A dark-haired man walked down the cobbled streets of an old city, bitter wind slashing at his heavy robes. The occasional gust exploited a gap in his woolen overcoat, causing him to shiver, and pull the garment tighter. The coming winter would be harsh, an early cold had set in not a week after the harvests had finished. The market was not so bustling as it once was, only a few disparate conversations still persisted, muffled by coats and scarfs, sending up pairs or groups of steam in tiny whorls.
Several of the less fortunate huddled in alleys and on street corners, shivering under thin blankets. For many, this year had been a difficult one . He prayed for their prosperity, knowing that they would need a miracle if this year was as cold as last. He handed out food to any he saw, and as a result, had dipped precariously into the money needed for his return trip. He had already bought the necessary provisions for the road, and his personal savings were less than impressive. Still, he wouldn't be able to leave the town for at least another week. His traveling arrangements were tied to a caravan who had yet to arrive, so he had to stretch his remaining coin. It would not do for him to cut his tour of the city short.
He scratched at his growing beard. It had been years since he had shaved it. He had committed to letting it grow after his ordeal in the Northern reaches, to honor the fallen there. His brotherhood discouraged vanity, and Sheanair respected that sentiment, but in his old age, he allowed himself a bit of pride in his facial hair. It was, after all, the last vestiges of hair that still clung to his head. At times he considered shaving it just to avoid the glares of his brothers, but today he was glad for the added insulation.
Calloway was an old city, one of the last of the truly ancient constructs on the continent, and it showed in the variety of architectural styles on display. Ancient neolithic stonework with brand new timber structures built atop, elsewhere the rotting wood of a now forgotten wave of immigration was flanked by rich brick and mortar mansions, many still bearing scaffolding, like vines crawling up the neglected buildings. At times it seemed to him that the city was a living thing, like the trees he cultivated at his home. It flourished in its summer months, growing new branches and decorating them with leaves. While in its cultural winter it would die back, twigs and leaves abandoned, left as food for the next year, the next generation. Sheanair entered the city square, built around a statue of an Aristocrat dressed in strange but lavish garbs. A king? A war hero? A deity? It was impossible to tell, having been built without a plaque to commemorate them. Cycles of life govern us as surely as those rulers. The statue, like much of the edifices around it was covered in grime and dirt. Yet, Calloway would bloom again when the energy of a new culture, a new way of life arrived.
The latest wave of people had been from the North. Their immigration had more resembled an exodus, and for good reason. The once proud craftsmen of that land had been driven from their stoneworks by invaders, or so they said. Once they had established themselves, they had left a string of arches across the city. Some of the arches were not attached to individual buildings, but instead supported long, raised walkways that crisscrossed the city and redirected many of the old routes of the city. It was a navigational nightmare
Thankfully, Sheanair had a passing familiarity with the layout, having visited twice before, but the organic way the town had grown could easily strand a newcomer in a loop, or dozens of dead ends(Some in a more literal sense). For this reason, he tended to stay on the largest roads, and while none were exactly arrow-straight, they were wide enough to be easily found and followed. The largest of these bisected the city, and ran nearly perfectly straight north to south. It was officially named Main street but most called it the Rotting Run as it ran through the market, a large red light district, and many, many gambling houses.
Sheanair tried to avoid the Rotting Run where possible. His first visit to Calloway, he chose to take the quickest route to his destination as it appeared on his map and several hours later, he found himself back at the entrance to the town, missing his coins, the map, and his dignity. He had been mortified. But his more experienced brother(who knew his way around and thus avoided every pitfall Sheanair had tripped over) had simply laughed and led him on a quest to retrieve his stolen money. Sheanair found himself smiling at the memory.
The second main road was aptly named Second street, though all but the richest, most insulated nobles called it River Run, and wound roughly East to Southwest. It led to most of the various residential districts, and contained the less seedy inns and taverns. Both of these roads met in what was the closest thing to a city center: The temple.
The rhythmic clack of his shoes against cobblestones came to a stop.
The Temple was as beautiful as it was opulent, though the original purpose or deity of the temple long forgotten. The temple had been built so well and so large that the population co-opted it for the worship of all their deities, preserving its function if not its God or goddess. It had become something of a cultural center., the prime location for merchants and vendors, which kept the people flowing through the temple. There was an unspoken agreement within the market that no one would take up space against the walls or on the stairs to the temple, Sheanair had never once seen this treatise broken. The one instance he could pry from the lips of a friendlier shopkeep was not comforting. A newcomer to the market had set up a stall on the stairs of the temple, despite numerous warnings. Over the course of two weeks, he descended into madness, before disappearing entirely, stall and all. The store owner would say no more, and Sheanair couldn't find anyone else willing to speak of it. Despite this, Sheanair found great comfort in the tall, gothic spires and yawning rib vaults of the building. It was a reminder to him of the good that religion could bring into the world. Cooperation and Brotherhood He thought The cornerstones of Faith.
The base of the temple was a rough hexagon, with four long halls jutting out in a cross formation from the center. Despite the bricks which composed its majority, the foundation of the temple was natural stone, never cut, though parts had been worn smooth with use. Spires were situated at the four cardinal directions with smaller ones regularly dispersed halfway between them, and eight more halfway between those. They were adorned with carvings of flowing water, giving them the appearance of being great fonts of water. The buttresses that extended from these spires to support the center of the structure were almost the size of the spires themselves, their surfaces brimming with small aquatic creatures frozen in stone. Yet in spite of these marvelous reliefs, the main tower reached up into the heavens, dominating all before it.
Sitting atop a dome, the main tower seemed to defy gravity. The walls of the main tower had been sculpted to resemble a natural stone pillar, surrounded by tightly packed smaller stalagmites. Except instead of terminating at a ceiling, the pillar morphed into a polished marble platform, atop which sat the most striking piece of the Temple, and the subject of its worshipper's faith. A steel and silver moon, still gleaming despite the weight of centuries. The details of the sculpture's surface were stunningly accurate to the real one, a fact which had been continuously rediscovered as scholars recorded finer and finer details on the surface of the skybound moon. It was a world wonder, and testament to the skill of their ancestors.
As he gazed up at the towers of the sacred grounds, a familiar form greeted him from beyond the gates of the outer fence.
Monk Sheanair waved at the man and said "Hallo, Cuain! It has been too long."
"That it has my old friend. How have you been, Brother Sheanair?" A rattling of untangling chains accompanied a man of average build, topped with a close cut head of bright red hair, and a beard that reached his midsection. Cuain served as the Temple’s caretaker. The two men shook hands and embraced briefly, before stepping into the temple, and swapping stories that the other had yet to hear. Eventually, they reached the small living quarters Cuain and his family called home . Sheanair was in the middle of a tale that he was told of by one of his brothers where an intruder had to be extracted from a cactus patch on the south side, when he heard a baby crying out from further within the man's home. Monk Sheanair beamed at his friend.
"Ah, congratulations on the new arrival! It will be your third, correct? They sound healthy, is it a boy or a girl?"
The groundskeeper gave a polite grin "It is a girl, and she has made an excellent recovery, but this one was a stray. Orphaned, as far as we could tell. We found her in the Northwest tower of the temple. Looked like she'd been there for over a day. Poor thing barely had the strength left to cry at first, but she's a tough one. No one saw any intruder, at least that they admit to, so we have no idea how she even came to the temple, much less who the parents are."
"Ah, that's unfortunate, but I'm glad to hear that she's found a loving home." Sheanair said
Cuain shook his head and with guilt and shame in his voice said "I would love to treat her the same as my own children, but our temple work just hasn't been paying. I can hardly get enough food to feed four, much less a fifth."
Monk Sheanair hesitated for a moment, knowing if he did this, he'd have serious repercussions waiting for him at home. He took a deep breath "I can take her, if you would allow me. We have plenty to spare at the gardens, both food and kindness."
Cuain looked at the old monk with shock. "I can't imagine your brothers and sisters would appreciate that kind of surprise. The child may not be rich here, but I'd prefer she be a little hungry than treated as a burden, and shunned."
Sheanair held his hands in the shape of the mark of plenty and said "I solemnly swear to keep that child safe and happy with all my body and soul. You have my word."
The groundskeeper's face was a mix of relief and guilt "It would be a great blessing if you did, for the both of us. But I should ask Mary first. It is her decision as well. How about you stay for dinner?"
"I would love to! But on one condition: I'll bring the food. I insist."
"You are too kind to us, Brother Sheanair."
"Nonsense, I owe you more than I can ever repay. Now, what was the child's name?"
_______________________________________________________________________________
A group of monks stampeded past her hiding spot, and she hunkered down further against the worn stone. She waited a full minute after the footsteps faded into silence, then cautiously stood up and turned to head in the way they came from. A shadow fell over her, and she tried to run, but a large pair of hands scooped her by her armpits, despite her wildly kicking legs.
"Now what are you doing here, little one? You know you aren't allowed in here."
She said nothing, and continued struggling. She was spun about, and a kindly, wrinkled face greeted her.
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."
She looked up at the man with a glint of hope in her eyes
"Oh no, I'm not falling for that again. I'm taking you back to your room."
She pouted
"I know, but you can't go further in, it's dangerous."
She teared up
"Come on, we can play that game you like so much, the one with the islanders"
Her tears dried instantly, and she nodded enthusiastically.
"Alright then" He put her down "Hold my hand, and we'll walk back together."
_______________________________________________________________________________
The drone of cicadas echoed across a rolling landscape, dominated by field upon field of various crops. A large, but poorly maintained dirt road weaved like a river through the crooked fences that bordered the farms. A casual observer might have guessed that this road had been abandoned for years, but on this particular day, one could watch the meandering approach of a small dust cloud breaking the otherwise timeless scene.
Normal life for the average imperial citizen consists of the pursuit of money, power, and survival. For many, this led to a quiet, simple life in the Empire either farming, trading, or hunting. In one young woman’s case, this meant hauling a large pile of glorified manure through a series of environments which came in every flavor of horrible from hot and humid to cold and dry all in order to keep one tree alive. And Halley wouldn’t trade it for the world.
The Siblings of Sahaya who gave her this job were the kindest people she'd ever met, treating her like family, teaching her anything they could and housing her for a few weeks a year. They even paid her a healthy but reasonable commission for each completed journey. It was their life’s goal to care for, and love a single tree, whose location they guarded zealously. They were downright hostile to outsiders most of the time, and admittedly a little obsessive of the garden but was that so wrong? Given how the Empire was grabbing up every piece of land they could, it made sense that they'd be suspicious of anyone not from their trusted circles. She was sure some people would have pried into the origins of such a suspiciously well-funded organization. These people had gotten kicked out of the gardens permanently. The Empire tried sending diplomats openly several times, and no doubt more than a few spies and bribes, all to no avail. The Siblings were too vigilant and too stubborn in their insistence on isolation. To pass the time Halley would construct wild fantasies dealing with where they got their money and influence . One day they were master thieves who used political intrigue as blackmail,and the next they were trained in the unarmed arts stopping a charging horse with one arm.
A cow greeted her with an extended moo from across a fence. She waved to it.
Aside from daydreaming of warrior monks, Halley often found herself thinking of far off places and distant times when on the long empty stretches of country roads that wound their way to her destination with a lethargy that would embarrass a sloth. Tree. Grass. Wheat field. Repeat. She idly wondered how anyone living here could distinguish between one field and another. She wasn’t exactly the most directionally gifted person herself, despite her long travels across the continent. She witnessed the landscape changing slowly from the rain-plagued jungles of the south to mist-veiled mountains where frost nipped at your heels, to the unbroken miles of dry grasslands, and finally to the rolling verdant hills of nothing and nowhere. She couldn’t stray too far from the major roads lest she spend days wandering around trying to find her way back. But in the face of this surfeit of wonders and potential, who could resist exploring just a bit? She liked to think of these occasions as impromptu explorations of whatever areas she happened to be in, and often ended up enjoying the little detours more than she should. Except for places like here, where she could reach nearly the edge of the Empire before realizing she'd taken a wrong turn. That was a rough few days…
The steady clatter of her wagon’s wheels hiccupped as it entered a dip in the road.
While these shires weren’t the most exciting or awe-inspiring sights, they did have an ease of life that encouraged relaxing, which was a welcome relief at the end of her round trip around the world. It was leagues better than the jungle, certainly. She once overheard a druid talking about the majesty of nature in a bar, espousing the virtues of reconnecting with the wild by stripping down and wandering into the uncharted woods. Halley remembered choking on her drink from laughing so hard, though she did make it a point to pray for his safety from the many predators he would no doubt be running from while lost in the woods.
Another field slid by, but this one had maize instead of cabbage.
Halley had a poor track record with most animals. Her encounter with a mother moose was the first to come to mind, primarily because it had been a frightening way to meet her first moose, and it also nearly resulted in her death. I swear that baby moose was leading me into a trap! She had learned two things that day: Just because the first member of a species you see is big doesn't mean it is an adult, and how to escape from an angry mother. She didn’t like moose.
In another case she had been ambushed by a wildcat. Luckily in that case, she was filling up her canteens at a river, so she dove in as soon as it pounced. Lost my canteens and had to trek three hours back to my cart. There were multiple separate occasions on which monkeys (native to the Elluen jungles) had stolen food or trinkets from her person. The only animals that didn’t seem to actively dislike her were her horse Vinny, and crows. Both of which may have only been because she was more than willing to feed them scraps when she could spare them, but she appreciated the mercy nonetheless.
A signpost faded into view on the left side of the road.
"Oh, thank the gods." She thought, approaching a welcoming sight: A tavern, worn and wooden, wedged between a rocky outcropping and the towering spires of an old growth forest. A light lantern hung beside the double doors, a signal to travelers that the inn was open.
A fence formed a barrier between the trees and a humble, but flourishing garden which wound around the inn. Mounted over the fence gates was a sign which at one point had read "Trail's End". Time had taken several of the letters from it, leaving it as just "r i s E n". Halley remembered chuckling at it when she'd noticed, but later regretted pointing it out to Feirm, who had made numerous puns based around it, each worse than the last.
"Stay here, Vinny" She told her horse, dismounting, and removing his bridle. Vinny huffed gently, and walked to the water trough. Vinny was not an impressive sight by any means, but remarkably strong for his size. He looked like he had never been washed or brushed, his mane was ruffled and too long, his legs looked(but usually weren't) like they were caked in mud, and his bridle was made of rope and nothing else. This disheveled appearance was entirely by Halley’s design. She knew too many merchants robbed based solely on how rich they appeared. Since she was only carrying fertilizer, Vinny was usually the only thing of value she had (The fertilizer was actually quite expensive, but bandits rarely checked the market prices of poop) and Halley did not want to lose him. Pulling her cargo alone would not be fun.
Halley pulled open the left door to the inn, saw that there were no other customers. She was greeted by a stout middle-aged woman with her hair in a messy bun and a cherry-red complexion. As she turned to greet the new arrival, the woman's face changed from a gruff, almost angry resting position, to warm recognition. "Halley! How have you been, dear?" Halley gave Leann a tired smile. Halley had known her for the better part of a decade, and since then, Leann had been like a mother to her. They had fought near constantly when Halley was younger, but things had settled down a bit once Halley had gotten into her current job about five years ago.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder...She swept aside the platitude from her thoughts and greeted Leann
"Hi Leann, how has business been?"
"Oh quit with the small talk, we both know that you're keeping this place afloat." Leann replied with a chuckle.
It was only half true. The tavern was located in a quiet stretch of land just outside a tiny village named Anategin, but it was the last stop before total wilderness closed in on either side of the roads, so there was a fairly consistent trickle of customers. Halley represented a small, but significant contribution to this trickle, and always left a portion of her pay with Leann, partly to repay Leann for taking her in and partly because Halley was terrible with money and would spend all of it on the road if she kept it. She didn't even know how much of her money Leann had gotten over time, but it must have been a lot because she had so few expenses and deliberately wore the clothes of a pauper to better avoid attention.
Halley looked around the tavern. "Where’s everybody else?"
"Peter's gone to bed already, and Feirm is bringing the sheep in for the night. He should be back in a minute." Leann stuck out a thumb, pointing to the back door of the Tavern. "You want anything? Food? Something to drink?"
"Some eggs would be great. Been living on jerky and bread the last three days." Halley asked.
Leann set to work immediately, grabbing a pan, three eggs, salt, a stick of butter, and a brick of cheddar. With expert hands, Leann spread the butter across the pan, before cracking several eggs into it. She stirred the eggs for a few seconds, shaving a bit of cheddar in at the same time. The sizzling made Halley’s stomach rumble. Leann splashed salt into the dish, then folded it into an omelette and carefully slid it onto Halley’s plate.
“Drink?” Leann asked
“Mmm, how about some coffee?”
“No, you’ll be up all night, have some juice instead.”
“O-kay.”
“Hold out your plate”
Leann always knew just how to make them. "Thank you Lea!"
"So tell me about the latest journey," Leann said "everything go smoothly? Those ruffians from Grimoire give you trouble again?"
"No, I heard from a hunter in the Western woods that Grimoire was recently struck by sickness. They mentioned a shortcut just after Trencham that bypasses the city, even saves a few miles." Halley thought it best to leave out the part where she, not a hunter, had been the one who had crested the final hill before Grimoire to reveal a plume of smoke obscuring the once glittering stoneworks of the town walls. Though the merchants of the city were a bit greedy, the town was one of her favorite stops for its wide variety of goods and its scenic location in the foothills of the Vedrick mountains. She was sad, and more than a little frightened to see it added to a growing list of settlements devastated by the Sleeping plague.
No one seemed to know where the plague began, or how. Allegedly it had sprung up in the capital city, Uileahad, and spread outward from there. Except, where the normal plagues of the past had either receded after people beat the sickness, or killed enough people to burn out, the sleeping plague just...stayed. Usually the ill would simply go to sleep one day and never wake back up. This on its own wouldn't have been too strange, but there hadn't been a single death due to the plague yet. Not even when a sleeping person was left to starve. People started staying away from the cities after that, but the plague still spread. The only consolation was that the spread was extremely slow. Not that that helped the settlements which did contract it. Bandits had begun to notice that looting a city was a lot easier when all the inhabitants were bedridden. The moment word got out that a town was infected, bandits began watching it like hungry vultures.
Leann of course knew all this, having been the one to inform Halley in the first place(there were perks to owning a bar, a surplus of gossip was just one), but she didn't want to worry Leann for no reason by reminding the woman that Halley had a less-than-safe occupation.
"Is that so? Well I guess that explains why Gunther finally left" Leann chuckled. Gunther was a drug addict that often hid out in the tavern, since the Grimoire city guard had recently banned a particularly nasty cocktail of drugs that was originally used as a battle drug of tribals. As one can imagine, however, it was not easy to catch a paranoid, extremely agile addict and so Gunther often found himself collapsing in the inn after a lengthy sprint. Leann had given up maintaining his favorite, and indeed only room as he refused to stay in a room that he knew had been 'disturbed', and would simply sully another room with his various accouterments. At one point Halley had confronted him about the smell, and he had been genuinely surprised to learn of it. He had, however, promised to thoroughly clean the room himself as long as no other patron was allowed to stay in it. Leann agreed, both because no one else would stay in the room and because Gunther was a steady source of income for the Trail's End Inn. His absence was a relief to Halley, Gunther had always given her a strange feeling. She suspected it was his paranoia infecting her mind, so she always made sure to avoid him whenever he decided to impose upon their home.
"How has Peter been doing?" Halley knew the answer, but needed to change the subject.
"He's been good, too focused on goofing off and not on his studies but we can hardly complain. He aced every test we have." Leann joked, she only had three tests total, having homeschooled Peter. The only places which could administer more complex tests were the academies, and the only academy outside a city was the Tailte Fada. Tailte Fada was on the opposite side of the continent, and the cities were being toppled one by one with illness, so there was little chance of Leann sending her son to either place.
Leann finished cooking Halley's food and poured her a glass of milk. "I've been thinking-" Halley began, but Leann interrupted, stifling any of Halley's objections with a stern look. "Absolutely not. He is too young to be traveling, especially with the state of the world as it is. Now eat your food."
Halley reluctantly gave up the point and instead focused on the plate of food in front of her. She had been trying to bring Peter with her on her rounds for a few years now, but Leann had invariably shot down any attempts. She had hoped that with Peter's sixteenth birthday not two weeks away Leann would allow him to actually experience the world at large, and maybe even enroll him at a university. Halley was a bit tired of being his only source of outside news.
Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Feirm entered the bar. Halley beamed at the dusty, tanned farmhand, "Feirm! I was just asking Leann if-" Feirm's voice came out, a slow, deliberate drawl, "Welcome back, Halley. Let me change and then we can catch u-"
"You better not be wearing your boots inside again, if I told you once I told you a hundred times!" Leann began pelting her husband with a cleaning rag, until he retreated into the hallway from whence he came. Halley suspected this was because she didn't want Feirm to be dragged into the argument about Peter, but it was no use trying to get him to talk to her alone. Feirm flat out refused to discuss the matter behind Leann's back, which was an admirable display of unity, if frustrating for her. Halley finished her meal off and picked up her glass of milk. "Guess I'll turn in then. Let me know what you need done in the morning."
Halley left a stack of coins on the counter. Leann began to protest, but Halley replied "Absolutely not. You get what you earned, don't make me hide them around the inn again." Leann shook her head, but scraped the coins off of the counter and into her hand. "Goodnight Halley" "'Night Lea".
Halley headed up to her room. Just as she was opening the door to her room, she heard a voice from down the hall.
"You tried to bring up the trip with her again, didn't you?"
"You know, with how nosy you are, you should become a spy. At least you'd make some money eavesdropping all the time."
Peter glowered "I don't need to eavesdrop, I know you. You shouldn't keep asking her, it leaves her a mess for days anytime you do. She already worries enough about you being out there."
"You can't stay here forever, Peter. Didn't you tell me yourself that you want to get some experience with the world, see new sights? Why change your mind now?"
Peter shifted in obvious discomfort. "Mom's right, it's just too dangerous now, that's all."
Halley watched her little brother closely. "You're a terrible liar, Peter."
"I'm not lying!"
Halley thought for a moment, "Tha e caileag, nach eil?"It's a girl, isn't it?
If it had been lighter, Halley would have seen her brother turn bright red. As it was, she only saw him stand up straighter and heard him say "When you're ready to be serious, let me know." and slamming the door to his room shut. Well. I guess I was right. She smiled, and retired to her room.
The rooms in the inn were fairly barebones, but Halley had added a personal touch to her own. A set of expensive sheets she'd gotten in Lomar that depicted a story from the local religion, thick curtains that kept out sunlight for when she wanted to sleep in. A variety of maps, papers, and books lay scattered across a simple desk. She'd gotten the chair and desk in Kuruk, a city famous for its carpenters. She dropped her pack in a spot next to her desk which was left empty solely for that purpose, and walked to the window. It was a bright night, illuminated by the subdued glow of the full moon.
The eye of the night over any landscape was a stunning sight, especially when camping in the more rural regions, but Halley had learned to be wary of it. It made both wildlife and people crawl out of their homes and search for whatever makes their blood pump. If it wasn't for a combination of Halley's instinct and her insistence on keeping a steady campfire, she would have been eaten in her sleep by a bear, or wolves, or any number of predatory species a dozen times. While it kept the animals away, the fire tended to attract less than pleasant people instead, so Halley had learned to set up camp in difficult to reach locations, and sleep with one eye open.
Halley yawned and looked in the mirror above her desk. Her own eyes stared back at her, the iris a ring of rich chestnut circling the matte abyss of her pupil. She reached up to the side of her short, pointed nose, and scratched it. Halley's skin tone usually rested somewhere between "Sunbleached dead tree bark" and "Cinnamon roll someone forgot to add cinnamon to, so now it's just bread", but in recent years she'd developed an unfortunate farmer's tan that she had been trying to get rid of by wearing longer sleeves. This had the side effect of being uncomfortably hot all the time. Her lips were chapped. Need to remember to drink more water.
Riding and sleeping in an empty cart was, shockingly, not very comfortable, especially for someone who habitually forgot to buy things when in town, in this case cushions. So Halley usually chose to walk alongside the cart whenever possible. Halley was reasonably fit, a necessity on the road, for many reasons, but she had only really started doing it out of discomfort. The walks served a dual purpose: Getting her out of the uncomfortable saddle, and draining her stamina to the point where falling asleep was no longer a choice, uncomfortable bedding be damned.
Eventually, she did remember to buy cushions and she could sit in the cart without losing feeling in her entire lower body, but she kept walking anyway out of habit and to dispel the ennui of cart travel.
She held up one arm, observed her hand idly and let it flop back down. Alright, enough stalling, let’s actually get some sleep. She unclasped the chain hanging around her neck and changed out of her road clothes. There was something comforting about the mundanity of it. Her eyes lingered on the flame dancing on the candle before snuffing it out and retreating under the covers of her bed.