The tavern girl took Vyncent's empty bowl and the fellow named Pedrero's drink. Vyncent glanced at Fera, then at her children. I did not know she had children, he mused. She may have many children, Vyncent assumed. Fera had lived for hundreds of years, in a time when the Isle of Myri was inhabited by nepheri. Only a few nepheri had survived the isle's invasion he saw in Fera's dream under the spring's waters. He planned to ask more about what happened that day so long gone and more so about Vysse. She had told him about her life after the humans invaded. Fera had traveled through most of the known world, healing and defending the beauty of nature before Farrok called her. Pyran, however, from the few things Fera had told him, had used his mysteries and strength for an uglier cause; Vyncent could scarcely believe such things about Pyran when he heard them.
"Your accent," Pedrero said to Vyncent, trying to look like he wasn't eavesdropping, "you are from Virtera, too?"
"Oh," Vycent uttered, turning his attention to Pedrero, "yes. I was raised in a village in the southern regions."
Pedrero seemed to hear only half of what he said; three armed men and a woman entering the Gollwater took his and Vyncent's attention. One of the men was mounted on a black rounsey. He wore a hardened leather breastplate over a mail hauberk. Over his long black hair, he wore a light steel cap. Strong of jaw, he was, and stocky with thick arms. On his belt, he had a short sword and a dirk. Slung on his back was a long-hafted warhammer, the steel of the head polished to a high luster; caught in the setting sun, it looked golden. Vyncent believed him to be in his early twenties. His eyes were dark, and his beard was short-cropped.
The other three were on foot. One man, who slung his bow and quiver across his back, wore a black leather jerkin, a white tunic underneath. His blue eyes had a lack of interest as he glanced over the village and its people. His yawn was loud and flagrant, opening his uncovered mouth wide as he scratched the back of his skinny neck. The other man had a double-barreled long gun hanging on his back. He had a war knife on his hip, one with a heavy, broad blade. Between his dry, thick lips was a roll of burning herbs. He drew a long breath, the lit tip glowing as he did so. He offered the lit roll to bowman, exhaling the smoke through his nostrils.
The woman's clothes were of heavy woolens; she wore a scarf around her neck that covered her mouth, the hood of her cloak drawn over her black hair. Her onyx eyes seemed to shimmer as they found the tavern. She whispered something to the man on the black horse, and he nodded at Fera. They approached her, the man dropping and smothering the embers in the snow with a leather boot.
"Lady Green," the man on the rounsey said like an old friend, "we meet again." He smiled a handsome smile. "Do you remember me?"
Fera nodded. "You have grown Rodrim," she said, "you had been bone-thin lad last we met."
"'Needed to be big and strong to protect the city," agreed Rodrim. He sighed, his smile becoming rueful. "It was home that needed protecting."
"It was so sudden, brother," the woman said to comfort him. She said it as if though she had assured him a hundred times before. "No one could have known."
"Aye," said the man who reeked of smoke, "we'll send the Waif falling back into the hells. After we rescue Lady Lombrea, of course."
Vyncent swallowed at the man's words. Do they not know what the lady has done?
Rodrim nodded solemnly. "The Waif has her under a spell. She would never betray you, Lady Green. This I know for certain."
Fera smiled enigmatically. "You remember my stories well," she said, "the Waif's myri is powerful against the minds of men."
"But we are stronger," lectured the woman, sounding slightly curt. "Men, with the help of nepheri, defeated her when the Lost City fell. Is this not true?"
"It is true, Leonette," Fera said by way of calming her, "and you will have my help to lay her low." She gestured to the tavern's table, "may we discuss this matter further?"
"There would be no time sooner," said Rodrim as he dismounted. There was some excitement in his eyes. "You have a plan, Lady Green? Let us hear it."
Pedrero took his leave, saying brief farewells and paying for his drink. Fera's daughter and son, this little rose, as she called him, turned and took their leave as well. The son said nothing but only made the saddest of smiles as he walked away.
Taking their seats at the table, the party introduced themselves. Rodrim was Lombrea's firstborn son; he had left Ralmes to seek fortune in Winecastle. Somehow he found himself becoming a provost, clad in armor and keeping the streets safe. Wanting to see home again, he left the city, leaving a trusted subordinate in charge.
"My mother wrote me and Leonette letters." Rodrim face darkened. "We feared she had gone mad out of loneliness or some fear."
Rodrim's sister slid Fera one of the letters. "She spoke about men coming to visit Ralmes," Leonette said. "They were not from Greater Vior. She says they were monks from a strange faith. She spoke of Father and how he has risen from the dead." The serving girl brought the guests their ale. "My brother and I met at Guybert on our way home, but those of Ralmes told us you headed north. Farmers on the road said they saw someone looking like you head to Gollwater."
"Ralmes is gone and our mother with it," said Rodrim, "we've heard tales of raiders and dark myri use. Yet, we have not been told why the Waif attacked our village."
When Fera finished reading the letter, she gave it back to Leonette. "They wanted the esper-bearers," she said, "and they found us in Ralmes."
"But why raze our village and kill our people?" Rodrim asked.
Fera paused for a moment; she looked like she was trying to find the softest way to speak her words. "Knowing the Waif's practice," Fera said slowly, "likely, your mother had offered her neighbors as a sacrifice."
Rodrim's face darkened, and he looked down at the table, clutching his fists. The words had wounded Lombrea's children. Unlike her brother, Leonette was in a fury and let it show. "How dare you say such things about my mother," she spat, rising from her seat and pointing a vicious finger. "You are her friend, are you not? What kind of a friend says such things?"
Clifford, the man who smelled of smoke, placed a gentle hand on his wife's shoulder. "Lady Lombrea is under a spell," he said in a lazy voice. "Surely this is all not your mother's own doing. Calm yourself, Leonette. We'll free her soon enough."
Leonette jerked away from her husband's touch but sat down, relaxing. "Forgive me, Lady Green," was all she said.
Rufus upended his cup. "Esper-bearer, eh?" he mused, scratching his stubble. "Aye … aye, I heard tales of a prophecy in Virtera. Yes, the poacher's prince and the red princess. Those two were meant to have some godly child." Rufus shrugged and brusquely waved at the serving girl for more ale. "Never happened, of course. The dim prince ran off, looking for some whore he fell in love with, the rumors say. Got himself killed, too, by no other than the whore's rebel brother."
Vyncent looked the man in his eyes. "She was no whore," he defended hotly, "she was a peasant girl who the prince fell in love with."
"And you know this how?" Rufus tried to remember his name. "Vyncent, was it?"
"They were my parents," said Vyncent.
Rufus showed little surprise; he smiled mysteriously. "Thought so," he said casually, "I know a Blackwood when I see one."
Vyncent was taken aback. This man knows me? He studied the man. He had unruly dark yellow hair and a gaunt face with thin lips. Vycent had never seen Rufus before. By the way Rufus regarded him, Vyncent knew the man knew more about him than he showed.
"Vyncent has inherited the esper from his father Prince Vandal," said Fera, "and Lady Larissa, who travels with a fellow nepher, obtained it after her childless cousin, Princess Ladnavia, was assassinated."
Only Rufus seemed to understand Fera; Lady Lombrea's children looked confused.
"In Virtera, refugees pray for the esper pair to show themselves." Ethan's daughter refilled Rufus's cup, and he took a huge gulp. "Fools don't realize the world is more tranquil with their god stuck in the stars."
Fera went on. "Lady Farrok, my mistress, resides on the Isle of Myri," she said, "she will extract the esper." She turned to Rodrim and Leonette. "After that, we will subdue the Waif and save Lady Lombrea, your mother."
Lombrea's children looked at each other as if they exchanged words silently through their gaze. Rodrim turned to face Fera. "The Isle is far," mused Rodrim, "how shall we get there?"
"A ship at Fins will take us to Aballu," Fera explained, "from there, we will meet Lady Larissa in Dil'vanzi."
The party discussed provisions, the amount of coin they may need, roads to take, and places to rest. When they were done, they went their separate ways. There was a man in Gollwater who owned a large house. For a low price, he sold a room to Rodrim, Leonette, and Clifford. There was no room for Rufus, however. With Lord Frankton's permission, he camped outside the village, making a small fire and a bed of leaves. The night's cold did not seem to bother him. Comfortably wrapped in black and grey woolens, the man sat cross-legged against a tree. He took a crow's feather out between two pages of a book with a scarlet cover, opened it, and read.
A girl from the manor approached Fera. In her hands was a basket. Its contents were white cheese and bread. She introduced herself politely as Melissayn, the daughter of Lord Frankton. "Margarida wrote this," she said as she pulled a square of paper out of her tunic. "I believe she wanted me to give it to you."
Fera thanked her and read the letter. "My daughter wishes me to join her for supper," she said, beaming at the paper.
"Which house is theirs?" Vyncent asked.
At the edge of the village, there was a cottage. In its yard, Vyncent could see the Fera's children. The black-and-red hair made them stand out. They and their friends were gathered around a fire outside their home, sharing a small roasted chicken. "Over there," she said, nodding at the cottage. They followed Melissayn, who meant to deliver the food to the gang.
When he saw her, her son bristled. They stopped talking and eating, watching Fera near; they were all nonplussed. It seems only the girl expected her to come, Vyncent mused silently. Fera stood at the edge of the fire's light as if to wonder if she was truly invited. The son kept his eyes to the dirt between his feet. But Margarida wiped her hands clean of grease, walked up to Fera. She raised a hand for her mother to take. She grinned at Vyncent and nodded at him, beckoning to come too.
A blond girl who looked sickly smiled with such radiance. She spoke up when Fera's son did not. "Welcome," she began warmly. The others followed suit, introducing themselves as best they could. Still, Fera's son ignored his guests. Vyncent had already known Pedrero; the man jerked his head up at him and offered him some cheese. Margarida, upset with her brother's discourteous behavior, pouted and stomped toward her brother. She kicked him in the ankle, and the pain made him grunt. Margarida crossed her arms, expecting him to change his attitude.
The son exhaled. "Mother," he began, "will you join us?"
It was a pleasant dinner. Melissayn had rejoined them, bringing two boys with her; she said they were her cousins. Pedrero's twin, Parttio, had made Vyncent laugh with his stories. The man named Osbert had challenged him to a game of daggers. After two rounds, Vyncent found that the deck had two kings of roses and two mursants of rods; a full, ordered deck only had one of each. When Vyncent brought this to Osbert's attention, he guffawed. "I once cleaned a tavern in Mayse," Osbert had admitted, "The place was a bleedin' mess. I built this deck with what the bleedin' dealers forgot to pick up. The deck's off, to be sure." Drunk, and upon hearing this revelation, Pedrero wrestled Osbert to the ground. "No, you cheated, didn't you?" Pedrero slurred. "We played yesterday. This whole time … give me back my coin, you bastard!" Osbert only laughed as he pinned his drunken friend. Parttio joined the playful brawl, also complaining that Osbert had also wronged him. Fera's son, Roza, had lightened in mood, cheering on the twins. The women were occupied with a game of their own. Margarida drew creatures in the dirt with a stick. Fera, Melissayn, and the sickly girl named Magdalynn called out their guesses.
The boy named Upton did not join in the revelry, however. He sat on a stool, sharpening his knives with a smooth rock in silence. He struck Vyncent as strange, yet there was little he could read about him; he gazed upon him with fascination. Why does he busy himself with his blades? Vyncent wondered as he watched him work with such care, his friends laugh and play, yet he sits there and—
Upton lifted a knife to examine the steel's edge. Feeling Vyncent's eyes on him, Upton turned his face stared back. He possessed a beauty Vyncent had never seen before, but also a dark sorrow in those light amber eyes of his. Upton looked to be Cazayan and Iriaji. Vyncent felt he should apologize for glaring at him, yet there was no sign of discomfort in Upton's mien. Upton seemed to study Vyncent as well; he blinked and sheathed his blade, saying nothing. Looking behind toward the darkness, Upton stood up and left the warmth of the fire and the merriment around it. His friends paid him no mind as he took his leave. Whether they didn't notice or they already understood his odd nature, Vyncent was not sure.
Margarida offered Magdalynn her stick; it was her turn to draw in the dirt. When she reached down, however, her woolen wraps fell from her chest, revealing the crooked marks on her chest. Ferangis saw this; Magdalynn quickly tried to cover herself, hoping Vyncent did not see as well. But he did, and he knew the putrid rose when he saw it. The people back home, in Virtera, were cruel to those pricked by the thorns: brothels were torched, their owners fined. Panders selling the sick were flogged, a few even executed. Some priories took in fallen men and women forsaken by their families.
Fera muttered soft words, telling her to have no shame. Magdalynn whispered something into the nepher's ear. Fera gestured to Vyncent discreetly. "Heg's cap and the golden tears," said Fera, "do we still have some left?"
Vyncent checked his sack; he indeed had both. Heg's cap had an orange stem and a cherry red top, its gills a deep purple. There were five tiny crystal tears left; their hue reminded him of Upton's stare. Fera took all of them.
"This is called Heg's cap. It will rid you of the soreness," Fera said as she gave Magdalynn the mushroom. "Take one if sleep is difficult." Magdalynn admired the golden tears, the crystals glimmering. "It is dangerous to take more than one within an hour," Fera warned. Fera brought her voice to a whisper, her face growing solemn, "but if you choose to do so willingly … know that there is no pain."
The two exchanged a few words too low for anyone else to hear. Magdalynn looked at her friends, jesting and laughing over the fire. "I used to be so afraid of growing old," she said to Fera. "I prayed every night, hoping I'd stay young and pretty for the rest of my life." Her smile was sorrowful. "I guess the heavens heard me."
The revelry over and the ale drained, Melissayn and her cousins returned to the manor. The cottage only had one bed; only Magdalynn slept on its straw mattress. There was enough room for Fera and Vyncent to sleep on the floor with the rest.
Osbert's snoring woke Vyncent at midnight. The man slept to his left; he turned on his side, flinging a big hand onto his chest. Osbert mumbled something in his sleep. Fera, who had been sleeping to Vyncent's right. was gone. He could hear her voice, though, coming from outside. Curious, Vyncent gently took Osbert's hand off of him and slowly walked towards the window.
Roza held a clump of soil in one hand, his mother instructing him about something.
"… our clan called it flori," Fera was saying, "from what you've told me, I believe you can use it as well."
The soil in Roza's hand started to glow faintly, white light sieving through the grains. "Is this it?"
Fera nodded. "Banfrow is what we call it. Though its properties differ depending on the maker's desire." She dug out a silvery grain that was buried in the soil. "It is onerous for a human to make such material, impossible before the Seed of the Heavens struck this realm. Myri did not stay in the isle it created. All creatures have been blessed by the Seed, its roots as deep in the earth as it is in the air above." She raised a hand to Roza's cheek. Though he did not wince, Fera remembered herself and drew her hand back. "But since you are part nepher," she told him, "it is only natural that you to learn fast."
Roza dumped the soil into a wooden bowl and pinched some seeds out of a leather pouch. He planted them. Wiping sweat from his brow, he looked up at the crescent moon. "Have you ever made something that cures the rose?"
A sudden chilling gust made the wooden shutter slammed shut.
"Someone there?" asked Roza, "Mag?"
Vyncent recoiled from the window. He crawled back under his blankets. Sleep returned to him without difficulty though Osbert's snoring had somehow gotten louder.
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