, then turned to leave.

“He’s not your only brother, is he?” Hott asked suddenly. Ekkehard turned, raising an eyebrow. Hott was still standing at the back of the tent, not looking at Ekkehard, as he played with one of the spilled coins, rolling it between his fingers.

“I’m sorry?” Ekkehard questioned.

“Florentin,” Hott explained, “you and he are brothers.”

“We are,” Ekkehard confirmed.

“And you have two others, do you not? Audomar and the young lad Gerwald, the one with the masons? Am I right?”

“You are,” Ekkehard answered, a little perturbed by the sudden inquiry. “What does that matter?”

“Oh, nothing,” Hott replied, pocketing the coin and turning to face Ekkehard. He held his hands behind his back and smiled. His expression was smug once more, as it had been when Ekkehard arrived. “And you live with your wife Auriana, right? Above the seamstresses on the east side?”

“I wasn’t aware you knew that much about me.”

Hott’s smile slowly grew broader. “Oh, everyone in this city knows about you, Ekkehard, you must know that,” he said. There was silence between them for a moment before Hott ended it. “On the morrow then.”

“On the morrow,” Ekkehard replied, slightly unnerved as he felt a chill crawl up his spine.

As Ekkehard left the market stall, he couldn’t help but feel the harvest celebrations had lost some of their shine. He shook his head. Maybe it was just his own sense of guilt. I should see the abbot, he thought, talk the day through.

The Administrative Sector was unusually busy, and Ekkehard had to fight through excited crowds on his way to the temple. Formations of guards, both from the imperial forces and nobles' personal retinues, marched to and fro, attempting to keep order and manage the flow of people. Reaching the temple, he was surprised to see its exterior gates closed off. On the far side of the iron bars, monks were busy with various activities, many carrying crates and bits of furniture. This was unusual, as it was customary for the temple to host buffets throughout the harvest, a ceremony open to all.

Ekkehard spotted Abbot Zhu overseeing the monks' work and waved to get his attention. The Abbot noticed and made his way over to him. He was wearing his Hofamat, the multi-tiered formal garb reserved for the most reverent ceremonies. That wasn’t right either. He should be in his harvest robes, serving wine.

“What’s going on?” Ekkehard called to the Abbot as he came into earshot. The priest didn’t speak until he reached the gates, the iron bars separating them.

“Sorry I can’t welcome you in today,” Zhu began. “Unfortunately, the temple and I have been lumbered with a very last-minute wedding.”

“Yeah, Hott mentioned something about a wedding,” Ekkehard stated. “Do you have some time to talk? I could use some guidance.”

“Not until after the ceremony, I’m afraid,” the abbot replied. Ekkehard nodded, but his face showed disappointment.

“Is something the matter?” Zhu asked.

Ekkehard wondered whether to tell the abbot what was on his mind now or wait until they had more time. Opting for the latter, he repeated, “I could just use your guidance, that’s all.”

Zhu nodded and looked back at the temple, then to Ekkehard. “Come to the temple at midnight. It should be empty by then. I’ll ensure the gates are open.”

“Thank you, Teacher.” The abbot smiled at Ekkehard through the iron gate. Looking to relieve some of the tension, Ekkehard asked, “So, who’s the lucky couple?”

“Some noble from down south thinks they have scored big in convincing the marquis to wed his son to their daughter.”

“Oof,” Ekkehard exclaimed. “Poor girl.” Everyone knew that the marquis’s son was a piece of work; a lazy, ugly drunkard with a habit of losing his way in brothels and no chance of being appointed his father’s successor. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone’s daughter, Ekkehard thought. “So, who is the chump?”

“I’m not familiar with the man myself,” the abbot told him. “I only met him earlier today. He came by the temple for a meeting. Rude man, stormed off with hardly a word of thanks for our efforts in preparing this ceremony for him, on such short notice as well. His daughter seems pleasant enough, however. Adhela is a lovely young woman, if I may say so myself.”

“Adhela?” Ekkehard echoed. The name made him uncomfortable but couldn’t quite place why. It was familiar to him, but the memory of it was just beyond his reach.

“That’s right,” the abbot said. “She’s hereabouts somewhere, helping to organize things. Oh, that’s her over there.” He pointed toward the far corner of the temple. “Ah, just missed her,” he said as Ekkehard caught a glimpse of a woman’s dress disappearing around one corner of the temple. Ekkehard had, however, spotted her escorts: men in mail armour with cloaks of grassy green and mustard yellow.

Ekkehard remembered why he knew Adhela’s name.

“Lovely woman anyway,” the abbot continued, “maybe I’ll introduce you one day.”

Ekkehard never heard those words. He was already running.

Adhela Agilolfing was marrying the marquis’s son. Adhela Agilolfing, daughter of Hanib Agilolfing. The Agilolfing family was in the city. Hanib, who had murdered Ekkehard’s family, was in Werth.