by KS Villoso
The ape-thing turned at the sound. Instantly, Kefier leaped, sword held high, and aimed for the creature’s spine.
“Bweeeh?” The creature’s voice sounded like a trumpet. Kefier halted and saw its neck spin around, though its body remained where it was. It didn't even seem surprised at all. The sound of its laughter made the hair on Kefier’s arms stand on end. It turned its body the right way and began to walk towards him. Kefier tried to lift his sword, but found he could not. His arms and feet felt like lead. He tried to speak, to call to Camden and have him run to safety, but he couldn't even open his mouth.
It roared, spraying the air with the stench of corpses. Its tongue was black and spiny, its teeth dull and brown and decorated with pieces of red flesh. Kefier stood there, waiting for the inevitable.
And then Camden slammed into its side with his heavy body and whatever spell it had cast on Kefier broke. Kefier saw it reach out to crush Camden’s skull. He turned to grab a switch, thrusting it into the embers. The creature’s arms were still in mid-air when Kefier slammed the blazing torch at its head.
The fire did it. It screamed and tottered backwards. Kefier plunged the sword into its neck as it fell. Black blood hissed and spurted out of the open wound. It slumped to the ground and shrank. In its stead lay the body of an infant, too small to have been out of the womb. That, too, didn’t last. Before Kefier could crawl closer to inspect it, it was gone, leaving nothing but ashes blowing in the wind.
He and Camden stared at each other in silence. The spitting of embers and the heavy aroma of wet blood surrounded them.
“I’m thinking we’re crazy,” Camden breathed. “Stark raving mad. We're probably piss ass drunk back in our cells. I was never the one for drinking.”
Kefier sank to the ground.
“That witch…Naijwa.” Camden buried his face into the crook of one arm. “Just speculating,” he muttered. He gave a weak grin.
Kefier crawled to his feet. “Camden,” he said. “Can we go? I don’t want to spend a moment more in here than we need to.”
But Camden was crying softly. Kefier turned away and murmured his own prayer. Ab, take care of those departed. Ab, watch over their souls. He didn't know, didn't think, about the creature taking those from them, too. They couldn't always be right about the demons in Cael.
By the time they left the clearing, the sun had begun its slow, steady ascent over the treetops.
Chapter Six
They decided that they would rather face the whole Boarshind and the Vildar town guard than anything else that waited in those shadows and left as soon as they could. Farms and villages they passed offered them food and directed them to Cael City. One tried to send his daughter off with them, a homely thing with bugged eyes. Kefier had to mumble something about already having a wife while Camden expressed great regret in lacking certain areas necessary to reproduce.
Still, it was difficult to ward the gnawing fear from that night. Trees stood everywhere around them, always. Kefier wasn't entirely too sure that they stayed off the roads or away from the sunlight. They didn't seem like the sort to follow rules.
He found himself thinking more and more about Lillah's stories. About Naijwa and her sewed-up dolls. His mind started playing tricks on him—made him imagine, at times, that there was a dead cat with two heads sitting on his chest, or a monkey with a pig's snout up a tree. Which was ridiculous, really, since they didn't have monkeys in the Kag. He also found himself distracted by other stories he'd heard—of a hunter ensnared in his own trap and was forced, upside-down, to watch a herd of smelly, hoofed figures pass through the road in the dark.
Camden, for his part, was no help. He was not a mainland Kag and could not fathom a way to deal with their pressing surroundings. He spoke a lot of Agartes, who had braved these woods himself, even before there were roads and towns to greet him. How did he do it? The stories never mentioned demons, and yet Naijwa's story—if you could believe it—happened before his time. He slew beasts and meddled with politics and made shrines to the god Yohak, making him an even bigger figure than Mother Namalah, whose consort he was.
Agartes himself, of course, was born in Baidh. A farm boy, Camden said, just like he was. Youngest of seven. Sick of his father’s careless parenting and his brothers’ bullying, he ran off one day and found an egg by the shore. He ate it. What was a hungry boy to do, having found an egg? Even if it was very large and blue? You didn’t run around trying to sell it—you ate it, scrambled with carrots and pepper and seasoned with a sprinkle of salt.
Happened that the egg was that of a large turtle, who found him by the sea when he returned the next time he got hungry. The turtle got very mad and would have killed the boy then and there, but then he decided it was a waste, and took the boy. Vengeance, he said. His only surviving child—his mate dead for many months—and the boy had the audacity to eat it. He didn’t seem to care that the egg was possibly addled.
Ajy, for that was the name his mother gave him, would have been lost to the world forever. But he appeared on the shores of Cael fifteen years later, a full-grown man, tall and muscular and scarred. He walked, the old texts say, with a definite purpose. He killed the beast Tandahg—an enormous tusked creature that 'bled a river when pierced with a sword'—and was seen dragging the body to the shore, where a great turtle emerged. The turtle took one look at the body and seemed to sigh a great sigh, as if it was part of the waves. Then he turned and disappeared into the sea.
Agartes returned, where the villagers in what would later be Cael and Kiel rejoiced, hailing him a hero. Under his tutelage, the towns prospered. Roads were built leading to the kingdom of Hafod. Somewhere along the way he was taken in by the Hafed king and became a high-ranking general. He defended the lands from Dageis and created truce with Gaspar over the mountains.
Died a lonely death in Cael, they said. Not befitting for a hero. Not in the midst of a glorious battle, sword in hand, crying for a land he loved, but in a cold bed, mourning a dead wife and children, crying for a land he left.
“Are you thinking of going home soon?” Kefier asked, one night away from Cael City.
Camden didn't answer immediately, but the look on his face made Kefier regret asking in the first place. “I'm thinking that would be nice,” he said, slumping back against a fence on the road. “I'm tired. I want my bed. My family. Ach, my dogs! Do you know, Kefier, there is nothing like the sound of your own dogs greeting you when you come home.”
Kefier didn’t answer, and Camden didn't try to talk again until at least an hour later.
“I gave it to him, you ken,” he said. “On his naming day. Green, for the mother’s colour.” He paused. “I wish I can give his mother a better answer than this. I don't know.” He bit his lip. “I'm a little scared, Kefier. You'll be forgiving me for that, I hope?”
They reached Cael City by midday the next day. Kefier had never in his life seen a city like this before. He stopped to gape at it and Camden had to bully him towards the gate to stop them from getting trampled by merchants on the road.
“Visitors to Cael?” a man asked, from his watchtower. “Merchants or tourists? You've family here?” He sounded bored.
“We’re here to see Lillah Artek,” Kefier replied, from behind Camden.
“Names?”
“Camden maic Camden of Saldor in Baidh.”
“Kefier of Cairntown.” He wasn’t taking chances this time.
“All right,” the man said, scribbling and then gesturing. The heavy gates opened from the inside. Gingerly, Kefier and Camden stepped into Cael for the first time.
Children spilled across the wide streets of cobblestone, shouting and laughing in rosy-cheeked joy. The shingle-roofed buildings stood evenly, in neat rows, two stories tall and made of cut stone, the colour of sun-drenched white. Clotheslines hung across balconies and street corners; trees and flowered shrubs marked the tiny sections of soil in between the streets.
Cael City stood as the centre of worship of the wood go
d Yohak. The city thrived on the constant come and go of tourists and pilgrims, and on exporting stone from the quarries up north. Fuyyu was busier and Cairntown more populous, but Cael had more culture and less stink. It pleased Kefier to not have to hold his hand so close to his nose whenever he saw an open gutter.
They stopped at the temple first, to Camden’s insistence. It was a large building, palace-like to Kefier's eyes, with steps made of marble. Kefier felt guilty for having so much mud on his boots. A vast array of peddlers stood by the entrance, selling trinkets of worship—necklaces and prayer beads and statuettes. There were beggars, too, kneeling by the steps or marble pillars, although they looked cleaner than any beggar Kefier had met in the past. A man played the lyre nearby, singing praises to the god.
“Bracelets, sir?” a woman called to Kefier, as Camden strode ahead in awe. He shook his head.
“I don’t worship Yohak.”
“Does it matter?” she asked. She was feeble and shook while she talked. “A god is a god is a god. If you believe, he listens, no matter what you name him.” She held a bracelet made of wooden beads, the symbol of Yohak etched over the weathered grain. Kefier frowned, but he dug into his pocket until he found a dusty coin and gave it to her. She pressed the bracelet into his hands, smiling toothlessly.
“May his guidance find you on your road,” she said. Kefier knew it was a sales tactic, but it made him feel funny anyway. He followed Camden towards the temple, removing his shoes by the door at an old man's bidding. The whiteness pervaded even the inside. The windows were covered in coloured panes of glass, depicting several images, scenes of some sort—a man with a cane standing over a wood, a child on a boat. An altar stood at the far end, with interlocking symbols of the god, plain in contrast to the rest of the temple—brown, for Yohak. It shadowed the centre of the temple, with its long cushions. Several people kneeled or sat on them, meditating or praying. Camden was at the end of an aisle, his eyes shut tight.
The hollow silence echoed around Kefier as he took the cushion behind Camden. He had fully intended to pray to his own god, too, but somehow it didn't feel right. So instead he tinkered with the bracelet and glanced at his surroundings, wondering at the tall beams and the chandeliers and the statues. There was one of a man in a full suit of armour, a sword in one hand and a beast’s head in the other.
“Yohak guided such a man,” Camden murmured. Kefier started, and saw that he was staring at the same statue. “Agartes, I mean. A holy man. A hero. A child is nothing to him. A child doesn't mean a damn thing.” And then he set his jaw and motioned for Kefier to follow him out of the temple.
They found Lillah Artek's district to the north. If they had gaped upon entering the city before, their jaws nearly hit the pavement now. The streets were wide enough for two carriages to pass side-by-side. The architecture of some of the buildings bore a resemblance to the Yohak temple—designed around white stone or marble, tall columns, and liberally decorated with statues of Kag deities, gods, and important political figures. There were shops of every kind, some showcasing their wares inside glass. “They say it mirrors the cities in Hafod,” Camden murmured, his face alight with wonder. “The only one of its kind in these parts.” He stopped and drew a long breath. “There, Kefier. See? That’s where Lillah performs.”
The building he pointed at was bigger even than the temple of Yohak. Kefier could not fathom what possessed these people to build such a structure, and yet there it was, a giant amongst ants. Camden started to talk about theatre, artists, councils, merchants, and the myriad of activities contained by this building alone. He lost Kefier right around the point where he began a tirade about how the Caelians approached tragic romances and why for all intents and purposes Baidh did it better than anyone else.
Lillah met them at the door to her apartment. After everything else Kefier had seen that day, it seemed small and bare. She hustled them inside, bolted the door, and called for her maid, a mousey-looking girl who couldn't be more than twelve, to start dinner.
“I'm sorry for the mess,” she said. “I've been moving my furniture around, you know how that is. Do you both realize you're three days late? I was afraid you'd forgotten about me.”
“We got into some trouble,” Kefier said. Lillah's expression changed, and he quickly added, “But it's over now. Um, do you mind? If I can get a bath or a change of clothes or...I know Camden's been dying to talk to you.” He tried to smile, but it was difficult when Camden remained serious.
“Of course,” Lillah said. “Jerisi! Jerisi, draw some water up, won't you? And get some of Garril's clothes—the top drawer—you know.” The girl nodded and sprinted upstairs.
“Garril's clothes?” Kefier blanched.
“He's going to be in Vildar for another week, if you must know.” Lillah smoothed out her dress. “And he doesn't live here, so it's not like he'll care.” Jerisi arrived with a bundle and handed it to Kefier. He smiled awkwardly at her.
“Just show me the pump, please. Don't bother bringing water in.”
She looked horrified. “But it's right outside.”
“Lead the way.”
She hesitated before letting him follow her through the kitchen and out the back. He glanced around. Lillah's yard was fenced in, with stone walls higher than his head. He placed the clothes along a dry window, removed his shirt, and started the pump.
“Oh,” the girl said, walking back out. “Here's some soap, if you want.”
Kefier thanked her and began lathering his hair over a bucket. She came up behind him and started the pump again. He sighed under the stream of water.
“You've got a big burn in your back,” the girl suddenly blurted out. “And lash marks.”
He tried to pretend her attention didn’t make him uncomfortable. “Do me a favour—never visit Dageis.”
“You were a slave?”
He paused in the middle of washing his beard and looked at her. He didn’t really want to answer the question, but he nodded. The girl didn’t catch on to his silence and began pressing him for answers. She had never met anyone from outside Cael, let alone someone who had been to Dageis first hand, and he found it difficult to deflect the attention. But eventually, he finished washing up and took Garril's spare clothes from her. The Caelian-style tunic was patterned in blue and short-sleeved, which allowed some of the tattoos on his left arm to show through.
Lillah and Camden were still talking in the sitting room when he returned. A hunch of cold roast pork was laid out in front of them, mostly untouched. Kefier sat across from them and helped himself. Camden noticed him after a while and looked up. Kefier smiled at him. “You stink. Maybe you should take a bath.”
Camden flushed. Lillah smiled. “Well, I don't think you'll fit into Garril's clothes very well, so maybe I can get Jerisi to run off and get you some.”
“I'll do it,” Kefier said. “Where's the stores?”
She handed him a coin purse. “You must've passed some on the way here.”
“I don't know if he should go. Maybe it's best if I do it,” Camden broke in.
Kefier smiled. “Don't worry about me. We're in the city now. What's the worst that could happen?”
~~~
It was inevitable, of course, that after having uttered such fate-defying words he would get lost between a crowded intersection, clutching a paper-wrapped package under a sudden downpour. Kefier stood there, blinking back water and swearing. Horse-drawn carriages danced past him, their passengers oblivious to the rain.
“What's the big deal?” he called out to someone who had managed to find shelter beneath a meat-skewer vendor's parasol. “It's almost as if they're excited to be out here. It's damp and it's dark.”
“It's also the first showing of The Grey Rose,” the man said. “A most glorious event. One of Ranochi's masterpieces, you know, and the lead tenor is one of Kiel's...”
Kefier looked up, recognizing the face. “It’s you. I shared a cart with you on the way to Vildar.”
&nb
sp; The man blinked. “Perhaps.”
“No, it is you. You left a blanket, too. It's back at Lillah's—I can get it if you want.”
The man held out his hand. “Before you say anything more, come and join me and my friend here. There's plenty of room. If you would be so kind, sir—” The vendor grunted, but he moved his roasting grill a foot to the side, allowing Kefier to squeeze in. Kefier shook the water from his arms and heaved a sigh of relief. The coals from the ash pit were glowing red and the heat felt pleasant against his skin.
“Now, where were we?” the man asked, his hand over his thin beard. “Ah. The blanket. Well, as I went ahead and got a new one after I was so careless, I suppose you could have it for yourself. Consider it a gift.”
“I noticed something strange about it.”
“The smell?”
“What? No. I mean—” Kefier glanced at the vendor, but the man seemed disconcerted about something and was trying very hard not to look at them. He shook his head. “I think you had that thing enchanted.”
“Did I?” The man seemed somewhat amused by the statement.
Kefier frowned. “This isn't a joke. It saved our lives.”
“I'm sure. I've heard it gets cold out in those woods.” The man tapped the vendor on the shoulder. “Two intestines, please, for me and my friend here.”
“I can't pay you back.”
“I didn't say anything about paying me back.” The man took the skewers with a smile and handed one to Kefier. “Don't concern yourself over the blanket. It is an ordinary thing and it is what it is.” He took a big bite from the roasted intestine and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “You said you're staying at a ‘Lillah's’ place. Lillah Artek?”
“Ab, you're one of those too, aren't you? What’s that word—an ardent admirer?”
The man smirked. “And I see you're not. That's fine. I'm glad you found a good place to stay.”
