8️

It's strange, the illusion of time when you are surrounded by people and the essence of safety. A work that paid us with a meal that was melting heaven. The harvested potatoes and steamed meat, peppered eggs and biscuits made of carrots were an alien feast. Then again, we had been living in deprivation for so long that someone's worse tricked us to be our best.

The grandmother kept complaining of undercooked potatoes and chewy bread. Good for us as she resisted many of the dishes plated as the leftovers were passed to us. With a meal so warm and tarp so comfortable, we slept under a mount surrounded by fence on the side, a small stick of aroma candle kept the bugs and mosquitoes away.

"How close do you think they are? I keep peering into the mead suspecting them to have made it" Dorin says tucking his arm beneath his head.

"But it yet won't change that we deny to join" I cup my jaw with a hiss "Why is the accent so strong"

I hear him chuckle, it blends with mine.

"Of course, you find this hilarious, you have been a natural with it" I accuse.

He indeed was, with a once Armin for mother he developed it in his consciousness. When I had to not hassle my tone with further modifications.

"Mama used to mock them, would remind me how posh and polished the highborn's language and etiquette was. By how accurate she mimicked- this might be a much easier version for you"

He still carried that smile but rolls to the side to face me. His hair is shaggy from humidity by loading the coal into the barrow, while I could've helped- Mrs Willow had called me in for the kitchen. She was impressed by how good I was with the knife, only if she knew how great I was with the hunt. She might detest me - But in Ivyaki we needed the bones and skin of animals to survive. And I had an eye for it.

At times I was paid for it. And then there were also days when I was physically tormented by the ones who were desperate for it and had no coins or materials to pay with.

I remember the night spent in a rat-infested base when I denied Mr Birch to kill a young bear or the stab in the ankle when I tried to stop a boy from poisoning a pregnant fox. I killed the wild, the one with no mercy. But in my heart, I felt its wounds, almost as if I could feel their anger and pain. I would sit beside them for hours until their blood had changed colour. Till there weren't any cubs or kits that stumbled across in search of the one I drained.

I used to cry during my first kills, but with age and aggression, I morphed into a vessel of the hunter. It was them or me. And I had to choose myself because if I gave up, there would have been someone else in my place. Someone who may not know how to end them with fewer wounds, what it takes for numbing their pain. And how inhumane it is to do it.

Because a hunter is known to thrive in its victim's blood,

But I seem to scorch with guilt each time I do so. I had taken an oath, in the dead of a night as I sat there weeping by the lifeless form of a fauna that I didn't know of. His skin was a rich brown, with a crown-like that of a stag and a body as mighty as a grown elk. My fingers caressed the mane that cloaked its neck, he was still warm.

"I will love enough of your kinds once I leave, I'll save them from harm once I leave, so please forgive me in heaven" I remember saying.

Saying to the one who I know was ones born from Ventims sorcery. The modification of breed in animal to be born with intelligence and emotion. Unlike the ones slaughtered for food, some were mystic in existence. Their blood, skin and heart had healing tendencies. But they were fierce and loyal to who they belonged. Like the wolves who attacked us in glaze, they weren't merely sharp-toothed prey, but the guards who were prepared to die for their master.

Their king.

The crown.

"So I've been pondering" Dorin begins slowly, our minds had gone through a phase of acceptance. That the kingdom exists and was were in a place where one was a dot upon a map. The glaze had been the least scrutinised corner of Antar, the toxicity and its nature were enough to kill an intruder. So to have us in here wasn't anyone's concern. But still, the question stands unrattled- and with acceptance in heart, it's time we think back to what happened. And Dorin seems to share my wonder undividedly "Why did the wolves leave?"

Wish I had a response to that, but all I had was the memory of the shadowed monster and her voice spinning in. I clench my fist and close my eyes, not trusting to stay null. But I can't tell him. Dorin, in his gut, seems to believe the defector's tale. As if he wants to admit that one of us could have been gifted enough to silence the spell that precedes the mountain. There's a spark of fantasy in them all, and I can't blow air to cause an arson.

"Let's believe they left because of our unity and innocence" mumbling I play with the cuff links on my sleeve. Twisting and Turning with lies.

"The unity where you ran away without once attacking the wild?"

Not once.

Not when I had promised to.

Not after I escaped.

"You could have killed them"

I hum in agreement.

"I could have, but all that matters is we are here now" I read through him and his scepticism, and then I know.

It doesn't. Because trust and secrets are as contrasting as sky and earth. But what I also apprehend is that with secrets that I can't seem to undo, I neither was to blame nor to be forgiven. So I fall asleep. To the sound of grass and Dorins disappointment.

***

The peace wasn't the same. It was slipping through my fingers and sweating through my pose. Last night might have been a result of fatigue and tranquillity. But we woke up to the roars of kids and laughter of grown-up adults. There were all over, one on roof, one beside. A couple on top of a horse and rest in shed. And each was in a frenzy of their own.

When Mr. Willow made his way to us, we were up on our feet in seconds. I check for wrinkles on my shirt- and wiped my face with a hand towel he offered me.

"Thank you, sir"

He waves me off and speaks to Dorin.

"You know to guide a wagon?" He asks, I take the break to eye him. He was dressed fresher than yesterday. A flip from the mousey spine. His shirt was crisp and in place of the hideous straw hat, his reciting hairline was combed to the side. His dress shoe, though old and peeling shines in the cool morning. There is even a tie peaking out in the shade of coffee beans.

"You are going somewhere, sir?" I ask, noticing how much less he prefers to divert a conversation or need my way simply because he believes I was fifteen. Is being a kid that useless?

"We all are" he rubs his palms, throwing a look over his shoulder "To the festival. If we leave in an hour, we perfectly would reach by the sunset with how achingly sluggish our horses are" then he went on about what how he got scammed by a trader when he bought them. But Dorin and I had other visions of it.

Lazy or not. A horse was still better than us on two legs.

So in an hour, we both had a wagon of our own to direct. With children's on his and rest on mine. I kick at my saddle and look at Dorin, we shared a start.

He snapped the reins, and so did i.

The old tunic that Mr willow gave us when he saw the pathetic seam of clothes we wore was stiff on Dorin and huge on me. But who were we to complain, I kept unconsciously bunching the smooth fabric, in awe at the feel of it. Dorin was much more mature than I, he didn't seem to care and was conveniently focused on the road ahead.

I was greedy. Much slower than him as I kept trailing behind - taking in the aroma of baked goodies from the slim dirty roads opening to shops. This city kept faring better and better with the distance we left. I drew in a sharp breath when the gateway to the city wall had numerous security lined up. All same in attire, an amber suit with an inked black stripe that ran across the side. They were mostly men, in their youth. Tall and built-in stature like that of Dorin. And they checked for what appeared as papers.

Luckily whatever that was, Mr Willow had it. The guard did rake his solid stare over me and Dorin - but let us pass. And it's when even Dorin gave up his vice.

The gates were made of gold, pristine and grandiose too might that everything and everyone around it felt like a gnome moving in herds. The metals and silver twist forming and reaching a centre where the wingspan of the phoenix meets. The bird rising from its ashes, a hymn to the history of Antar that rose from nothing to become the most feared and respected kingdom today.

The roads were flat and titled with concrete, the wheels of our wagon glides through it the way the wind does through our fingers. The city is a union of ancestry and modernism. Or as what I have read of it. There are bridges over us and some below on the side. There are women dressed in silk with jewels on their hair. Men who seem to carry significant importance and some who attempted to sell their wares.

Every niche and corner, flower and harbour, smile and walk or the manner they talk- they were clean. Precise and sure. Armours we hung outside shops for sale, lanterns lits up in strings by the wire above us and I could do nothing but lean towards them. Their magic. Their life.

The teeth of envy should bite me, but my desire and surprise are like the gentle kiss of a mother. It cocoons me in its womb and I'd give everything to be born again.

Born in this world.

I smile voluntarily when a vendor does at me. Then I spot a youthful-looking boy with shiny golden blond hair waving at us with a piece of red cloth in hand. Upon such a signal Mr Willow asks us to pull a stop.

My joints ache and my legs stammer when I step down from the horse. The messily handsome male makes his way to Mr.willow. He addresses him as son and soon there wasn't a doubt that there was another kid in the family and the kid had no means to look at me with a guarded scowl unless-

"That's my shirt" he states.

"Ah, they are travellers," Mr Willow says, coming between us "They needed a change of clothes so I gave them your old ones, not that they would fit the body of a warrior now would it?"

This flats the boy's features.

"Please don't call me one unless I make it to the trials"

The mother intertwines and the sibling energy becomes prominent as they cling and shuffle over to the lad. Excluding the girl with a shaved head. She rolls her eyes and smiles with smugness.

"At least I have the confidence to make it in a couple of years. I can't wait to be introduced in the arena. I even have names I would prefer to be known by" this doesn't sit well with her brother as he tenses, was it insecurity or underlying hurt? But he half-heartedly ushers their family to move ahead while he would prefer to join them later. Mr willows drop some coin on our palms and officially retires us from his employment. I give myself a brief squeeze on the wrist to remind myself that I should be gravely worried about the chief and his group of apostates catching up to us rather than throttling to explore what lay ahead.

But one thing was for sure, I have never been out of a job or an order. I always knew where I belong- in the vessel of poverty and needs. But now that I was bid to do my heart's likes, I looked at Dorin for a layout. I spoke with my eyes.

"What are we to do now?"

He shakes his head knowing the lucid immaturity. But Mr Willow's son who had been suspended from our little exchange throws his arm wide on either of our shoulders, he tilts at me then at Dorin squeezing himself between us.

"I can't face my family without some rum as my primer, care to join- you two?"

We should have declined, but it requires self-control which two of us had bargained enough during of years at Ivyaki. So we went. With him. To a tavern where a little trick of fate awaited us.

Only had we denied.