“I'm not moving,” I declared when he tried to hand my pack to me. To make my point clear, I took my blanket and completely wrapped myself in it, dropping to the ground like a stone. Hawke clicked his tongue but didn't look like he was up to arguing.
“As long as Char doesn't mind us spending the night,” Hawke said as if he found it doubtful. Char, meanwhile, had already been pulling out thick pelts and laying them around the fire. With a defeated pout, Hawke flopped down and pulled out his guitar.
As he was wont to do, his fingers danced along the strings to no specific song, choosing to simply play whatever came to him. His gentle improvised lullaby floated through the star-studded night and helped me as I drifted to sleep. With any luck, the ground would be much closer in the morning.
Chapter 13: The Literary Man
As it turned out, my fears of our descent were unnecessary, as I woke to a sudden tremor underneath me. It took me quite some time to gather my wits, only to look up into Char's crooked grin directly above me.
“Aye, welcome to tha world o' the wakin', sunshine,” he practically bellowed at me. I clasped my hands to my ears, which elicited a roar of laughter from him.
“So tha's whaddit takes ta clear tha sand from yer eyes! Good! Ah don' think ya woulda loved tha trip down!”
It took me several befuddled moments to understand what he was referring to. The boisterous titan was cradling me in my arms, and right behind him towered the walkway leading up the Ururu, which let out an ominous creak as an errant gust of wind sprang up. We were at the base of the mountain.
“Surprised you slept through that,” came Hawke's voice from the side. He was busy brushing down Sir Brown Horse and giving him the remains of a half-eaten apple. He chuckled into his hand when he saw my brow knit in confusion. “I came down here early to take care of the horse and was about to head up and try to coax you down. Imagine my surprise when I heard the walkway groaning in agony and this giant lump came clamoring down with you.”
“Pfaw.” Char rubbed his nose. “Ah just figgered tha lass would 'ave a hard time squirmin' outta me mitts, even if she did wake an' wiggle a li'l.” He bobbed me in his arms like a newborn babe, and I could feel my face heating up.
“Just let me down,” I fumed, floundering against his grasp. True to what he said, though, it was easier to dream about escaping than doing so. After a bit more laughing at my expense, he deposited me onto the ground with such little warning that I almost toppled face first into the dirt. I shot him one last withering glare before joining my companion, who helped me mount our steed. As far as I was concerned, I had seen enough mountains for one lifetime. The sooner we put some distance between myself and the Ururu, the better.
With some final farewells and a promise to come visit again (albeit closer to the ground), we kicked Sir Brown Horse on towards Hawke's latest attraction. With the sun low in the sky and the trail laid out before us, we blazed a path away from the last vestiges of desert and into the heart of civilization.
“So the next person is another friend of yours?” I asked while the countryside whirled past us at full gallop. Hawke's face puckered like he just shoved half a lemon in his mouth,
“I suppose you could say that. I'd err more towards occasional business partners.” Hawke cracked his neck and let out a groan. “Let's just hope things go a little better than they did last time.”
“Did something bad happen?” I asked. Hawke's answer was to give a loud and mirthless “HA!” and I got the distinct impression that he wasn't much in the mood to talk about it anymore.
It took only a handful of hours before we were trotting right into the center of the town, but right away there was something terribly unsettling about the settlement. It wasn't as readily apparent from the summit of the Ururu, but all of the buildings in Liturgy were painted a glossy, eye-straining shade of white. In the glare of the midday sun, that would have been bad enough, but to compound things, every threshold of the buildings bore a symbol resembling a ten-pointed star, wrought in some chrome plated metal that only intensified the painful luster of the town at large.
“Ah, Liturgy, now it makes sense,” said Hawke with an appraising glance at our surroundings. “An entire town devoted to worship of the Holy Tenet.”
“The what?” I was forced to ask as always when Hawke brought up something he had failed to discuss with me before. His mouth twisted as he realized this point himself.
“Explaining religion to you isn't going to be simple.” He clicked his tongue and urged Sir Brown Horse a little closer to one of the decorated buildings, bearing a much larger version of those strange stars than the rest.
“The Holy Tenet is a belief people follow that is supposed to help guide them to lead better lives. Back in my time long ago, they referred to such ideas as religions, but in this day only the Holy Tenet exists, so the word has sort of fallen out of use.” He reached past me and pointed straight at the massive star symbol.
“That symbol is their mark – the five points on the top represent Honor, Charity, Courage, Discipline, and Empathy. They are the things the belief stresses one should strive their hardest to exercise. The five on the bottom stand for Greed, Lust, Wrath, Sloth, and Envy. These are the things one is supposed to avoid in their pursuit of peace. Five above in light, five below in shadow: these together are the ten points of the Holy Tenet.”
While he was explaining the small details of the religion to me, the streets had begun to fill with townspeople who were spilling into the streets nearly simultaneously from all the various domiciles and businesses surrounding us. Nearly every person was dressed in an ivory cloak that matched uncannily with the buildings they poured forth from, heavy cowls pulled up to disguise their features. A scant few wore matching cloaks dyed a startling black, but I had little time to observe better as the ebony cloaked citizens hurried at a greater pace than their white-robed brethren.
Several of the hooded visages turned to regard us silently as we looked at their holy symbol but turned away soon enough once they were satisfied with whatever it was they saw.
“Are they mad at us for something?” I broached after another half-dozen people stopped to peer at us for moments before continuing on their way.
“People who follow the Holy Tenet are naturally wary of outsiders,” Hawke explained. “They've been persecuted for what others call 'worthless beliefs' for centuries. Normally people don't openly display their faith – this town is the first I've ever seen so open about it. They must have all migrated here to set up a town to worship without prejudice. It would be strange for them not to be suspicious of us. Don't worry, though, they shouldn't bother us as long as we don't give them cause to fear us.”
Sure enough, nobody said so much as a word to us as they milled about on whatever business pressed them onward. It was apparent that they had better things to do at present than worry about a couple vagabonds sitting on a horse in the middle of their town.
“We shouldn't hang around here too long,” Hawke said. He pulled back on Sir Brown Horse's reins and steered us down a nearby side street. “If the Lord Ordained were to show up at the church while we were lolling around, we might have been in for some trouble.”
The name tickled a chord with me. “Like the one in The Sandwich Man?” I asked. “Wait, I thought the Lord Ordained was the Medicine Man.”
“He was the Lord Ordained,” Hawke corrected me. “That was quite some time ago, though. I'm not sure who the new one is, so I wouldn't want to accidentally cross him. Anyways, we have more pressing concerns here. My old… acquaintance is hiding somewhere in this town. Shouldn't take too long to find him, though.”
Hawke was trotting us down several alleyways. Every so often he would guide Sir Brown Horse through another sideway, doing his best to keep us off the main roads. We had been traversing for several minutes before I started noticing we had passed by the same shop for about the fourth time. Hawke seemed to notice my confusion because he leaned close and spoke just above a w
hisper.
“We're being followed. No, don't look around,” he cut me off before I could do just that, and it took all my willpower not to do so out of pure reflex. I hadn't seen anything that suggested as such, but with so many people dressed exactly the same, it wasn't really possible to tell if we had passed the same person more than once.
“What do they want?” I asked in a hushed voice. I could feel my hackles rise as I imagined someone staring at our backs, tracking just a few steps behind us. Suddenly I wasn't so keen on taking a peek.
“Not sure, but they've been keeping their distance. If they were trying to make trouble, they'd do it in view of everyone and get the mob against us. Let's head to Kamson's place and see how it plays out.”
As it turned out, we had been making laps around our destination the entire time. Hawke pulled up to one of the small abodes situated near the corner of an intersection that didn't stand out particularly from any of the other dozen pure white houses adorned with a ten-pointed star on the streets. A few white-robed drones were still milling on the road when a clanging din broke through the air. I jumped in the saddle, but it was only the sound of a massive bell tolling in a tower several blocks down in the center of town.
Immediately, the silent figures evacuated into one building or another. In seconds, the streets were completely abandoned save for Hawke, myself, the horse, and a lone black cloaked character standing not three strides from us.
“So,” Hawke shot a sideways glance at the figure, “are we just going to stand out here or are you going to invite us in?”
After a quick peek around to make sure we were well and truly alone, the figure strode swiftly to the door and unlocked it with a key stowed in its sleeve. Our pursuer slipped inside, motioning with a single finger for us to follow before shutting the door behind itself just as quickly as it had opened it. Without a word, Hawke tied up Sir Brown Horse, brought me down, and led me by the hand into the now open house.
Never before had I seen living conditions in such disarray as the one we had crept into. Stacks upon stacks of papers and books lay strewn among furniture that at one point might have been nice, but clearly had been in use for a very long time. A thick acrid smell filled the room, making my nostrils itch so fiercely I couldn't hold back a multitude of sneezes. The only light in the room tried to squeeze through a window being blocked by a pile of tomes each as thick as a dictionary. Yet there was no missing the robed person who sat on a scattering of documents littering the couch.
“Lock the door,” a high-pitched voice issued from the hood. With a shrug, Hawke reached back and turned the simple latch. Once that was done, our new companion stood and tore the robe off, tossing it onto a nearby coat rack with indifference.
The now revealed figure looked to be a girl not much older than myself, with soft pale skin and brown almond-shaped eyes that danced over us. Her hair was black as charcoal and cut shoulder length as was popular with younger women, shining with a brilliant sheen even in our dingy surroundings. She eschewed the robes that were popular among most people in favor of a form fitting black tunic and pants that showed her slim figure, tucking into pointed boots with inch-thick heels. The way she carried herself, though – hands on her hips and head cocked sideways – gave the impression that she was much older than her initial appearance suggested. She gave a brazen chuckle as she regarded my guardian.
“Wow, Hawke, you've definitely seen better days. I thought a king would be more mindful of his appearance.” She flashed a brilliant smile that crinkled her face cutely.
“Certainly have seen better ones. Glad to know my friends can still recognize me, though.” Hawke allowed himself a smile.
“Shut up for a second,” she snapped. Her eyes locked onto me. “Who in the world is this adorable thing?” Without warning, she bounded across the room and engulfed me in a hug. “She is the best, ah!” It was difficult to mind her enthusiasm while she was screaming directly into my ear, and I tried to fight her off. As usual, my strength was insufficient to the task.
“Come on, Winter, don't smother the poor girl.” Hawke knelt and pried the woman's grip from me, allowing me to regain the breath the woman had just crushed out of my lungs.
“Fine,” she pouted. “You're here to see Luke anyway, right?”
He nodded. “I assume he's expecting me?”
“Yeah, he's already hiding somewhere in our room.” Winter jerked a thumb towards a very short hallway with a lone door at the end. “Go fetch him. I'll go get some tea ready for all of us.” She jaunted into the hallway and turned to the right through an open passageway.
Tenderly, Hawke stepped around the towers of scattered written debris and made his way to the suggested room. I managed to carve my own way behind him, although more than once I sent a pile of clutter shuffling to scatter on the ground; fortunately, it didn't affect the decor by any great leaps.
Hawke cracked the door open to a musty bedroom that reeked of the same biting odor that the living room possessed. A large bed took up most of the floorspace, only challenged by the similarly large desk shoved into one corner underneath a window as lonely as its counterpart in the den. Like the rest of the house, scattered papers seemed to be the most prominent furnishings, though the bed looked to be carefully overlooked in their placement. No one was visible in the room, and the only noise we could hear was Winter's humming and the sound of running water coming from the kitchen behind us.
“Did Winter make a mistake? There's no one here,” I said at the sight of the disheveled mess. Hawke was about to answer when something long and pointed shot from the table, its tip aimed straight at Hawke's neck. I had barely the time to cry out in surprise and try to warn him before it struck him full force.
“Ow.”
The dull pencil bounced off him and landed on the hardwood floor, rolling away nonchalantly. The only indication it had struck Hawke at all was a small red dot on his neck that faded almost instantly, but he still rubbed the spot on reflex and glared around.
“Seriously, Luke!? Get the hell out here!” he barked. A response came from one of the cabinets built into the desk, which began to cough violently. The door to the storage space flew open and deposited a lump of rumpled clothing that looked to contain a man somewhere within. The fellow stood up and stretched his back, which popped several times.
The man himself was stranger than the lady, who had already struck me as quite bizarre compared to what I was used to. His own clothes were not dissimilar, though whereas Winter's tunic was dark as her hair and well cared for, this newcomer's was a wrinkled, faded blue mess that looked as if it had seen much better days. Over his tunic he wore a frumpy navy blue coat that was clearly a couple sizes too big, making him seem bloated and ungainly on his feet. His face was even worse for wear than his clothes, covered in several days of uneven dark stubble peppered with white. Pale blue eyes that verged on grey glared from dark, sagging sockets. Complimenting his sleepless eyes were sunken cheekbones and a head of rapidly thinning bronze hair streaked with silver. Everything about him spoke of a man who rested rarely and unwell.
“Alright, alright, no need to be so irritable!” The man, who was undoubtedly the Luke that Hawke had called to, snarled irritably at us. He dusted off a black wide-brimmed hat he had been holding to his chest and flopped it on his head before plunging a hand into his coat pocket and chucking something directly at Hawke. My companion snatched the object out of the air, which brought forth an all too familiar flash of light. As the room faded to normal, it became easy to see the shinestone that Hawke had caught, still shining a radiant turquoise in his palm.
“There, now piss off and leave me be!” snapped Luke. He turned to sit himself at his desk.
“Don't be that way Luke, they should at least stay for tea,” Winter commented from right behind him. Mr. Kamson jerked in surprise, but Hawke and I practically leapt back in shock. At no point had we heard her enter the room or walk past us to reach the other side of the bed where she currently sto
od.
“Fine, fine, if you'll refrain from popping around like that,” the scruffy man said.
Winter giggled a bit and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Oh hon, you know that's impossible.”
She handed a saucer with a thick glass of cloudy liquid to Hawke and me, setting Luke's on one of the steadier piles of documents on the desk he sat at. I blew on the steaming contents of the cup and took a sip, recoiling at the bitter taste. Still, it wasn't as strong as the coffee Char had served. I took another tentative sip. When I looked up to thank her for the drink, she had vanished.
“Don't let it bother you, girl,” Luke wheezed out as he watched my surprise. “She likes to do that a lot. It's practically a hobby at this point.”
He produced a small silver container with curling inlays from his coat pocket. It snapped open to reveal a row of thinly rolled cigarettes. My old master had been fond of smoking them in his parlor with guests on the rare occasion we had them, and instantly I understood what the smoky odor that befouled the entire house came from. Luke slipped one between his lips before unearthing a fancy looking gold plated lighter. A flick of his thumb brought a flame to life, and he raised it to his face to light up.
“Hey!” Hawke exclaimed. He reached towards our reluctant host and clenched his fist in the air. The lighter's flame snuffed out, and the barely smoldering tip of the cigarette extinguished with a feeble puff of smoke.
“Hey, yourself! What's the big idea?” complained Kamson. Hawke jerked his head in my direction and shot a dirty scowl at Luke, who regarded me for a moment before letting out a frustrated hiss.
“Criminy, alright! I'll just bite on it, if that's okay with you, my Lord.” Luke spun in his chair and let out a series of hacking coughs. “You and Winter both nagging at the same time is going to be the death of me.”
Broken Soul (The Scholar's Legacy Book 1) Page 17
