by Aaron Dennis
“I wonder if I had any good times before I lost my memory,” he mused. “Probably not.”
“Plenty of time to make new memories,” Risha, a dark woman with short, black hair said.
“Happy memories,” Ylithia reassured.
“I think I’m making one now,” Scar smiled.
After a week of riding through Gyosh settlements, sharing hookahs, and eating dates, Scar and Ylithia were dropped off in a town bordering Closicus called Turletima. It was nothing special, but it being so close to Closicus, the terrain and climate were much more comfortable for travelers on foot.
The desert sand and sparsely growing cacti had gradually morphed into rolling hills and rocky expanses. Along with the lower temperatures, higher elevation, and blowing winds, came game birds, varieties of fruit trees, and fat squirrels which Scar managed to knock out of limbs with hurled stones. The travelers ate well, rested in the shallow depressions of immense stones, and drank from cool streams.
During the slow passage of a few very comfortable days, they simply discussed their likes, their dislikes, people they had met, and occasionally pondered over the people they had left behind. With a dwindling regard for the past, they both found that traveling without saying a word was just as enthralling as lengthy conversation. They truly enjoyed one another’s company.
“I never dared to think life could be like this,” Scar mused.
“Truth. It has been so long since I had the pleasure to just enjoy life without the burden of someone’s death looming overhead.”
Early one morning, Scar found himself waking up. He rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the hazy light in the morning mist. They had slept side-by-side in a fragrant meadow, and as he stretched his stiff muscles he realized he had slept without dreams- the word Sarkany, half forgotten, floated about his mind.
With a wipe of his mouth, he looked around to find himself alone. Ylithia’s heavy tracks had flattened the grass and brightly colored flowers, so he followed the tracks to a rippling stream. The fallen paladin was fumbling with the straps beneath her armor to undo her breast plate.
“Must have been quite the ordeal travelling about for weeks with that heavy armor strapped to your figure,” he said.
She looked up and smiled at him, saying, “It isn’t heavy at all, actually.” He smiled back. She had not caught on to the fact that he was only joking, and she went on to tell him about the armor the Paladins of Severity wore while he helped her undo the straps. “The Friars of Tolerance have a special sect of smiths that mine the frigid mountains of Wuulefroth. As part of their training in the principle of tolerance, they spend many months removing an ore they call cladsteel.”
“Cladsteel,” he echoed. “It is light,” he added when the chest plate slid off her body into his hands.
Under the armor she wore padded rabbit furs. The smell of sweat was rather heavy as it wafted from the garments. She laughed and apologized for the odor, but he disregarded it with a flick of his hand.
“Certainly, I smell no better,” he said.
When they were both nude, they waded into the stream to clean themselves and whatever attire was washable- his boots and trousers, her bustier and sub regalia. As she splashed water and used some grit from the bottom of the stream to scrub herself, he watched her pert breasts bounce. His coming to attention was duly noted.
“You are a big man for sure,” she said coyly.
He grinned, waded to her, turned her around and massaged her breasts while kissing her neck softly. The foreplay quickly led them to the dry bank where they explored each other’s curves and creases. Moans and grunts frightened the nearby animals. A flock of birds violently rushed from branches during their climax.
At the end, he held her close to his body. She rested her chin on his chest, and he pushed strands of auburn hair from her eyes. Placidly looking upon one another, they enjoyed that morning as much as anyone enjoyed life. They were both very happy together.
“There is still so much I don’t know about you,” Scar whispered.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“I was born to a well-to-do musician in Genova,” she started. “My mother, Ulathia, worked in the university teaching the piano.”
“Really?” Scar smiled. “Music is important in Closicus?”
“Well certainly,” she chirped in disbelief. “Musicians—the good ones—can go on to play in the emperor’s court, lead in the parades, and entertain in festivals. Fafnirians are widely known for their musical talents.”
“I had no idea…so what about your father?”
“He died when I was young. I was twelve and still learning the violin, my second instrument, when he died of pneumonia. He only heard me play once, but it made him very happy.”
“Your mother still lives?”
She smiled sadly, saying, “I don’t know. She was alive when I left Genova to pursue the teachings of severity…I have not had words with her since…I have not been back home in ten years.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up sad memories.”
She readjusted her body on top of his and placed her head against his chin before continuing her tale. “I’m not sad. I followed my heart and the voice of Mekosh. During my time under his guidance I was filled with such a passion you would not believe it. The only time I’ve been sad is when he stopped speaking to me, but now you speak to me, and in place of passion I have contentment, well…there is still some passion,” she giggled.
“What was it like being a paladin?”
“Like a dream,” she whispered. “A dream where you feel like you’re awake and everything is always the right way. It’s a dream wherein your beliefs are beyond contestation, and the fervor that comes with it radiates throughout your body, but now that it is over. I feel like I’ve woken from some drunken stupor. I have only my own thoughts in my head, and I like it better that way.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear you’re happy with me.”
They napped a bit before waking hungry. There was little to eat in the area apart from a handful of walnuts and more squirrels. Scar volunteered that if he had a bow and arrows they could certainly have had something more filling like boar or deer, but roasted squirrel filled their bellies sufficiently for more travel.
Geared up and back to hiking, they wandered eastward for the better part of the day. In due course, they came upon a beaten path, the kind of trail hunters followed. Taking it yielded only the sound of bounding deer. They found a dry rotted arrow shaft protruding from a tree, but no deer and no hunters.
Later that night, laying down to sleep next to a crackling fire in a clearing, Scar asked if they would go to Genova before Othnatus. Ylithia was hesitant to reply. She furrowed her brow considering the matter carefully.
“You can imagine my departure was not well received,” she started. “We can always visit Genova after we’ve started our life.”
“You don’t want to see your mother?”
“She may no longer be alive, and I’m not ready to find out one way or another.”
“I wish I could offer some advice, but I don’t know anything about families,” Scar admitted.
“That’s alright.”
They slept soundly that night. The next day was laden with more traveling of the hunters’ trails. Finding people would certainly have been a boon. Directions to a town were always welcome, but there was no one. Still, they believed the trails had to originate from some kind of settlement, and so they travelled, ate fruit, more squirrels, and drank from a small pond. During their journey, they conversed over hopes of finding a town.
The days were growing short, blustery, and the sun set earlier each night. Brown leaves fell from twisted branches and crunched underfoot. Where ever they were was quite hilly with fewer trees. Replacing the dense canopy was an open sky. Clouds streaked the zenith. Below the hill were oceans of dandelions. Winds blew tiny puffs every which way.
“A majestic sight, no
?” Ylithia whispered. “This is truly a scene from my childhood.”
They were busy appreciating the beauty under an orange sky. The two sat together at the top of a hill, the white puffs whipping beneath them, and when the sun finally went down, Scar noticed a glow off in the distance. He pointed it out.
“A fire?” she asked.
“Hopefully.”
“We should make for it and see who it is.”
“With any luck it’ll be a town.”
“Even a group of bandits would be a welcome sight,” she scoffed.
He laughed, asking, “Do you think they’d be so kind as to point us to a town?”
“If not, you can always beat one of them until they do.”
“Maybe it would be better if I let you do the talking,” he joked.
She rolled her eyes, and off they went into the direction of the glow.
“Those hunters’ trails didn’t appear to originate from anywhere after all,” Scar mused.
“Likely, they’re either abandoned or utilized by a group of nomads, or perhaps only used at a specific time of the year. Regardless, we have a clear path now.”
Scar nodded. They hiked over tall grasses in an effort to discern the nature of the fire before it vanished as the temperature quickly dropped. The fire had been moving about erratically for some time. Trading ideas on its origin, they ended up figuring it was a torch carried by a lone traveler or inhabitant of the area. It was during their conversation that dog barks echoed from that same direction.
“I’ll bet it’s a sheep herder,” she chirped and took off at a slow jog.
Scar trailed her a few paces behind. He noticed that for the first time in his recollected life, he wasn’t expecting a fight. Ylithia had stopped at a slat fence and worked herself over it without bothering to locate a gate or an open space. He strode right over it, and the two continued over short grasses toward a squat, brown building. The pale glow of candles illuminated closed shutters. Bleating sheep and more barking announced their arrival, but they didn’t mind the warning, and Scar followed his lady friend to the front of the thatched roof house. She knocked on the door.
A moment eased by without anyone answering. She knocked again and heard some grumbling. Then some feet shuffled over a wooden floor.
“Who goes there,” the voice of an aged man asked.
“Greetings, I am called Ylithia. My friend and I have been traveling from Malababwe,” she announced. “Would you be so kind as to open to the door and have us inside?”
“Are you daft?” Scar asked. “What manner of man would open the door?”
The clamor of a wooden bar sliding away from the door interrupted his argument. An older Fafnirian with squinty eyes and wrinkled visage poked his round nose to look upon the travelers.
“Paladin?” the man said and slammed the door.
“Wait,” Ylithia chuckled. “I’m not a paladin anymore!”
Scar laughed at her, and she elbowed him lightly in the ribs. He feigned injury and rubbed at his flank.
“Sir?” Scar started. “My name is…I am called Scar and was recently employed by Gilgamesh of Satrone. Would you please see two haggard travelers inside? If not, we will leave peacefully.”
He then gave Ylithia an expression of hopeful confusion by frowning, scrunching his nose, and shrugging. The man opened the door and peeked out the slit again. He was short with dark eyes and neatly combed gray hair. He squinted in their direction for a moment and then blinked a great deal.
“Hmph,” the man huffed at them, but then he opened the door completely and stood upright. “I don’t get many travelers and none as outlandish as yourselves.” After accosting them he looked past them and saw they were alone. “Leave your weapons outside.” When the two gladly obliged, the old man waved them in. “Well don’t gawk, come in!”
Scar chuckled and made his way inside. Ylithia thanked the man for his kindness before glaring at her compatriot.
“Yes, thank you, Sir,” Scar smiled.
“What do you want?” the man asked.
Scar deferred to Ylithia, and she said, “We saw your torch while travelling and hoped to find some rest for the night. We are travelling to Othnatus.”
The old man noted her Fafnirian lineage before scrutinizing Scar. “Glad to hear you’ve found your way home from the jungles, but what’s he supposed to be?”
“I…it doesn’t matter,” Scar smiled.
“It does if you want to stay here!”
“My friend is from Wuulefroth, one of the ice people,” Ylithia lied.
“Of course, of course, how foolish of me,” the old man smiled. “You must be rather warm out there, lad.”
Scar laughed openly saying, “Quite, actually, but I am very thankful you have decided to see us in.”
“Well don’t just stand there, come have a seat. I was about to have a drink before bed,” the old man stated and shuffled into a room beyond the open area wherein they chatted. “My name is Foxus, used to call me Fox when I was a boy. Eh…I had reddish hair then and they thought I was half Draco, but who’s ever heard of that, huh?”
While following, Scar almost had another fit of laughter, but Ylithia’s stern leer held it at bay. Foxus continued mumbling about childhood in the countryside, but neither of them had heard exactly what he said.
“Care for a drink?” he asked, holding up a glass bottle with a copperish liquid.
“Yes,” Scar said emphatically.
“Good,” Foxus cheered and poured each a drink. “Tell me all about your travels. By the way, you’re quite far from Othnatus. The closest city is Kathka, and that’s at least a day away on foot. Now, don’t just stand there!” He said, holding out their cups. “Sit down.”
They obliged and sat at a small table on two, wooden unpadded chairs. Foxus sipped from his cup and remarked about the smoothness of Closic spirits.
“Mmm, so tell me,” he started up again. “How do you find yourselves all the way out here from Malababwe?”
Scar looked around the modest domicile. It was all wood, large for a single person, and the walls were covered in sketches of people, buck antlers, hog’s heads, and cattle skulls. An old bow was mounted above the fireplace.
“Ah, w-well,” Scar stammered.
“It has to do with my abandoning the teachings of Mekosh,” Ylithia jumped in. “But I’d rather not bring any sullen conversation to your fine home, Foxus.”
“No, no, of course not, young lady. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Foxus apologized. “Forgive an old man’s crassness.”
“You live alone?” Scar asked.
“Yes,” the old man smiled. “Been raising sheep for nearly half a century now.”
A polite silence ensued before Foxus offered them bread and stew. While devouring it, topics changed to climate, the sheep business, states of affair in Genova, taxes, the usual grievances of peasants.
“So what about you?” Foxus asked. “What was it…Scar? How is your country faring in these times of discord?”
“Wha-uh, well,” he looked to Ylithia, but she slowly glanced away to take in the sights of the house. “I…don’t really know. I was raised in Tironis.”
“Oh. That’s unusual. Gilgamesh has allied with Vamvos?”
“Well, of course,” Scar lied. “He is a peaceful man, after all.”
“Gilgamesh or Vamvos?” Foxus was surprised.
“Yes,” Scar answered with wide eyes.
“Oh, good. The last thing we need here in Closicus is more war spilling onto our borders,” Foxus claimed and poured another round for everyone. “What’s awaiting you two in Othnatus?”
“The rest of our lives,” Ylithia chuckled.
“Oh that is nice,” Foxus smiled and looked them both over to the best of his ability. “Two people of different tribes finding happiness together is not something oft discovered nowadays. Going to start a family in this finest of countries?”
“That remains to be seen,” Scar offered and looked a
t his partner who smiled.
“Family is good. It is the cornerstone of, of, of,” the old man made a rounded motion with his hand as he searched for his words.
“Do you have family?” Scar asked.
“Used to,” Foxus grinned and got up to shuffle over to some of the canvas sketchings. He grabbed a large one with four people on it. “See here? This is me when I was younger. That’s my wife, Natalie, and our two boys, Rolus and Reelus.”
Another polite silence ensued until Scar asked, “Where are they?”
The old man’s head bobbed around a bit and his eyes grew glassy. He choked back some tears and smacked his lips before pouring another drink. “Gone now…Natalie died of illness, and the boys were no longer able bear their depressed, old dad, so they went off to Genova. I haven’t heard from them in so long.”
Ylithia rolled her eyes and gaped at Scar, who shook his head and shrugged back. She reached out and touched Foxus’s hand.
“We’re so sorry,” she consoled.
“No, it’s fine,” he smiled. “I loved them very much, but now I’m just an old sheep herder, and that’s fine with me…but it is getting late. I haven’t any rooms set up for guests, I, eh, would you two be alright in the barn?”
“Anything is better than sleeping outside at this point,” Scar said.
“Good, good, let me find you some blankets, and uh, don’t bother Sniffer,” Foxus warned as he turned to leave.
“What?” Scar asked.
“The boar,” Foxus clarified. “He doesn’t like guests, but if you leave him alone, he’ll give you the same courtesy.”
He smiled and left them for a moment.
“How could you bring up his dead family?” Ylithia accosted.
“Well, I didn’t know they were dead.”
The two bickered for a moment. When they heard the shuffling feet of Foxus’s approach, they stopped and smiled.
“Here you are. Wool, naturally,” he said offering up two blankets. Then he motioned them out. As they said goodnight at the door, old Foxus smiled and patted them amicably. “I’ll wake you when the sun is up, and you can be on your way.”
Once they were out of the house, the old man slid the bar back over the door.
