Asabasha 21, 350 AOR
“So what’s he like?”
Shifting his stolid gaze from the small flame burning in the fireplace to Bea—sat in the chair opposite of him in the living room—Cal’s eyes pivoted back to the stone chimney, a closed fist propping up his head.
“Annoying.”
“Ouch. A one-word response? Must be bad,” she said. “With his personality, I’m not too surprised. You two are practically polar opposites.”
Her words almost forced a scoff out of Cal as he recalled Airetore’s words the previous night. Unfortunately, the slamming open of the front door kept him from both scoffing and replying.
“Eri!” Lucie shouted, following behind with a basket of goods. “What did I say about opening the door like that?”
The dark-haired girl dashed to the living room and into Bea’s arms. “Lucie’s yelling at me again, Bea! Tell her to stop!”
Markstead’s Maid easily picked Eri up and placed her in her lap. “Well, Er-Bear, did you give her a reason to, aside from not listening?”
Eri frowned. “No!”
Lucie let out a frustrated groan, which Bea attempted to alleviate with a pitying smile before leaning down to whisper in Eri’s ear. The twelve-year-old’s face twisted from confusion to revulsion before finally simmering into undesired acceptance. Eri then climbed out of Bea’s lap before shuffling to Lucie and apologizing after the oldest sibling stomped to the kitchen.
Bea stood up, drifting towards Cal when he gave her a probing glimpse. She lowered her lips to his ear. “I told her that she needed to behave and listen to Lucie, and if she didn’t, then she wouldn’t get any of Lucie’s apple pie for dessert tonight.”
Knowing Lucie’s baking skills were a talking point of the town, Cal nodded absentmindedly and watched Bea saunter toward the kitchen to help Lucie clean and prepare dinner. Having apologized and received a peck on the cheek with confirmation that she’d get dessert, Eri fled upstairs. Cal’s gaze lingered on her fleeting form before he found himself staring into the fire again.
Maybe it was the warmth it brought, or maybe it was the occasional snapping of a log, followed by a flurry of crackling embers, that brought him some semblance of peace. But Cal enjoyed being near the warmth, far from any cold.
The cold was as terrifying as Airetore’s confrontation with him the previous night, though more so because he had somehow picked apart Cal’s deepest fears and insecurities within less than a day of knowing him. That horrified Cal, more than he would have liked to admit. It meant his walls were thinner than necessary, and he knew that couldn’t happen…
Never again.
“Cal!” At his name, Cal blinked and looked toward the kitchen, where Lucie stood impatiently. “I’ve called you three times now! Come start the fire and cut the vegetables once Bea’s done washing them.”
Not in the mood to argue, Cal silently stood up and joined the women in the kitchen, tying his hair back and rolling his tunic’s sleeves up his arms. He caught Bea staring at him from the corner of his eyes, but she quickly turned around, busying herself with washing the cabbage and carrots. Cal ignored her and crouched down by the oven in the corner of the kitchen. Sticking out his finger over the sticks within the oven, Cal amassed a handful of fire-red orbs in his mind and uttered a single word.
“Torch.”
Brought on by his words, a spark glowed at the tip of his finger before a small fire shot out, setting the sticks aflame. With the oven now burning, Cal stood up and walked to the island, grabbing a knife and unintentionally twirling it in his grip.
“You’re going to stab someone with that,” Lucie reprimanded him.
Cal clutched the knife and pretended to stab at Lucie, who didn’t even blink at the motion before dropping a dozen washed potatoes in front of Cal. “Get to work, moron.”
“As you wish, milady,” Cal deadpanned before grabbing the first potato and cutting it into a dozen slices within a matter of seconds.
By the time he finished the fifth one, Bea had added the washed vegetables to his pile. She then took a seat on a stool by the island. “So, the professor…”
Rolling his eyes, Cal sliced the next potato a bit harder. “Let’s talk about anything else, please.”
“No way,” Lucie stated. “You guys didn’t even investigate, right? What caused you guys to turn around?”
A raspy groan scratched Cal’s throat as he tore through the next four potatoes. When he moved to the vegetables, he looked up, still slicing. “He realized that I was too exhausted to actually be of use, so we turned around.”
“You’re lying,” both women stated.
The corner of his lip twitched. “I’m not.”
“You did it again. Your lip always does that when you lie,” Lucie said.
Bea nodded. “Hard to notice, but it’s there. Plus your right hand tends to move by itself—it was just cutting potatoes this time though.”
“Thanks, I’ll be sure not to do that anymore,” Cal quipped.
Lucie rolled her eyes after leaning against the kitchen counter. “I almost find it endearing. It’s a shame you’re not as cute as you once were.”
“Back when he followed all the adults and militiamen, thinking he was one of the soldiers?” Bea added to Lucie’s teasing as both women grinned.
“Or the way he would walk around town with a sleeveless shirt, trying to show off his little twigs,” Lucie heckled. “You thought you were going to impress someone!”
Now both women were cackling, undecided as to whether they wanted to hold their ribs or point at Cal. On the other side, Cal inhaled deeply, continuing his work absentmindedly as he considered using the year’s worth of blackmail he had on both ladies.
He chose against it, keeping his head lowered while doing his best to ignore their teasing.
“Let’s not forget when you sparred against Gordon and got squashed by him within seconds!” said Lucie.
“What about the first time he tried using magic and ended up burning down half the town hall?” Bea persisted, followed by raucous laughter.
Never mind.
Chopping the last of the cabbage with a much more powerful slice, Cal looked up, his emerald greens locking immediately on Bea. “Do you really want to go there, Beatrice? I can destroy you with just two words…”
Markstead’s caretaker rolled her eyes playfully, crossing her arms as she looked at Cal with confidence. “What could you possibly—”
“Dirty laundry,” Cal stated.
In a matter of seconds, Bea’s expression shifted to one of mortification, her face flushing into a scarlet shade before tears of embarrassment began to well in her eyes. “W-Wait a minute… How—How do you know about that? When… When did you see that? By the gods! You saw that!”
As Bea panicked in her seat, Cal’s gaze shifted to Lucie, intending to break her just as quickly. He set the knife down and stalked toward her. Seeing Bea’s panic at Cal’s quick dismantling of the compromising information he possessed on her, Lucie appeared to realize she was next, backing up until she hit the corner of the kitchen counter.
Cal came to a stop in front of her, looming over his older sister as he cocked his head to the side, the desire to smirk strong, but one he still held back. “If I recall correctly, a good… five years ago, didn’t you try sleeping with Red Cove’s leader when he came to visit—or is that just my imagination?”
Lucie’s mouth opened to retort, but it simply held, fully agape as her face soon matched Bea’s, embarrassment and shame washing over her usually tan complexion as she grasped him by his shirt. “Cal, you bastard! How could you remind me of that? I wiped that from my memory last year! Why would you do that to me?”
Cal pried her hands off of his shirt, shrugging before he waltzed to the open window along the back wall, next to the back door that stood between the kitchen counter and staircase. Along the window sill was a sleek orange bird with white-tipped wings. Atop its back was a round tube, which Cal popped open before pulling a small piece of paper out of it.
It was a Survyn. More specifically, Dirah’s.
Cal read the short letter, lit it on fire, and headed for the door, certain to feed the Survyn a grape and release it before he grabbed his daggers from the center table. He never left home without them, and as he walked out the door with a bit more pep in his step, he called out to the still-mortified women.
“I’ll be back in a bit.”
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“What a rare sight—you seem happy,” Dirah chuckled as Cal entered the former’s office. “Though you could at least smile,” he added, motioning at his own lips. “It really shows people you mean it, you know?”
“Enjoy the moment, old man. What do you need? You clearly couldn’t say it in the note…”
The village leader chuckled. “Nothing’s changed. Your mind and mouth are as sharp as those blades… Well, son, Holt’s Farmstead was attacked this morning.”
Cal repeated the words in his mind before his eyes flickered to the side in thought. “That’s two days away.”
“Not a lot of time to get prepared,” Dirah said with a nod before running a hand along his nape. “We need to double down on the militia’s training and see if Professor Airetore will help us fight as he promised.”
Cal’s eyes glazed over, the thoughts of the previous night and Airetore’s revealing words causing his breath to hitch.
“You good, son?” Dirah asked, his tone turning paternal.
With a blink, Cal was back to his natural facade. He nodded, but when he opened his mouth to respond, he faltered. He eyed Dirah, a distant desire to speak of his troubles rushing through his mind; however, Cal chose not to, closing his mouth and nodding as he turned to the door. The second his hand met the cool touch of the handle, Dirah’s voice reached his ears.
“Son… If you ever need to talk… I’m here—as are Bea and your family… I don’t know everything that happens in that head of yours, but we don’t want you to sink any further… If there’s ever any doubt in your head—any fears—you let me know, understood?”
Cal’s eyes bore into the door handle, his right hand twitching before it grabbed the handle and he pulled it open. “I understand, old man.”
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Stepping out of the town hall with a deep inhale, the distant smell of sea salt, birthed from the untamed waves that crashed into the sea cliffs hundreds of feet away, drifted into Cal’s nostrils. Aside from being the second month of summer, Asabasha, known for the rain that befell the region more often than not, the rough currents always forebode a good rain, proven by the gray clouds brewing across the eastern horizon. It did well to prepare the land for the last month of summer harvest, but the constant downfall made raids more difficult to combat.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“How convenient,” Cal muttered.
The thought of being flanked by both weather and bandits was not a fond one. Regardless, he exhaled his present worries and walked through town, silently glad to see it back to normal in such a short amount of time.
Facing the South Gate, the market on the left side of the plaza was unsurprisingly empty as patrons of the inn on the right side stood atop the front porch. Light music drifted out the open windows. The stringed tune was overwhelmed by drunken shouts from the more permanent guests who urged Cal to join them for a drink. Their broad grins and badgering fell on deaf ears as Cal waved them off. He didn’t even twist his head to acknowledge them, knowing they’d hardly be upset. The booze in their hands was all that mattered, after all.
The plaza ended, shrinking into the main street. As it was straight as an arrow, compact homes made of exposed timber and white plaster lined the length of the left side. On the opposite side, two shorter roads jutted out; those too were packed with tight-knit homes, all of which were two stories tall with narrow windows and steep roofs. Most of the town’s homes housed shops on the lower level while the upper levels acted as the residence.
By the time he passed the second side road, a familiar presence graced Cal’s side in the presence of flowing brown hair and the faint smell of wheat and honey.
“I thought you were back home, sweetie?” Lisa Gray inquired to her son as she looped her arm through his, the other supporting an arrangement of flowers.
“Got summoned,” Cal simply replied, eyeing the flowers. “Mrs. Lee’s?”
Lisa followed his gaze, chuckling softly as she smiled ahead. “Astute as ever. But, yes, Mrs. Lee wanted to thank me and Lucie for helping her clean the flower shop. The roses and dahlias were all that survived, so she gave me a basket of them. Hopefully, she’ll get her stock up soon.”
“Hold the hope for a bit,” Cal muttered.
“What do you mean?” Lisa said, her brows furrowed in worry.
“There’s going to be another raid,” Cal said.
Lisa gasped. “So soon?”
He nodded. “The raid yesterday was some group out of the Arclydes. The next one is coming from Red Cove. They’ll arrive in two days.”
“But we’re still recovering,” Mother stated. “And the militia is down numbers, right?”
The pair walked through the South Gate when Cal finally responded. “We don’t have a lot to work with. Airetore is our only option, and he’s supposed to help us. I’m just not completely sold…”
“You don’t trust him?” Lisa questioned.
“Why should I?” Cal scowled. “It’s now been a full day since he’s shown up, and ever since, he’s flipped everything upside down.”
“Is that fear talking?”
Cal’s eye twitched. “What are you talking about, Mother?”
“I’m saying that you’re letting your disgruntled mind speak for you,” she simply said. “That seems to be a common pattern over the last few years…”
Clenching his jaw, Cal eyed the horizon. “Why do you even care?”
Just a few dozen feet in front of the palisaded town, Lisa stopped, forcing Cal to a stop as well. Not wanting to discuss the topic he’d been avoiding since leaving the forest, he remained looking forward. However, Lisa’s eyes bore into the side of his head. Cal knew what eyes she wore. They were ones he didn’t like, more so because they did not appear often, and when they did, they were entirely impossible to avoid. Such was proven as he groaned and met her gaze.
Of course, they were taut with a serious shimmer, a look that told Cal that they were not leaving until their conversation concluded. She spoke, voice surprisingly leveled. “I’m your mother… it’d be unforgivable if I didn’t care about the well-being of my child, especially when he’s so reckless and always judging everything with such critical, unforgiving eyes.”
“I do it because I have to, Mother.”
“Why?” she persisted, her brows furrowing in irritation. “Because of people like Professor Airetore?”
“Yes!” Cal responded, his tone exasperated as he pulled his arm away from Lisa. “Look, Mother… I don’t like him. Everything he stands for and does… It’s just so different. I can’t understand him, yet he understands me as if he’s known me his entire life. I hate him.”
“Do you hate him, or do you hate the fact that your walls aren’t as sound as you thought?”
Without missing a beat, Cal said, “Him, of course.”
However, before he could even be sure of his answer, his right hand was quickly lifted between them, allowing Cal to see his fingers flexing.
He scowled. He really needed to fix that.
Crossing her arms, Lisa let the silence between them drag. “I know I can be a bit of an airhead sometimes, but don’t think for one second that I’m not aware of your struggles.”
Cal scoffed. “What struggles, Mother? You’re just talking to talk now.”
Lisa Gray’s lips twisted into a rare scowl, her voice a growl. “Don’t make me out to be a fool, boy! I am your mother! Do you think a mother wants to see her baby in pain?”
“W-What—”
Her voice turned to a harsh hiss. “I see it. I see it, Cal. The hardship you face, the burden you wish to carry, and the love you hide through your suffering… Do you think I’m blind to it?”
“N-No, Mother. Of course not.”
Lisa gripped his forearm as her eyes shook. “Then why? Why can’t you see it? Why are you the most blind to your pain?”
“I’m not, Mother!” Cal exclaimed as he felt his own anger grow. “I’m not ignorant to my own turmoil! What makes you even think such a thing?”
Lisa released him, backing up as she threw her arms to the ground, sending the flowers down too. The two’s frustration was well past evident as Lisa looked back at him with both sadness and anger. It was a mother’s worry.
“Cal, sweetie, it’s your inability to accept the external. You’re so caught up in your father’s death and what followed after! Your mind doesn’t know what it needs, so now you’re lost and confused!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mother! My path is clear! All I need is to uphold Father’s dying words: to protect my family—to bear it all!”
“What does that even mean, Cal?” Lisa cried out. “Do you only protect us to defend a dead man’s honor?”
The comment caused Cal to still, cold anger washing over him as he stepped closer to his mother. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks as her hazel eyes stared up into the eyes of the man she’d lost so long ago.
“Do you want to know the truth, Mother?” Cal growled. “I have very little worth fighting for—worth living for. A piece of me died with Father, but his final words allowed me to cling to that piece of him, because if I don’t—if I can’t uphold that promise to protect what little I love—and I lose those I cherish, I don’t know what will become of me. I put up these walls because the more people I let in, the more pain that comes when they’re no longer with me. Just like Father! I don’t want that, Mother! I don’t want that pain!”
Rather than backing off, Lisa grasped Cal by the front of his tunic, her teeth bared. “It’s that pain that makes us, Cal. You run from that pain—from your failures—and you’ll never be more than you are now. Will you really sacrifice the chance to accept the external—to change—just to protect the few you love?”
“Without hesitation,” he barked before his voice dropped to a whisper. “Because what do I have if not you?”
Lisa’s expression finally faltered, her mouth falling open. The slight lapse gave Cal the time he needed to escape his mother’s grasp, collect her fallen flowers, and set them on the wall next to the path. He turned for home, ignoring Lisa’s stilled form and her sunken expression as the rain began to fall, doing well to sober Cal’s mind and mask Lisa Gray’s tears.
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A knock at Cal’s door caused his hand to stop in its unfocused scribbling. The journal he wrote in was full of anything and everything, from the notes he took when it came to fighting and battle, to small diary entries on his turmoiled mind. But at that moment, it was all just blurs of black ink.
With a glance over his shoulder, Cal looked across his room to the door that stood just past the foot of his bed. In front of the door was his wardrobe, and to its right was a rounded window. On the opposite side of the window was a bookshelf full of books, half of which had migrated from Damian’s study, Dirah’s office, or the town’s modest library. Cal’s desk then sat to the right of the shelf, decorated with a candle lamp and dozens of pieces of paper, most of which also wrapped up to the wall surrounding the desk. Drawings of plants, animals, and fighting motions made up most of the worn and torn pages. However, two much cleaner pieces of parchment hung above the rest.
Cal looked at the rough sketch of the Leyleh and Livta Fala before he dropped his head again. “Come in.”
The door opened, and just by how the wooden floorboards creaked, Cal knew it was Lucie. “Dinner’s going to get cold, Cal.”
Propping his head against his free hand, Cal let the silence drag for a moment. “I’m not hungry.”
“Not even for some apple pie?” Lucie teased.
“No.”
The soft shuffle of her feet crossed the room before his bed groaned alongside the sound of shifting sheets. Cal turned around, watching Lucie lay face-first into his pillows, groaning as she stretched her limbs as far out as she could.
“Hah,” she sighed after turning around, her expression relaxed. “I always forget how much softer your bed is than mine. I’m going to steal it one day.”
Given how much work she did for the family, and the stress she accumulated because of it, Cal decided not to run her off of his bed… immediately at least. He twisted back to the desk, busying himself with nothing in particular. Lucie’s moment of rest continued.
The amicable moment lasted a lot longer than Cal expected—nearly five minutes—before Lucie spoke, her voice drowsy. “Mother didn’t eat either… Did something happen?”
Cal’s pen stopped. A few seconds passed. Then the scribbling resumed. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“You really suck at lying.” Lucie sighed before she shifted on the bed.
“It was just a disagreement,” Cal muttered. “Again… nothing you need to worry about. It’s none of your business.”
“Maybe so,” Lucie yawned, her voice a mumble. “But… I just want my family to… be okay… That’s all…”
Frozen where he sat, Cal slowly glanced over his shoulder. Lucie was turned toward him, her hazel eyes softly closed. Entirely relaxed, her body sunk into the bed while her face loosened. The corner of Cal’s lips downturned, though it wasn’t out of annoyance for her falling asleep on his bed, but instead because she seemed to be sleeping a lot more recently, a product of her overworking herself.
The thought forced him to recall how she had taken on more of the house’s responsibilities when their father died. Compared to him and Lisa, Lucie had mourned the least. Instead, she got to work, making sure everything was in order. She cleaned the house, ran errands, worked in the garden, cooked dinner, and taught Eri, all without complaining once. At his worst, as he battled his grief in the following years, Cal hadn’t seen it; oftentimes ignoring the nights that he heard Lucie softly crying in her bedroom.
He’d ignored her then, and only when he had found an ounce of peace in Damian’s death two years later, did Cal do his best to ease the burden off of Lucie. Aside from helping with the militia, he would handle the garden work and teach Eri while Lisa would help with the other household chores. Still, though, Lucie’s habit of running herself into the ground was ever present.
Cal released a small sigh before standing up. Walking toward his bed, he pulled the bed sheets over Lucie, tucking her in as he brushed some hair out of her face. She grumbled in her sleep, but she only sunk further into the bed. His eyes lingered on her for just another second before he blew out the candle on his desk and left his room.
In the darkened hall, Cal’s eyes were firm.
He knew what needed to be done.
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Opening the door to the lively inn, Cal glanced around the room, ignoring the half dozen dancers parading around the fire in the room’s middle, the man and woman getting handsy in the darkened corner, and the old innkeeper who watched on without a care in the world behind the bar.
That’s also where his target was.
Moving through the cozy, somewhat ran-down inn, Cal avoided the dancers who tried roping him into drinks and dancing. Cal silently declined, though he had to put his foot down when Wendy Whista, who took a liking to anything with two legs and a pulse, got a hold of him. She was maybe a dozen years older than him and had black hair and icy-blue eyes. To call her unattractive would be a lie, but she and her… provocative attitude were not something Cal wished to deal with at the moment… or ever.
When he finally escaped her clutches, he reached the wooden bar, eyeing the graying innkeeper who stood with a slouch, making his already short form even shorter. The only other person at the bar was a certain black-haired professor currently occupying a short glass of mead. Cal took the seat next to Airetore. The moment he did, a glass of warm cider was placed before him.
“For your efforts the other day, son,” the innkeeper said with a wobbly voice.
Cal nodded his thanks and turned to Airetore. “We need to hurry on with this investigation.”
The professor merely looked ahead to the wall behind the bar, where glass upon glass of liquor and alcohol glittered with the reflection of candle-lit chandeliers. The dim glow of the room made it hard to discern Airetore’s expression, but his hair, tousled more than usual, rolled-up sleeves, and the few undone buttons of his shirt told Cal that he’d already had a few drinks for the night.
Airetore grumbled, placing the glass against his head. “And why’s that, brat?”
Cal lowered his voice. “There’s going to be a raid in two days, and we need your help to fend it off.”
“Eye for an eye,” Airetore muttered.
“I’m… not sure if that’s the same thing,” Cal said. “Nonetheless, we need your help, and you clearly need my help. So let’s just get this over with and be done with it all, yeah?”
“You really don’t like me, huh?” Airetore chuckled, the sound almost gravelly as he turned to Cal. “I figured I’d call it early, maybe even pay a good gold for that raven over there… Why don’t we do it tomorrow? That’ll give us some more time to work with anyway.”
Airetore stood, but before he could make it just two steps, Cal grabbed him by his shirt, yanking the professor just a foot from his face. “Listen, Airetore. We both know that we’re not exactly one another’s cup of tea, but something like fate caused the both of us to have to deal with one another. Frankly speaking, I don’t like that, and I don’t like you. You don’t belong here, so I think it’s best if we just help one another and get on with our lives. Can we at least agree on that?”
Despite his apathetic gaze, Airetore snorted. “What’s got you so resolute all of a sudden?”
Cal’s jaw rolled as he met Airetore’s gaze with his own. “In my life, there are a handful of glowing candles surrounded by the cruel winds that represent this world’s savagery. I do my best to bear those winds so as to protect those candles. You brought up my pride—my unwillingness to change—and yeah, I admit it, I don’t want to. You speak of a man’s pride, calling it selfish. That might be, but I now know that I don’t care. If my family is safe—my candles are safe—and can live their life without worry, then pride be damned.”
“You think finding the truth behind your father’s death will placate your worry?” Airetore said with a blank tone.
Cal nodded firmly. “I’ve recognized that I’m not the only one left empty after his death. I—they… they need this. It’s not about me. It’s them. It always has been.”
The two men stared at one another for what felt like an eternity, a contest that spoke of who held firmer in their beliefs at that very moment. Unfortunately, the professor didn’t understand the lengths to which Cal Gray would go if it meant protecting his family and their joy.
Electric blue eyes eventually blinked, resulting in Airetore releasing a long, exhausted groan. “Fine, you win! We’ll go tonight!”
Without a moment to waste, Airetore snapped his fingers, and before Cal’s eyes, the professor’s shirt buttoned and unrolled itself as his hair returned to its swept-back state. Airetore popped his neck, downed the rest of his drink, and headed to the door, though not before pulling his cloak from virtually nowhere and throwing it over his suit. He passed Wendy and gave her rump a slap before winking at the lady and calling back to Cal.
“Let’s move, brat!”