There was no malice there. Not the slightest hint of schadenfreude was apparent in any of their eyes, only sincere regret and empathy. Even the stoic Aiman wore a look of solemnity. William heaved his shoulders and let out a ragged breath that turned into a stuttering laugh. He shook his head at the impossible situation that he found himself. He just wanted to go crawl away and find that rock again to live under.
He turned from the group and took a few steps down the street. He looked up from the street and with a greater effort than he imagined it would take he turned around. The young pack was still standing there watching him. There was no judgment there. He found himself looking down at Asclepius. His awkward looking body seemed frail somehow to the other wolves that he had seen in the city so far. His golden eyes were that of a faithful dog that knew something was wrong but didn’t know what it was or how to help. William gave the wolf the slightest of nods in recognition and thanks.
He raised his eyes to meet Acharya. “Thank you, Acharya. I don’t mean to be a dick, but I have to go…somewhere.” He turned almost all the way around. “I guess I’ll see you guys around?”
A female voice answered him. “We usually eat dinner at the cafeteria around six, if you want to join us.”
William managed a very small smile. “I’ll think about it.” He turned his back on them and raised his hand over his head in a limp wave. His legs carried him away from the group as he tried to come to terms with himself and the reality of his current situation.
William was walking along a side street as he headed away from the noise of the populated area of the city. The smooth black walls of the building around him matched his mood perfectly and the dimming of the noise and the lights around him were a welcome comfort. He looked up and could see the crystals in the ceiling above him shine brightly. It must be close to around noon, or for what passes for noon around this place. This brought to mind what he had heard from the group he left moments ago. ‘We usually eat dinner around six?’ He realized that this was first time that anybody had referred to an actual time. He found himself strangely comforted by that fact.
He thought about eating something. He realized that it had been quite a while since he had eaten and his stomach was scrunching in on itself in small hunger pains. He shook his head and continued to walk. If Aceso has to fulfill some penance because of me then so will I. He pushed the thought of his hunger aside and continued to walk.
His stride had taken on a stronger, longer, purposeful gait. He had no idea where he was going, he just knew that he had to keep moving. Walking kept his thoughts at a distance, and he didn’t want to give in to his own despair and anger.
He stopped. He placed his hand against the cool side of the black building next to him. He could almost see his reflection in the glossy surface, and he stared hard at the wall for several minutes. I don’t want to be angry. The thought shook him down to his core. He could not remember the last time he had cause to be angry and didn’t actually want to be angry. The emotion was still there, underneath his need for understanding. It was like he could see it just below the surface like an ice fisherman can see a fish swimming below the thick ice of a frozen lake. His anger raged sullenly, but he didn’t want it to surface. He would have smiled at that revelation if he wasn’t feeling so acutely the emptiness of apathy. Are you sure that’s apathy and not hunger? That thought pulled him out of his gloom as he smiled. He had no idea to be honest, maybe both? He turned around and pressed his back against the cool stone of the building.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
This place would never lose its wonder for him.
He found himself staring in awe of the lights in the ceiling as if he had never seen their like before. The stone of the building across from him was as smooth as a mirror. He imagined that whoever could make a building wall that smooth must also be one hell of a sword smith. This place defied all logic that he could bring to bear against it and yet it existed, just like the people and wolves that made up this place, existed. Complete illogical harmony between nature and the insatiable hunger of the human ego and ambition. And yet even with all that, this place was real, as real as his forest was real.
He lifted his hands to his face and scrubbed back his hair. He shoved off from the cool wall behind him and started walking again. He let his legs carry him. He walked upright with no sign of weariness. His eyes were focused and alert to what was ahead of him. He moved his head from side-to-side studying everything that was around him. He strained his senses for the slightest thing that would alert him to anything out of the ordinary. He had not been this cautious since he had left his forest, but he didn’t want his senses to be dulled with nonuse.
He began to notice that the section of the city that he found himself in was a lot older than anything he had yet seen. The stone of the buildings were less smooth and even pitted in some places with age. There was a healthy covering of dust on some of the building ramps and ledges. The street he walked on was broad, but there was a solemnity here that reminded him of a graveyard. The hard straight edged sides of the buildings around him were smoothed down and almost rounded in some places. The buildings were all dark. The only light in this part of the city came from the overhead crystals in the great cavern ceiling.
He looked into one of the buildings and could only make out great heaps of stuff. From what little he could see there were chairs and other pieces of furniture. Some tools hanging just inside the cluttered spaces. At least he thought they might be tools. He saw blocks of wood with strange pieces of what looked like it could have been metal jutting out at odd angles around the strange implements.
He thought he could make out what appeared to be a sword. He took a few steps closer and could see that it was in fact a very heavy but ornate sword with the cracked and aged leather of the scabbard wrapped around the blade. The sword was hanging in a cleared space on the wall just inside the broad opening. He could see the ornate hilt, dulled by dust and age. The hilt was elegantly shaped and very rich. The jewels in the hilt were visible even under the layers of dirt and time. He reached out to touch the metal and stopped with his arm outreached toward the ancient weapon. The thought of disturbing anything in this part of the city struck him as something that would be disrespectful, and the atmosphere of this place was heavy. He decided to leave the weapon on the wall and walked on down the dust laden street.