by Sam Ford
He would not make the same mistake again.
The shops were open to all, though Rangers paid little if anything at all. It was the price of doing business in cities. As he wandered the streets, Galway enjoyed the one thing towns held above the wilderness--the food. Bread dough fried in lard and drizzled with honey, fresh salmon smoked with onions and peppers, a suckling pig stuffed with summer apples turning on a spit, fresh baked bread peppered with raisins, almonds and dates from the north. It all smelled so delectable that Galway contented himself just being present. His stomach rumbled, but he chose a simple dish, roasted corn straight off the stalk, slathered in salt, garlic and sheep's butter. It was fresh and delicious and made him appreciate all the more being alive. The cider was tempting, but in the end he washed it down with a horn of ayrag, a kind of fermented mare's milk flavored with salt.
Stomach quieted, he turned deeper into the town, heading for the actual Ranger training grounds. It was late summer. The school should have been full of Rangers, the instructors shaping the trainees into who they needed to be. As it stood, there were few trainees around and even fewer teachers. They could all have been at lunch, but Galway doubted it. Fewer Rangers meant the training hall was completely abandoned, at least.
A large hall which had started life as a long house, the training hall was a dojo of sorts for Rangers to practice their hand-to-hand combat without great risk of injury. The floors were lined with wicker, giving them a slightly spongy feel. The room was completely dark when he entered, with no one in sight. He may have been early.
"Shut the door behind you, Ranger Galway."
Galway still could not see anyone but did as he was told. His eyes adjusted, and in the dim light streaming from the cracks under the door, he saw he was not entirely alone. A small form stepped from behind one of the training dummies. Tiny in stature, the person wore a black cloak lined with purple. Pulling the hood back, it revealed the ashen face of a bald child.
Great, Galway thought. Another one of these.
"I come bearing a message from my master his Grace, King Ares, Lord Protector of all of Ras Shamara." Their voice was little more than a whisper, an androgynous child who lived the entirety of their short life underground, out of the light and rarely speaking.
"What is the message?" Galway bowed slightly, spreading his hands.
"Galway? Ranger Galway, can you hear me?" The voice changed. Though still coming from the child's mouth, it was deeper, strained with more of a panicked cadence.
"Yes?"
"Hello? Galway, they've found me out."
"Your... Grace?" Galway stepped forward. The child nary moved but their lips. But it seemed that the king himself was speaking through their voice.
"Yes, Galway. It is I."
"How is this possible?"
"I have one of these damnable creations as well. But there is no time. Galway, the Sword! You must have seen the Sword."
"I did, your Majesty. I failed to capture it for you. Some boy had it. But don't worry. I will bring it to you soon enough."
"Nonono, you don't understand. They're coming! They are awake, the voices in the dark. Whispers, no longer. Now, they scream. They crawl through my bones, Galway. They rage in the dark and the cold, gnashing their teeth and consuming all. I am afraid, dear Ranger. They are too strong now. I am old. I was deceived. You are my last hope. You must find the Sword. Bring me the Sword, Galway."
"I am trying, your Majesty. I will bring you the sword as soon as I can, but all my men are dead. I need help."
"Dead. Yes, all dead. Long dead. The oily blackness sinks into my skin. I cry out my father's name. How I have longed to speak with him of late, to see his face once more. No more. No matter. I have sent them to you. Bound them to you. It was all I could do. The mirror is cracked, Galway. They are stirring."
"Who is stirring?"
The child fell limp to the floor. Galway rush forward to cradle them. They weighed practically nothing, with all the fortitude of a flour sack. The poor frail child was burning up. How the king communicated, how this was possible, Galway had no idea. He had never heard of cave children before, let alone the power to communicate over leagues.
"Your Grace? Your Grace!" Galway called. The king did not seem well, more than just the ramblings of an old man. He struck Galway as genuinely afraid and his final words did not bode glad tidings at all.
The shadows in the dark stirred. Galway felt the hairs on his arms stand on end, like the crackle before lightning. He thought he was alone with the child.
He was wrong.
The air turned ice cold. He could see clouds of winter's breath every time he exhaled. The darkness folded in on itself--once, twice, thrice, each time with such an inky blackness the malice was palpable. The absence of any and all light.
Then they stepped out of the murk. Skeletal forms of nightshade wrapped in smoke and shadow itself. Made of pitch, darker than any night, with wisps of iridescent blues and reds, they existed without form. They moved as if existence itself brought them tremendous pain, standing in the world but not of it. With teeth and claws of polished carbon, Galway had little doubt they could inflict plenty of pain on their own. The creatures of crepuscule shifted their bodies, appearing human one moment and animalistic the next. Vestigial wings flapped, gathering wind that was not there, each with bent back knees. The tallest one stood seven, maybe eight feet tall, while the smaller ones flanking it stood eye-to-eye with any good-sized man.
Galway drew his saber, not fond of his odds. "Phantoms."
"Ranger Galway," the tall one hissed. Its voice was like steel on rotten ice, molten and cold. "We are here to help."
"Who are you?" Galway knew about Shadow Dwellers. He had seen a Phantom only once before, many years ago. He had spent half a lifetime pretending to forget. He had prayed never to see one again.
"I am called Malicent. We have come from King Ares to assist you and do your bidding." Each held up their right hand. Emblazoned on the back with a burning, crimson brand was the seal of the king and Ranger Corps. Malicent smiled, but his toothy visage held no warmth at all.
"Kneel." Galway gave the seal a try. All three Demons instantly knelt.
"We are yours to command."
"So if I ordered you to die, you would?"
"No." Malicent stated flatly. "We cannot be Cursed, not by your hand. Do not think the toy your little king has granted you will give you dominion over us. We will not be your playthings forever. We are here to fulfill a single task."
"To find the sword."
"Yes." Malicent stood, towering over Galway. He had to crane his neck to meet its gaze. "Now. Tell me of this boy."
Chapter XIX
Brave New World
"This place is enormous." Cale couldn't believe all the tents.
We're not even to the city yet.
"What are all these teepees?" asked Jazreal from behind.
These are all refugees. They are looking for protection.
"I think they're all people seeking shelter in the city," Cale answered.
"Seeking shelter from what?" Jazreal asked worriedly.
Cale shared her concern. "That's what we need to find out."
Indeed.
Hollow-eyed children wandered about, utterly lost, while desperate mothers begged for food. Fathers sold a night with their daughters just for a single meal. The sick and the dead lay everywhere, muddying the road, while dying livestock polluted the water. City guards wandered freely through the tents, confiscating anything of value and killing those who stood against them. Human life was the least expensive thing anyone owned.
"They all look hungry."
"They look worse than that." Cale urged Thunder to move a touch faster. "That's what happens when you burn the crops in the fields. Come on."
The fog had not let up for three whole days. The road had been a muddy, mangled crush of people wandering aimlessly in the fog. This close to the sea, they could smell the salt and fish and hear the sea
birds, but they still could not see more than a few yards ahead of them. Murderers and sneak thieves stalked the roads, snatching people and vanishing into the fog, only to find their bodies hours later. The lucky ones lived. The guards could do nothing. They were too few and the people too many.
The day started off cold and damp, owing to the bank of sea fog they’d found themselves in. They rode forward as best they could, pausing often in the long line of people. Cale was about to go around, but Sword advised patience. Soon enough, a large man in grubby armor and a chipped spear came around to collect their coin. There was a toll for entry, a tax on goods and an inspection for weapons.
"Five silver," The guard grunted. Cale dug into his coin purse while a mercenary knight glared at him, looking them over. He oversaw the procedure at the gates, but he didn't even notice Cale and Jazreal's Swords, which were in plain view. He couldn't, of course. "There are no vacancies at any inn. You have to be back by nightfall if you can't find anyone to sponsor you. No sleeping in the streets. We'll throw you in the guardhouse, understand? Complete your business and leave."
"Yes, sir," Cale said quietly.
"Understand?!" The guard barked once more.
"Um, y--yes sir!"
"Hmm, that's better. Welcome to Uruk. Don't make any trouble for us while you're here. Enjoy your stay." The guard walked away, muttering under his breath. "Filthy plowman."
They rode forward, the palfrey nickering at the beggars along the side of the road.
"Was that expensive?" asked Jazreal. She really struggled with the coinage.
"It is prohibitive enough that most people can barely afford to come in once," Cale replied. "I've only seen a silver coin once before. Usually my father took trade in barter and copper coins."
The city walls of Uruk towered above him, half hidden in the fog. Rising twenty-five feet from the ground, the interlocked walls were unlike anything Cale had imagined. Moss and mold clung to the muddy brown stones, playing host to a myriad of laughing sea birds. Small children tried to climb the walls and gather their eggs. Tragically, they occasionally fell off. Guards walked the parapets along the top of the wall, armed with crossbows and spears, watching for troublemakers. Wooden buildings jutted out along the top, businesses and homes pressed as far to the edge as they could. Banners and pennants of red and white flew above them all, snapping in the breeze. The wind came in from the sea.
Under the shadow of the gatehouse, Cale eyed the guards nervously. The walls above them and to their sides were nearly twelve feet thick, wider than two men end-to-end. Then they crossed into the light of the city proper.
"Wow," breathed Jazreal.
Welcome to the larger world, Cale.
Cale didn't even have words. Thunder wandered on his own, unbidden by Cale as the boy went limp. The sights and sounds and smells assaulted Cale all at once, a cacophony for the senses. Everywhere he looked, there were new things he had never seen before. Butchers and farmers and fishmongers all called out, enticing him to buy their wares. The blacksmith and livery hammered with iron and steel. The flower stalls and alchemists and perfume sellers all smelled divine, trading with men and women in shops. A group of monks chanted prayers on one corner, while on another some Indians were selling their Nubian slaves to an auction house. The river which ran through the city was stinking and foul, but every inch of every bridge was covered in stalls. Out in the bay, ships set at anchor, loading and unloading cargo onto longboats.
It wasn't just the walls that were massive. Everything in the city, from the towering buildings to wide roads, all dwarfed Cale. It really was a larger world. Shops and apartments of two, three and even four stories were a regular sight. The nicest structures were toward the center of town, near the governing bodies and expensive shops. There were other structures, too--an ancient stone tree, the governor's apartments, the hall of records, an amphitheater. A massive black obelisk rose from the courtyard, tall and phallic, an altar to a long-dead pagan god. All stunningly elegant, but all paled in comparison to Uruk's crowing jewel--a six story open-air bathhouse. Aqueducts flowed into it from the lake farther upstream, a fresh, clear source of running water. The rest of the city may use the river for whatever needs they saw fit, but the bathhouse spared no expense for eternally pure water.
Then the smells of the food stalls hit them. Fresh bread topped with cheese and garlic, fruit baked into tarts, tough yeast dough rolled, boiled and heavily salted. Blood sausage and black sausage and venison sausage, sheep's lungs boiled with potatoes and turnips and parsley. Soured cabbage and roasted cabbage and coca leaf tea, figs and persimmons and berries of every kind. Shrimp, mussels, crawfish, both river and ocean, and great lake fish large enough to feed a whole family, pulled fresh from the barrel. Pigeon turning on a spit, slathered in vinegar and mustard seed. Dog meat grilled to perfection over an open flame, succulent enough to fall off the bone. Quail pie wrapped in paper, baked into pastries and filled with herbs and cheese.
Cale was drooling, Jazreal was drooling, and there was no sense in either of them hiding that fact. Both of their stomachs growled in unison. Though they still had a few bits of crusty bread and some smoked bison, they decided to spend a little of their money. For a few coppers, Cale chose a quail pie and bread drizzled with honey, while Jazreal fancied a leg of dog and a slice of rye bread topped with goat cheese. Both of them bought a horn of freshly-pressed cider, so crisp they could still taste the morning dew. There were people and animals absolutely everywhere, so they contented themselves with sitting at the foot of the black obelisk. Priests were loudly worshiping on the other side.
"This is so good!" Jazreal smiled with her mouth full.
"I know. I didn't know such food existed!" Cale finished his pie far more quickly than he’d desired. He wanted to go back for seconds but decided against it, instead savoring his honeyed bread.
"Do these people eat like this every day?" Jazreal's mouth was absolutely covered in grease and she had the most adorable expression on her face.
"I think so." She's so cute, Cale thought.
"I never want to leave!"
This place sure has grown.
"What do you mean?" asked Cale.
It was a trading outpost last time I was here, a supply port for the capital and royal family. There were nowhere near this many people.
"I mean it's so good! We could stay here and eat new, delicious food until we die. Wouldn't that be great?"
Holding down two conversations with one voice sure was hard. It would be easier if Jazreal could hear Sword's words, or if Sword could read Cale's thoughts. Instead, he was stuck playing middleman.
"That's... great," he replied with a pained smile. This was more difficult than he’d anticipated.
Jazreal finished her meal while Cale sat back, watching everything. Though he had never seen so many people before, the more he watched, the more he saw patterns emerge. The women were on errands, gathering food or items for their homes. The traders went from shop to shop, not buying anything but instead doing business. The apprentice boys rushed around on spring heels making deliveries for their masters. Travelers and sailors took in the sights, sought the company of alcohol or ladies and spent time gambling or dicing in the alleys. The refugees wandered around with a wide-eyed look of terror about them. The priests and monks looked much alike but they avoided one another, seeking the same sheep whom to proselytize. And the children just generally ran around, keeping in everyone's way. When Cale looked at it that way, everything made sense and the chaos melted away.
"What's that?" Jazreal, licking her fingers, pointed to a round device in the middle of the plaza.
"It's a sundial." Cale had read about them in a book. "It tells time."
She turned to Cale with a most serious expression. "Truly?"
"Um, yes?"
"Come." She stood, wiping her hands and pulling Cale to his feet. "Show me how it works."
"Well, alright." Cale had never actually seen one before. The stone circle was a
s wide around as Cale was tall, with a large spindle that cast a shadow onto the base. "You can tell what time it is by where the shadow falls. There are four cardinal times and twelve divisions. So you have morning, noon and evening. So right now you can look at it and see we are just before midday."
"Any fool could tell that, silly. Just look at the sun."
"Yes, but see? The shadow falls on the fifth division. So you can tell it is only an hour till noon."
"Why are there no divisions for the night?" asked Jazreal.
"There's no sun at night."
"Ah, of course. Then why is there this large one at midnight?"
"Oh. That's for, um..."
Symmetry.
"Symmetry. To make it match."
"Humph." Jazreal folded her arms. "And people find this... useful?"
"Well, I suppose, if you live in the city." Cale scratched his neck. "We never had much call for it on the farm."
"Nor on the plains." Jazreal nodded. "I must remember that you are a good boy."
"Because I don't use a sundial?" Cale followed her back to Thunder.
"Yes. Man can become far too reliant on his gadgets, and far less attuned to the earth, I am thinking. But even still, I am eager to know more of what these city people are like."
"Me, too." Cale saddled up. "I think it's about time we got some answers."
"Indeed."
Indeed.
"So, where do we go?" Cale asked.
