by Osku Alanen
“Next,” the guard at the gate shouted.
“Do we have a pass?” Arin whispered to Nijakim.
“I hope so. I don’t want to be treated like that poor man.”
“Agreed.”
“Shut. Up,” Rhea muttered under her breath.
The guard frowned at Rhea. “Pass?”
“Here you go.”
Much to Arin’s confusion, Rhea showed what appeared to be a blank document to the guard while whispering something into his ear. Rhea’s hand was swift, but Arin could clearly see something exchanging hands.
“Let them pass; they’re clear.” the guard motioned to squadron standing by the gate to move aside the tall, well-fortified gate. They still eyed Arin and Nijakim suspiciously as they passed through the gate towards the unknown, but they let them pass without a word. Arin could feel the sweat running down his back, but thankfully, they made it inside without a confrontation.
“We made it,” Arin whispered after they were at a safe distance from the gate.
“I’m curious. What did you whisper to the guard?” Nijakim asked.
Rhea shrugged. “Nothing. It’s what I gave the guard that counted.
“Oh.” A bribe? That was a thought that had never once entered Arin’s mind. In their village, there was no need for bribes.
“Well then, boys. I suppose it’s time for us to part ways.”
“You’re leaving us? Now?” Arin asked, sounding hurt.
“That’s the deal we made. I will teach you the ways of the land and lead you here, and you will guard us. Well, here we all are—alive and well. Deal’s a deal, I reckon.”
Arin looked at Nijakim helplessly. Despite the coldness in the woman’s voice, they had traveled far to get here. To part ways like this seemed… heartless to Arin. Even the child with her seemed to tear up upon hearing her words. He slowly walked up to Arin and hugged him tightly. Arin couldn’t help but smile, gently caressing the boy’s blonde hair. He had scarcely spoken two words during their travels, but he had grown fond of the child regardless.
“You’ll do alright with Rhea here, you hear? If you ever need anything, you can always seek us out.”
The boy nodded, wiping away the tears running down his cheeks.
“Well then, boys. It was nice to meet you. Best of luck with your search.” Rhea waved the two men goodbye and disappeared into the crowded streets.
“How does she do that—just part ways with us with no hesitation?”
“I suppose it’s just the way northerners are. Besides, she clearly has urgent business here. Couldn’t you tell?”
“I know, but what business? She told us next to nothing what she was after—and with that boy, no less.”
Nijakim shrugged. “Who knows? All we can do is hope that she finds whatever she’s looking for. And I’m sure the kid will be just fine. We have other things to worry about, now.”
“But where do we start? Arin mumbled. He was sure Nijakim felt just as lost as him in this grand and strange city. No matter what Rhea had taught them, seeing it first-hand was daunting.
“I suppose we could start by looking for a place to stay in?”
“Agreed.”
Finding a place to stay proved more challenging than Arin had feared. Tavern after tavern, they were turned away. Some of the innkeepers forced them out once they showed what little coin they had in their possession. Arin had never felt so humiliated before. Who knew simply living could be so… expensive in this strange city. What were they to do then, sleep in the gutters and starve to death?
Eventually they stumbled upon a grand plaza and a road, which led them straight towards the plateau all but touching the sky beyond. All around the road were marvelous statues of what Nijakim deduced to be distant heroes of Eyria’s past. Ancient kings. Scholars. But what baffled Arin most was the citizens where who walked amongst these grand creations without blinking an eye; it was almost as if they couldn’t see them. He wondered if he could ever get used to marvels like this, which all but took his breath away. Nijakim, especially, was thrilled when he first saw the marble statues. He rushed from statue to statue, sliding his fingers across their smooth surfaces. Arin couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s enthusiasm; it was as if they were both children again. It gave them a much-needed respite—however brief—from the hardships they had faced in their brief lives.
“I think we should go, brother.”
“I know. Just a moment longer.”
“It is already past dusk. We need a place to stay in. I, for one, can’t keep my eyes open much longer.”
“Agreed,” Nijakim sighed, casting one final glance at the marvels around him.
The glamour of a large city quickly dissipated as Arin learned of the complete disregard for the wellness of others these strange people felt. The people here shouted, pushed, cursed. And whenever Arin and Nijakim passed by a beggar in the gutters, he learned that not everyone could prosper in this pinnacle of mankind’s creation. In the village of Kun’urin, no men or women grew hungry. But here, they saw children—smaller than the boy Rhea had with her—cut peoples’ purses and run away with their contents. Crime and hatred flourished here.
Not much later, Arin realized how the people around them looked at them, too, with disgust. In their home, they had been warriors and scholars, but here, they were nothing.
“I still can’t understand why everyone here shaves their face so clean. The men here look like children,” Arin said.
“And the way they dress, it’s so… peculiar. We look like beggars to them, don’t we? No wonder they treat us so poorly.”
“What should we do?” Arin asked his friend. He was growing worried; the sun had already set, and darkness was quickly taking control.
“I don’t know,” Nijakim sighed, massaging his worn-out feet. They had wasted too much time sightseeing and now their stomachs were empty and their minds tired. They had found nothing, and now they were right back where they started.
“Look, Arin.” Nijakim pointed towards the same alley they had passed by earlier, frowning.
A group of youths dressed in colorful, expensive-looking garments had surrounded the very same beggar they had seen earlier. One of the oldest of the crew had grabbed the helpless man by his robe and held him there. He then pushed the beggar to the ground, and the man cried out in agony. The rest of the youths erupted in laughter.
“We should intervene,” Arin said through clenched teeth. The man reminded him of Elder Kelmunir—he seemed about the same age, too. And if there was one thing that Arin hated most, it was treating the helpless poorly.
Nijakim grabbed Arin’s wrist moments before he drew steel and looked him in the eye. “Don’t do it, brother. They’ll throw us out—or worse.”
Arin nodded in agreement and let his sword fall back into its scabbard. “Agreed. And besides, I have no need for my sword for the likes of these.”
“Look at the bastard whimpering,” one of the boys laughed, pointing at the man they had pushed to the ground.
“Pathetic,” another boy added.
“Are you ready to apologize to me?” The boy who had pushed the beggar to the ground said. “You looked me in the eyes and sneered. That is not how you act in front of your betters.”
“I meant no disrespect, my lord. Forgive me,” the beggar whimpered, palms held above his head.
“I don’t believe you,” the boy added with a smug look on his face.
“Please,” the beggar gently touched the boy’s garment.
The boy’s eyes widened in disgust. “You dare lay your hands on me, you filthy animal?” He kicked the beggar in the stomach. “You disgust me.”
The others stayed at a distance and laughed.
The boy turned his hands into a fist, preparing to strike the man in retaliation.
Arin intervened, catching the blow well in time. “Leave the man be,” he said sternly.
The boy’s eyes widened in surprise. He regained his composure quickly as
he saw the other boys quietly watching him. “Another beggar comes to save the day? What a joke,” the boy laughed.
Arin stood his ground between the boy and the beggar, watching him closely.
“Move aside. This doesn’t concern you,” the boy said with disgust.
“Try and make me,” Arin said, deliberately changing his tone into a mocking voice.
The boy seemed baffled, shocked at the stranger’s defiance. No one had probably talked back to him like this before, Arin realized.
“How dare you,” the boy growled. He looked back at his friends, both shocked at Arin’s refusal. No one spoke a word; they all waited anxiously what would unfold here. Then, out of nowhere, the boy threw his fist at Arin, obviously trying to injure him before Arin had a chance to retaliate.
Arin saw the blow coming well in advance. He caught his fist in midair with his left hand, twisting the arm painfully behind the boy’s back.
“Ahh, let go of me. Let go!” the boy whimpered.
“Not until you apologize to the man,” Arin said sternly. The boy’s friends had all taken a step back. No one rushed to assist their friend. Spineless bullies, Arin thought.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please let me go,” the boy cried.
“Run back to your mother,” Arin whispered in the boy’s ear, kicking his behind with enough strength to make the boy lose his footing. He fell down, ruining his expensive-looking garments with soil—and worse. Then, Arin placed his hand on the pommel of his sword to show he was armed. They all fled the scene—running.
“Are you alright?” Arin extended his hand to the beggar on the ground.
“T-thank you, stranger. Truly.”
“You are quite welcome,” Arin showed the beggar a warm smile.
“Nicely handled, Arin.” Nijakim chuckled. “For a moment there, I almost feared for you.”
Arin snorted. “Please.”
The beggar groaned weakly as he lifted himself up with Arin’s help.
“Take it easy, my good man. You must have broken a few ribs.”
“It’s nothing, son. I’ve endured much worse.”
His breathing sounded ragged, uneven. Arin exchanged a troubled look with his friend. “Is there anything we can do for you?”
“You have done much already. I have no wish to trouble you any further.” The man showed Arin a tired yet warm smile. He frowned when he saw the robes they were wearing. His eyes seemed to glimmer, as if he had recognized something. “You two… are not from around here, are you?”
“We have traveled far,” Nijakim acknowledged, seeming reluctant to share more. Arin knew they should be cautious, for unknown men had attacked them. But this man was harmless, wasn’t he? A simple beggar of a city half the world away.
“We hail from a distant village, atop the mountains known by us as the Three Peaks. My name is Arin, and this here is Nijakim.” Arin admitted.
The beggar shared a coy, knowing smirk. “Order of the Kun’urin, then? I should’ve guessed. The uncut beards you wear. The robes. The way you fought. Yes, there can be no mistake—you belong to the Rrder.”
“You know our people?”
“I was not born yesterday, young man. Yes, I have met your kind before—although it has been years, decades, even. I was just a lad then, but I distinctly remember the men from your order frequenting Eyria. As years passed, their visits grew scarce. I still remember how my mother laid her hands atop my ears, to prevent the horrors your kindred lectured us of from reaching my delicate ears.”
Arin frowned, looking at his friend who shrugged. Decades? He had witnessed, first hand, the yearly pilgrimage of one or two newly-endorsed Swords of the Order, and he had watched them being walked off their village by Master Nazek himself. He had waved the men goodbye, and it was his deepest desire to follow in their footprints one day. Arin could not think of a pursuit more noble than what those men were prepared to fight for. They sacrificed everything to fight the Daemoni. And now, was he to believe their cause had been a lie, too? Sure, what Nijakim had found had been a revelation, but it hadn’t made their cause any less important. The Daemoni still roamed the earth, and order of the Kun’urin could still fight them. What did it matter if their ancestors served a false master? It was not his sin. But if what this beggar said proved true, then somewhere along the way, something had gone terribly wrong. Where were the Swords of the Order? They were to lead these men—not hide in shadows. Nijakim seemed to sense the same as he had, for the lines of his forehead seemed to deepen, too.
The beggar saw the worry in Arin’s eyes, so he did his best to smile. “But perhaps this is a discussion best left for another day? From the look of you two, you could use rest. If you’ll walk me to my home, I’m more than happy to offer you a place to sleep for a day or two. I fear my own strength fails me, and I might require some more of your aid. Oh, and before I forget, they call me Ricken.”
“Lead the way, Ricken,” Arin said, gently offering his hand as a support. Slowly, they walked away from the alley that no longer seemed safe, for Arin was sure the privileged bullies would return to the site where their presumed honor and pride was so badly injured.
“There, just behind the building over there,” the man pointed towards a dark alley.
“You call this… home?” Arin said, swallowing.
He watched, eyes wide, a dozen or more men and women sit around in these makeshift houses he feared would soon crumble. This… this was the forgotten part of the city. He thought he might see grim faces bereft of hope, but, instead, he saw anything but. It was not misery that Arin saw here—they dressed poor and they looked poor, yes, but these men and women wore a smile most genuine. Children laughed and ran and played here. There was joy in their voices. The adults gathered around in a circle gossiping and trading cards under the moonlight.
“I know it’s not much, but it is our home. Welcome to the Alley of the Forgotten.”
A woman came rushing to Ricken’s aid when she saw the man limping. At first, she was hesitant when she saw the two bearded strangers, but when she heard how Arin had singlehandedly sent the bullies on their way, she erupted in laughter. Ricken introduced the woman as her wife, and later that evening, she offered them a dozen boiled eggs as a token of her gratitude. They gathered around a fire, telling stories and tales of their adventures. The children found Nijakim’s old tales fascinating; they asked question after a question, eyes filled with wonder and excitement.
“Those boys that pushed you, do they bother you often?” Arin asked Ricken, voice lowered once he saw the children were out of the way.
“Oh no, it’s not common, do not fear. Most choose to leave me alone. Those boys are not evil, mind you, and I’m thankful you only harmed their pride. I can see the sword at your hip clear as day, and I’m thankful you didn’t feel the need to draw it. They were but misguided youths—that’s all. It’s the curse of the privilege they were born into. So, no, young Arin, I have no hate for them—only pity.”
“Pity?”
“Yes,” Ricken smiled. “For someone born into privilege, they must learn humility the hard way, else they risk losing their souls in the process. Such is the curse of wealth. It is not their fault, not really. It is their parents that are to blame. The lords of our great home.”
“I was taught to respect my elders,” Nijakim muttered under his breath.
The man smiled sadly. “The world is as it is. You can’t right every wrong no matter how hard you try. And thanks to you, young Arin, I get to see my grandchildren for at least one more day. We do not have much here in the Valley, but what we have, is yours. You are welcome to stay the night, brothers.”
“Our thanks,” Nijakim replied.
By the time the children ran out of questions, both Arin and Nijakim were on the brink of exhaustion. Ricken, thankfully, chased the ever-eager children away, and finally, they got the much-needed rest they had longed for.
For the first time in ages, Arin slept soundly—without his han
d on the pommel of his blade.
***
“Is that the library? It’s… magnificent!”
“Breathtaking,” Nijakim mouthed.
They had parted ways with Ricken at first light, eager to explore the city now that a place of lodging had been secured; it brought them much-needed comfort. The Grand Library of Eyria itself was easy to find; it towered over the other buildings nearby. Arin walked towards this grand creation, his mind filled with both bafflement and wonder of a creation such as this could be man-made. They ascended the steep steps leading to the library, marveling the marble statues they passed by. It quickly became apparent that the men they described were no warriors; they were scholars whose hard world and quick minds had made the city the marvel it was. Surprisingly, Nijakim remained calm as they ventured inside the building, but Arin knew the eagerness the man must had felt. This place was the center of knowledge of the entire kingdom; you could sense it in way these scholars held their heads high.
“Our library is nothing compared to this,” Nijakim muttered.
Was, brother. Was, Arin thought, but chose to leave unsaid. “Indeed,” Arin replied.
“It would take me a decade—no, a lifetime to go through every book here.”
“I don’t think that’s a good thing, brother… I mean, where do we even start?”
“I don’t know,” Nijakim sighed.
They had walked straight into this wondrous place with scarcely a plan; they must’ve looked an odd pair, just standing there, looking helpless as men after men passed them by. It didn’t take long until a man dressed in an ill-fitting robe approached them with determined steps, wearing a frown. “Can I help you, gentlemen?” The man asked with a stern voice.
“I hope so. It’s our first visit here,” Nijakim said.
The man judged them from eye to toe, his frown deepening. They had done the best they could about how they looked, washing their stained faces and combing their hair. Yet, their beards remained ragged and their robes filthy.
