Chapter 7:

Make or Break

Prospector’s Attempt at Sourdough Spellcasting


The air grows thick with the smell of woodsmoke as I close the distance to the village gate.


Two men stand guard, their faces cast in the flickering yellow light from the torches flanking the entrance. They hold sturdy-looking spears, and their eyes, when they finally land on me, are wide with alarm.


“Stop! Don’t come any closer?” one of the gate guards shouts, his voice cracking slightly. 


He takes a step forward, leveling the point of his spear at my chest.


The three guards I had been following spin around at the commotion as they enter through the gate. The man eager for his wife’s stew, puts a hand on the hilt of his sword, his easy-going demeanor vanishing in an instant.


I stop, raising my hands slowly in a universal gesture of peace, letting my makeshift crutch fall to the ground with a clatter. 


The sound is pathetic, weak. It’s perfect. I force my body to tremble, a tremor born half from genuine fear and half from practiced skill.


“Please.” I begin, pitching my voice to be just loud enough to carry, whilst still lacing it with desperation. “My name is Shikara. I… I need help.”


My eyes dart between the guards, making sure to look frightened, not threatening. I let my gaze fall on my injured, swollen ankle, a silent piece of stage business to support my plea.


“A stranger?” The gate guard’s voice now carries some conviction. “Now? After dusk?”


The second guard narrows his eyes. “Where have you come from?”


The question is my first test, the first line from my interrogators. I meet his gaze, my own eyes wide with what I hope looks like a traumatic recall.


“I… I was travelling across the country, I’m a nomad. I don't stay around anywhere too long.” My voice wavers in just the right way.


“When all of a sudden I was attacked by something, something I can’t quite recall. I awoke with nothing but the clothes on my body.” I put my eyes on pause for a second before fluttering them open again. 


“I was just trying to survive, I ventured further into the forest looking for wat-” I splutter my words, as I force a tear out of my eye. 


“When all of a sudden all I could hear behind me was the land giving way to something huge. A Jougalin. I’ve never seen one, but from the stories I’ve heard I knew that’s what it was. And I…”


I let my voice trail off, letting the horror of the memory seem too much to articulate. “I fell. Down an embankment, into the river. I think… I think the water saved me. It must have lost my scent or something.”


My story sways in the air between us, fragile as a spider’s web. 


From the corner of my eye, I see a few villagers, drawn by the guards’ shouts, peering out from the doorways of the nearest buildings. Their faces are etched with trepidation and mistrust.


“I don’t trust it,” These words incised their way through the tension. It was a woman, she’s wrapped in a thick shawl, her face pinched with worry. “I’ve never heard of someone surviving a Jougalin attack alone!”


A murmur of agreement ripples through the small crowd of onlookers. Their fear is a palpable thing, a cold wave washing over me. They see a threat, not a person.


“The woman has a point.” says one of the guards I followed, a wiry man with a nervous twitch in his eye. “It’s too convenient.”


The guard,who was a stew enthusiast, has been watching me with a steady, careful leer.


“Hold on now everyone. Look at her.” He gestures not at my face, but at my general state.   His voice is calm, and crisp it ices the rising panic.


“She’s soaked, covered in mud, and can barely stand. It doesn’t look like she is particularly thriving from the encounter. And besides she’s right, there was a Jougalin out there today. Why would she share that detail if she was trying to lie her way in?”


He takes a cautious step towards me, his hand still resting on his sword. He stops a few feet away, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, lingering specifically on my injured ankle.


“You say you fell?” His tone is less accusatory and more inquisitive.


I nod, biting my lip to keep it from shaking. “Yes. I… I think it’s broken.”


“Let me see.” He gestures his hand forward with approval. 


Hesitantly, I limp forward a single step, lifting the hem of my tattered skirt just enough for him to see the swollen, discoloured flesh. The torchlight paints the bruise in sickening, vivid detail.


“That’s no act. That’s a bad sprain, maybe worse.” He looks up from my ankle and meets my eyes for the first time. I see a glimmer of something other than suspicion in his expression.


“I know you said you’re a nomad but where are you from originally, Shikara?” he asks, his voice softer now.


Here it is. The next test. I just need to stick to the script. “I don’t… I don’t know.” I say, looking down, as if the shame is too much. 


“My parents lived the same life I live now, never sticking around anywhere long enough to take root.” The lie tastes like ash, but it’s a necessary poison. 


The guard considers this, his expression unreadable. He turns to the other guards.


“Riel, Ganza, stand down.” his voice taking on a new layer of command. 


Riel, the one who first challenged me, hesitates. “But Hakota, the rules are clear. No one enters after dusk without clearance from the Captain.”


Hakota. The name fits. This is the man I’m counting on.


“And I’ll answer to the Captain.” Hakota replies, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re not leaving her out here to fend for herself. I can handle it if there is trouble.” 


He turns back to me. “You’ll stay with me and my wife for the night. Under my watch. We’ll get that ankle looked at and you’ll be out in the morning. Is that understood?”


I can only nod, hoping my timid expression does not lean too far into the real glee I feel bubbling inside. My performance worked! 


Hakota bends over to pick up my fallen branch, handing it back up to me. “Follow me, I’ll take you to my house to meet my wife, she’s pretty good at assessing injuries.” 


As he guides me through the gate, the villagers shrink back, their whispers following us like a trail of dead leaves. 


Their fear hasn’t vanished, it’s just been overridden by Hakota’s authority. I keep my head down, making sure not to trip on the cobblestone path,  playing the part of the humbled, grateful survivor. 

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