by M. K. Adams
Deep down, Lyvanne knew that it was only a matter of time before some lord or lady complained enough that the king would actually take action regarding the ruined household. It was certainly an unwelcome sight in what was, for the most part, a ravishing sector of the city. If the wreckage had lain beyond the giant gateway that separated the rich from the poor, then no one would even cast a second glance. But they didn’t live on the side of the poor. They made their home among the rich; they lived near the food. Their only reassurance came from the fact that Abella’s home was in the furthest reaches of this sector of the city. The rear end of the house was built into the great stone wall that separated the Upper layer of Astreya from the lower, and it was likely the only reason that the entirety of the house had not completely collapsed in on itself during the fire.
Firm foundations but lousy neighbours, Abella always said.
“What happened?” Lira asked.
“I was seen, had to run and hide for a while.”
Lira placed her hands on her hips and shot Lyvanne a stern gaze. “Why were you seen?”
“Got too caught up in the moment. There was this strange looking woman -
“A strange looking woman isn’t worth your life,” Lira interrupted as she loosened up her body and helped Lyvanne unpack the food.
Lyvanne wouldn’t want to say anything that might upset her, but it was refreshing to hear the younger girl talk like the adult of the group for once. It had been a long while since Lyvanne had last slipped up, and it was reassuring to know that Lira cared enough to chastise her for it.
“I know. I’m sorry Lira,” Lyvanne replied sincerely.
Lyvanne quietly tucked her savings away under her bed, and the four of them shared the food that she had brought home. Lira and Lyvanne stayed up long into the night after the others had fallen asleep. They didn’t need to say much, but enjoying one another’s company was still an easy task after all their years together.
“Don’t go doing anything stupid next time, okay?” Lira said quietly as the pair lay side by side on the hard floor.
“I’ll try not to,” Lyvanne said with a smirk. Inwardly however, her confidence was quickly fading. If she’d learned anything that day, it was that she wasn’t suited to the streets any longer. So closing her eyes, she turned to the only outlet she knew.
Dear Angel watching over us, please lend me your sight. Please show me what I am to do. Show me what is to come.
Chapter 2
It was a new day, and for once Lyvanne decided to take the day off. Unsure of whether or not the carriage drivers would be more perceptive of their surroundings following the incident the day before, Lyvanne made the call that it was probably best to avoid Merchant Street for the day.
Taking advantage of a rare day away from Merchant Street, Lyvanne laid in her makeshift bed of wood and fraying fabric until the sun began to beam in through the burned structure of the house above and down the stairwell into the basement.
After giving herself enough time to properly wake, she said her farewells to the others.
“I just need the time alone,” she said as she ruffled Oh’s shaggy brown hair as he asked to go with her for the day.
“Okay,” he replied reluctantly before slouching his shoulders.
Lira was more understanding. “Everyone needs some alone time every now and then,” she said to Oh. “Lyvanne’s no different.”
Abella had muttered a few words of encouragement in her half-dream state, wishing her to have a good time wherever she wandered before falling back to sleep. Lyvanne grew more wary of the old lady’s health every day. A few years ago, she had been as spritely as someone twenty years her junior, but the past few years had taken their toll on her. Lyvanne missed the days when she would be up and about in the house, taking at least some of the responsibility out of Lyvanne’s hands. Now, whilst she would have her good days, she slept most of the time and rarely had the energy to help in most matters.
Stepping out into the sunlight was like entering a different plane of existence. The light burned Lyvanne’s eyes and forced a weary arm up in defence. At the same time, it was blissful. The warm rays beat down on her skin, which was a welcome change from the cold stone floor of Abella’s basement. Astreya wasn’t the hottest location on The Rive; the Shimmering Isles to the South were far hotter and less hospitable according to overheard conversations and hearsay. But the past few weeks had been hotter than any others Lyvanne could remember, and she wasn’t the only one who had noticed. All the wealthy people seemed to talk about was the weather as they walked elegantly down the streets. Lyvanne pitied them if that was all they had in common to discuss.
Astreya itself was constructed as three circular layers, each with an increasingly imposing wall that watched down on the people below. The lower layer housed the masses, the people who couldn’t afford the luxuries in life; the Upper layer was where Lyvanne lived, filled with the rich and every luxury you could imagine. The third and final layer housed the King, his family and his staff. The third layer served as a castle within the city. Only the exceptionally fortunate knew what the King’s castle looked like, and Lyvanne could only dream of finding out as she walked along the curvature of the King’s Wall, one hand gently brushing against the grey stone.
Lyvanne wasn’t walking with the intention of finding her way inside, however; instead she was heading for her favourite part of the largest city in The Rive. The journey took her through winding streets of cobblestone, past busy streets of shoppers and professional socialisers and finally by the front gates of The Accord, the smallest yet most expensive of the gated communities which housed the wealthiest of Astreya’s citizens. All the while travelling under the watchful shadow of the King’s Wall.
Just beyond The Accord was Lyvanne’s destination. The furthest wall of the gated community was built on the edge of a grassy slope, decorated with flowers and elaborate hedges, carved into the shapes of all manner of magnificent creatures. At the very bottom of the slope was the river Ayna. The Goddess of Creation had placed the river at the very heartland of her chosen people’s empire, running through all three layers of Astreya the way a vein flows through a body.
Shuffling her way through a small gap in the connecting stonework between the King’s Wall and the rear wall of The Accord, Lyvanne burst out onto the grassy slope. She had trod the path many times before, but regardless had to be careful where she went. If she caused too much noise or left behind too great a trace of her presence, then no doubt the King’s gardeners would be on the lookout the next time she came along. So like always she took her time, carefully making her way down the slope. Taking in the strong and beautiful scents on offer before finding the world opened up before her as she walked out onto the quiet bank of the Anya.
To her left, the river snaked through a grate in the King’s Wall where it flowed out of sight. To her right, the river followed along the grassy slope for about hundred yards before the scenery turned to buildings and stone. Further upstream beyond the first buildings the river bank was busier with other people going about their business. Handmaidens washing the clothes of their masters, optimistic fishermen standing on quays and even what looked like a young noble walking a pair of well-groomed dogs along a riverside walkway.
It was quieter here at Lyvanne’s little hideaway on the riverside. The makeshift orphanage at Abella’s old home wasn’t exactly loud— it couldn’t be if they wanted to remain hidden—but living with Oh at the age he was made life tiresome. She loved the young boy with all her heart. He was like a little brother to her, and it often made her sad that none of them knew where his parents were or what had become of them. It was rare for Islanders to live this far north into The Rive, it was rarer still for children from the Shimmering Isles to be here alone. Oh was a handful at the best of times, and downright tiring at the worst. She wanted a better life for him, for all of them.
Taking off her worn leather sandals, Lyvanne ran her toes through the grass and made the fin
al few steps down towards the river. She swung a large bag she’d been carrying over her shoulder onto the edge of the river and began to unload a pile of dirty clothes. They didn’t have much back at home, but what they did have Lyvanne was determined to keep as clean and as respectable as possible, even if it cost her a day off to do it. The alone time was worth it, Lyvanne told herself as she began to wash the clothes in the cool water of the river, occasionally splashing some water up her arm in order to keep herself from roasting in the mid-day sun. The only sounds were the continual chirping of small insects buried amongst the grass and hedges, the rippling of water and the distant clatter of citizens going about their day in the distance. That was, until she heard footsteps coming from the top of the slope above her. It was quiet at first, the gentle rustling as someone brushed against the shrubbery that formed a thin wall above. But it slowly grew in aggression as the person fought their way through the line and down onto the grassy slope.
Lyvanne knew that she would be less than welcome if someone found her here. It wasn’t strictly breaking any laws, but the rich didn’t take kindly to people like her being nearby, let alone so close to their homes and the areas of the city that they deemed their own. Instinctively, Lyvanne’s hand gently brushed over a small scar that sat on her left cheekbone, the remnant of a punishment for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hearing the footsteps growing louder as the newcomer made their way down the slope and towards the river, Lyvanne scoured the area for the best place to hide. Running out of time, she threw the bag of washing out of sight and crawled under a large bush with heavy green leaves that was flourishing on the very edge of the river. She was hidden, but well enough? She didn’t know.
To her surprise, it wasn’t one of the nobles who stepped out into the clearing, but a young man, wearing the drab and torn clothes you would expect of a commoner, or worse, a Hemeti. He wasn’t being as quiet as Lyvanne would usually be, which made her question whether he was just stupid or overly confident about the possibility of being caught there.
He was striking to look at. Most people in The Rive had dark skin and brown eyes, the result of thousands of years living under the intense sun. This person was pale, not just pale like the Southerners who lived in the White Mountains to the far south, but a sheer white, as though no sun had ever kissed his skin. Lyvanne had seen a Hemeti before, a race of greenskins who sat even below commoners when it came to their place in society, but he was not one of them. He was something different.
After standing at the edge of the river for what felt like an eternity, he took off his tattered shorts and worn down top and slowly began to wade into the river, not far enough that he had to swim, but allowing the swirling waters to rise steadily up until they covered his thighs.
Lyvanne lay silently underneath the thicket. She was entranced by what she saw. The young man couldn’t have been any more than five or six years her senior, but he looked like a man returning from a far off war. His whole body was covered with scars, embedded deep into his gleaming white skin. They were all manner of size, some stretching an arm’s length down his back, others barely visible to Lyvanne who lay only a few metres away. She had never seen someone like this before, and then he did it…
He began to weave his arms through the air, like he was conducting some elaborate orchestra or dancing among one of the eastern tribes as they called for water. At first it all seemed very strange to Lyvanne, like the situation wasn’t abnormal enough already, but then thin streams of light began to pour out of his body. When they danced and swirled with the motion of his arms, Lyvanne realised what she was seeing. For the first time in her life, and what she thought would probably be the last, Lyvanne was witnessing the rarest of phenomena in the entire Rive: she was watching magic.
A few minutes later and it was over. Lyvanne wasn’t entirely sure, but she couldn’t remember breathing the entire time as she had lain there silently, her eyes following every movement.
He bent over, haunching his back and tightening his shoulders as if being riddled by the end of a sword. With time, it appeared to pass and he regained his composure and held out his right palm, revealing a key. As the young man stared at the key, his breathing becoming steadily more relaxed, Lyvanne wondered if that had been his goal, to conjure a key from thin air, and if so where did the key lead?
She didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“You can come out,” He said, his voice deep and jaded as if it belonged to a man three times his age. At first, Lyvanne dared not to move. He could be talking to someone else she told herself as she dug deeper into the dirt ridden ground beneath the bush.
“I know you’re there,” he continued, this time slightly inclining his head in her direction.
Lyvanne shifted uncomfortably, sweat slowly beginning to trickle down her forehead. He isn’t noble, she told herself as she uneasily fidgeted. Which meant he would be in just as much trouble for being here as she would be, but that didn’t make him safe to be around.
It was the lure of magic that won her over in the end, and equally the fear of what this person might do if she disobeyed. Crawling out from under the bush, Lyvanne nearly fell into the water, but managed to keep herself dry.
The young man smiled at her, his eyes a penetrating green and his hair almost as white as his skin. He returned to the shoreline where Lyvanne waited, placed his shirt over his body, pocketed the key, and dumped himself down on the grass.
“It’s okay, you can sit, I won’t tell anyone you were here,” he said reassuringly, gesturing to the grass by his side.
Lyvanne was still reluctant. She wanted so badly to reach for the washing bag she had dumped behind the shrubbery as she hid and to make a run for it, but she figured that running from a warlock was probably futile if they really wanted to catch you.
“What’s your name?” he asked, staring up at Lyvanne. The burning sun seemed to have little impact on his eyes.
“Lyvanne. Who are you?” she asked meekly, standing a few feet away from the stranger. Never before had Lyvanne felt so powerless, so immobilised by fear and intrigue at the same time.
“I don’t give out my name easily, little one.”
Lyvanne pouted. Despite her age, she had the responsibilities of a full-grown adult and didn’t take kindly to being patronised.
“You’re a warlock,” she replied, growing in confidence as if to rival the patronising comment.
He nodded approvingly, “That I am, Lyvanne.”
“You’re rare, aren’t you?”
She received no answer.
“Do you know a lot about magic?” he asked.
“Not really, only the stories that Abella used to tell us.”
“Well, I’m sure that Abella is a very knowledgeable lady…”
“Not particularly, not anymore at least.”
The warlock let out a genuine laugh, causing Lyvanne to recoil slightly out of fear of being heard by someone in the Accord.
“Well, this Abella was right about the fact we’re rare. The scholars believe that there’s only one warlock for every few thousand people born in the Rive.”
Lyvanne took a step closer, her fear slowly being replaced with genuine curiosity. “What’s the key for?”
Nodding, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. It was incredibly plain, no decoration or engravings, not even a fancy pattern that so many of the rich people seemed to enjoy. Whatever he was planning with it, he wasn’t going to be selling it anytime soon.
“Straight to the point,” he said, waving the key around gently. “This is the key to one of the houses up in the Accord. The house of a particularly nasty foreign dignitary to be precise.”
Lyvanne didn’t know what dignitary meant, but she could catch his drift. “Why do you want that?”
“Because I plan to rob her.” Lyvanne was taken aback by his honesty. Robbing someone who lived in the Accord was as dangerous as it was foolish. You would have a hard enough time getting past the guards,
and even if you did, if you were caught the punishment would likely be death for a commoner.
“Why?” Lyvanne pressed.
The warlock paused, seemingly conflicted on how much information to pass on. “You’re an inquisitive one aren’t you?” She nodded in reply. “This lady has something that I want, something that my friends and I need.”
Lyvanne wasn’t happy; he hadn’t really answered her question, but she decided not to press the situation any further. Instead, she sat down beside him on the grass, bringing her knees up to her chest and staring out at the quiet waters of the Anya.
“Did it hurt?” she asked.
“The magic? Yeah, one of the pitfalls of having this gift, I guess. Maybe I’ll tell you more about it one day”
“One day?”
“Yeah, I get the feeling this won’t be our last encounter little Lyvanne.” He turned to Lyvanne and offered a knowing smile. It annoyed her. “Why don’t you join me when I go to the Accord?”
The question took Lyvanne by surprise. “Why would I do something that stupid?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“You must have someone you care about, even if it’s yourself. There will be a lot of things in this house that you could sell, might even keep you fed during winter if you wait it out. Besides, she won’t be there. She’s away on business, and it’ll be a clear sweep.”
Lyvanne heard the sense in his argument, and she couldn’t believe that she was actually considering his offer.
“You’ll be caught,” she retorted.
“Maybe…maybe not. Only one way to find out I guess? Besides, I can protect you if things go south.”
Lyvanne sat there in silence; she the gaze of this complete stranger boring into the side of her head, as if he was reading her very thoughts. She ignored him, her mind wandering back to the friends she had left behind at the house. She thought of the warm clothing, the food, and the proper bedding she could buy with the spare money. More selfishly she thought of the quiet and secure life she could buy for herself if she added more money to her secret savings. Then she drifted back to the performance she had seen this person conduct in the river, the magic that had swirled around him and the key that had formed in his hands. If he could form a key out of thin air then surely he could keep them safe?
