Ruifell, Eganene
Thankfully, it didn’t take them long to find the Inn. A lifetime ago, Jamie might have considered it quaint and small, but now it seemed like a palace. The warm, yellow glow from the windows was a welcome change from the unending greenery of the forest. Nestled against the side of a steep mountain, protected from the worst of the wind and sleet, it sat alone along the empty highway. Not much larger than a barn, it had a thatched roof and at least five windows on the second floor. Most importantly, though, it had two huge chimneys whose smoke reminded him of warmth and food.
From their vantage point deep within the surrounding forest, he heard Agatha exhale softly. “Another traveler. Thirteen since noon and with night a few hours away, the place is going to be packed.”
Jamie sniffed at the air and imagined the smell of baking bread. It set his mouth watering. “I could use some food and a bed, Agatha.”
She nodded, licking her wind burnt lips. “I agree. We need to purchase more supplies, anyway. Your wound needs to be cleaned and dressed.” Pushing stringy grey strands of hair from her face, she smiled. “We could both use a bath.”
“We haven’t seen anyone that looked like Family,” he said, struggling to keep from whining. He was glancing at Agatha, seeing her shrunken frame and the dark circles that had become permanent fixtures beneath her eyes. He knew she wanted stay at the inn. She probably wanted it more than he did. How she kept going was a mystery to him.
Surprised, he realized he was actually worried about her. She had been his only company for weeks now and had literally saved his life. The concern he felt did not replace his anger at what she had done, but lay beside it now. It was a tempering force that allowed him to speak with civility, a blanket wrapped about his blade.
Two swords now, he thought, darkly.
He wore Ian’s blade on his back, the pommel resting above his left shoulder. His own sword was at his side. Jamie resisted the urge to pull it from the leather scabbard. Agatha had told him earlier that he was doing it relentlessly. He knew he was unconsciously checking for Ian’s blood.
Ian. He did not want to think about him yet.
He had pushed those emotions far away, as deep inside himself as he could, and walled them off. But whenever he thought about the kid, they threatened to leak out, to slip through the cracks of his mind. When that happened, panic would set in. It paralyzed him.
How could he have done that? It wasn’t him. Wasn’t the old him.
Who was he now?
And they had just left him.
Agatha sighed again, she sounded exhausted. “All right. We go in. We have enough money for a room and food.”
“Thank God!” Jamie whispered.
He felt Agatha put a thin hand on his shoulder. Her blue eyes were serious.
“You mustn’t speak with anyone while we’re in there. Keep to yourself. We don’t want to draw attention.”
Jamie nodded. The last thing he wanted was any more trouble.
There was a small stable in the back of the inn. Four horses were already inside and the young boy who cared for them stood brushing the nearest. Agatha handed over the reins and dropped a copper into his outstretched hands. The child tipped his hat without meeting her eyes and set about removing the saddles. Jamie pulled off both of their packs, keeping him in view. The boy never once looked up or attempted to see beneath the hood of Jamie’s large cloak.
Bain nuzzled Jamie’s hand as he left and then set to eating the oats that the boy carefully measured and dumped into the trough. Jamie still didn’t know much about horses, but it looked to him as though the stallion had been steadily losing weight. The horses need the rest as much as their riders did.
All the horses in the stable looked terrible. Actually, they looked much, much worse than their own horses. Two were mules, lash scars visible on their backs. Their hair was matted where the yoke rested. The other two animals looked as though they were near death. Their coats were bare in places, their ribs pressing sadly against their pale skin.
Jamie bit the inside of his cheek and stalked to the door of the inn. It would gain him nothing to reprimand the boy for the behavior of the horses’ owners. Still, he struggled for a moment to fight down his rage. Anyone who cared for the health of their animals in that manner probably treated people in the same way.
He had seen enough of that type of cruelty. He didn’t want to see more.
“Follow me, Jamie,” Agatha said coming up from behind him. “And remember, you must not speak. Keep your head low and your hood up. No matter what. Those scars are too memorable to ignore.”
Then she smiled in relief. “Only a few more moments and we’ll have a hot bath and a soft bed.”
Jamie nodded and followed her inside.
The heat from the roaring fire hit him. The orange light threw the corners of the room into shadow, illuminating the patrons who sat in the center of the room. Agatha made her way to the bar while Jamie chose one of the booths in the back. The steps leading to the second floor were on the other side of the room, along with many of the customers.
The patrons were mostly men. He counted eighteen. They wore common traveling garb, brown, dirty and worn. Two men sat at a small table by the center hearth. Tankards in their hands, they bellowed rudely to an attractive, but harassed looking waitress. She was young, no older than Jamie, with pretty yellow hair and a quick step that she flaunted as she passed the men and deftly avoided both sets of groping fingers.
Several other tables laughed as she made it past unmolested. Jamie watched as the unsuccessful pair’s faces darkened. Both men were thin, but wore fine black leather jackets. He caught the glint of gold on their fingers. They were close in age, no older than forty. The only truly distinguishing feature belonged to the nearest one. His prematurely white hair was bound into a long ponytail.
The other mans’ eyes were set closely and he leaned forward to speak with Ponytail. Jamie saw that he also wore a gold chain, a medallion pushing at his shirt from the inside. Ponytail gave a short bark of laughter and slapped the table, ale sloshing over the rim of the mugs.
“Girl!” Ponytail called, twisting in his seat, his eyes sliding across the room, flicking over the other patrons, past the door and straight to Jamie’s face. Thinking fast, Jamie lowered his chin, letting his hood slip further over his brow. But not before he saw the man’s eyes widen.
“What can I get you, love?” the chipper barmaid asked, her clean, maroon dress sliding over his view of the floor.
Jamie was too startled to respond. Which was a good thing, since he wasn’t supposed to talk.
“Ale, then?” she asked, tipping her face lower, trying to see his face.
Jamie nodded and pushed a coin onto the table, his heart thundering in his chest. He didn’t check to see what it was.
He saw her fingers reach out to the table, heard the intake of breath.
“Oh! Oh, oh, oh, sir. Thank you, my lord,” the barmaid squealed, laying her hand upon his shoulder. Jamie’s breath caught in his throat, the girl’s fingers were warm.
She curtsied, her body dropping low enough to see beneath his hood. But her eyes were downcast, demure. Her cheeks were red and her smile huge.
“Can I get my lord anything else?” she asked as she rose. Jamie tried to force his face even further into the hood.
“That will be all, child,” Agatha chided, having returned from the bar. The server dropped into another curtsey.
“Ale, then milord,” she said softly. “And if my lord wishes else…”
Agatha sat herself opposite him and leaned in. “You gave her a silver?” she hissed.
“I didn’t….”
“You certainly did, Jamie. That’s the equivalent of everything else she’ll make tonight and the place is busy. So much for remaining inconspicuous.”
“I didn’t...” he tried again.
“We need to get up to the room,” she said, standing.
Jamie followed Agatha up the stairs. He could feel Ponytail’s eyes on his back. The space between his shoulder blades itched fiercely and he fought the urge to check behind him. The plank board steps creaked as they ascended and Jamie noted that the smoke from the fire was heavier on this floor.
“Here we are,” Agatha muttered. “All the other rooms were taken. We are at the top of the stairs.”
There was only one bed, hardly large enough for two people. It was pushed against the wall, along with a dresser and a lamp.
“The girl will bring up a pallet for you to sleep on,” Agatha said, pulling items from her sack. “You can bathe first and I’ll get something to eat downstairs. I’ll order you something as well. We can trade once you’re done bathing.”
Agatha picked up a shirt and frowned, replacing it in her bag. “She’ll bring towels and you can leave your dirty cloths outside the door. They’ll be laundered for the morning.”
Jamie laughed. “What am I supposed to wear then?”
“It is good to see you smile. Once we have eaten, you can change into the dressing gown behind the door and have everything cleaned for the morning.”
There was a polite knock and two large kitchen boys and the blond barmaid entered. The tub they carried was not large, a grown man could probably squeeze himself into it given enough motivation. They returned several times with pails of steaming water and Jamie’s skin shivered with anticipation.
It had been over a month since he last had a proper bath. The girl took her leave with another sultry “my lord.”
Agatha rolled her eyes. “Scottie is out in the barn. I’m going to sneak him in once we’re done bathing. So, hurry up.” When she left, Jamie quickly locked the door and all but threw off his clothes.
Their room had no fire of its own and once he was naked, his skin began to prickle. Stepping carefully into the bath, he had to pull his knees up high to fit.
The hot water wrapped him in its embrace and Jamie closed his eyes in pleasure. This was the first time he relaxed in days. His wounds burned, but he ignored the sensation. The cut on his shoulder bled into the water, tiny rivulets of maroon that sunk deeper and dissipated about him.
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As the water began to cool, he took the washcloth and hard yellow soap and scoured himself. As he scrubbed weeks of filth from his body, the water grew more and more grey. With his body tingling, he stepped from the cool water and wrapped the towel around himself.
He picked up his clothes and looked at them critically. As soon as he put them on, he was going to be filthy again. Resigned, he did his best to beat as much dirt from them as he could. Then, he tore a spare bed sheet into strips and rebound his wound.
With that done, he dressed and hurried back downstairs. Agatha saw him coming and waved. She was seated at the corner table he had claimed before, her plate empty and her face looking much happier.
“Stew and bread,” she grinned.
“My lord’s ale,” the bar maid simpered, sweeping in.
Jamie fought the urge to tell her to quit sneaking up on him. Instead, he nodded pleasantly, still hidden deep within his hood.
“Thank you, dear,” Agatha said. “I’ll need fresh water brought up for the bath.”
Jamie watched the girl’s skirts swirl away and pulled his plate closer.
“I’ll be down in a bit,” Agatha said, looking about the room. “Dinner rush is on now, so your new friend won’t have too much time for you. I don’t need to remind you to behave…”
Jamie tried to smile, simultaneously shoving food into his face.
“All right, all right. I’ll be down in a bit. Stay out of trouble, please.”
The stew all but melted in his mouth and he did little more than chew and swallow for some minutes. Eventually, everything was gone. His stomach rumbled. He wasn’t nearly satisfied yet.
Washing down the rest of his bread with sharp ale, he marveled that he was drinking at a tavern like he was supposed to be there. He checked to see where the barmaid had gone. From across the room, she turned to meet his gaze. If was almost as if she knew he was looking for her or as though he had paid her an enormous amount of money. Jamie gestured at his plate and the girl nodded pleasantly, abruptly turning from the table she was serving and rushing to the kitchen.
The conversation in the room was a dull throb but it was clearly audible when the man yelled, “That horse-lover!”
The hair on the back of Jamie’s neck stood on end. He focused carefully on the table that the barmaid had just abandoned. Ponytail was half-standing, his face red and his eyes narrowed at Jamie.
Men at the nearest tables turned to watch. Ponytail’s friend grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the chair, giving a good-natured shrug of his shoulders and a nod to Jamie.
“Marcus!” Ponytail snarled. “That…”
“All is well,” Marcus said playfully, loudly, punching his friend on his shoulder hard enough to make the man wince.
“Man is just hungry, I’m sure,” he called to Jamie. “Ain’t that right?”
Jamie fought the urge to flee upstairs. He had left both his swords by the bed after his bath. He felt naked. Deep inside his cowl, his eyes narrowed, desperately trying to think of some way out.
What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t speak to the men or they would know something was wrong.
“Hey!” Marcus yelled louder. “I said you’re hungry. Ain’t that right?”
He had a knife, at least. Granted, it was a small steak knife, but it was some kind of weapon. Carefully, Jamie drew the blade down into his lap. He nodded to the men and then took a slow sip of ale with his left hand.
His mug was empty.
Marcus rose from his seat, his hand aggressively resting on the pommel of his sword.
Jamie thought about his sister, inanely wondering where she was, whether or not she was around men such as these. Men whose pleasure came from harassing waitresses and guzzling beer…
He saw the barmaid slip back into the dining room. Her eyes locked onto him. He gestured to his mug, held up his fingers and then pointed to Marcus and Ponytail. The girl, bless her, truly was quick on her toes and she twirled prettily, grabbing three full mugs from the bar and sped them to Marcus’ table.
By then, Ponytail was on his feet..
“Sirs?” the girl curtsied, placing their drinks and then sauntering over to Jamie’s table.
He watched them blink in confusion, saw them draw their eyes from his hood and focus on the barmaid and then their drinks. She placed Jamie’s new mug and second meal and was already off before the men regained their bearings.
A few men at a nearby table raised their glasses to Jamie, apparently impressed and Jamie raised his in return. Finally, he stood and faced Marcus. The two men were still on their feet. Slowly, he raised his mug to them.
The door of the inn slammed open in a blast of frozen wind. Jamie almost dropped his mug trying to hold his hood tight about himself. A group of people stormed in and pushed the door closed behind them.
“Innkeep,” a sprightly, though elderly, fellow exclaimed. “Storm comin’ in from the south. Lock your windows man, this one’s a biggin.’ Should blow herself out in a day or two, but sure as Luna’s got a fine pair of titties, not a one of you is leavin’ tonight.”
Every member of the five newcomers was dressed in garishly bright clothes. Groans of annoyance and not a few oaths were muttered from the patrons. Jamie sat down carefully, noting as he did that Marcus and Ponytail had done the same.
As best he could, Jamie ate quickly while watching both Marcus’ table and the newcomers. The Innkeep keep seemed pleased by the old man’s news and drew him a mug of ale. While the rest of his party waited by the door, the two men exchanged quick words and finally settled on a heavy handshake.
“Get your things over to the corner,” the man yelled to his group, indicating that they should place their things by Jamie’s table. “We’ll play for our dinner, tonight!”
A smattering of heartfelt applause issued from the room.
By the wind that had come with them and the snow on their shoulders, Jamie knew the man wasn’t lying about the storm. While he welcomed more time around a fire, he didn’t feel comfortable around the two men that sat most closely to it.
Suddenly, he heard giggling behind him and Jamie saw a small, smiling face peeking upwards from the wooden back of his booth.
“Kretsca, get down!” a female voice chided and the child’s face disappeared. Giggling followed and then a gruff voice quieted them all.
“Set about then and finish up,” the man said, not unkindly. “Innkeep’s giving us room by the fire tonight, but we need to play this room to drink and its only just after sunset.”
And then there was no more conversation. Minutes later, the barmaid dropped them all plates of food and they set to eating. Jamie finished his own meal and ale in quiet. Marcus and his friend seemed to have forgotten him as the old man took the stage by the fireplace and began playing a low reed instrument that greatly resembled a guitara.
The first song was soft and sad. Jamie listened intently. Not a master musician himself, he did have a love of music and a budding talent at the guitar. Jamie hardly noticed when Agatha returned, her white hair loose about her shoulders. She looked clean and content.
Her eyebrows rose at the sight of the musicians, but she settled back, made herself comfortable and ordered a hot, spiced wine as the barmaid sauntered past. Jamie flicked his wrist and the barmaid brought them two. Agatha didn’t notice, her eyes were on the musicians.
Jamie sipped his drink, his head beginning to spin. Marcus and Ponytail had ordered new mugs of ale and were quietly listening to the old man play, just as Agatha was. Actually, most of the bar was silent and listening, and Jamie saw no reason to ruin Agatha’s evening. He would tell her about the two men later.
Suddenly, a face peeked around the edge of the booth. The child smiled and hopped down to stand beside him. The woman climbed from the seat and walked up to the stage, her velvety blue dress swirling about her hips. She drew admiring stares despite the fact that she was no beauty.
The child jumped back into the booth behind Jamie, and he let himself smile. Perhaps it was the ale or his full belly, but he was feeling much happier. He thought the woman and child seemed like a nice family.
The woman began to sing. As the first notes of her song spiked the air, her plain face faded away. The music was like a tidal wave crushing a sleeping village, her sound slamming down upon half-sleeping people. The fullness of the timbre wrapped them in emotions, tied them into something larger like a tornado eating up the surrounding countryside, swallowing the fields and crops and churning them into so much blackened dust.
Jamie sat motionless, the woman’s sound throbbing in his ears. From some distance he saw the other members of the troupe join with the old man and the woman. He saw the barmaid bring him a new mug. He watched Agatha take a new wine.
It seemed to him that the songs were growing, increasing in pace. Already, he could not focus, could not tear himself away from the liquid of the song. It was as though the sound poured over him in an ever increasing density.
Later, he wouldn’t be able to remember the words, the story or rhyme. The woman tilted her head back, her hair falling down. The fire behind her was an immense orange glow. Jamie knew nothing but the song, the pain and the anguish of loss.
He felt tears slip down his face. They were hot against his cheeks. The feeling was foreign, mostly for its previous, conspicuous absence. He should be somewhere else. He should have been with his sister, but all that he could see was the sparking red rage and the velvety blue color of loss. He shouldn’t have harmed the boy and left him in the woods. He knew what it was like to be bound and yet he’d let Agatha leave Ian trapped as he had been trapped.
Jamie stared into the fire, listening to the woman sing and the old man’s instrument weep. He couldn’t stop himself from letting his forehead fall into his hands, letting his body arch over the table, his drink forgotten at his side.
He sat that way for some time. It was a different song when the child touched his arm. Jamie was too far gone to think about hiding beneath his hood. When the girl’s hand reached over the wooden railing to gently grasp his shoulder, he turned unabashedly and looked into her face.
The child’s eyes were deep, brown pools of untapped emotion. Jamie wanted to tell her to hide, to cover that pool, to hide that waiting place where pain would come. But the girl smiled at him and shrugged her cloak from her back. She was young, certainly not older than seven or eight. She strode to the dancing platform before the fire, her back straight and her head lightly bobbing to the music.
She began to dance. Her right foot drew up, her toe pointed and the other knee cocked like a ballerina. She flowed with the music, never seeming to follow or to lead, but always on time. It was as though the music were her song and the woman and man playing were just recreating it for her, a duplication that had happened thousands of times. The girl grasped red and pink scarves in her hands and they flared out as she danced. She held her arms daintily above her, her back arched, her hair flowing.
Jamie let himself be swept away. Or maybe he had no choice. No one in the bar was talking. All eyes were riveted to the stage. Even the bartender watched without moving.
If Agatha had been able, she would have told Jamie that there were performers in Eganene that were special. In Jamie’s world they would have been the elite, those mythical actors, actresses or performers who were able to catch a person’s attention and hold them hostage.
In Eganene, these people were not so rare. Not every traveling performer could produce such auspicious results, but with Majic in the world, performers like these could harness energies from the air and weave them to their pleasure. They could capture the senses and display scenes the like of which were are all but unimaginable. They were called Yalilli.
Jamie watched the troupe and the fire through heavily lidded eyes. He was so tired, and it has been so long since he had relaxed. In a normal setting, the fire and food would have been enough to send him over, but the music was something else entirely. It plucked out his stitching, laying his body open to the air, fanning the flames and pushing him to let his emotions breath.
He had become very good at burying his thoughts, forcing away anything that made him sad or lonely or weak. He was alone here. Well, not truly alone, but he might as well have been. If he didn’t shield himself, his dreams were filled with the sounds of the city, the smoke, the exhaust and the unending noise. But his sister was there in those dreams, her eyes, his eyes, watching, every moment recorded and analyzed by two minds.
It was almost safer in those dreams, with their fumes and screams. In this place, he was no one; he was nothing. Just a lost boy without any real hope of salvation.
Less than a boy, he thought, harshly.
He wasn’t who he had been. His body wasn’t what it had been. On Earth, he was an athlete, a smart student and a chess enthusiast.
Now, he was nothing. He was lost. He was scarred, ruined, his body mangled worse than he could have ever imagined.
Alone.
He sat in the booth, his hands cupping his chin, watching the child dance and feeling a deep pit open within himself. He shoveled his self-pity into it. He thought about all the things he had done to try and help Ian.
And the kid had tried to kill him. There wasn’t another way to look at it.
And Jamie had done him the kind of wrong that was unforgivable. Beneath his woolen cloak he touched his scars absently. His fingertips brushing the rope-like braids. He traced those wounds meticulously until he was grasping his shoulders.
He was lucky he was alive.
No matter which way he thought about it, everything came back to one thing. He should have died. Twice. And his sister, Elisabeth, she was lost. He needed to find her. Jamie focused unsteadily on the dancer, her ethereal beauty and ageless grace compounding his confusion.
He sat beneath his hood, deep within his cowl and knew, truly knew, that he would never be the same. He was a monster.
His body would never heal.
So, no girlfriends, no partners.
He had his best friend though. He had his sister.
Elisabeth, where are you? he thought
The child appeared before him and tipped a worn hat into his lap. Startled, Jamie shook himself from his revere and began fumbling at his pocket in search of a coin.
“Here you are, child,” Agatha murmured, dropping a coin. The girl bounded away to another customer.
“I think I’m done,” Jamie told her.
“Certainly seems the case. Have you ever had anything to drink before?”
“Sure, but not like this.”
He was well and truly drunk. The light from the fire was too bright and the room was doing a half-spin, throwing everything out of proportion over and over again.
“I’ll be up in a moment,” Agatha told him.
Jamie struggled from his seat, noting that several other patrons were taking advantage of the pause in music to excuse themselves. Marcus and Ponytail were still at their seats deep in conversation with the pretty barmaid. Jamie pointedly refused to make eye contact with her and headed up the stairs. He hoped that she didn’t bother him any more tonight.
It wasn’t the barmaid, though, who looked up to follow his progress upstairs. Marcus elbowed his friend and jutted his chin at Jamie’s receding backside. The girl noticed eventually, but by then, he was at the top of the stairs.
Once he was in his room, he barely found the pallet that she had brought up for him. He thought about changing into the dressing gown that Agatha had mentioned, but rejected the idea. He laid his head upon his arm and noticed that his bed was much more comfortable that he predicted. He let his eyes close.
His last thoughts were about bolting the door. He thought about Agatha and the fact that she was alone downstairs and that he never told her of his altercation with Marcus and Ponytail. And then he fell asleep.