The Wolf of Oren-yaro

by K. S. Villoso

  The silence told me to stop, whispered that I must have taken a wrong turn. Why didn’t I look at where my guard was pointing before I took off? I turned around, heart pounding. I hadn’t thought to take note of my surroundings, of the paths I had taken, because I had assumed the rest of my guard were behind me.

  But there was nobody. I heard a rustle. “Nor?” I called out tentatively; but it was only a cat, jumping from the roof onto a pile of crates. It hissed and scampered away as soon as it saw me.

  Someone grabbed my arm.

  I was so disoriented that I almost didn’t acknowledge what was happening at first. I stared at my assailant. It was a man with features that could’ve either been Zarojo or Jinsein in the shadows. That was as far as my appraisal went. My other hand found the dagger in my belt and I wrenched it up, catching him in the rib. I felt the tip of it strike bone.

  That I attacked him at all must’ve been enough to shock him. I doubt he even noticed the wound, and I wasn’t about to stay there long enough to watch him find out. I pulled the dagger back towards me, my fist catching his jaw in the way, and fled down the alley.

  I didn’t hear any other pursuers, but I didn’t trust my senses and kept running until it felt like my lungs wanted to collapse. I found myself out on yet another unknown street. A man, pulling out rugs to dry, paused to stare at me.

  I wondered if my attacker had friends. Would they dare try something out in the open?

  The panic left me. I began shaking again, that damnable, involuntary reaction of my body to the rush of energy. I looked around and realized that I was in a part of Anzhao City that Nor or Arro wouldn’t have approved. Here, the buildings were crowded together, the alleys in between so narrow a body couldn’t walk through them without hitting the walls on either side. Clotheslines hung from one balcony to the next. I could now see the broken windows with bent bars, cracked doors that didn’t quite fit in their doorways, and loose roof-tiles. The gutters overflowed with greenish water teeming with slugs and black, slime-covered lumps of garbage and human waste.

  I felt revulsion stir in the back of my throat. I bit it back; it wasn’t the first time I had been in such squalor. I wasn’t the sort of pampered royalty like the Zarojo princesses I’ve read about. Jin-Sayeng had seen too much war and strife in all these years and I’ve seen what these have reduced some of my cities to. There are parts of Shirrokaru you couldn’t even walk through without a handkerchief pressed over your nose. But it was, I realized, the first time I had found myself alone in such surroundings.

  I almost found myself wishing that my enemies would catch up to me. My father had made sure I was trained to fight, and fighting—even when you’re up against a big man like that—was something you could reasonably control. Lost and alone was different, wasn’t something I knew how to deal with.

  But I had to try. I swallowed and found myself approaching the man, the one with the rugs. His attention was still fixed on me. “I need to know the way to The Silver Goose,” I said. “Could you show me?”

  The man gaped. I wondered if he was deaf. It couldn’t be that I had misspoken some words, could it? My Zirano, as Qun’s wife had indicated as much, was excellent. I may have exasperated my tutors at times, but I had done well by them. “I said…” I started.

  The man shrunk back and quickly disappeared into his house. I stared at the creaking door, feeling slightly awkward at the turn of events. I wasn’t sure if he was planning to come back or was hiding from me. Blatant rudeness was not something I knew how to deal with, either. I turned around and noticed another person. “You,” I said. “Maybe you know the way to The Silver Goose?”

  Something about my voice stopped the woman in her tracks. “What’s that?” she finally blurted out.

  “The Silver Goose. It’s supposed to be a restaurant. I got separated from my…group.”

  There was something odd about how I was saying things. I could tell from the way she stared at me while I talked. I wondered if they spoke a different dialect in these parts. It didn’t seem like it—I had understood the official’s proclamations back in the square easily enough, and I couldn’t have travelled that far.

  “It sounds like a restaurant,” the woman said.

  “Yes,” I replied patiently, resisting the urge to press my fingers over my temples. “Like I said. If you could show me the way—”

  “There’s probably five of that name in the city alone. Which one did you want?”

  I felt my knees grow weary. I should’ve asked for more details, but I had been so used to my guards and advisers taking care of everything for me that I had long ceased to pay attention to such things. “The nearest one,” I said. It couldn’t have been too far if Nor had found walking acceptable. She would’ve rented a carriage otherwise.

  The woman pressed her lips together before breaking out into a grin. There was a gap in her teeth. “Fifty rean,” she said, holding a hand out. “Fifty rean and I’ll take you there.”

  To the Queen of Jin-Sayeng, it was not a lot of money, but under those circumstances, it felt like extortion. I felt my insides immediately balk at the idea that she would even dare ask. “I can find someone else,” I said, my ears burning.

  “Your loss,” she chortled as I walked past her.

  Mine? How could it be mine? I resolutely strode down the street, hoping to catch another eye. Surely there would be a kind soul somewhere who would offer to guide me to my destination for free.

  I spent time—long enough that my throat had begun to burn from thirst and my hands itch from the dust—asking each person I encountered. Each reacted almost the same as the first two: they either outright ignored me or asked for money first. Both responses were confounding each time I encountered them. I told myself I would find a way to spin the conversation to my favour, but it seemed that I didn’t respond fast enough to behaviour I deemed indecent. People might not think much of the Oren-yaro’s penchant for ruthlessness, but I was taught never to turn my back on someone who genuinely needed help. Taking advantage of their situation was unthinkable.

  I looked around. I had reached another intersection. Along the row of residences, I caught sight of a sign of what appeared to be a shop. Perhaps my mistake was in approaching people who weren’t pillars of society in some way. A shopkeeper would be different. A shopkeeper would know things, be obliged to help.

  I pressed my hand along the carved door and pushed. Little bells jingled overhead as the smell of dried herbs hit me like an overenthusiastic dog. Boxes of them, along with jars of pickled meat and fruit, were stacked on shelves of one side of the wall. There were also various trinkets: children’s toys, paper fans, amulets, tasselled mirrors, and clear vases with bamboo plants, some of which also contained small, red crayfish.

  “Good day,” I said, tearing my eyes away from the assault on my senses. The proprietor regarded me with a dubious expression. I think he was taking in my flushed face and dirty clothes. I tried to ignore the feeling of having to justify my presence, let alone my entire existence. “I was wondering if you could assist me in joining my group. I was lost after a riot at the square.”

  “Does this assistance involve you buying anything from my shop?” he asked. He was a heavyset man, with a shaved head and eyes that seemed to want to pop out of their sockets.

  I wasn’t sure if it was his expression, the scent of his shop, or his words that made me feel ill. I had to pause to catch my breath and think about my next words. I managed to grumble, “How about just helping me?” in an exasperated tone.

  “Pick anything,” he said. “And I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I just need to make my way to The Silver Goose. Even if you just gave me the directions.” Some water wouldn’t hurt, either. But I kept that last thought to myself—I was starting to suspect that these people would be just as possessive of their water as their goodwill.

  The shopkeeper pointed at his wares. “One item. Or you can get out of my store and find someone else to entertain you.
”

  “Do you even know who you’re talking to?” I asked, my voice rising.

  “Someone without any money, for sure. Buy something, or I’ll call the city watch.”

  I turned away in disgust. In my hurry to get out of there, I nearly bumped into another man in the shop. I hadn’t noticed him when he came in. He looked at me, but didn’t say anything. I felt like begging; the feeling did not sit well with me. I rushed out before I could give in and do something I would regret.

  I walked as fast as I could from the shop, crossing the street to a small fountain surrounded by four street lamps. I gathered my courage and reached down to touch the water. The trickle felt invigorating, and to my great relief, the water itself did not smell of urine. I washed my face. The cold feeling on my skin made my dry mouth itch and I found myself swallowing. The sensation felt like sharp nails digging into my throat. I caved in, taking a handful to sip. I had gone from having my food tested in the morning to drinking from a public waterway in the afternoon.

  I heard a footstep. My hand went to the dagger on my belt as I turned. A man stopped, hands held out in a gesture of appeasement. I recognized the customer from the store. “You followed me,” I said.

  “I did,” he admitted. He had a deep voice, but it was also soft, with a timbre that rumbled slightly after he paused. Something about it made me relax my grip on the dagger, although I still kept my hand on the hilt. He noticed the movement, because he glanced down and smiled. “I should tell you that walking around with a weapon is…frowned upon here. Not exactly illegal, but the city watch tend not to be very happy when they see someone flaunting those about.”

  “Do I look like I care?”

  He pointed at the fountain. “That also isn’t very sanitary.”

  I wiped my chin and tried to gather what remained of my dignity. “What do you want?”

  “I think I should be asking you that. You need help, and I can offer it to you. In exchange…”

  “Right,” I said. “Always with the catch.”

  “I am not quite as barefaced as our friend, the shopkeep. I merely need your assistance. Help me, and I’ll bring you to The Silver Goose. The one with the dancers, am I correct? Roast pork that falls off the bone?”

  “Help you with what?”

  “I’ll have to explain.”

  “No, thank you.” I didn’t want to spend another moment with these detestable Xiarans. I got up and walked away from him.

  ~~~

  I had been lost before, in Shirrokaru.

  Shirrokaru was the capital of Jin-Sayeng and had been since our people first proclaimed an Ikessar as Dragonlord, protector and defender of all, king in all but name. It was unique in that most of it was built after the Ikessars—whose ancestral lands were further east, in the mountains north of Darusu—were granted the throne. Before the Ikessars took over, it was a small town of no consequence, a hub of trade for the farmers of that region and the Gasparians near the border that sprouted along the shores of Lake Watu. The warlords contributed to the building of the palace at the northern end of the lake and helped fund the industries that would later propel Shirrokaru to growth.

  Shirrokaru stood as a promise to the people of Jin-Sayeng, of peace and prosperity that was supposed to come as a result of the warlords dropping their quarrels against each other. It had, in those days, been a profound idea. The Ikessars were the ideal clan to rule—their leaders were charismatic and their scholars full of strange and exciting plans for the future. Furthermore, they lacked a proper army, which eased the warlords’ hearts; it made it unlikely that this new, ruling clan would not try to wrest them from their own lands.

  The day I got lost in the city had been my first time visiting it. My friend and I got it into our heads to view one of the pits they used to train dragons in. I had heard there was one near the southern shore of Lake Watu and begged him to accompany me.

  We found the pit easy enough, after a boat ride off the palace district and a long walk from the southern guardhouse to an abandoned residential area. Years ago, a mad dragon unleashed by Dragonlord Reshiro’s son, Rysaran the Uncrowned, had burned the buildings down. Shirrokaru had never been able to afford to fully rebuild it—the Ikessars lacked the funds and the warlords refused to assist, especially when Rysaran the Uncrowned disappeared after the incident. Huge sections remained empty, untouched.

  It was the broken-down houses that ultimately held my attention, not the pit—which ended up just being a deep, rectangular hole filled with rusted chains and old animal bones. You could tell so much about the state of a land’s rule by how easily such disarray could be swept under a rug. People blamed my father for throwing the land into chaos, but my father had started a civil war precisely because nothing was getting done.

  My friend came up to tell me he couldn’t figure out how we were supposed to get back to the southern docks. You couldn’t see the lake from the distance, and unlike in Oren-yaro, Shirrokaru lacked distinct mountains that would’ve made navigation easier. My first instinct was to panic, but my friend’s presence had always been such a comfort that I simply turned to him and said, “What do we do next?”

  He told me to stay put while he climbed one of the buildings to find the lake. It took us sometime to find one that was tall enough for such an undertaking—most of the buildings were in ruins. Even though it was getting darker, my friend took the whole situation almost matter-of-factly. Later, I would ask him if he was frightened at all, and he told me, “You learn to swallow the fear long enough to get things done. I still don’t know how I would have reacted if night had fallen and we found ourselves in those ruins, amongst those thousands of graves.”

  If he had been with me in Anzhao City, I think things would have never gone this far. But he wasn’t—he had been gone from my life for many years now—and there I was walking briskly down an unknown street while a stranger went chasing after me. Swallow the fear. I stopped.

  “What is your problem?” I said, turning to the stranger.

  The man slowed down, a sheepish grin on his face. Without a word, he held up a purse. I immediately recognized the green and gold-patterned fabric.

  “I couldn’t have dropped that,” I said, allowing the accusation to swathe my tone.

  He nodded, throwing it at me. I caught it in mid-air. “It’s empty,” he said.

  I coloured. “I know,” I grumbled. I turned back to him. “But you tried to steal from me.”

  “Forget that little detail,” he continued. “It’s empty. No wonder you couldn’t fulfill our dear shopkeep’s selfish little request. Do you know how far you’ll get in Anzhao City without both money and friends?”

  “Not very, I’m guessing.” I sighed.

  He laughed. “At least you’re honest about your predicament.”

  “So this is the Zarojo way. What ever happened to just doing the right thing?”

  The man sauntered about to me. “The problem with that kind of thinking is that it allows people to take advantage of you. Anzhao has its fair share of con artists and thieves. You came into that store asking for help, but left when it was asked from you in return. The man wasn’t taking your money for nothing—he wanted you to buy something. The shop is his livelihood. I’m sure he has half a dozen squalling children to feed. What if you weren’t really some damsel in distress? The more likely scenario is that you’re a vixen in disguise, trying to drag him to some unsuspecting street corner where your bandit friends could jump him.”

  I opened and closed my mouth, unsure of how to reply to this speech. I wasn’t even sure he wanted me to reply, although I caught a glint in his eye that told me he may very well enjoy arguing his case if I did. “You’re one to say that,” I eventually said, “when you’re a thief yourself.”

  “And a con artist,” he said with a grin. “And I had you pegged for one, too, with your strange manner of speaking and the whole don’t you know who you’re talking to routine. One of the oldest tricks in the book: make them think y
ou’re someone important so they get swept up in not wanting to offend you. And then I caught you drinking from that fountain, and…”

  I almost threw the empty purse at his face. “And then what?” I retorted hotly.

  He scratched the side of his cheek. “And it occurred to me that Jinsein accent is real enough. Maybe you really are just a lost tourist—I don’t know.”

  I took a deep breath, trying hard not to show how offended I was with his words. “If you bring me back to my people, I’ll make it worth your while.”

  He shook his head. “See, a part of me can’t seem to believe that. How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Because I am! Isn’t that enough?”

  “This is what I’m trying to tell you. What if you are a con artist, and you just happened to be dying of thirst just right now? What if you’re from some other part of the city where they didn’t piss in their fountains?” He smiled before handing me a waterskin. “Go on,” he said. “I filled it up from a fresh spring this morning.”

  I hesitated, but my thirst won. I grabbed the waterskin and unscrewed the lid. The water was tepid, but it quenched my parched throat all the same. I returned the waterskin and found that I could think a little clearer now. “I take this to mean that you’re still not going to help me.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I just said I didn’t know if I could trust you, too. Even if you say otherwise, everything about you is just—it’s too strange. Look at your clothes.”

  I looked down. The dress underneath my cloak was streaked with dirt, but you could still tell it wasn’t some peasant’s.

  “And the way you talk,” he continued. “Who talks like that? You were neglecting your honorifics when you were speaking with the shopkeep. Why would someone who could speak Zirano so well deliberately ignore them? Either you really didn’t think you needed them, or you were setting him up to make yourself stand out. Either way…”

  “I think I understand you,” I said. I also thought I wanted to hit him in the face, but not everybody appreciated knowing that.