Through serpentine hills of white and wood, the sun hung barely visible above the mountain’s crest in the distance. Cahir was maneuvering quickly through the stiffined brush of barbed wood. He had little time to enter Spica and return to the girl he left a mile from the city limits. Her wide eyes alerted him to her fear, but even after their forced conversation of exchanging formalities, she had smiled fraily to the idea of being left alone. Cahir intentionally gave little information as to why she couldn’t enter the town. A part of him was reluctant to leave her behind, but with the rumor of a prophet wandering within these lands, he was certain she would draw the attention of Spica’s most ruthless with her garb.
Cahir trotted past the stalled carriages and starving beggars. Even as they grabbed the loose ends of his clothes, he paid little mind. It took a quick tug of his leg to loosen their grip on him, their feeble bodies tumbling to the floor like baggage.
He scanned the wood and straw huts, hunting for the quaint little shop he would frequently visit for food and mead. In Spica, people paid a pretty coin to fill their bellies. Meat was hard to come by, and was worth more than the clothes on their backs. In the long winter that Mechty had been under, the smaller and more confined territories were made to suffer. Bigger game was caught for the places like Vega, and the small lands like Spica suffered at the hands of their own King’s selfishness.
The iron rod that hung from the hut held an unhinged board. The words Aifur were rigidly carved into the splintered slab. Cahir ducked into the small tavern, the sullen eyes of men cast their gaze in his direction. He tipped his head once, and strode over to the barkeep who was busying himself sweeping off the crumbs of past customers.
“Aye, Finn!” Cahir yelled, the palm of his hands clapping against the wood of the bar. The balding man jumped at the sound, his off-white garments were dirtied with drink and grub from cooking. He was an older man whose age showed through the creases in his eyes, and hunched stature.
Finn peered through his spectacles, his thinning black and white hair hung unruly against his face. He smiled slightly, taking a cup from the shelves and tapping mead into the wooden cup. “Knight, what brings you to Spica? Something that everyone’s looking for I be guessin’?” The little man was smiling knowingly, too many a man visiting this barkeeps shop to keep the Prophet a secret.
Cahir shrugged, turning the cup of mead in his hand. He wasn’t fond of his prying, and had no intention of answering, but this is what barkeeps did best. They provided the best information as far as rumors went. Information isn’t what Cahir needed. It was food and clothes, both of which could be provided to him by Finn’s barmaids that were busy scurrying about the tavern.
The stout Finn leaned over the counter, crossing his arms against the bar. “I know ye’ Cahir. Ya never make a stop in Spica unless yer King sends ya out here. So what can I do ya for?”
Cahir brought the cup to his lips, finishing the mead, and pushing the cup towards Finn aggressively. His eyes narrowed, and pulled back his shoulders to intimidate the old man. “Finn, you are a sharp man, but men who stick their noses where they don’t belong often lose more than they wager for.” Cahir growled, and Finn shrunk back apologetically. “But you’re right. I gather I do need your help, my brother. I need some food for my travels, and clothing.”
The barkeep clasped his hands behind his back. Cahir may have known Finn for years, but he still managed to ignite what little fear Finn had of him. “Clothing is an odd request. I have little, as you know, our circumstances don’t allow us much.”
“One of your barmaiden's clothes and a coat will do. I keep my word Finn, and I will not let your favor go unpaid, you know that.” Cahir was biting his tongue. He wanted to strangle the little rumormonger hiding behind the bar. With the sun barely hanging on to the edges of the sky, he had already been gone longer than he anticipated.
Finn sighed, “Fine Knight, but Vega’s money is useless here. I expect a shipment of Sitka to be at my doorstep in the coming months. Otherwise I’ll find someone to serve ye up as a main course at my pub. Ya know how the people of Spica don’t mind their meat to be walkin’ on two legs. Especially the kind that lack disease.”
Cahir smirked, and bowed grandiose. Cahir knew he was flawed as a Knight under his King’s rule, but the one thing he did outperform the others in were his excellent persuasion skills. “Graciously, my Lord. This Knight will do as you ask.”
Finn scoffed, and waved a barmaid over. Her blond locks were lackluster, and her chalkish lips told the world that she was not faring well in her health. She wheezed as she approached, her skeletal frame walking unsteadily along the floor boards. “Katla, darling, this is Cahir. He’s a Knight from Vega. Be a darling and fetch him some of our spare clothes and a jacket, would you?” She nodded obediently. Though she paused to look at Cahir, she stalked back through the swinging door to do as she was told.
“Tell me Finn, what exactly have you heard about the Prophet? Any news of its capture?”
He smiled, leaning across the bar again in interest. “Is that what Vega’s King called you out for?” Finn’s toothy, gaped grin set Cahir on edge. Yet he did not want to allude to the girl he had in his possession, waiting for him. “Rumor has it that the people of Erdani caught a strong man up in their lands. Arcturus is up in arms to get the Vala in their possession.”
Cahir drew in a sharp breath, his eyes narrowing, “That is...unfortunate.”
“Indeed, for you Cahir. Yer King will be mighty disappointed in ya. But that is nothing new, right Knight?” The sickly girl came back with clothes folded neatly one on top of the other. Finn smiled handing them to Cahir, along with plenty of food to last the night.
He took the clothes gingerly in his arms, and hovered near the doorway. “You know Finn,” Cahir turned his head to look over his shoulder at the smug man behind the counter, “I may have failed my King, but there is a reason why I stay among his court.” Cahir snapped his fingers, and began to smile as Finn wavered on his feet and clasped a single hand over his mouth. Fierce eyes peered over the counter at Cahir, “Do not worry my brother,” he snickered, “your tongue will return to you within the hour. I'll be sure to pay a visit again to ensure that it does.”
He strode through the threshold, the guttural yells of tongueless man calling out behind him.
She was hugging herself tightly when Cahir arrived. The noises of distant predators announced their presence at sundown and were closing in on her. Althea couldn’t have been more grateful that he had returned, but she was less than thrilled about having all her reliance on him. Although she was the one that asked for his help to take her to Spica, she didn't know what her next steps would be in a town she did not know.
“Quickly,” he muttered, peering over his shoulder, “I brought you some clothes. Change into them. I’ll take you to Spica, it’s not far from here.” Althea reached out from under his borrowed animal pelt and took the clothes. She had little fight to argue with him anymore. She wasn’t faring so well. She could feel the familiar touch of sickness scratching at her throat. Cahir turned his back on her, and she changed quickly even with her shoulder painfully spasming.
Tying the last knot on the leather belt her eyes looked up at the impatient Knight. His cut tunic, and fleece pants weren’t much against the diving temperatures. She could only hope that she would become as accustomed as he was to this weather, and soon. The sharpness of the cold was enough to drive anyone mad.
“I wasn’t allowed in Spica because of my clothes?” Althea asked dryly. She was beginning to understand that he was hiding something. Even she knew her clothes were different from his own the moment she set eyes on him. He must know that she wasn’t from here, but she couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t confront her. Althea wasn’t willing to take the first steps either to question it, mainly out of fear of his answer.
Cahir watched her carefully, his eyes darting across her, as if evaluating her appearance. “Yes.” There was no other explanation, and Althea was gritting her teeth in frustration. “I got you a smaller coat. I realized my pelts were crushing your fragile body.” He snickered, holding out a lighter pelt robe.
Althea snatched the coat from his hand, and used the little strength she had to throw his coat back at him. “I realize that I’m relying on you a lot.” She snapped, “But I didn’t realize a Knight’s job was to be an asshole too! I will do what I can to pay you back!” Her cheeks reddened with blood, watching Cahir’s face contort in confusion.
“Asshole?” he asked, placing a hand over his mouth in deep thought. A moment of silence settled between them, before his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Like Mudak.” Cahir chuckled, a smile developing on his stoic face.
Out in the quiet forest, the resonating laughter echoed softly in the distance. The predators silencing under Cahir’s tittering. It was comforting, it offered some relief to the worry that weighed heavily in her own chest. She let out a breathless laugh.
Their laughter quieted, and she looked up at Cahir. She opened her mouth to speak, but his body turned away from her as it took on a defensive stance. Althea’s head turned in the direction of a shadow bounding from one tree to another. It was quick, the movement would have been difficult to catch if Cahir hadn’t alerted her to it.
“I see you.” Cahir belted, his voice fierce. “You followed me from the tavern, why?”
A small form peeked out from behind the tree, a girl with a furred parka and fish-skin knee high boots. Althea watched the interaction, uncertain of who the curly haired blonde was.
“Finn didn’t send me, I swear.” She coughed, hanging on to the tree. Althea took a step forward, but Cahir placed an arm out in front of her, narrowing his eyes at the sickly girl.
“She’s sick...Cahir.” She whispered, watching her sway on her feet. Her lips were cracked and the bones of her cheeks were poking through paper-thin skin. Althea saw this often from people coming out from sea. The sea was a cruel place, but she could hardly understand why a woman from a town nearby could look any worse than those during their travels back at home.
The woman’s eyes lit up as she made eye contact with Althea. The woman approached slowly, her hands up in front of her in surrender. “You’re the Prophet, right? My name is Katla. Please tell your Knight to take me with you. I can’t live in Spica anymore.” Althea furrowed her eyebrows. Cahir was gritting his teeth with anger, his hands gripping tightly around the handle of his sword.
“I will do no such thing. Bringing people from other territories is treason. You know that, lowborn. Now back away!” Cahir unsheathed the sword, the blade beautiful and untouched. Katla stopped, staring at the blade.
“That doesn’t scare me,” she muttered, “I’m nearly dead so dying isn't something I’m exactly worried about.”
Althea stared, wide-eyed and confused. “I’m no Prophet. I’m just a Healer.”
Katla’s eyes shot back and forth between the two. “She doesn’t know.” She spoke matter-of-factly. She smiled, interlocking her fingers among one another in prayer. “Should I tell her then? I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate being lied to.”
A sickening feeling was growing in the pit of Althea’s belly. She hugged herself tightly, seeing the flicker of panic in Cahir’s eyes. He turned toward her slowly, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I apologize for this Althea.” Her name coming out from his mouth alarmed her more than his tattooed arm raising up and placing a hand over her eyes, shielding her vision.
Althea's eyes fluttered shut against Cahir's palm, her body crumpling to the floor in a sound sleep against the soft, powdered snow.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
