View Full Version : A Mythical Status
“There!” the little girl’s exuberant cry rang forth, “There is Knifes Edge!”
At the end of her little finger, which was waving so emphatically overhead, was the looming town of Knifes Edge, just coming into view. Through the fog the thin rays of sunlight were attempting to relieve my vision, allow me to see through to the famous city, but it was only a minimal clearing. I allowed a hand to free itself from bracing Julie to my shoulders and shielded my eyes from the rising sun.
On the edge of my vision, through a shifting veil of morning fog, I could make out the impressive walls of the town. The girl, who was still hopping up and down atop my shoulders, was giggling as if she was being ‘tickled’—a goofy way of torture, as I had first imagined, that Julie had shown me while we were hiking through Salvar. One night she had attempted to do such, and had only taught me a new trick that would bring that gentle laugh from the wells within her.
A curious grin rose on my face as I placed my hand back down on her knee, bracing her squirming body against my neck for caution once again. “I’m going to be home!” she cried again, screaming ‘wheee’ as she danced about.
Each thump only helped keep the thoughts away, keep them focused on something else, but I was quickly drifting away again. The nights had been long, and the days seemed even longer, and with each step the poor child had seemed to grow more and more agitated. I felt bad at first, but by the time we had woken up that morning I was feeling miserable.
“Julie,” I responded as I took another step forward and began towards the city, which was once again covered by the morning fog. “If you do not settle yourself you run the risk of falling from your perch, and with this icy ground you could seriously injure yourself.”
She really was not a bad child, quite enjoyable to be around actually, and with the first giggles since I met her still muffled from beneath her hands I could not help myself but smile. If she had been killed by the ice demons, when my entire party had been captured and split, I would have never had my first true friend. But the past was put behind, only the confusion and mistrust of the demons had remained after the escape, and a longing to return and free the rest from their cruel grasps.
“I will be calm,” she said, her voice still full of giggles as we paced across the hard tundra. She was a child of Salvar, no doubt about it, for she held no fear of the snow or for what lived in it—as some of the visitors to Salvar did. Often she rode atop Brute, who was large enough for myself to ride atop, and the dire wolf never minded her little frame. She often dozed while atop his smooth white fur, but never for long before she would nod to either side and barely keep from falling off.
It was this girl, this simple little girl, which I found myself relating to more then any other that I had met since leaving my home in Berevar. She was easy to talk to, harbored little ill will towards any life, and was quite sweet. Julie had become a friend, but the word was still eluding me. I could not tell her that she was a friend, could barely tell her how I was feeling because of the differences between our social upbringings.
She was a child of Knife’s Edge, a survivor of the human race. She loved to play with her doll—a doll that she had to save and in turn fell from the caravan—and she loved to play with my hair and tell jokes. I did not understand the jokes, and she had to explain what a joke was at first. But once I caught what the purpose was I often would laugh, for her sake, even if I did not understand the joke.
I, on the other hand, was a product of Berevar. I am a myth, as the humans from the Rush—an organization in Knife’s Edge—told me. My people long ago crossed the Blade Mountains, made their homes in Berevar, and were sealed from the rest of the world by the Direlings protection. It was my upbringing that stunted my understanding of humor and fun, the social structure of my clan that hindered me from learning of anything but my weapons for war and hunting.
But in a very distinct way Julie and myself were very similar. We were both full of life and wanted to help others, both enjoyed to talk—though most times we did not understand each other, and we both just wanted to find home.
Her home was before us, mine was somewhere behind the Blades, and now somewhere in the world of Althanas. She could return to her parents, return and be loved. I had left without their blessing, and if I returned I would be ignored and possibly banished. But home was not where you were raised, as she had tried to explain to me, home was any place that people loved you and cared for you, any place that you would be welcomed.
And it was in Knife’s Edge, the home of Julie and many others, which I hoped to find this love and care, this warmth and joy that the young girl spoke of…
[Three days prior; Knife’s Edge]
In the meeting hall of the Rush the members had gathered. A tired and haggard face was standing behind the podium, watching with a slight smile as his gang talked. Sometime he would make eye contact with one, meeting their questioning gaze before he would allow his to fall. It was in this way that he knew when to start, when he felt like it was time and he was going to be welcomed back properly.
The man was Kent, the leader of the third most powerful gang in the city. But the Red Rush was not strong because it was cruel, bitter, and filled with cutthroats or thieves. The Rush was strong because they were simple people looking to make their town better for everyone. They were not interested in monetary gain – most of them – and the majority held common jobs that benefited the community more then anyone. It was this unique flair that had brought such a strong, united people together, creating a group that would not rule with a heavy hand but with one that would help the city.
“Please, everyone be seated and calm down,” Kent said, his booming voice exactly what you would expect of a man with his stature. He turned and coughed lightly, trying to get rid of a cold that was just rising from his tramping through the tundra. He was not alone in his sickness, as the others that had been with him were either developing or had already developed their own cold.
Everyone sat quickly, not needing any further spurring to listen to their leader. Each was curious as to what had happened in the Salvarian plains, why they were back so early, and what was to become of the group from the experience. The mighty figure was in all eyes, and attention was focused solely on Kent. “We returned last night, as some of you know, and our trip was the exact opposite of what you would expect – even what we expected.
“When we came to near the mountains we had to fight those Sergeants that had traveled with us, as we were expecting. Many of you could have taken them single handed!” The man’s voice boomed, which brought a heavy cough from his lungs, but the gathered people laughed with their leader’s mockery. But it had not been so easy, and in fact the Watchmen were admirable foes who had come to blows with the travelers because of their own petty ignorance. “But, when we got into the mountains something very rare happened, something that many here and across Althanas itself would die to see…”
The leader went on to explain their encounter with the mythical race of Direlings – creatures of Hromagh who guarded the passes through the Blade Mountains. He explained their odd rescue, how a man over six foot had communicated with both the Direling and themselves. After explaining their leaving the passes and wanting to return, he went into their capture at the hands of the devious ice demons. The people had known they ran into trouble, non-human trouble. The word was rising through the streets, spreading about the daring escape from the clutches of the demon’s stronghold.
Kent, as a true leader – and not much of a storyteller – briefly described their capture and escape, and instead focused on the man Ki’Rial that they had met. He told them of the man’s size, his heavy axe, and his odd armor. But what caught their interest most was the explanation of the dire wolf that he traveled with. A wolf of four-foot height and five in length was impressive, and with a pure white coat he would fetch a good reward for his pelt. As Kent continued though, the people began to question his sanity.
He spoke of how without it Ki’Rial could not speak their language, could not even understand what they were saying. He explained how the wolf’s presence held some odd magical ability that allowed the man to communicate. But with the urgings of the others that had traveled with him – Churia the medic, Terriance the mercenary, and Dervis the hunter – they slowly began to ignore what they had heard and instead longed for more of the story.
But that was where it ended, with the disappearance of a small child from the rescued caravan and the large man and his beast jumping to save her. They were awestruck, as Kent and the others had been themselves when they had seen it, but each held questions behind their eyes. Until the large, hafted-axe was taken from the corner – hidden from them with a simple sheet – most had serious doubt etched across their face.
“As you see, this is not a made-up tale, it really happened. This is the axe that Ki’Rial left in the wagon, accidentally forgetting it no doubt in his rush to save the girl,” Kent said as he held it up for them to see. But what most were seeing was his shaking hands, the slightly lowered weapon, and the general fatigue that was stretched across his face. They were impressed, of course, by the large axe, which was larger then even the hammer that their leader wielded. But even the most fascinated person was worried more about their leader then the truth behind the tale.
“We will keep this above the podium,” Kent said, indicating an opening above his head where two nails would be put to hold the heavy weapon very soon. “When the man returns to Knife’s Edge – and there is little doubt that he won’t – we will return his weapon to him and invite him here. Be on the lookout for him, and we will meet again two nights from tonight. Until then I, and my fellow travelers, will be sleeping off our wear-and-tear and hopefully this nasty cold that’s coming.”
With the day rising overhead a light snow began, it was the middle of the spring season for Salvar and soon the snows would be lighter and lighter. The frozen tundra was free and untamed, its weather showed just how the people coped with it. I did not believe that the beings beyond those of direct creation by the gods – Direlings and Draconian’s – were even meant to live in the Polar Regions. But somehow my ancestors had survived, and some years later the humans had migrated and made due.
Now, with their wall standing high before me, and the light snow creating a blanket over the cobblestone road, I saw just how ingenious the small race was. They had made roads, true roads, which crossed the tundra. They traveled using large wheels on even larger carts, pulled by the most bazaar species called a horse. They created a wall for proper defense, and even had patrols of men walking outside the walls to insure the protection of travelers to and from the city.
But most of all they had created something permanent.
The Berevarian people were not unable to replicate the inventions of the humans, but were simply unable to bring themselves to change. In the past my ancestors had been nomadic, living off the land, and none were able to do what they wanted—but what the Elders and their parents wanted. It was this tradition, this very state of mind, which brought a weaker and generally inferior race to such prowess and left my people in the past.
As I walked towards the walls, my heavy leather boots clicking lightly on the cobblestones, my eyes would not refrain from darting back and forth. They crossed the mighty wall – at least eighty full hands tall! – fell upon what the girl was calling a gate, and then back to the four men split to either side of the road and encouraging and talking with the travelers. I could hardly imagine what I was seeing, how different the city of Knife’s Edge was from my clan’s grounds.
“People are looking at us funny,” the words cut through my thought, snapping me from my still position and awe. Around us people were looking at me oddly, and the girls tone was filled with confusion and slight alarm. I looked back, naturally, and as my eyes met theirs they dropped their gaze and walked along. There were at least twenty of them, people walking towards the opened gates. Some were tall and strong, others were rather short and stocky, but what I noticed first was their very appearances.
The tall one was cradling himself below a heavy burden, no weapon to be seen. The short one was walking tall, whispering in a sharp tone to the three around him, dressed in lavish purple robes. It was striking, and with my limited understanding of the human structure it seemed rather… unnerving. Why should the strong carry the burden while the weak carry nothing? Should it not be that they help each other? And who where the three surrounding the short one, with their hands on their weapons and armor glinting from beneath their clothes?
“Maybe it’s Brute…” I looked to the beastly wolf, smiling as his deep green eyes looked back. He was doing no harm; he was not ingesting food, and not barking or howling… it could not have been him. I scooped Julie up by her arms and let her down over my head, putting her soft feet in the light snow. Her hair was covered with the snow, creating a halo on her crown and on her shoulder; a little snow angel.
“What do you mean Brute? It could not be him; he is doing nothing to attract their attention.”
“He is really big, or maybe they don’t like wolfs,” she said as he patted the wolf on the back, knocking loose the snow that was near indiscernible against his coat. She looked up to me with her bright eyes and I smiled at her and nodded. It would make her feel better to think that she was right, and if neither of us could think of something realistic and probable then at least she could think she was right – instead of arguing over it.
“Lets get inside the town and find you mother, I have no doubt she is fretting for your safety right this moment,” I said as I put my hand out to her. She reached up and squeezed it as tightly as she could, her entire grip wrapping around only my first two fingers. She smiled and patted Brute again with a nod.
“Com’mon Brute, lets go home,” the words brought a sigh to my lips, and a heavy heave of my chest. If only it was that easy to find home, if only we could call this place home. But what love would we find? What welcome and warmth would they give? Julie had been unable to answer my questions, not really sure – maybe about what I was even talking about – but she had helped teach me as much as she could.
[Three days prior; Knife’s Edge]
“If only it could be that simple,” the voice was quiet, scratchy, and generally discontent – it was the voice of someone who was through with life. The people of the Rush were dispersing from the meeting hall; each was headed to their work places, their businesses, and their lives. But, sitting still in his seat, was one of the five who had ventured into the frostbitten wilderness of Salvar on nothing more then a promise and a dream. The man was Tomas, a very attentive and astute character who – like most bored and genius people did – tended to be a little more of a shady person.
He held no job, worked for no one and had everyone work for him. In his eyes the Red Rush, every citizen of Knife’s Edge even, was only a piece in his game of castles. His opponents did not realize that they were playing; their places of authority and leader Mayor Garm did not even see Tomas’ silent movements. Each person held a position on his board, as the Strategist saw things, and each person held a worth. Kent had outlived his worth, and it was time to sacrifice him to open a point of attack into the very heart of his opponent.
Tomas was ready to assume his role as the proper leader.
“If only it could be so simple…” he muttered as he dozed, allowing the warmth of the dying fire to spread across him. His sharp eyes opened and shut, looking over the banner that hung on the wall to his right side. It was long and a brilliant green, brought by one of the seamstress’ who had felt deep remorse for the loss of Gent – a strong man who had left but had been killed at the hands of the demons. Kent seemed to forget what the Rush now held, what they were feeling. Tomas, however, thought he knew everything and that his control over the situation was only growing with the first martyr to their cause.
“Is that how you give yourself for the loss of a friend, dear Kent? You allow our means for mapping the Blade’s slip through our hands? He is after his weapon, and after whom he thinks are his friends… with his weapon he had little reason to remain. You would do such a thing, wouldn’t you? You are still so naïve, still have so much to learn…” And with that the older man dozed, his hands crossed atop his stomach and his boots resting on the table before him. The position in the chair was not very comfortable, but when you held no job and had no house – much less an income outside of the gang – you could not be picky about warmth and good sleep.
~+~
Tomas was not alone in his thought; some others of the Rush had brought up the same thought in their minds as they had left. This Ki’Rial, this man from Berevar, was not someone to be taken in and allowed to be friends; he was little more then a tool. He was a barbarian from the tundra; he had no formal background in any skills, and to the more greedy humans, was nothing more then a way to collect a ten thousand gold bounty that came with mapping the Mountain passes.
Every group has its bad apples though.
Others still, those that were more kind hearted and loving, understood the heart of their leader. To them he was not someone who was simple; who was immature, but held a kindred spirit that was exactly what they wanted to see in leader of their government. It was Kent, not Tomas that they wanted to rally behind. It was their very natures that drew them to the softer leader, the kinder man, and would keep a sharp eye out for this gentle giant and his intimidating beast.
Those were the people that held at heart their will for a better life.
As Kent walked towards his house, towards his blacksmithing cottage, he smiled and talked to himself through thought. He knew he had done the right thing, he felt like he had done what he would have been expected to do as a leader of the people. But the time would come, he felt it in the air and in the anticipation of his group, when his motives would be questioned and his only answer would be because he felt good. It was that which unnerved him most, that he would be questioned, but to what end and by who he still did not know.
At night he would have to report to Mayor Garm and his henchmen, account for the missing Sergeants as well as the story of the venture. Till then he would allow himself as much sleep as he could muster, through heavy thought and a slight fear. Till then he would allow himself to take a break, for the first time in months, and relax.
We both walked through the gates together, the heavy barrier with its massive spikes peering down on me as we did so. It was a cruel looking barrier, but looked as though it would hold back an army of the humans, as thick as it was and as small as they were. But my attention was on other, more important parts of the town. There was so much to see, so much to absorb, and so many questions that I wanted to ask Julie – but she was still only a little girl and could not know as much as I wanted to understand.
I drifted first towards the large wall, where there were three soldiers leaning against it and smoking a small… thing. It was producing a gray smoke that was wrapped up by the winds, but out of their mouths and nose the smoke was also drifting. They gave me an odd look at first, which was being returned fully, before they shrugged and went back to laughing and talking. As I turned, I looked over the tall buildings, each as tall as two of my tents. They were made of solid wood and bricks, some stone that neither myself nor Julie knew.
“Keep moving,” a rather confused, but agitated voice called from behind me. In my startled, enthralled state I found myself in the way of the flow of people coming and going from Knife’s Edge. There was only one way in apparently because more people then I could count were passing me quicker then I could hope to follow. Julie quickly tugged my hand as she walked away, pulling me with her so that I was no longer a nuisance. “Umm… thanks,” the man said as he pulled a single cart by, its two wheels hopping across the cobblestone road.
“Why is that man pulling the cart by himself? Does he not have a horse to do that for him?” I asked, only half turning my head to Julie. I had thought that all humans possessed the horse or the smaller kin to it – whose name still I did not know – but as they passed I saw only a few people using one.
“Some people aren’t rich you know. Not everyone can get a horse or mule, it is hard to work in Salvar,” she said with an indignant tone, obviously a little punchy – especially for a small child – and wanting to get home. “Mayor Garm, that’s the guy that I told you was in charge, he’s not a very nice man to the people. He makes them pay lots’a taxes.”
Taxes, it was such a silly concept as far as I was concerned. Why would anyone voluntarily give someone else a piece of what they earned? If it was for protection then why could they not simply learn how to defend themselves, then they would not have to pay for protection. Or they could ask me, I would protect them from anything if they asked, and would not even charge them taxes.
Though the world of the humans was still new, there were twists and flaws that were throwing me off. I felt I would learn them slowly, if ever, and would always be in a state of misunderstanding.
~+~
As we continued traveling through the streets, people parting readily and with great haste, I began thinking again. Everyone was jumpy in the town, was it these taxes that did it? Or was it because they lived in a very small area with many people? I looked to Brute, who was easily taller then the little girl but letting her lead him, and thought about how simple life was in the plains. You did not have to give what you earned to a man who you did not see or like. You also did not have to worry about being anxious and nervous when you walked the streets.
But it was not the taxes or the tight spaces that were causing the people to jump, but the white wolf with its emerald eyes. Never had the people seen such a beast, even in all their time in Salvar never one so large. It was not until much later that it was explained to me what was their problem, and even then I wondered about the mental state of the humans if they were afraid of the wolf. He was doing nothing to any of them, just walking through the streets, and yet they were afraid.
With a shrug I continued following Julie until she came upon her home. It was a nice little house, deep brown walls with a shingled roof of wood. Each window held some sort of rectangular pot, which was filled with snow and being covered by a little more. And out the top was a large brick stack, smoke was pouring from it. “Mommy! I’m home!” She screamed as she ran to the door and pounded on it.
Again I almost jumped her cry so sudden and so sharp. It was like a war cry from a crazed warrior, but it effectively snapped me from my thoughts and brought me back to reality, again. As I watched the door open and the woman behind throw her arms around Julie, tears streaming down her cheeks. A smile lit my face.
That was home for her.
The love I saw, the pure dedication to one another. It was beautiful. I took a step away and patted Brute, we had to find my axe and Kent and the others. I had a place to go, people to see, and a world to discover. “Where are you going?” Julie’s little voice caught me halfway through a step, my foot suspended in midair. “Rial, you have to come in! This is home; this is what you said you wanted, please…”
[Three days prior]
Kent slammed the door behind him, the resulting echo bursting through the open greeting room. His face was flush with excitement and a thick cord of anger. Behind him a cry was being raised, but he ignored it with marked determination. “The man’s a bastard, a true bastard,” he thought as he marched from the Mayor’s House, leaving the meeting he had been scheduled to be at.
Originally it appeared as if it would be smooth, just give his account and be done with it, but things had changed somewhere in the middle. Instead of a simple account about their capture and escape, and how they presently came to Knife’s Edge, it had turned into an interrogation. The mayor would not believe Kent about his Watch Sergeant’s deaths at the hands of the demons, would not accept that they had been killed in the initial strike but the others – people inferior to his men – had somehow made it out alive.
Though he was correct in assuming that the odds were improbable, Kent had forced it upon him, explaining how even one of his fellow people and those of the travelers heading towards the passes were also killed. In truth, the Rush members had killed the missing Sergeants during a morning bout after they had refused to assist them in a battle when they were fully able to. It was for their own dishonor and shame that they were killed, and for the simple fact that members of the Rush had been injured. In the eyes of the Rush members they were no more then rabid dogs, and the risk of them hurting someone had been too great not to put them down.
Towards the end the meeting the tension had escalated and Kent had looked for anything but the mayor to distract his attention. Of course, with his eyes straying from the questioner, Mayor Garm had only intensified his tone and been sharper and crueler with his questions – probably seeing his opportunity to strike with the distraction. In the end, Kent had taken enough, his fatigue was still not gone and his head was pounding.
He stood up and left, much to the surprise of the Mayor.
“I’ll be damned if he stays in his position for any longer,” he swore to himself as he pushed open the doors and barely kept from running down the stairs to the street below. Behind him the loud clicks of heels on marble floors were being accompanied by a cry of rage and blasphemous curses. Mayor Garm had not finished with Kent, and in his anger had taken to chase after his fleeing subject.
As the man threw open the front doors, anger flush across his fiery face, the leader of the expedition had disappeared. He had lost, only something minor, but he had still lost. One subject had won, and with his win would come others who would challenge him… and that was something that he would not stand for.
~+~
But things were changing in Knife’s Edge without Mayor Garm’s understanding, and especially without his permission. He had brought the town towards prosperity again, but only so that he could pocket a majority of it. The town had no organized army, and was the largest settlement in Salvar, it had a very tight market that could not import much, and most especially it had a confused and cruel way of dealing with people.
Citizens were quickly becoming unhappy, workers were finding places to join and voice their concerns, and amongst all of this the Red Rush was growing.
Kent quickly went home, traveling the back ways and through the shadows to keep himself from the Night Watch that would no doubt be looking for him. As soon as he found his house, which took a little longer than normal, he fell directly back to sleep and allowed himself to sleep till the sun had risen the next day. His business was not faltering without his constant presence, and it was a day that would normally be used to train the apprentices. But it was quickly coming time for him to find more members, more voices, and more power. He did not think of it in terms of a power issue, but in terms of change – and the time for change was quickly growing sooner and sooner.
Days later, the initial novelty of the massive city had worn off slightly. I had seen plenty of buildings, plenty of indoor fires, and more people wearing all sorts of clothing than I ever thought was possible. Julie’s mother had been a kind, generous host. She was a younger woman, sun-bleached hair normally pulled into what they called a pony-tail – and odd thing that indeed looked much like the tail of a young horse. Her soft blue eyes were always calm and caring. Edith doted on her young daughter and the “savior of her heart”; giving them sweet bread covered in a strange yellow paste she called butter. The luxuries were expensive though. I felt bad, because the small golden coins they used to get necessities were disappearing quickly. They called it money – a small coin that had worth, though how it was more important than things like butter I could not tell – and it appeared as if it was not an easy thing to come by. Those with a lot of the small circles were the ones called rich, those without were called poor; they were odd titles that I was told never change.
“Will you be joining us for dinner?” I turned around to see the smiling, cheerful Edith. I smiled and accepted the hug from Julie I had received every morning since our return. I carefully picked her up and hugged her tight to my chest. Her laughter filled the room, making it seem almost brighter. “I am going to prepare venison chili, Julie’s favorite.”
“What is venison?” My question made them both look at each other. After a brief conversation about what they called a deer I had my answer. “Does it not cost you those golden circles in order to procure venison?”
Edith continued to smile, but it did not show in her eyes. She shooed Julie into the other room to play with her dolls and continue her reading for the day. Julie had tried to get me to read, but I did not understand the strange symbols that were lightly carved in black against the thin white sheets. Not everyone can read, I remember her saying, though the fact seemed to be something that would be held against me, even by a small child. “Money is hard to come by, and it is true that what the hunters gather and what comes in from other cities like ours” – the fact that there were other places as large and with as many people still astounded me – “I have to purchase. But you saved my daughter, and you have given her a smile that I haven’t seen since her father passed away. I’m happy to feed and house you and your wolf.”
Brute looked up from his corner next to the dying fire, sniffing the air as if he had understood that Edith was talking about him. I walked over to him and rubbed his back vigorously. “If you are troubled by my stay with your coins, I am happy to find a way to get more. Surely there is a place around this civilization that has a means of procuring more?”
“There is, all over. However, getting the finances is much harder than it used to be. Anything that comes in is taxed, and anything that is bought is taxed. The merchants are having a hard time keeping up. When they don’t make money they don’t get anything from their trade, which means that the price of food goes up as well.” The young woman sat in a worn chair by the fire, prodding it with a large metal stick before tossing more pre-cut wood onto it. The smoke from the fire rose through the brick and outside – a fact that had taken at least a day for me to figure out. “It’s a vicious circle, but when you live in a town such as this, especially in Salvar, all goods are hard to come by. If you want to make money you could start working somewhere? They pay you for manual labor, like picking up boxes or helping someone to make horseshoes.”
“Picking up boxes? That is a way to gain money? Can the people not lift them alone?” Edith laughed and explained that not everyone works and lives in a tribal community setting that I was used to. People tended to take what they could, when they could, and the majority of livelihoods was built on one man’s ability to make others work for him. If you needed a roof fixed, than a man would come and fix the roof. You would give him money, and he would use that to buy food. “Why can the man not be paid with food for repairing things, and then use the food to pay others after he takes what he needs of it?”
“You have been in this house for days now, you and Brute. Perhaps you should try walking around the town, seeing what life is like here? You are welcome to stay as long as you would like, sleep here with Brute and continue to eat in my house. But, if you want answers to questions that you may have, you should probably see them first hand.”
Two days since the last snow, and yet I was forced to walk through the remnants of it. Along buildings and shoved to the side of each street the once white had turned brown with the grime of the Knifes Edge citizens. In the less traversed areas, such as what little green grass there was in the city, the snow had retained its pure coloration. However, finding those places was as hard as keeping the eyes of the city people away from Brute or me. I continued to wander though, finding that streets were very easy to walk on compared to dirt and through snow, but also made to confuse their user. Twice I had passed the same row of houses, and yet it was only the third time that I realized that they were indeed the ones I had seen moments ago. It seemed that those of us that were not used to such means of travel were doomed.
“Sure is cold out here,” the voice was quiet, somewhat deep. I turned to see where it had come from and was greeted with a rather large smile, wide eyes, and a face that spoke of ill-will. Snow blanketed the ground between me and the hunched man. His tattered robes were covered in dirt, as was his face and hands. In one hand he had a cup, a few shining coins resting at the bottom, the other was tucked into his clothing to keep out of the cold. “You wouldn’t happen to be called Ki’Rial, would you?”
“How do you know of me?” It was the only answer that I could muster. My eyes were probing his figure, looking for what he had done that could have earned him financial means. Nothing came to mind, or sight, for he was little more than a man sitting along the edges of a very narrow road between houses. He gave me a sideways smile and stood up, stroking his greasy hair with his free hand. “Are you a friend of Julies?”
Laughter, bitter and harsh. It was not the kind that came from my young friend, it was the kind that came from a jackal when it found a fresh carcass. He approached me, much to the discontent of the growling dire-wolf at my side. My heavy hand patted the side of the beast, calming him as best I could. Hair had risen across his white neck, indicative of trouble. “I know a lot of Julies, most of them are no friend of mine though. My name is Yark; I’m a friend of some people you might know. Does the name Kent ring a bell?”
I was not sure how a name would ring a bell, nor where this man knew Kent from. I had found the explorer when I was passing through the Blade Mountains, leaving the lands of Berevar to enter the lands of Salvar. He had been traveling with a group of people, most of which thought I was a myth, come to life. After a long trek home, and after an ambush and escape from a group of elven people who lived in the tundra, I had lost track of the man and his friends. Knifes Edge was where they had said they lived, yet I could not find them amidst the throng of people that also wandered the streets like I did.
“I know of Kent, and the party he led. They found me, friends of mine. I have been trying to locate them.” I stepped towards the man and rose to full height, not in an attempt to inspire fear –though that is what it did – but in an attempt to show the man respect. Instead he nearly leapt away, standing a few paces from me. His gray hair was tossed about his head, his sharp eyes locked on the axes dangling from my waist. “Can you inform me of the direction that I might find them in?”
“How about’s you follow me? I can take you right to them. They have that big axe of yours, just sitting on a stand above the fireplace. Said you’d come back for it some time.” Yark patted the side of my shoulder with his free hand, dust puffing up in a small cloud around my shoulder. He nodded as if beckoning for me to follow and started to walk down the narrow road. From under his tattered clothing he pulled out a small sack, placed the few coins from his cup into it, and tucked it away again. “Never can be too careful with a good day’s pay.”
The small building that I followed the odd man too was humble, unlike the plentiful shops that surrounded it. The wooden door was flaking something red off of it, the post that normally held words dangled from chains was missing its sign, and the face of it had no windows. Around it the buildings were walled with mostly invisible bricks, windows from what Julie had called them. Bright metals bent into strange shapes, swords and bows hung from the same window, their quality much better than anything I had seen in Berevar. In the other window was a collection of circles, squares, and other shapes I could not identify, each a different color, all of them glittering like a star.
“Not much, ya see. But nobody tends ta look between the cracks for the details.” The man seemed to be wise about what others thought, it was a mystery to me though. It seemed that I was a book this man was reading, looking at me as if turning a page. His words were the fingers flipping the pages, my expressions and reactions the words written in the binding. It came as no surprise to me, perhaps if I could have read the words they wrote, I could have read the people that wrote them. Even ragged clothed Yark could read, apparently. “This is the Red Rush headquarters. Nobody’s in right now, but only a few hours till they show.”
“Hours?” I asked only half interested; it seemed like a word tossed around by everyone. A common word that everybody but me knew and nobody seemed to want to explain. The man laughed at me, the sly laugh of someone who knew something that he could gain from. Instead of answering he placed his hand on the door and slid his fingerless glove across its surface. The door was pushed aside and I was welcomed, for the second time since coming to Knifes Edge, in what would be described as home.
Time passed slowly, leaving me with only the odd man as company. He was reluctant to ask questions, even more reluctant to tell me what exactly was going to happen and who I was waiting for. A few questions were answered by him, general ones. What is an hour? What are the shiny rocks in the window next door? Who left the weapons and general metal objects in the window on the other side of the secreted building? The first question was answered, but hardly to my satisfaction. It was complex. Yark gave me a small object, filled with water that flowed constantly. Little hands were rotating on it, and I was enthralled by the way it moved so rhythmically.
“So,” I said without removing my eyes from the small wooden box. My hands were huge compared to the mechanical object. At one point I had put my thick finger into the water, feeling it flow, and was scolded for my curiosity. Yark said that it would ‘mess up the damned thing’. “The small hand is an hour? The larger hand is a minute? When the large hand turns around the entire little circle, passing the twelve black marks, that is an hour?”
“By the gods you’re dense. I don’t know what it is that he see’s in you…” The messy man shook his head and rose from the table across from me. His hands were shoved into his tattered coat. Pacing, it was what he had called his ten steps one way and ten steps the other. Yark was pacing again, anxious. He looked like many people of my tribe did after describing their problems to the elder or shaman of my tribe before the verdict was delivered.
“Who created an hour, or a minute? What decided how long an hour was?” I turned my eyes away from the man and back to the dripping water. It was something magical, like a spell that never ended. I wondered what wizard had taken the time to create one of their spells to keep it running. “I do not willingly accept things that make no sense.”
“Who made an hour? Who the hell cares? It’s just a number and a set amount of time that was created to make other people feel better about themselves. It’s hard to tell someone to meet you at a certain place or certain time without everyone having the same scale to measure time on. Right?” I shrugged my heavy shoulders and tapped the little face. It shook and the man gave me a scowl that spoke of anger. When he turned around in turned my attention to Brute and his loose tongue. He seemed tired, worn out and weary. My stomach growled, and I realized my tongue was dry and it was hard to swallow. How long had it been since either of us had drank water? Instead of asking the man for anything to drink I picked up the small clock and put it on the ground. Brute lapped at the puddle of water at the bottom of the object. “What the hell is that! Stop that, you’ll ruin the time keeping! If you want water, just ask you stupid—“
His voice immediately stopped when the lapping tongue of the dire-wolf was exchanged for a flash of teeth and a low growl. “Then I would request we be allowed water, and in a means for my friend here to drink it easily.” I was thrown a small skin with a cap on it, and Yark brought a rounded object much like a bowl but bigger. I removed the cap and poured the clear water into the bowl and took the other half of the skin for myself. “A small indoor pool. Good idea.”
When the hooded figure came into the room, I could not help but smile. He was a man I had seen before, finally after what the man said was far longer than an hour. Neither of us could tell exactly how long we had been waiting. Yark blamed it on me, saying that I had messed up the clock so he could not tell the exact time. I had responded that if he took the time to look outside he could see where the sun or stars were positioned and tell time that way. The argument that had come after that was one that convinced me that society in a city was so far removed from their origins that there was no hope in trying to understand everything. I could tell that one thing was true between the differences in upbringing, when I was told to be somewhere I was there on time and was not worried when others did not show up at the same time. Yark, on the other hand, was pacing furiously when someone did not show up on time, he was endlessly concerned and showed it in every motion he made.
“I’ve been waiting forever; did you not see the smoke?” The ragged man was furious, his face was bright red and his cheeks were flushed a deep crimson. Hands in the air, arms waving furiously, he looked like a shaman after his spells were unable to heal a dying man. I could see nothing as important as a wolf’s bite, a yak’s horn wound, or any other hunting accident that could have possibly been so important. The show of emotions confused me, made me rise from my seat. Brute stood next to me, a guttural growl causing Yark to stop his flailing immediately and turn to us. He pointed before he continued. “That stupid mutt drank most of the water in the clock, then growled at me as if I was the problem.”
Thomas tossed back his hood and let his wild hair loose. The long gray tendrils were free and standing up in strange ways that made me think that he had not taken any time to clean himself in quite a while. He patted the man on the shoulder and shook his head. Instead or commenting to the man about what he said, Thomas turned his elderly smile towards me. “The barbarian of the North, the Myth and Legend from Berevar. Ki’Rial, it is good to see you again. It has been a long time, weeks since you leapt from the caravan to save that small child. How have you been?”
I took the sweet tone as a means of comfort, as if the man who I had met in the passes was a friend of mine to be trusted. My hand patted down the small ridge of white hair on the back of Brute, patted it down to try and calm him. Thomas was no enemy; he was a friend that I had not seen in quite some time. I wished that Kent was present, or any of the others that I had gotten to meet in the passes of the Blade Mountains. The men of the city were not friendly, the few that had matched their clothing and fighting styles, the Sergeants as the others had called them. Thomas, however, he posed no threat. It was a mistake I would later regret.
“Julie, she is my friend from the wagon. I saved her when I jumped with Brute, the winds were especially vicious that first night but after that we gathered our wits and easily started to travel. She was full of questions about me and my life. But I was just as curious about your world and what I was going to expect when I brought her to her home.” I smiled and met the man halfway between where we had both stood. Our hands clasped together and I felt his bones nearly pop under my heavy grip. Unlike his frail body, his teeth were white and straight, oddly enough since the vast majority of the smiles and sneers I had seen since coming to the town were normally filled with yellow and black, or missing teeth.
“And I assume you have learned much since coming to Knife’s Edge?” Thomas was nearly tall enough to reach my shoulders with the top of his untamed hair. His head turned sideways pushed against my chainmail covered chest, his free hand wrapping barely around my free arm to finger the very edges of my back. I moved the heavy iron helmet so that the large horns would not cut the thin arms of Thomas. “You haven’t had any problems with the local guards or anything, correct? How long have you been here, how long have you been hiding out in the town without worrying about those that first met you? Oh, look at me, throwing a thousand and one questions at you without being a good host. Yark,” he said without turning away from me or changing that generous turned predator smile, “go get some meat from the other room and a mug of ale for the man. Bring more water for Brute, its Brute right? And if you can find anything for that monster of a wolf to eat bring it with you. Hurry up now.”
“Thomas, sir, I don’t mean to—“ Thomas turned to him and the last flash of his face I saw was his eyes turn from a starry sweet look to one that was filled with malice. I took a step away when his hand unwrapped around my arm, suddenly wondering if Brute could smell something feral on the older man that I could not grasp. I wondered if I should have listened to his low voice, a warning. Instead I took a seat when Yark hurried away to get what the older man had demanded.
“I do not mean to be a trouble to you,” I said as I took a seat and shifted my two axes on my belt. Thomas waved a hand dismissively, but I felt like I couldn’t leave it at that quite yet. He had opened the doors to a place that was indeed intended to be kept away from the eyes of the public. The hideaway had been warm and comforting, the fire across from the far wall was burning a low fire that looked as if would have gone out at any time. Twice I had offered to throw wood on it, the pre-cut kind that was more prevalent in the town than anything I had seen in forests. It was split perfectly to be the size the iron grate could hold, but Yark had continued to shoo me away from it. Instead of putting more blocks of rich, honey colored wood on it he had used dark black wood. It had created a plume of smoke as clean as snow, but far more than any wood should have created. “I am thankful for the hospitality, and am thankful that I am welcomed with warmth and open arms. But I feel as if I am not welcomed by that man, Yark.”
“Nonsense,” the older man said with a sideways smile, that smirk that never spoke of good things. I continued to keep a straight face and smile with a hearty grin, but it was hard when I could not feel the emotions that the man had as I had with Julie or Edith. They did something they called ‘wearing emotions on our sleeves’, a type of phrase that was not in any way literal as I had found out. It meant that every facial expression, the tone behind their words, and the way they reacted to what I said was exactly how they felt at the time. I apparently wore my emotions on my sleeve as well. Thomas, however, did not. He kept his wherever they were when they weren’t on a sleeve, I assumed in the shirt or in a pocket. “I would have it no other way. There is going to be a big party tonight, everyone is going to be here. You’ll not only be able to see Churia, Terriance, Dervis, and Kent… but also the rest of the Red Rush. There are a lot of people in the group now, especially since the party that traveled to the Blade Mountains not only returned, but did so without those pesky Sergeants. We showed the city we were strong, and in doing so we got the strongest of the people involved with the group again…”
Thomas continued to talk, telling me about not only what had happened since they had returned but what was expected to happen when I returned. He told me about how excited everyone was to meet me and how everyone had plenty of things to ask of me. The government was interested in me as well, willing to do whatever it would take to get their hands on me. Thomas said he thought it was because of what I knew about Berevar, the passed to them, and how they did not want to pay anyone else to map the route. I thought it was because of something else that he wasn’t telling me, but I could barely get a word in between his endless blathering about Knife’s Edge and the Red Rush.
At some point, I don’t remember when exactly, Yark had returned with food on a large rounded tray. He placed it on the table and joined the conversation. When my mouth was no full of juicy slabs of steak or what they called Ale, an amazing drink that tasted like water from Berevar only with a bitter tang to it, Yark and Thomas were taking turns to talk. My mouth was empty very little, but when it was I would open it just long enough to have one encourage me to eat more before they continued. Apparently the people that were interested in the group of merchants were no longer only merchants, but adventurers, warriors, and mercenaries of all sorts. They were all coming to make the Rush stronger, adding to their numbers and power to the point where they had come from the third most influential gang in the town to the first. A gang, as I was told, was nothing more than a group of people with a common interest who worked together to get what they needed for life. Others would tell me that the word was negative, carrying with it the evil of the minds behind it. But I had met Kent, the leader, and Thomas, the second in command, and they were not evil, right? Thomas did a good deal of talking to correct the error by Yark, who had originally spouted the darker nature of the word.
“Let’s build that fire up, how ‘bout it?” Thomas stood up and walked over to the fireplace, not stopping me from following him. My stomach was full of good food and a few mugs of ale. I felt lightheaded and as if the smile on my face was something held up by invisible string. I could not change my expression unless I concentrated on it. Even when I purposely made myself have a firm, solid face it would quickly leave in place of laughing. “The ale’s good, huh? It’s my own brew, been making it for some time. The locals love it, the city buys it, and yet the government says I’m not allowed to make it. How about them apples?”
“What apples?” I asked as I tipped the cup and sipped the rest of what remained in the mug. Yark hurried off with the empty cup to fill it again, though I was unsure if I should have had more. It was a little thick, dark, and had foam that rested on the surface and along the edge. It was just like the water from Berevar. When you drank enough of it though, it seemed to make your arms loose, your head light, and your expressions uncontrolled. Maybe it was the bitter aftertaste that did it, something that was causing that sharp tang that was not natural. “Are there apples in this?”
Thomas laughed and clapped his hand on my shoulder again. He shook his head and huffed under his breath. Brute rose slowly, stretched, and extended the sharp claws on the ends of his massive paws. His lips were dripping with water, and his tongue slipping between the rows of sharp teeth to clean it all off. A wink was flashed towards the dire-wolf, and Brute seemed to almost smile at Thomas. “No apples, just wheat and other grains.” He turned from poking the fire with a long metal stick and tilted his head. “Don’t know what a grain is? Oh, you must not really have a lot of agriculture up in Berevar. Hunter, gatherer types when you can’t really grow anything huh? Grain is a type of plant, like grass, that grows in long rows when we plant it. We harvest it when it’s as tall as a man, not you of course because you’re a beast of a man. Then we can use it, make things like bread, pies, and even flavor a liquid like ale.”
I belched loudly and laughed, hardly hearing the words of the man. Though, the idea of turning grass into liquid was a funny concept, something that made me wonder why the ale was brown and not green. I had never seen brown grass, not alive at least. Maybe the grass like grain was brown? It was a silly idea, growing living brown grass intentionally. Instead of asking all the questions about the color of the grain that is grown, I simply shrugged and put the mug on the table. I missed the heart of it, by quite a bit, and it slipped over the edge to the ground below.
“There we go,” Thomas laughed when he picked up the mug and pushed my stomach. My legs wobbled under me like a cooked noodle, weak and unable to hold up my weight. His soft assurance and happy laugh, coupled with my unsurprising lack of concern, led me to sit on the bench. Brute padded lightly up to my side and put his head under my heavy hand before lying down. “Just a few more logs, get this fire going nice and heavy, and the rest will be on the way. We tend to call each other here with the fire. If we throw these logs on the smoke that it creates will be nice and thick and a deep auburn color. I created it myself, the idea that is, not the fire.” Thomas laughed and sat across from me.
It was like a smoke signal back in Berevar. A hard thing to do when the winds were sharp, so it was not a technique used often, but smoke signals on the open plains were easy to spot. I could not fathom how they would be used in the city though. It was like trying to see a smoke signal while wandering in a massive forest on trails made by small game. Only, the trees were clumped together tighter than anything a forest could realistically muster, the smoke was spouted from the crown of the forests, and the message was not a cluster of smoke and a specific meaning. It was drifting haze lingering above the city, mingling with the rest of the smoke from the other houses.
“So,” Thomas said as my head began to swim and my vision was causing me to see circles and double of everything in the room. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to just calm my beating heart and my dubiously deteriorating mental state. Instead of opening my eyes immediately I let my elbows anchor the weight of my body, my hands covering not only my eyes but my temples and touching the sides of my hands. My fingers were icicles pressed against a dull ember. The cold, thick jagged pieces of ice instantly cooled my face, and I turned my fingers from the sides of my head to my eyes and forehead. “What can we expect from the great man with a mythical status? Would you want to run this organization? It could be done, you know, really easily.”
“I… why would I… ?” My head was beginning to throb, the veins on the sides of my temples were standing out against my head and I could feel them. I grabbed the next mug of ale and downed half of it before I put it down. Thomas was smiling at me, looking as if he was watching a sleeping deer unaware of the arrow knocked and aimed. He patted my shoulders and hushed me as I groaned and moaned instead of forming tangible words that made any sense. I could feel my eyes closing, slowly. Thomas continued to hush me and pat my back, stopping only when I suddenly sat up to finish the rest of my ale and lay back down. “Ale… sleepy… brown grass…”
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