Safe Harbor

Lavenza chose the two-storied inn on the other side of the plaza for more than its just damp and unassuming appearance.

Most importantly, it was safer than the other taverns. A barracks had been erected beside it. Guardsmen patrolled the nearby streets and relaxed by the stables. Off duty guards, especially ones who still carried their weapons, often carried a reputation for sleazy behavior, but they were at least more likely to listen to the sight of Lavenza’s royal seal.

A stableboy took the reigns from Lavenza and led the weary horses and the wagons they drew to hay-filled plots behind the inn.

“I’ll pay for our rooms,” Lavenza said. “We’ll need three. One for Deme and I. One for you, blacksmith. One for our traveling couple and the midwife.”

“How generous of you Apostate Lavenza,” Old Calvin grumbled.

“If we get three rooms, we’ll likely have a wing of the inn to ourselves,” Lavenza surveyed the upper floor. “It’ll mean less disturbances, and it’s safer.”

“And a ship?” Old Calvin asked.

“If you’re in the city, you’re already halfway there,” Lavenza answered. “Registration for ships start in the early hours of the morning and end before the clock strikes midnight. Get in line early, or try to catch the officials before they close for the night. It’s your choice.”

“Who’s this friend of yours that you’re seeing off?” Deme asked. “Are they headed for The Opposing Shore?”

“Yes, she’s a very old friend.”

Like Lavenza had hoped, the tavern interior was almost empty. It was not just people. Most of the furniture was also gone. There were few tables and fewer chairs. The hearth had been stripped for parts and charcoal and there were signs that even the pillars holding up the second floor had been tampered with. The only furnishing that appeared untouched was a rocking chair near the front of the tavern where the innkeeper sat.

She was elderly woman and reminded Lavenza of the old headmistress with her bundles of gray hair tied up with ribbons and circular reading glasses. The innkeeper did not greet her prospective customers when they walked in, choosing instead to flip to the next page of the local paper.

“Hello. We’d like three rooms,” Lavenza said. “We’ll pay for a month’s stay for each of them.”

“A month?” Deme gasped.

“A Menuan?” the innkeeper raised her glasses. “What’s a Descendant of the Endire doing in Centa Muis? You fleeing from your ancestors, child?”

“Not exactly,” Lavenza gestured to the thin air. Four clunky patches fell out of her pocket dimension. She dropped three of them on the innkeeper’s desk. “Will this be sufficient?”

“You’ve been gone from the city for some time,” the innkeeper sighed. “Money doesn’t talk the way that it used to. No point having this much coin when I can’t spend it all before the end.”

“So you won’t sell us the rooms?”

Lavenza’s hand reached for the pouches. The innkeeper snatched them with a swipe of her arm.

“That’s not what I said!” the innkeeper growled. “Take the rooms upstairs. There’s no food, but there’s water in the storage. Latrine is out back with the horses. Wake me up in the middle of the night and I’ll kick you all out. No refunds.”

“Agreed. One more thing,” Lavenza said. “There will be a couple that comes by later. A man and a woman. The woman is with child. They’ll be taking the third room.”

“Whatever,” the innkeeper sighed. “Now leave me alone.”

“Are we really staying for a full month?” Deme asked as they walked upstairs. “Or does it take that long to get a ship?”

“We’ll be gone by then,” Lavenza said.

Like the tavern downstairs, the rooms that Lavenza rented were bare and falling apart. In some ways, it was no different from setting up camp in the wilderness. Deme retrieved their sleeping bags and pillows from her knapsack and rolled them out over the floor.

“Deme,” Lavenza handed the child the fourth coin pouch, “get some food and other supplies while you can.”

“You’re off?” Deme asked. “Is it to see your friend?”

“I’ll be gone for a while,” Lavenza nodded. “A day or two, possibly. Spend some time with the blacksmith and the others. You’ll miss them once they leave.”

Lavenza stepped out and shut the door before Deme could respond. The child set a lantern on the windowsill, then weighed the hefty pouch in her hands. She untied the binding string and peered into the bag. Silver and the occasional gold piece stared back at her.

“Well,” Deme murmured, “this should cover everything.”

“Deme?” Old Calvin came knocking on her door. “May I come in?”

“Yes.”

“Apostate Lavenza isn’t with you?” the old man asked. “Looks like you’ve unpacked your things all on your own.”

“She’s off to see a friend,” Deme frowned. “And… it’s just Lavenza to me.”

“Does she often leave you by yourself?”

If Deme caught Old Calvin’s judgmental tone, she didn’t show it.

“Yes, quite often,” she nodded. “Lavenza trusts me, and I can take care of myself.”

“You can, can’t you?” Old Calvin smiled. “Yet you still travel with her?”

“She promised to find Rafta with me,” Deme shrugged, “and having a mage help you traverse the Abyss always helps.”

“And once you’ve found Rafta, what then?”

“What do you mean?” Deme asked, confused. “I’ve told you before. I intend to finish my father’s armor.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Old Calvin said. “I meant after that.”

“I…” Deme paused for a moment. “I haven’t thought that far. It’s possible the Endire fades before I find Rafta. Even if I find it, I may not have the time to finish my father’s masterpiece.”

Old Calvin wasn’t sure whether to feel shocked or furious at Deme’s impartial attitude.

“Lavenza has no plans to send you across The Great Sea?” he asked.

“No,” Deme shook her head. “It’s me that refuses to go.”

“Deme. My girl.”

The blacksmith wobbled over to the child. He took Deme’s hands in his. She carried maybe thrice the callouses of someone else her age. Her fingernails were caked with dirt, and this close, even Old Calvin’s failing eyes could see sweat and grease mustering beneath her hair and neck.

“I know your father’s armor is important to you,” Old Calvin said. “The Endire knows I speak from a position of privilege, having forged already with The Withering Flower. But you are young Deme, too young to throw away your life on a feckless quest such as this.”

“What do you mean?”

“You won’t find Rafta,” Old Calvin said. “I haven’t known a blacksmith in hundreds of years that has even seen it. Samuel has not even heard of it.”

“My father knew about it.”

“His armor is a testament to a generational talent. His blood courses through your veins,” Old Calvin’s hands drifted up to Deme’s shoulders. “This is what I want you to understand, my child. You are special, too special to waste on a quest that will end in failure. Come with me to The Opposing Shore.”

“Come with you?” Deme repeated the blacksmith’s request. “I… I don’t want to.”

“Is it Apostate Lavenza? Is she keeping you here?”

“It has nothing to do with her!” Deme snapped. “Why are you bringing her up?”

“Deme…” Old Calvin shook his head. “I know you’ve traveled with her for some time. I’m sure you’ve even developed fond memories together, but you must have noticed it yourself. Notice how she’s treated myself, Samuel, Ariadne. I do not wish to see you become someone like her.”

“Lavenza is Lavenza. I’m myself,” Deme muttered. “My choice to stay in Aparthia is mine alone.”

“This quest of yours is not worth your life!” Old Calvin begged. “Deme, the world on The Opposing Shore is going to need blacksmiths like you. Don’t throw away your life for a doomed world.”

Deme’s fingers flew to Old Calvin’s hands and threw them off her shoulders.

“My father loved this world!” Deme shouted. “He lived and died here. I want to see more of this world that he left behind. There is nothing for me across The Great Sea.”

“I’m… sorry,” Old Calvin mumbled. “I’m sorry that I’ve made you upset, but my offer still stands. I’ve decided. I won’t stand idly by and watch that woman lead a child to her demise. If you ever change your mind, Deme, you’ll know where to find me.”

Old Calvin retreated back to his quarters. Deme heard a door open downstairs followed by the sound of a man’s voice accosting the innkeeper. Samuel and Ariadne had arrived. Deme slammed the door and looked for a lock but found that the door handle had been ripped out. The hole in the door gave a clear view of Deme’s room save for one blind spot.

Deme pressed her back against the door and slid to the floor. If anyone tried to come in, they would find a heavy doorstopper blocking their way. But Lavenza could get in, Deme realized. She could get in. She was the only one Deme would allow in.

Deme drew her legs to her chest and buried her face between her knees.