Chapter Twenty-One

With a mumble of gibberish and a yawn, Ariya turned over in the bed and opened her eyes. As always, she had slept later than Lusya, despite also going to sleep earlier. She sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and let out another yawn. Though Ariya’s stirring had caught Lusya’s attention, it often took some time before Ariya became active, so Lusya returned her attention to the book she was reading until the child was ready to speak.

“Good morning, Lusya,” Ariya said. It had taken around ten minutes this morning. A bit longer than usual.

“Good morning.”

Ariya climbed out of bed at a sedate pace. Once she was standing on the floor, Lusya stood from her chair and placed her book on the table beside her.

“Are we leaving right after breakfast like always?” Ariya asked.

Lusya shook her head. “No, Ariya. I feel a break is in order, so we will be staying in this village for another day.”

“Really?” Ariya asked, eyes wide.

Lusya nodded. “I have already paid for another night at the inn. You will come with me to retrieve your repaired dress, but after that we will spend the day as you wish.”

Getting that one task out of the way seemed wise. It would leave the rest of the day free as respite. Lusya did not anticipate it would take long either.

“We get to do whatever I want?” Ariya asked with a big smile, clapping her hands together as though applauding the idea.

“I reserve the right to veto your suggestions,” Lusya said. “However, the point is for you to relax and enjoy yourself, so I will attempt to be lenient.”

Ariya’s smile faded into a blank, uncomprehending look as she blinked several times. “Huh?”

“I can say no to your ideas if I want to,” Lusya said. Perhaps it would be easier if she started putting things in terms of Ariya’s vocabulary to begin with. “But I will try to do so as little as I can.”

“Oh, that makes more sense.”

“It means the same thing.”

“Oh.” Ariya frowned and seemed to consider that for a moment. “Well, the second one made more sense to me.”

Lusya supposed that was fair enough and decided it was time to move on.

“Come, let us eat breakfast,” she said.

“Yes, Lusya.”

There did seem to be a bit more spring in Ariya’s step as they went to the dining room. Was it possible the anticipation was exciting her? Or was the simple knowledge that she would have a day off enough to begin refreshing her?

So-called “real breaks” were not foreign to Lusya and she did not mind taking one where she could—though she did not see what made them more “real” than their briefer counterparts—but she had never felt like she needed one to continue functioning. They were a luxury, not a necessity. The innkeeper framing them as the latter had caught Lusya off-guard. However, seeing as Lusya was neither a child nor human, and had no experience caring for either, she chose to defer to the innkeeper’s experience in the matter.

The inn was surprisingly busy as Lusya and Ariya ate breakfast. In Lusya’s experience, evening tended to be the busiest time for such establishments, when people came to drink and socialize and ended up eating while they were there. Few came for the specific purpose of eating. After all, they could prepare their own meals if they wanted to eat.

Here, however, there were plenty of tables taken by parties enjoying a morning meal. And they were enjoying a meal. This was not a village of drunks who had assembled to inebriate themselves first thing in the morning. Some were partaking of ale, but from what Lusya could see and smell, the majority had foregone alcohol. It seemed the innkeeper’s cooking was the draw. How interesting.

While it was still less crowded than the previous night, it was still a crowd most inns would be happy to draw at any time. It was so busy that many of the wenches who had come to help during the evening service were now here again, rushing food to tables. Another rarity for such establishments. Most maintained perhaps one employee aside from the innkeeper outside of evening service.

It seemed the innkeeper had adjusted other elements of her business to account for its apparent popularity among the locals as well, many of which had also been apparent the previous night. In most inns, country ones in particular, there were one or two dishes available at a time. Taverns in cities may have had more options, but even the inn in Gavamir had not had anything resembling a menu.

Here, the board Lusya had noticed before listed close to a dozen options, and they were different ones than had been there the previous evening. Since many of the villagers were likely illiterate, it also included rough doodles of each dish. Customers requested specific meals from around ten choices. The options even had variable prices for those who came just to eat—even written out in tallies for those who could not read—though it seemed Lusya was being charged a flat fee. Different prices were not unheard of and plenty of inns charged for individual drinks or certain other additions, but in most a meal was a constant charge, even if there were a couple different dishes available.

The child had ordered a sweetened pancake solely because it had had cake in the name, while Lusya had opted for an omelet. Despite its simplicity, the innkeeper had managed to make it tastier than most.

“This place is really popular,” Ariya said as she finished her meal. “They must really like that lady’s food.”

Lusya nodded. “So it would seem. You have sugar stuck to your face.”

Ariya grabbed a napkin and wiped it along the vast majority of her face. She somehow managed to miss the sugar. It was nothing harmful, so Lusya decided against pressing the issue.

“It is really good,” Ariya said. “I’d eat it every day if I lived here.”

“I think that would become expensive.”

Even accounting for the differing prices, the food was cheap for the quality, but it would have added up if eaten so often, at least for the inhabitants of such a town. In cities, where space was at a premium and many did not have their own kitchens, regular dining at food vendors was more common.

Ariya shrugged and ate the last bite on her plate. A girl her age wouldn’t have to worry about money, if she even understood it. It was not surprising hypothetical expenses did not concern her.

“If you are finished, let us visit the tailor,” Lusya said.

“Okay,” Ariya said, almost leaping from her chair. “And then I get to play?”

“Correct,” Lusya replied with a nod. “If that is how you wish to spend the day.”

Ariya began hopping in place, shouting, “Then let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

That outburst drew looks from around the room. A few of them were annoyed, but most seemed bemused. Some were harder to read and Lusya could not discern what they felt.

She led Ariya out of the inn and to the tailor’s shop. While she had already decided to give Ariya a break at some point, at the time she had visited the shop, Lusya had been undecided on whether or not to stay in Wildbloom the next day, so she had asked the tailor to have the dress ready by the next morning.

He had initially told her that between routine work for other villagers and a big project—which he had let slip was indeed a dress commissioned by the noblewoman mentioned by the innkeeper—that would be impossible. With a bit of persuasion, however, he had agreed to prioritize Ariya’s dress instead.

It seemed she had made an impression, because when she walked in, he stood from the chair he was sitting at so quickly it fell over with a dull thunk. He threw down the needle and thread he was holding, the shirt he had been working on forgotten.

“Y-you!” he exclaimed, pointing at her with a trembling hand. “I have your twice-damned dress. Just wait there and don’t break anything!”

He scurried into a back room and Lusya heard him rummaging.

“Why would he think you would break something?” Ariya asked.

“Most likely because I did that,” Lusya said, pointing to another worktable nearby.

The corner had been shattered in Lusya’s grip the previous evening. The stray bits of wood on the floor had been cleaned up and a cloth had been hastily draped over the jagged remains, but it was still clear that portion of the table had been destroyed.

Ariya gasped. “Why did you break his table?”

“I squeezed it too tightly when negotiations became heated,” Lusya said.

“Oh, so it was an accident,” Ariya said. “He’s just being mean, then.”

Of course, that was a distortion of the truth, though not an outright lie. Lusya was not sure how to lie, so she avoided doing so, preferring to tell partial truths or omit information. The basic concept was clear enough, but she understood there were tricks employed to make the lie seem more sincere. Lusya had learned to spot them—the fact that lying often triggered a small, but noticeable, surge in Malice helped—but she was not sure how to employ them herself.

In truth, after polite requests had failed to sway the tailor, she had asked to see his hands. While not common, it was a respected tradition in this region for a customer to ascertain if such a professional had “tailor’s hands” and much the same went for other trades. Lusya did not know how to do that, so she did not explicitly ask, but he had assumed and allowed her to hold one.

At that point, she had crushed the table. She had been prepared to make more explicit threats to do the same to his hands, throat, testicles, or anything else he valued, but that had proved unnecessary. He had squealed like a pig and agreed to prioritize Ariya’s dress before Lusya could say a word.

He emerged from the back with the dress in hand and stiffly held it out to Lusya, who took it.

“Good as new,” he said.

“The repaired area is noticeable,” Lusya said. It was not easy to see, but it was there if one paid attention.

He groaned. “Fine, as close to good as new as you’ll get unless you know some magic for fixing clothes.”

The tailor was a young man. If he was older than Lusya, it was not by more than a couple years. He must have acquired or inherited the shop recently. Or perhaps the owner was away, and the boy was an apprentice put in charge in the meantime. Lusya did not know, and the matter was not interesting enough for her to find out.

“Happy?” he asked. “Thanks to you I lost close to half a day working on Lady Hazev’s dress. If I miss her deadline because of you…”

He stopped speaking and just glowered at Lusya for a moment. She cocked her head and blinked twice in confusion, then it occurred to her. She had heard of and seen this before. Every time it bewildered her.

“Is this one of those instances where you trail off because you are unable or unwilling to follow through on any threat you could make?” she asked.

The tailor continued to glare at her and growled, almost like a dog. “Just pay me and get out.”

“Of course,” Lusya said. “Thirty copper is a fair price, is it not?”

“It would be,” the tailor said. He drew up to his full height, not that that was impressive. He was a few inches taller than Lusya, but most people were taller than her. At five feet and two inches tall, she was just under average height for a human or reltus woman, let alone a tiransa woman, for whom eight feet would have been short. “But after last night, I think you owe me a little extra.”

She was not sure where his confidence came from. He had been terrified before. Perhaps he was confident she would not harm him in front of the child? His accidental correctness aside, his courage was foolish, yet also somehow admirable.

“I suppose you will be needing a new table,” Lusya said.

“That’s not really what I meant…”

“I will not subsidize the whole cost of one, but I will contribute twenty copper. Is that price satisfactory?”

She pulled out a single fifty-copper coin and held it out toward him. He flinched and stumbled back until his back was against the wall. She had not been trying to threaten him.

He pointed a shaky finger toward the table he had been at when she entered. “J-j-just put it over there.”

“Why are you so scared?” Ariya asked. “Lusya’s not mean—” she glanced at Lusya and cut herself off for some reason. “Lusya won’t hurt you unless you’re mean first.”

“I like having hands, kid,” the tailor said. He pointed at the table, more insistently, and remained pressed against the wall, as though having it behind him offered some form of protection.

Lusya approached the table and placed the coin down, then nodded to the tailor. “Thank you.”

She led Ariya out of the shop. As she walked out the door, Lusya noticed the tailor let out a titanic sigh and all but collapse onto his table. Perhaps he had been putting more effort into appearing confident than it had appeared. That would have been impressive in its own way had he not faltered at the end.

“Now we can play?” Ariya asked.

“As soon as I return this to the room,” Lusya replied, though she was not sure what the child meant by “we.”

They returned to the inn and Lusya put the dress away in her pack.

“Oh, miss!” the innkeeper called as they were about to exit once more.

Lusya turned to see the innkeeper beckoning her closer. Lusya approached and tilted her head.

“If you’re staying for the day, mind if I make some suggestions?” the innkeeper said. “We don’t have much in this tiny town, but I can at least help the girl enjoy herself.”

“That sounds great!” Ariya said.

Lusya nodded. “That would be helpful.”

The innkeeper smiled. “Well then, listen up…”

#

“It has been three minutes,” Lusya announced.

Laughing and screaming trickled into silence as running children stopped in their tracks among the countless flowers blooming around them in myriad colors. The children turned to look at her a few at a time until all dozen sets of eyes rested on her. One boy frowned and crossed his arms.

“No it hasn’t,” he said. “That was way too quick.”

“Minutes are not very long,” Lusya replied. “I am confident in my count of one-hundred-eighty seconds.”

Ariya put her hands on her hips and puffed out her chest as though she had just won a battle. “If Lusya says it’s been three minutes, I believe her.”

“That’s just ‘cause you won,” the boy replied. He was about a year older than Ariya, the son of one of the villagers. “I bet your sister or whatever just called time because you were about to get caught.”

“I am not her sister,” Lusya said. “If you do not trust my timing, you will have to stop participating, as I am the only one here to do it.”

The boy scoffed and pouted. “Who cares if you don’t?”

“It will be impossible for the pursued team to win.”

“Well, that’s not my team, so I don’t care.”

Lusya cocked her head and blinked twice. “The teams alternate every round.” The implication seemed obvious. But then, Ariya sometimes missed such things as well. Perhaps it was in the nature of children. “It will be your team as soon as the game resumes.”

The boy’s face turned red, and he made an odd, strangled whining sound, as if trying to scream with his mouth shut. He let out a huff and turned away.

“Fine,” he said. “I guess it’s fine.”

“Good, then assume your starting positions.”

The boy grumbled and walked to his place as all the other children sorted themselves into two opposing lines. Ariya had taught the children of the village the tag-like game from the caravan, which had apparently been dubbed, “Plague-Bearers,” by the child who had come up with it. Or so Lusya had assumed. Ariya had thought it was “Plaque-Bearers,” which made much less sense. Lusya had not heard it referred to by either name while with the convoy. The children had called it “that game,” whenever she had heard them speak of it, perhaps because they had not been able to say the title correctly.

Of course, there was not anywhere to hide anything in the field of play they had chosen, and Ariya had never played that variant anyway. That meant they needed someone to time the games, which Ariya had requested Lusya to do. It was a simple enough task and she had little else to do, so Lusya had not objected. That was a fact she regretted a little bit every time one of the children released an ear-piercing shriek as they ran about, but she was up to the task of tolerating it.

“Begin,” Lusya said once they were all in position.

The children broke into runs going every which way. There was no planning, strategy, or organization. Unlike with the caravan, there were no groups of people, horses, or halted wagons to play around. So, they just scurried about at random, trying to catch one another. To keep the game simple and the participants in earshot of Lusya, they had set a handful of landmarks they were not allowed to pass. If they did, pursuers were disqualified and the pursued were treated as though they had been caught. Even so, there was still plenty of room for them to cover.

The meadow they played in was, according to the innkeeper, what Wildbloom was named for. It was, perhaps, the first true hint of spring Lusya had seen since beginning this journey. Despite winter still being close behind, the grass was a vibrant green dotted with flowers of all colors in full bloom. It was a pleasant sight, and the blossoms filled the air with an appealing aroma. Of course, the children crushed more than a few flowers underfoot in their wild chase, but there were plenty more.

A single tree sat around the center of the field, atop a small hill. That was one of the landmarks the children had chosen. There was a handful of rocks and boulders scattered around the area as well, the only true obstacle in the play area, which some of the smarter children used to evade and confuse pursuers or targets. As Lusya watched, Ariya chased an opponent around one, then looped back to catch them on the other side. They tried to turn back, but their momentum carried them into Ariya’s outstretched hand before they could escape.

“Got you!” Ariya said in a taunting, song-like tone.

“Yeah, yeah,” the girl she had caught replied.

This meadow was a popular place for the children of the village to play. At least, that was what the innkeeper had said. The evidence bore that out. When Lusya and Ariya had arrived, the other children had already been there, playing another game. That had also been a variant of tag, in which players were not allowed to move when a referee said so.

“Three minutes,” Lusya announced.

A chorus of whines and groans rose up from the children, but none of them chose to complain to her this time.

“Maybe we should have, like, a thirty second warning,” Ariya suggested.

The boy who had complained earlier nodded. “That would be better.”

“Can you do that, Lusya?”

Lusya nodded. “I will let you know when there are thirty seconds remaining in the future.”

The children played several more rounds of the game with the new rule addition. When the sun had just about reached its apex in the sky was when the village children departed.

“I’ve gotta get home for lunch,” one of the girls said as she left.

“Papa’s going to teach me how to string a bow,” a boy said.

“Okay, bye!” Ariya shouted with a vigorous wave as the others left.

“Shall we go someplace else too?” Lusya asked. The innkeeper had suggested a few other sights and activities the child might enjoy.

Ariya shook her head. “Not yet, there’s something else I wanna do while we’re here.”

“Very well,” Lusya said. It was likely they would return to the meadow at some point, but there was no guarantee, and it did not matter much to Lusya what the child wanted to do or where.

The child skipped off into the field of flowers. She stopped and picked one, then wandered about until another caught her eye and she took it as well. She repeated this process many times, humming a cheerful tune to herself, until she seemed satisfied.

Then, she sat with her back to Lusya and started fiddling with the flowers. From her angle, Lusya could not see what Ariya was doing. There wasn’t anything dangerous she could do with the flowers—while mostly untamed, the meadow was combed for any hazardous plants on a regular basis, according to the innkeeper—so Lusya did not try to pry into the matter.

“Aha, got it!” Ariya exclaimed after a few minutes of whatever she was going.

She jumped to her feet and ran to Lusya to present the results of her labors. Ariya held up a circle formed of flowers for Lusya to see. It seemed to have been created by weaving the stems of the flowers together. Considering that means of construction, it was remarkable how well it held its shape in Ariya’s grasp. Most of the flowers used were purple, but three red ones had been placed at roughly equidistant points.

“What is this?” Lusya asked.

“It’s a flower crown,” Ariya said, as if that explained everything. She held it higher and moved it closer to Lusya. “I made it for you.”

Lusya cocked her head and blinked twice. “Why?”

Ariya frowned and lowered the crown. “It’s a present, to say thank you for taking care of me. Do you not like it?”

“I am undecided,” Lusya said. “I take it I am supposed to wear it on my head?”

Ariya seemed to perk up a bit, but still looked disappointed. “That’s right. Here, crouch down.”

Lusya did so and Ariya placed the crown upon Lusya’s head. Lusya could not see it, but it seemed to fit well enough. It did not fall or droop down as she stood, at least. Ariya smiled again as she looked up at Lusya.

“The three red flowers are the three times you saved me,” Ariya said. “I picked them to match your eyes.”

“I see,” Lusya said. There had actually been four times, but Ariya did not know about the bandits. Lusya saw little reason to tell her. “Your gratitude is unnecessary and I did not require compensation, but I do appreciate the sentiment.” Receiving a gift of gratitude was novel too, which helped strengthen the otherwise abstract, muted feeling. “I do not mind wearing aesthetic accessories either. I am not sure how long this will last…” The flowers were sure to wilt before long. “…but I believe I like this gift. Thank you, Ariya.”

Ariya held her head up high and beamed. “You’re welcome!”

“Now, what would you like to do next?”

#

That evening, after the sun had set, Lusya returned to the meadow with Ariya in tow. The full moon painted the grass in a soft silver light and countless stars sparkled overhead. Lusya still wore the crown Ariya had made, though it had become clear it would not last until morning. They had seen about everything Wildbloom had to offer. It was, after all, a small rural village. It only had so much, if more than Lusya had suspected. If its sights had been more well-known, it may have seen more visitors.

Still, Ariya had been entertained and some of the sights had even interested Lusya. There was a decrepit ruin near the village, the remains of an ancient shrine or temple. It was thought to have been left there by an early reltus civilization. That described many of the ancient remains across Ysuge. Relti were the oldest of the mortal races—thought by some to be related to why high-rank demons took their form—and had inhabited much of the continent before anything resembling the current distributions of the races had been established. It was Lusya’s understanding that much the same held in many areas of the world. Some of the writing on the walls did bear a vague resemblance to modern Gotrian, though not enough for Lusya to be able to read. She did not know if any scholars had studied the place. She had never heard about it before, at least. Ariya had used the remains as an obstacle course and seen how quick she could run through them.

There had also been a set of statues sitting in a circle nearby. They looked old as well, but—according to the innkeeper—they had been placed there less than ten years ago by an eccentric villager who had wanted to add to the ruins to “make history and confuse the shadowlands out of some poor saps.” Lusya was still impressed by the craftsmanship. The statues were well-made in emulation of styles found in actual ancient art and the detailing to make them look old was meticulous, with strategically placed cracks, grime, and vegetation.

Ariya had pretended to have conversations with them while she ate lunch. At least part of the conversations had been about Lusya, but, seeing as she been able to hear less than half of them, she could not say what they had concerned, specifically. Ariya maintained that it was a secret.

After that they had eaten and rested at the inn, and now they had returned for the innkeeper’s final attraction. Lusya did not have much interest in it, but Ariya was fascinated. One would think the girl had never heard music before with how excited she was. Come to think of it, that may well have been the case, given her isolated upbringing.

“Come on, come on,” she whispered with frantic waves for Lusya to follow. Lusya had been close behind the whole time. “That’s gotta be her.”

Indeed, a young woman stood beneath the singular tree in the field, holding a harp made of dark-colored wood, finished but with no paint or markings that Lusya could see. The moonlight filtering through the leaves above speckled her face and glinted off her instrument’s strings. She appeared to be somewhere around her mid-twenties, a few years older than Lusya and her hair was a pale blonde that almost appeared white as Lusya’s in the sparse light of the night.

Despite Ariya’s whispering, neither she nor Lusya were otherwise making an effort at a subtle approach, so the woman must have been rather engrossed in thought to miss them. The woman took in a deep breath, held it for a second, then exhaled and began strumming her harp.

For several seconds, the melodic sounds coming from the instrument were the only ones in the meadow. The woman was rather skilled. Lusya had heard worse from paid musicians. She thought she recognized the song too, though it could have just been a similar one. A moment later, the woman began to sing.

“Adrift on gray seas, stars light the way. Hold tight my hand, though you know I shouldn’t stay…”

It was the song Lusya had thought it was. The lyrics told the story of a pair in a close relationship of ambiguous nature—most mortals seemed to interpret it as a romantic one, but the song never specified or even implied as much—that was on the verge of its end. Neither wished for it, yet both saw it as their best option. The song seemed to alternate between metaphor and literal events.

Lusya had heard it plenty of times. As of late, she had become fonder of it for reasons she could not explain. She always found herself with a mixed sense of unease and content after listening to it.

The woman sang the entire song without noticing Lusya or Ariya listening and watching. When the song was over, the woman lowered her harp, let out a sigh, and reached for a water skin she had on the ground. She took a swig from it, and another content sigh passed her lips.

Ariya clapped with vigor, as if to make the sound as loud as she could.

“That was great!” she shouted. She stopped applauding and shook her hands. It seemed she had clapped so hard it had hurt, though she did not seem to lose any excitement. “Play some more!”

The woman screamed and jumped into the air. Both her harp and water skin slipped from her grasp, and she fumbled to keep them from falling, a feat she managed at the cost of ending in what appeared to be a rather awkward position, with both hugged to her chest and her back bent back and to the side.

After another moment of struggling, she managed to put her water skin back on the ground and get her harp back in a more comfortable place.

“Wh-who are you two?” she asked, her eyes wide and body tensed.

Perhaps she thought they were going to attack her. An unreasonable assumption. It was plain to see that Ariya was non-malicious and useless in a fight. Such assessments could be misleading, especially when motomancy came into play, but the number of children like Ariya who had significant ability in combat or motomancy could not have been more than a few dozen in the entire continent, as a generous estimate. Relti were stronger than humans by default and learned and taught motomancy more freely, but even among them an unarmed child who looked like Ariya would not be likely to be a threat to a grown human. A five-year-old tiransa might have been through sheer size, but that was a different matter. And if Lusya had wanted to attack, she could have done so already.

“We are travelers staying at the inn,” Lusya said. “Your mother told us we could see a private concert if we came here at night. The child insisted we do so.”

“You were enjoying the song too,” Ariya said, pouting.

Lusya nodded, though she was unsure how Ariya had known. “But I was not the one who wanted to come.”

The woman groaned. “Figures it was her.”

“Do you not want us to listen?” Ariya asked.

The woman hesitated a moment. “It’s not that I don’t want you to, I’m just not used to having an audience. I wanted to be sure I was good enough first…”

“You are,” Lusya said. She did not know much about music, but she had heard plenty. This woman’s was at least as pleasing to the ear as the traveling bards who sometimes played in inns, if not more so. “And that goal seems ill-conceived. While practicing alone first is not a bad idea, it has its limits. At some point you will need to share your craft. Perfectionism will only keep you from your potential.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Did my mother tell you to say that?”

Lusya shook her head. “The first part is my opinion. The second part is self-evident for any skill.”

“I don’t really get it, but you’re really good, miss!” Ariya exclaimed. “You’re a way better singer than Mama. Oh, nobody tell her I said that.”

The woman giggled. “Well, I’m glad you liked it.”

Ariya nodded. “But couldn’t you at least find somewhere in the village to practice?”

“I did that at first, but people complained,” the woman said. “Now that I think about it, they were probably just angry my music was keeping them up, rather than complaining about the quality…”

“That is a reasonable conclusion,” Lusya said.

“I bet they’d love it if you played during the day,” Ariya said.

The woman smiled. “Maybe I’ll give that a try. I want to go out and play for a real audience someday, but I think I’ll start with my mother’s inn.”

“Yay! Now, play some more.”

The woman chuckled and started strumming her harp again.