Hangover, Eren decided, was the worst experience. Worse than snapping your ankle whilst hanging upside down from a phasthu that you were not supposed to be riding in the first place. Even worse than waking up naked and alone in the middle of the haunted ruins of an ancient demonic city. His body ached, his mouth tasted like it was stuffed with a barrel full of molasses and his temples burned with a piercing pain as if someone was poking them with hot iron pokers. Groaning, he buried his face in his pillow to block out the sunlight streaming through his window and cursed himself for not closing the drapes the night before. He wished he could go back to sleep but his bladder had other ideas. Finally, it was the fear of peeing himself that forced him out of bed.
He staggered, held on to the headrest for support and waited for the world to stop spinning. It was some relief that he had not undressed before collapsing in his bed last night. He did not think he was capable of dressing himself right then. When finally his bedroom stopped tilting in the wrong direction, he shuffled his way to the door, fumbled with the knob and managed to crack it open. Climbing down the stairs was a different level of punishment altogether. By the time he made it to the kitchen, he was ready to vomit. He scrambled into the lavatory and managed to unburden his bladder just in time before he heaved. It was a dry heave but the nausea abated a little, allowing his brain to focus. He wiped the dripping saliva from his chin and made his way back to the kitchen.
I am never drinking again!
Eren froze. His father sat at the table sipping tea. Whoever had said that getting black out drunk made you forget everything that happened afterwards, had lied. Because, in that moment, everything that happened between him and his father came crashing down on him. He clenched his fist and wished his heart would slow down and his mind didn’t feel so fuzzy. Awkwardly rooted to his spot, he couldn’t decide whether to approach him, run out the kitchen door or just vomit right where he was standing. Then Myron raised his head from his cup and looked at him.
Myron’s eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. The wrinkled skin of his muscular cheeks sagged over his beard. His broad shoulders were slumped as if unable to carry the weight of his broad chest any longer and his hair seemed much greyer than they had yesterday. Within a span of a night, his father had aged ten-fold and Eren couldn’t help but feel that it was his fault. How long? How long had his father been bearing his dirty secret, dragging under the weight that should’ve been only Eren’s to carry? Guilt rang through his conscience and the familiar hollow in his stomach expanded to a wide gaping hole.
“Eren. Come and sit.” Myron said in a hollow weary voice, gesturing to the empty chair in front of him.
Eren sat down warily.
“Drink.” Myron pushed a cup of steaming black liquid towards him. “It will help with the hangover.”
Eren picked up the cup and took a tentative sip. The liquid was hot and foul tasting, somewhere between a combination of dried grass, rotten uthon berries and wet old rags. Eren made a face.
Myron laughed, a loud gravelly chuckle that rang through the kitchen.
“That’s what you get for downing a bucket of ale.”
Eren smiled at him. His father’s laugh reminded Eren of the old days when they would often sit around the kitchen in the mornings before work and trade amusing stories of going-ons in the town. But then the laughter died down and an uncomfortable silence settled over them. The fear returned and Eren stared at his cup glumly. He knew he should say something but he didn’t know where to start. His da seemed to be in a good mood in spite of how haggard he looked. But it was the look of disgust on his face last night that kept flashing through Eren’s mind. Finally, unable to contain himself, Eren burst out at the same time as his da started talking.
“Da! …”
“Eren. I …”
Myron raised his hand, “Let me speak first”.
Eren quieted down. Whatever his father had to say, he decided he would take it as a man. And if there was any way his father would forgive and accept him, he was ready to spend the rest of his life making up for it.
“I owe you an apology Eren. For the way I behaved yesterday. It was monstrous and uncalled for. And I am ashamed of myself as a father.”
Eren was stunned. He did not know what he had expected, but not this. There were tears in his father’s eyes. He had never seen his father tear up, not even at Baratheon D’Owry’s funeral. And Bart had been like a brother to him. The man Eren knew as his father had weathered every storm in his life with the patience and stoicism of a rock. Now, within the span of two days, he had seen him lose his temper enough to nearly choke a man to death, throw his son in a fit of rage and, now, cry in front of him. Eren’s world had suddenly slipped out of its place.
“Da!” Eren panicked, unsure of how to handle the situation. “Please! You do not have to apologize.”
“No! I do!” Myron insisted. “I do! After what I said to you, I am no better than that nitzhil Feldor.”
Eren started to object, but Myron overrode him.
“Let me speak, son. I know what happened with that boy, Tam, was not your fault. I know that is not what you are.” There was almost a plea in his voice as he said it, and Eren’s heart sank. “We all make mistakes. Joha knows I have made plenty of them myself. But that does not define who we are. But hearing that cretin slander you in front of all those people, at your engagement? I lost control. And I ended up taking it all out on you. And for that, I am deeply sorry!”
Myron looked at him from behind a bleary-eyed smile. “But I am so proud of you. I am so proud of the way you handled yourself back there. Proud of keeping my vow to Bart. And so proud of the man you have become. I’m sorry I don’t say this enough but it’s the Joha’s own truth.”
Eren couldn’t control the tears that slipped down his own eyes. He gulped heavily to keep his voice from breaking.
“Da! I …” His voice faltered. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I swear to you I will never again give you a reason to question your honor, our honor.” He was surprised his voice sounded so firm as it did, considering the war brewing inside his head. The voice was back and it was laughing maniacally.
You keep digging yourself deeper Eren.
Myron looked at him for a while, piercing blue eyes judging the truth in his words. Then he smiled and patted Eren’s hand gently.
“I know you won’t.” He stood up. “Come! It’s a work day. I will go open up the mill.”
Myron walked to the kitchen door and opened it, then paused at the threshold and looked back at Eren.
“Remember son, I love you. I will always love you, no matter what!”
And then he was gone. Eren slumped back in his chair and placed both his hands on the table to steady himself. He felt drained.
I swear to you in the name of Johaaa, I will never again give you a reason to question your honor, our honor.
Shut up!
How honorable! A son vowing to protect his father’s pride. And did you tell your father the kinds of dreams you have at night? How you like to rip through the flesh of men? Bathe yourself in their blood. How you hunger to see the light of life extinguish from their eyes as you rip their throats with your bare hands?
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
There is darkness in you Eren. An evil that thirsts for the blood And you can’t keep it hidden forever.
Eren stood up with a jerk, toppling the heavy chair he was sitting on. The chair landed on the floor with a resonating crash and Eren shuddered at the loud sound. He had to keep busy. It helped to keep busy. He was about to dash upstairs to change into his work clothes and go join his father, when Myron came back bursting through the kitchen door. Alarm painted his grizzly face.
“Feldor is dead!” Myron panted. “He was murdered last night.”
---
Chief Farthis Muntoose sat with his legs propped up on his desk, twiddling a circular gold bracelet in his hand. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass window of his chamber at the town hall. The light reflected off of the speckled surface of the thin gold band and scattered in brilliant hues of yellow and orange. It was a beautiful ornament, simple and elegant in its construction, without any embellishments. Farthis liked its simplicity. There was a rare purity in its plainness that he often found lacking in the trends of the new generation. Of course, promise bands were not a pure northern tradition. They were another import from the bloated decadent cultures of the league nations. In his days, there had been no need for extravagant gold ornaments to remind one to keep to his vows. And to him, it was another reminder of how the south continued to infect the youth of the north with its vulgar ostentatiousness and corrupt hedonism, even when the border with the league had remained closed for over a 100 years.
His thoughts went back to the dead body he had been called to inspect that morning and he decided he needed another drink. Setting the wristband on his desk, he picked up the pitcher of Alpinion wine that sat on his table, a gift from the lord mayor, and poured himself a cup. He took a sip of the wine, sighed in contentment, and then settled down to mentally review the case.
To say the man had been butchered would be an understatement. Both his hands and feet had been hacked off and deep gashes covered his face and chest, gashes that had been made to look like claw marks. But the most sinister wound, in his opinion, was the cut that encircled the man’s throat and what had probably resulted in the poor man bleeding to death. No Ashin deserved such a horrible death, not even a drunk vagrant like Feldor Hargreev.
It was also interesting to him where the body had been found. Left lying in the alleyway between the butcher’s and the tanner’s, someone had gone to great efforts to make it look like the attacker had come from the forest just a few steps away. Considering the nature of the wounds and the location of the body, a more superstitious man would think a supernatural assailant had been involved, maybe even a demon. But Farthis was not a superstitious man. He knew demons were just mythical fabrications of the old religion, meant to keep the ignorant masses cowering in fear under the heels of their priestly overlords. Old religion preached that demons still walked among the humans, hiding their true forms through sorcery. They even had special warriors who dedicated their lives to finding and eradicating demons from the society. That is how they secured the devotion of their adherents.
Reformation had brought an end to such nonsense in the north, and shed the light on the real truth. Evil did not exist outside, but within. It was unto oneself to guard against the darkness inside and choose to walk in the light of Joha. And yet, the myths about demons persisted spreading superstition and paranoia and not to mention, providing some with a convenient ploy for getting away with murder. It frustrated Farthis to see such delusions still existed in his society. His father and grandfather had fought in the reformation wars and to him, it was an insult to their bravery and sacrifice.
Of course, there were some who were simply born evil. Born with so much darkness that the light of Joha could never reach their blackened hearts. Farthis had encountered a few such souls in his career, and knew from experience it was never a simple matter catching them. Most of the time, they were just ordinary folks with ordinary lives who you would never guess hid such evil inside their hearts. But this time the gold wristband he had found near the body made his duty simpler. He already knew who to arrest for the heinous murder and desecration of Feldor Hargreev.
Farthis sighed and took another sip from his mug. Well, it would’ve been simple until Lord Mayor Haysteed had walked into his office that morning and made it all very complicated. His regular donation of Alpinion wine notwithstanding, the man could be a real pain in the ass. He somehow already knew about the wristband, a fact that very few of his own men in the town guard knew. On top of it, he asked him to keep it a secret until the inquisitor he had requested from Brushwick arrived. That meant he could not make a proper arrest on charge of murder. But, the man had a point. When the perpetrator of the crime was revealed, it would create a type of scandal the town had not seen since the suicide of Yovina Haysteed some thirty years ago. So everything had to be by the book.
Farthis emptied the mug, set it down on the table and used a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off his balding pate. He picked up the wristband and smiled as he traced his thumb over the name etched on its surface. Of course, it did not mean he couldn’t make an arrest on suspicion. After all, he had the right as the chief of town guard to detain anyone he thought involved in the murder. And, the fact that it would help divert the town’s attention from the little unfortunate scandal in his own home, will be an added bonus.
---
Whispers and side glances had followed Mara all day. She was used to people talking behind her back. A young woman managing a business on her own was enough to keep the idle tongues and eyes busy in this town. But people were rarely so brazen about it. It was as if she was the one who had killed Feldor.
Her day had started with an abrupt visit from Elta who had informed her of Feldor’s unsavory demise.
“Severed from head to toe. I saw it myself. It was awful.” Elta had not looked like she thought it was awful. Elta lived for gossip and exaggeration and Mara had learned to take everything she said with a grain of salt. Married and twice pregnant at nineteen, living in a backwater hovel like Silver Peak, Mara did not fault her for trying to find excitement in her life where she can. And murder in town was probably the most exciting that had happened to Elta. But it did make her an untrustworthy source of news. She very much doubted Elta had been allowed to go anywhere near the body, let alone examine the nature of the deceased’s wounds.
Still, the fact that Feldor had been murdered was very disturbing, did not matter how it was done. Murders simply did not happen in Silver Peak. For all its stifling backwardness and aggravating bigotry, the one thing you could say about Silver Peak was that it was safe. You could walk out alone in the dead of night and the worst that would happen was you ended up in the pen for the night for being inappropriately drunk and causing a ruckus on the streets. Mara couldn’t recall ever in her life someone dying of anything other than illness or natural causes or more commonly, just out of sheer fatuity. In fact, the only unnatural death that she knew of was an incident from thirty years ago when the current Lord Mayor’s aunt Yovina had committed suicide. And it was still considered a major scandal and only talked about in whispers, though that might have something to do with not wanting to get on Mayor Haysteed’s wrong side. So she could understand the public excitement over the grisly affair. She just did not appreciate the attention because of it.
After Elta had finally left, several other women of the town had popped in to check up on her. It turned out all they wanted to do was sit and gossip about the incident at her engagement. As if for some reason, she had the time and the desire to relive the uncomfortable episode. Theories were proposed and insinuations were made, each more wilder than before, until Mara’s head was swimming in unsolicited gossip. She had to virtually throw the women out so she could get some work done. The trip to the market was equally discomfiting. Every vendor wanted to discuss their own spin on the murder while she kept getting suspicious glances from the women and unbidden leers from the men. Gannett Haysteed, almost knocked her down, smirking loftily at her from atop his grey dhorandin phasthtu as he raced down the main road. For a wild moment she thought if all the drama was not his and his father’s making, a ploy to steal her inn from her until she rejected the idea as ridiculous. She didn’t think Haysteed’s had the brain to come up with something so intricate. Manning the tavern had not been easy either. The stares and whispers continued to follow her around, only to cease hesitantly when she approached the tables to take the orders or present the bill. Finally, she had had enough and she had handed over the reins to Horath and escaped to seclusion of her room.
Now she sat on her bed with a copy of Trials and Tribulations: A life history of Agathis the Strombrewer in her lap. The book was old and faded. It’s red cloth cover was ripped in several places and the titular gold letters had peeled away leaving only the dark glue impressions behind to identify the book by its name. The pages were also yellow and creased with repeated overuse. Mara must’ve read it from front to back hundreds of times by now. But whenever she was feeling particularly overwhelmed, she knew she could always find an inspiring anecdote from the life history of Agathis Auranaat, the greatest forgotten female heroine of Airaat.
She happened upon the book by chance. She was searching for The Phoenix Crown: Regis IV - An account of Fiordian Conquest at the seasonal fete a few years ago. The elderly book merchant was impressed with her grasp on Airaat’s chronicle and offered her a peek into a forgotten piece of history. She was fascinated. Airaat’s past was crowded with the deeds of great men, the Phoenix King standing at the forefront of them all. It never occurred to her to question why more women were not part of this tapestry, until the day she read through the book for the first time. The biography of Agathis Auranaat, the great sorceress and the first female ponirif of the Citadel, had opened her eyes to a world of possibilities she never knew she could have. A woman among the men, Agathis’s journey from the daughter of a poor Estebanian fisherman to the principle of the ivory circle was a tale of bold ambition and brazen determination in the face of crippling bigotry of a patriarchal society. It awakened in her a hunger to seek more reflections of strong and decisive womanhood in the legends of Airaat. But she was yet to find another such example of feminine fortitude in her land’s history.
She smiled as she reread Agathis’s account of swindling the overcharging sea merchant in giving her free transport to Saramine as she fled the bogari debtors who were after her. She already knew the journey had not ended well for either Agathis or the ship and she had ended up stranded in Terramaine for months trying to find passage to Minir Nitith. But it was still an exciting read. So she couldn’t help but groan when someone knocked at her bedroom door, disturbing her concentration.
She looked out the window. It was already night. She suddenly felt guilty for having sequestered herself in her room all evening, leaving Horath to attend to the customers. The knock was probably him now coming up to let her know it was time to close. She put her book down and walked over to open the door. As she predicted, Horath was waiting outside her bedroom.
“Sorry, Horath! I guess I was more tired than I thought. I lost track of time.”
Horath shook his head and smiled, then signed Eren to see you.
“Eren?” She flustered. “Right now? To see me?”
Horath nodded vigorously and grinned.
“Why?”
Horath shrugged.
“Alright. Let him know I will be right down.”
Horath nodded and left. Mara frowned.
What does he want to see me about right now?
She was still angry at him. He had made a fool of himself last night, getting drunk as a fiordian boar with, of all the men in Silver Peak, Gannett Haysteed and his herd of simpering boot licking curs. Thanks to Joha, most of the guests had already left and didn’t hear the chauvinistic nonsense they were spouting. Once she finally had enough, she left him where he was under the careful watch of Horath and went to bed questioning her decision to marry him. She was still questioning it. She had hoped Eren to be of a different breed from the usual men of the Silver Peak, but it looked like her ma was right. Men will always be men. After the day she had, she did not want to see him. But curiosity overcame her doubts and she decided might as well.
She straightened her dress and hair, and remembered to put on her gold promise band before making her way downstairs. Eren was waiting for her at the bar. Despite her anger, she couldn’t help but note how attractive he looked in his simple white tunic and brown figure hugging breeches. She curbed the thought before she started blushing again, schooled her face in a mask of cool confusion and made her way to him. The tavern was nearly empty, with only three male patrons still nursing their drinks in a corner. They seemed to be engaged in a private conversation and were not paying much attention to anyone else.
Eren saw her approach and stood up from his barstool looking nervous and fidgety.
“Hi.” He greeted her.
“What are you doing here?” She could have greeted him back for warmly. But she was having a hard time maintaining her cool composure at the moment, what with her anger warring against her sudden desire to, pet him? She almost laughed out loud.
“Uuh.” He looked down at his hands uncomfortably. “I came here to apologize. For the way I acted last night, when I was drunk.”
It was Mara’s turn to feel uncomfortable. She had not been expecting this.
“I guess I was still dealing with what happened with Feldor during the ceremony.” He continued, still staring at his hands and blushing wildly. It seemed like he had taken time to think about what he was going to say. “And what with all those people constantly staring me down and talking behind my back, I kind of lost control over how much I was drinking.” He looked up at her. “I’m sorry!”
The sincerity in his voice broke through her cold countenance. He had seemed so composed and taken charge of the situation and his father so quickly, she hadn’t thought about how Feldor’s heinous allegations might have affected him.
“No. It’s alright!” She smiled and relief flooded his face.
They stood beside each other awkwardly for a while.
“So. Feldor.” Mara said, trying to break the tension. And then quickly realized that might not have been the best topic, for the way color drained from his face.
“I heard this morning.” He looked away. “It’s awful.”
Mara couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or not. There was uncanny hesitance to his voice. But, then everything about the situation was uncanny. Tam disappearing. Feldor blaming Eren for it. Then disappearing himself only to appear again at their engagement ceremony and blame Eren for, killing his son? It was all so absurd, she would’ve thought it was a bard tale hadn’t it all been happening in front of her.
Another awkward silence followed and Mara decided this was as good a time as any to broach up the topic she had been hesitant to talk to him about for days.
“Eren, what are your plans for the inn, after.” She hesitated. “After the marriage ceremony.” After the marriage ceremony, Eren would officially become the title holder of the inn.
He turned back to look at her and frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean.” She hesitated again. This was difficult for her. She wasn’t used to pleading for help from anyone, and this almost felt like a plea. It grated at her pride. She knew Eren wasn’t responsible for the situation she was in, not directly. But she couldn’t help but feel a slight bitterness towards him for his unfair superior position in the matter. “What do you plan to do with the inn after we get married?”
His frown deepened. “I thought, I thought it was decided.” He looked uneasy. “I thought all this is about saving the inn, isn’t it?”
“Right.” Mara couldn’t keep the color from rising in his cheeks. “I just want to know what you want, with the inn.”
“Honestly, I haven’t given it much thought. With me busy with mill and all, I just thought you would be the best to decide about managing the inn. I mean, if that is what you want?”
She felt like a weight had lifted off her shoulders. She smiled broadly at him. “Yes. I think that would be best.”
He nodded, smiling back at her.
“One more thing. About our living situation, afterwards. I don’t want to, I mean, I would prefer to stay at the inn. What with ma’s condition, and really it would be much easier for me to manage the inn from here.”
“Of course.” His voice came out in a rush as if he was not very comfortable with the topic. “Whatever you want. We still have so much time to decide anyway.”
He looked very discomfited now as he shuffled his feet awkwardly and Mara decided she had pushed him enough for one day. They looked and smiled at each other awkwardly for a while. Then he gestured towards the door.
“I should get going now. It’s getting late.”
Mara nodded. Just as Eren turned towards the door, it opened from outside and someone stepped in.
“We are closed.” Mara announced without glancing towards the newcomers.
Then she noticed Eren had frozen in his tracks. She turned to look and frowned. Chief Muntoose and two of his lackeys were standing at the entrance to the tavern.
“Not for us you are not, girly!” Chief Muntoose’s patronizing tone sent her hackles rising.
She’d never liked the man. He trotted around the town like a bully, harassing and looking down on everyone, except of course the Lord Mayor. He was Lord Mayor’s pet.
“What can I do for you, Chief?” She asked coolly. “Unfortunately, we have already dried up the tap for the night.”
“I am not here for a drink, girl, if you can even call the piss you serve here a drink.” He sneered and Mara bristled at the insult.
He seemed heavily drunk, no doubt on some of Lord Mayor’s Alpinion wine he was rumored to receive regularly as bribe. He turned to look at Eren with a predatory gleam.
“I am here for him. A little birdy told me you were seen entering the Tottering Pony Inn.”
“And so what if he was? That’s not a crime.” Mara did not like the look on his face, and she felt a premonition of something horrible about to occur.
Chief Muntoose walked up to Eren, his bald head barely coming to Eren’s chin. He grinned like a feral shafu and Eren backed away from him towards the bar, looking wary. “I am here to arrest you boy, on the suspicion of the murder of Feldor Hargreev.”
“What?” Eren choked, his eyes widening in shock. “That is absurd!”
“You can’t do that.” Mara contended alongside him. “You don’t have any proof.”
The commotion was enough to make Haroth and Aalia come running from the kitchen. The three men at the corner of the tavern had also stopped their conversation and were looking intently at the ongoing confrontation.
“Oh but I do.” Chief Muntoose’s grin widened, if that was even possible. Mara felt sick to see how much he was enjoying this. “I have enough to hold him for questioning.”
And then he gestured to his men to take hold of Eren. They rushed over and grabbed Eren by his arms and started to drag him out of the tavern. Eren tried to struggle out of their grip.
“You can’t do this.” He shouted. “I didn’t do anything.” But his struggle was in vain as the two taller muscular men only tightened their grip on him.
Mara started towards Eren but Chief Muntoose blocked her path.
“Better stay put girly, unless you want to spend a night in the slammer too.” He spat.
Mara saw Horath move from the corner of her eyes and made a gesture to stop him.
“You won’t get away with this.” She fumed. “He’s innocent.”
“We will see about that, won’t we.”
He then turned around and strutted out of the tavern like a proud shafu carrying its prey in its jaws, his two men dragging Eren behind him.
“I swear I didn’t do it Mara.” Eren yelled as he was forced out the door. “I didn’t kill Feldor.”
Then Eren was gone. Mara sat down heavily in the barstool behind her. What had seemed like an absurd series of happenstance, had suddenly turned into something utterly sinister. Could Eren have killed Feldor, maybe in drunken rage? No. Even the thought was absurd. Or was it? She did not know him well enough to be sure he was not capable of it. Her mind zoomed with possibilities and she felt she was going to be sick. A familiar pair of large hands rested on her shoulders and she leaned into it gratefully. No, she needed to focus her mind and decide what to do next.
She turned to look at Horath standing beside her. “We need to find Myron.”
ns 15.158.61.20da2
