Chapter 7: Chasing stories – part 1

The first clue they had on where to find their wandering merchant was the group of villagers they had met on the road to Evadia. Unfortunately, nobody from D’Argen’s small party could agree on what the name of that village was. D’Argen was convinced it started with a ‘B’ and Lilian was only sometimes in agreement with him. Abbot had not listened at all and Yaling was arguing that the name was much shorter than any of their guesses.

Fortunately, they all knew that the village was somewhere in the Oltrian region.

“Yes, I know it’s a huge area to cover,” D’Argen had said at first to exasperated sighs and an unbelievable amount of rolling eyes.

It only took them four months to re-learn the name of the village and which forest it was supposedly hidden in.

D’Argen was running their party towards the forest when he felt lungs cramp with a lack of oxygen. He closed off his mahee, coming to a slow stop and jogging a few steps to kill his momentum, then finally stood still. Abbot rasped beside him for two breaths then the man cleared his throat and straightened.

“How far are we?” Abbot asked, looking around them.

They were on the edge of a forest with trees almost as tall as the walls of the castle in Evadia. D’Argen knew that the forest was the start of the mountain chain that served as a border to mark the end of Oltrian territory. Beyond that that were unclaimed lands and then the southern ocean.

“From the coast? We can make it before nightfall,” D’Argen said.

“There is no need to go that far. Give me a moment.” Lilian went up to the closest tree and touched it. Although Lilian’s mahee allowed them to control the winds, thousands of years ago they were worshipped as the God of Spring due to their affinity with all plants and trees. It was the wind, after all, that helped pollinate so much of the world.

“There is a village not too far from here. Far enough from the foothills and close enough to the main trading route to garner at least some trading.”

“I hear it,” Yaling confirmed and the citrus scent of her mahee surrounded them. “We can probably reach it before nightfall even without you running.”

“Or, I could, you know, run us there.”

“No need. We all know you hate running in the forest and this one is between the trees. Keep your mahee.” Lilian waved his offer away with a hand in the air.

The village Lilian felt between the trees and Yaling heard was much closer than they expected. Abbot’s luck was the last component of their journey and they all hoped it was the village they were looking for.

The first thing they came across was a small clearing with a lumber camp. There was a young boy playing between the stacks of cut-down trees. The moment the boy saw them, he rushed past the cut trees and right at the group. He looked completely unafraid of strangers and D’Argen had to wonder how many visitors this village truly had.

“Hey there, kiddo,” Abbot said with a smile and crouched to be at eye level with the boy. “I wonder if you could help us. We heard this story about a merchant that passed through here—”

“There’re lot of merchants pass through here. One is staying at Ma’s place tonight. Are you merchants too? Where is your cart? Is it colourful?”

“This merchant is special,” Abbot continued in a patient tone. “He told stories to the kids. Scary stories. About a monster in the mountains that ate merchants like him. About how he—”

“Mittas! Yes! He passed by here not that long ago.”

“How long ago is not that long?”

“Umm…” the boy hesitated, lifting a finger to his lips and his eyes to the sky. “Before it snowed? No, wait. Before it snowed the time before it snowed last. Maybe? I don’t know.”

“One or two years,” Lilian said with a frustrated tone. “That is too long a period to find him.”

“His name is Mittas?” Abbot asked the boy again and he nodded. “Do you know where Mittas usually goes?”

The boy shrugged and then reached out. He grabbed one of the braids that were loose from Abbot’s tie and tugged on it playfully. Abbot winced but did not reprimand the boy, instead only turning his head to make it easier for the boy to reach and pull without hurting him.

“Maybe the village head would know?” Yaling offered to the group and looked around. There was nobody else within sight.

D’Argen also noticed that the boy was completely alone in the forest. “We should take him home,” he said.

Abbot nodded slowly, careful to keep the boy from pulling on his hair too painfully. He reached for the back of his head and released the leather cord that kept his braids tied together. Once they were all loose, the little boy giggled and reached with both fists to grab handfuls.

“Where is your Ma’s house?” Abbot asked and circled his arms around the boy.

“That way,” he said without indicating any direction at all. Abbot grinned and picked up the boy, letting him play with his braids and use them like reins to tug Abbot around until he was facing the right direction.

With the little boy guiding them, the four made their way from the lumber camp through the trees and into the village proper. It was tiny, with probably less than a hundred residents in all. Most of them were already in their houses for the night and the village center was completely empty. There was a single road bisecting the village and D’Argen took note of the directions, knowing to leave by the road rather than through the trees again.

When he turned to look back at the tiny village, he locked eyes with an elderly man from a distance. He was sitting in a rocking chair that he stopped with a cane on the ground by his feet. D’Argen looked away first when he noticed the curtains of the house he was at close quickly. Another glance at the house besides that one revealed a middle-aged woman in front of a laundry bucket, her hands not moving at all, her dark eyes focused on the group.

“This one, this one, this one,” the boy started chanting and tugging more harshly at Abbot’s braids.

Abbot let the boy down on the ground and they all watched as he ran off on chubby legs to one of the houses, screaming at the top of his lungs for his mother. Not that far from the house entrance was an old and worn wooden cart, filled to the brim with already refined planks.

Another middle-aged woman opened the door with a fond expression, looking down at her son. D’Argen did not hear what the boy said next but when he turned to point right at them, the woman looked up at them. Her face darkened immediately and then she ushered the boy inside, slamming the door closed and stomping over to them.

“Excuse the intrusion, we’re hoping to speak to—”

“You’re not welcome here,” the woman interrupted D’Argen before he could even explain himself. “Your kind. You’re not welcome. You should go.”

“Not welcome?” Yaling scoffed out with a raised brow. “Are you aware of who we are?”

“Of course,” the woman replied, looking down at Yaling with her chin raised in defiance. Unfortunately for her, to the Never Born, that was a sign of respect and submission. None of D’Argen’s party took offence at the action. “You call yourself gods and yet—no. No. I will not get into this. You should leave. Now.”

“Fine, fine,” D’Argen started and raised his hands in a placating manner. “We will go. I just have one question before we do.”

The woman stiffened and crossed her arms over her chest. She did not say anything though so D’Argen took it as an invitation to continue.

“Mittas? Do you know what his trading route is?”

“Who?”

“Mittas. Your boy. He said there was a travelling merchant named Mittas who—”

“Matias,” the woman interrupted with the correction. “Yes. He has been here a few times. What of him?”

“His usual trading route? We wish to find him.”

The woman shrugged and scowled. “I don’t know.”

“It is very important that we—”

“I said, I don’t know, it means, I don’t know. He has been coming every year for a while now, right before the snows. Last time it wasn't even long enough for tea before he left.”

“But not yet this year?”

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“No snows. No Matias.” The woman shrugged, her tone and posture becoming more offensive with every terse word.

D’Argen raised a brow at her and then turned to look at his companions. “I guess we have to wait around here until the snows come. If this is the only place—”

“North!” the woman interrupted again with a shout. “North. He goes somewhere to the north.”

“Where to the north?”

“I don’t know. But he has silks in his cart, always tries to sell them to us.”

“Silks. North. Cana’s lands?” Yaling asked quietly.

“What does he trade with you?” D’Argen asked the woman again.

“Herbs, mostly. Cloth. We’ve no need for the silks, but he has cotton and wool too.”

“What kinds of herbs?” Lilian stepped forward to ask.

“Mostly for cooking. Rosemary. Parsley. Chives.”

“Do you know where those are native?” D’Argen turned to ask Lilian.

“I know too many places they are native.”

“Any near Cana’s lands?”

“I think I have an idea,” Lilian confirmed and stepped back.

“Matias, you said?” D’Argen asked the woman and she nodded. “What does he look like?”

“I don’t know. Like any merchant.”

D’Argen gave her a pointed look, hoping her discomfort with them would be enough to get her to tell him more.

“Shorter than you, black hair, eyes, and dark skin. He’s not remarkable.”

“Great!” Lilian let out a frustrated growl. “I guess we will be sitting around looking for—”

“His cart though!” the woman interrupted once more. “Not one to miss. Trust me. I’m surprised he’s never been robbed with how gaudy that thing is.”

“Gaudy how?”

“Covered in jewels, gold, silver. The kids love the colours and sparkles. His cart is probably worth more than our entire village output for the year.”

“Good, that’s good,” D’Argen finally felt his smile was true. “If he comes by here, tell him his presence is required in Evadia. The queen will reward—”

“Not my queen,” the woman said and spat on the ground.

D’Argen flinched at the action, mostly because he wanted to lash out to defend Acela and had to hold it back. He gritted his teeth and forced as a smile as he spoke again, “The Queen of Evadia will reward you both.”

“Don’t need your money. Just need you gone. Now.”

D’Argen looked around and noticed that every house’s doors were open. The villagers were all looking at them. Most looked at them with anger, some with awe, but the one expression that startled him most was fear. He turned back to the woman and bowed his head in the mortal custom.

“Thank you for your help. We will be on our way,” he spoke slowly, sounding out each word carefully.

She harrumphed in response.

D’Argen turned around and walked down the dirt road that led out of the village, his three companions following closely.

“Gaudy cart. Travels between here and somewhere near Jiya.” Lilian summarized as they walked. “We should actually go to Jiya and ask Cana if she has heard of this merchant.”

“No need,” D’Argen said with a wave of his hand. “There aren’t many travel routes from here to Jiya and with how she described his cart, I doubt we would miss him.”

Lilian shrugged in response. A quick glance at Abbot and Yaling revealed that the other two were in agreement as well. They all agreed that D’Argen should not run them on the road though, as it would be easier to miss the merchant. While D’Argen’s vision became incomprehensible when he ran, those he carried with him usually had it much worse. He was used to the dirty canvas he ran through. They were not used to the blurs of colours that took over all their senses. Every single Never Born D’Argen had ever run with had thrown up after their first experience. Abbot still got nauseous if he had been drinking the night before.

“It is getting dark, we should make camp,” Abbot noted as soon as they were back on the main trading road. The sun was already fully hidden behind the horizon even if some of its light made it their way. They decided as a group to camp near the road and build a big fire, easier to spot for other travellers, which is one of the ways they finally learned that the village’s name was Badal.

D’Argen was ready to strike that name from his memory once more, though Lilian had already written it down to take back to Vain and his records in case it was not written in them already.

Since D’Argen had not run as much during the day and would not be running the following one, he decided to take night watch and let his companions rest. They, however, were not ready for sleep either.

Yaling lay down beside the fire with her head in Abbot’s lap and took out a book from her pack to leaf through. Abbot took out his sketchpad and chalks and though the fire was bright, he used his mahee to give both himself and Yaling steadier light.

Lilian sat down beside D’Argen and said, “There was a flower today.”

D’Argen threw a quick glance over the flames to their other two companions. Neither of them was looking in their direction though it was obvious they could hear them.

“It was purple,” Lilian said again once D’Argen was looking at them.

“Purple?”

Lilian hummed and nodded. “A bit more on the pink side than I have seen. The tips of its leaves were so dark they were almost blue, that dark, dark, dark blue that the sky turns into in the clear air of the mountains at night.”

D’Argen closed his eyes and tried to imagine it.

“The center of it, closer to the stem, was like Cana’s veil the day she was crowned at Jiya.”

Abbot cleared his throat from over the fire. D’Argen’s eyes snapped open to look at the man but Abbot was still looking down at his sketchbook, now with his pipe between his lips and tobacco smoke wafting around him. D’Argen appreciated it. The fact that he could not see colours that well was a sore topic and one that only his three companions knew about, as far as he was aware. He could tell black and white apart, knew the exact grey that represented the dark blue of his envoy uniform, and remembered what most colours looked like, back from when he could see them all, but he had never seen this exact purple that Lilian spoke of.

“Actually… lighter than that, but not transparent at all. It had tiny veins as well, almost red. Similar to the paste from roses that Lemysire first used to try dying cloth. But not…” Lilian continued to describe the colour, connecting every mention to memories of the past back when D’Argen could see all colours.

Neither Abbot nor Yaling said anything at all, knowing this was a ritual between the two friends that helped calm D’Argen from what he missed and relaxed Lilian into remembering better days.

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