by Barb Hendee
· · · · ·
Loni reached Tivaudon just over half a moon later and felt almost as worn as his boots looked. He’d rested and eaten only when necessary, pressing on each day when the sky was barely light and stopping only when he could no longer see the road clearly. His relief was indescribable as he trudged into town and learned the caravan had not yet left for the east.
Like many Lhoin’na, he could speak and read Numanese, the most common language of the human territories and nations of the near region. After asking directions, he located the caravan and Chieftain Dembroise and then turned over his letter and a small pouch of coins from the guild. The chieftain took the pouch, scanned the letter, and pointed to a wagon.
“You’ll ride with my family,” he said. “We breakfast early and don’t stop at midday, but supper every night is hearty.”
Again, Loni was grateful to the guild. On his own, even had he possessed a small fortune, he night not have received an easy welcome from a human caravan chieftain. Two days later, the next leg of the journey began, as he sat with his legs dangling off the back of a wagon, leaving everyone and everything he knew behind.
· · · · ·
It took three moons to reach the east coast.
The journey was uneventful, though in passing through a large area called the Broken Lands, Loni heard tales of what caravaners called goblins, ogres, trolls, and worse things without names. None were spotted or reported by the guard contingent or the scouts. By the time the caravan rolled into the huge coastal city of Almería, it was high summer.
The caravaners needed to make all trades and restock with goods and supplies sought inland and then begin their long trek back before winter set in. Though Loni hadn’t exactly enjoyed the journey, it didn’t matter. He was closer than ever to his goal.
“Where should I seek a ship to take me further?” he asked Chieftain Dembroise.
“Look for a harbormaster’s office at the waterfront, just above the shore and the center pier. Start there, but if nothing comes of it, you’ll have to look among the outbound ships on your own.”
Politely thanking the chieftain for his and his family’s hospitality, Loni left without a second thought and headed through the bustling city toward the harbor.
The sight of humans all over the waterfront and piers unsettled him, but eventually he found the harbormaster’s office. Inside there was an array of clerks and seafarers milling around tables and desks filled with maps, charts, and ledgers, along with the occasional telescope, compass, and other devices. No one noticed him, and he approached a harried-looking clerk.
“Pardon. I am hoping to find a captain sailing to the eastern continent who might take on a passenger from the guild.”
Before the clerk answered, a gravelly voice behind him interrupted.
“From the guild?”
Loni turned to face a late middle-aged man with weathered features and short, bristling hair the color of iron. He wore a canvas vest and a short sword with a nicked and scuffed brass hilt.
“Um, yes,” Loni answered.
The man looked him up and down, at his loose pants and tunic.
“Well, you’re no sage,” he quipped with a strange accent, as if Numanese was not his first language.
Loni had worried a little about this, for as he’d walked among the people on the docks, he’d not heard much Numanese being spoken this far from the Numan nations. That would likely get worse the further he went.
“Are you a captain?” he asked.
The man nodded. “Townsend.”
Loni held out the voucher from Domin Aur’andàl. “I’m not a sage, but the Lhoin’na branch of the guild is sending me to the eastern continent for cultural study.”
“Cultural study?” Captain Townsend repeated, possibly suppressing a snort. Taking the voucher, he shook his head as if the idea was ridiculous.
“Can you take me there?” Loni asked.
The captain looked him over again and finally nodded. “I’m outbound that way, and I owe the guild. We docked here a few years back without knowing half the town was down with fever—had been for moons. Some of my crew fell ill within a few days. Your Premin T’ovar was here to help back then. She came aboard my ship and did my men a good turn.” He shifted his weight to his left leg. “My hold won’t be filled for three more days, but I’ll take you.”
“That will be fine.” Loni fought to conceal his relief at so easily having found passage—and with a captain who felt he owed the high premin a favor. But he had one more task to accomplish before sailing over the foreign eastern ocean.
“By chance… could you direct me to a gemcutter or a jeweler?”
· · · · ·
Before stepping inside the shop, Loni slipped into the mouth of an alley. Watchful of all passersby, he secretly pulled out one of the draughts, its image of a mountain cat’s head having green gems for eyes. He tucked the game’s box back in his satchel and slung it over his shoulder as he slipped from the alley and rounded through the shop’s front door.
The interior was dim, even in daylight, with only one barred window in the front room, but there were candle lanterns glowing everywhere. The small lights sent a shower of rays about the room, reflecting off jewelry locked inside of numerous cabinets with glass doors—that were stuffed into every corner of the space.
“Is anyone here?” he called out in Numanese, hoping he was understood.
“How may I serve you, young master elf,” an oily voice asked. “Buying a gift for a sweetheart?”
Loni turned about.
An enormous man came through a swinging door behind a built-in counter on the room’s left side. For a human, he was not tall so much as wide, with rolls of fat beneath a bulging vest over a rather aged linen shirt that should have had billowing sleeves. Even those were somewhat pushed to their limit by the flesh within them.
Loni had never seen anyone so corpulent as to barely fit through a doorway. It left him speechless for an instant.
“No… I… I was hoping to sell, not buy.”
He stepped to the counter and held out the game piece with the carved face of a cat.
The wide man looked faintly disappointed, but he took it. Pinched between his thick thumb and forefinger, he held it up and eyed it. Shaking his head slightly, he grabbed a small round device from the countertop. He put it over his right eye and examined the draught with his other eye closed.
Something flickered across the man’s puffy features. It vanished just as quickly.
“This was made by your people?” he asked. “Where did the stones come from?”
“I don’t know. My grandmother gave it to me.”
The man shrugged. “I might get something for it? How much do you want?”
Loni hesitated. He had no idea of the value or delineation of coins in this region. Even if he did, he had no idea how much to ask. He was forced to rely upon the man’s integrity.
“What do you think it’s worth?” Loni asked.
“I can give you maybe two dinsa… um, what you might know as pennies, in silver.”
Loni wondered if this was a lot. He knew only how to barter among his own people and had never before traded in coin. The front door suddenly opened, and Captain Townsend stepped in.
“Townsend?” said the shopkeeper, with mild surprise. “Are you shopping for jewelry now?”
“No, Magow,” the captain answered. “I sent the lad and thought I’d check on him.”
Loni hardly thought himself a “lad” but remained quiet at the captain’s sudden appearance.
Townsend closed in to squint at the jewel-eyed draught in the shopkeeper’s hand. He raised one eyebrow as he looked at Loni.
“Are those emeralds?”
“That’s what my grandmother called them.”
Of the twenty-four draughts, six had green eyes, while the rest were equally split between red, blue, and clear ones.
“And what did Magow here offer you?” Townsend asked.
<
br /> The shopkeeper sputtered. “There’s no reason to—”
“Two ‘pennies’ of silver,” Loni interrupted.
Townsend turned a glare on the shopkeeper. “You rotund magpie! Give him what it’s worth… for Lhoin’na craftsmanship with two emeralds.”
Magow turned red-cheeked, and his face appeared to puff up even more. “I am not some pawner! I deal in profit.” He huffed several times, glancing at Loni once before facing down the captain. “Half what it’s worth,” he snapped, “and on the gems alone, or there’s not enough profit for me to bother.”
Loni had no idea how much this would amount to, but it appeared the captain knew what he was doing.
Captain Townsend eyed his opponent. “All right, let’s see the coin.”
Grumbling under his breath, Magow reached under the counter, pulled out a pouch and pinched out a coin, which he dropped on the counter. Loni stared at it, for it was twice the diameter of any coin he’d ever seen and thicker as well.
Townsend cleared his throat and tapped the counter twice with one finger. The shopkeeper scowled but added another coin like the first.
“Fair enough,” the captain said. He swiped both coins off the counter to hand them over. As soon as Loni took them, the captain pushed him out of the shop.
But once outside, Townsend warned, “You mind yourself a little better, young man. Those coins are similar to what you might know as ‘marks’ in the lands of the west. They’re worth about fifty so-called pennies of the same metal, at least in this city.”
Loni was struck dumb, and Townsend chuckled.
“One silver penny should easily get you a fine room and an excellent meal,” the captain added. “So don’t go flashing those marks about, even once we set sail.”
Loni nodded slowly, still overwhelmed. “Thank you.”
The captain laughed softly, shaking his head as he walked off. Loni still didn’t have a clear notion of the value of what he held, but he intended to learn.
· · · · ·
The next few days passed quickly, and Loni soon discovered that two silver “marks” were a good deal of money here. He also began to understand the captain’s warning, for he had trouble spending even one of the marks. When he did, it attracted undo attention. Some vendors couldn’t even make change for one and turned him away.
It shocked him to realize that he’d nearly traded away one of his draughts for what might only have fed and housed him for a few days here.
He bought himself a warm cloak, as he might need one along the way, and also a new pair of boots better suited to travel than the ones he had. And he still had more coins in change than he could have imagined when he boarded Townsend’s ship, the Moon Sliver, on the morning of the fourth day.
They set sail before noon as Loni looked out across the vast eastern ocean. This time, he did feel something when the coast behind was finally beyond sight, not sadness exactly, just a sense of finality that he would never see his home, let alone that continent, again. He wasn’t coming back.
Then he focused on matters at hand—and his next goal.
Only about half the sailors spoke any Numanese at all, and only a few spoke it well enough to converse. Most spoke a guttural language called Belaskian. He studied and listened to the crew for days before approaching the one they called “first mate.” His name was Janus, and he seemed more educated than anyone on board—and fortunately he spoke passable Numanese.
“I need to learn Belaskian before we land,” Loni said directly.
Janus blinked. “A whole language? Before landfall?”
Loni pulled out one of the larger silver coins he’d gained in change. “I will give you this if you will teach me when off duty.”
Janus’s eyes widened. Perhaps no one had ever put such a request to him, or perhaps Loni had offered too much.
“All right,” the mate agreed. “But it won’t be easy, and you won’t speak it that well.”
“Just the same,” Loni answered, a common human phrase he’d picked up along the way
Janus proved a good teacher, even giving Loni one text to practice his reading. Much of Loni’s time was engaged in learning a new language, and he found that pronouncing some of the words correctly hurt the back of his throat. But he was quick enough with spoken languages and soon found himself able to converse simply with most of the crew. Janus then insisted that he only speak Belaskian outside of his lessons. This was awkward at first, but Loni’s command of the language improved even faster.
He later realized that he should have gained a better understanding of how long this voyage would be. He’d never crossed an ocean, or any body of water, in his life, and he’d simply stepped onto the ship thinking his next destination would be achieved more quickly than the caravan’s overland journey.
He was mistaken.
Entire moons passed, through calm seas and rough. The ship was well stocked, but meals mainly consisted of bacon, dried fish, and something the cook called “biscuits.” Loni had never given much thought to food before—to him it had always been something that simply must be consumed in order to stay alive.
But after the first two moons, he began to long for something as small and simple as a wild strawberry.
The ship sailed on.
Then one night, a buzzing among the crew caused him to hope that they might be nearing the far coast of the nation of Belaski. He hurried off to find Captain Townsend.
“Where will we make land?”
Townsend flashed him a smile. “The king’s city of Bela, best place in the world. You won’t find finer taverns or richer wine and ale anywhere.” He looked up at the sky. “But not for a handful of days yet.”
“Are there… do my people live near there?”
“Elves?” Townsend’s smile faded. “No. Even in Bela they don’t mix much when their ships arrive… but nobody wants to mix with them either. The elves of the Farlands are nothing like the Lhoin’na.”
“The Farlands?”
“The northern nations of the eastern continent. But you’d best steer clear of any elves, not that you’re likely to see any. Stick to writing your… cultural reports for the guild.”
Loni wanted to ask more questions, especially regarding Townsend’s comment about Elven ships arriving in Bela, but the captain clearly wanted the topic closed. Loni didn’t worry about his warning. Townsend was a human and wouldn’t understand. Loni was on this voyage to join with his real people.
Before the mid of that night, the worst storm of the voyage struck.
Swells rose higher than the ship’s rail, and two men were washed overboard.
Townsend ordered Loni to his cabin, and there he huddled in his bunk, helpless and useless as the ship was tossed about like an acorn shell in a wild river. The wind howled, and over its din, he thought he heard a loud crack above on deck. He didn’t exactly fear death; he didn’t normally feel fear at all, but a part of him feared failing in his task, his desire, to find a home where he actually belonged.
That night seemed endless.
The following morning, as first light streamed through his porthole, the ship was quiet, and he hurried up on deck. Most of the crew was out attempting to clean up the mess. And the far shore was in sight.
He thought he saw what looked to be a small port rather than a city, but the Moon Sliver’s main mast had snapped and fallen, and its top half now lay across the front section of the ship, stretching out to the prow.
Captain Townsend approached at the sight of him. “We’re not going to make Bela in this state, but we’re in luck. That’s a decent little port out there, so we can dock for repairs.”
Loni peered toward the shore. “What is that place called?”
“Miiska.”
· · · · ·
Walking through the streets of Miiska, Loni experienced a strange calm. This place was nothing like the over-populated port city he’d left behind moons ago. The streets were open… the entire place felt open. Now in mid-autumn
, he did note it was colder here than in the Lhoin’na forest, and he was glad he’d purchased the cloak before sailing. But with the sea to the front of the town and a forest to its back, this was the first human settlement where he enjoyed walking to a rather paltry market square and buying himself a late season apple and a raw onion. There were people here, but not crowds of them. Many looked at his face and ears in puzzlement and wonder and only a little hesitance. The woman who sold him the onion asked where he was from.
When he told her he’d come in on the Moon Sliver from the central continent, she nodded. “Ah, so you’re one of those other elves. I’ve heard some prattle about your kind, but didn’t think much of it.”
She’d never met an elf? That both surprised and unsettled him, especially after Townsend’s warning. If Sorhkafâré had founded a home on this continent, would his ancestors not at least be trading with the humans? It didn’t seem so from the captain’s account. Perhaps Loni had landed too far from where his people had settled.
“Where do the elves of this land live?” he asked.
“Live?” she answered, puzzled. “Way up north, I think, but no one would know for certain nor want to.”
He’d need to find someone better informed if he was to find a way to his new home. The captain had mentioned that these elves sometimes sailed into Bela’s harbor. That might be his best path to finding them. Thinking on this, he walked deeper into the town, biting into the raw onion with relish, grateful for anything besides bacon and biscuits.
He passed weathered dwellings and faded shops, and then, without knowing why, he stopped in front of a silent two-story building. It had a graceful, sloping roof, and the open shutters badly needed tending—white washing, as humans did. Behind the windowpanes—of actual glass—faded red curtains framed unlit rooms.
A sign above the entrance read The Velvet Rose.
Something about the place got under his skin—another odd phrase he’d picked up along the journey. He walked up onto the long front porch beneath its protruding awning and tried the front door but it was locked. Side-stepping to the nearest front window, he peered through the space between its inner curtains. The place seemed deserted, abandoned. He moved on to another window to gain a better view.
