Chapter 1: Chapter One: At the end of a Circle

“What lies at the end of a circle’s path is the fiction that nothing has changed."

-Rozakian Proverb

A boy walked unhurriedly North along a wide, white stone road but toward what, he could not say. He felt that he had walked this road before but could not recall when and what had been at the end of it. With light brown hair, tan skin, and an outfit of many colors and layers he would have looked just like any other Ferrian, except for his eyes which were gray instead of brown and for the symbol on his forehead that even if he forgot to paint it one morning, would show through the lighter skin not used to seeing the sun. He carried a small pack that was tightly bound to keep the numerous powders and dried herbs within safe from wind and rain. Colorful seashells tied with cord to the end of his walking stick that he used to aid with his slight limp, clanked against each other as well as the stick as he went further down the familiar unknown road ahead of him.

A wind gently stirred the bright orange leaves of the maple trees planted along both sides bringing with it a chill. As he rearranged a well-worn scarf to better protect against the wind, he wondered why the people went through the trouble to line this road with trees and care for them so well and yet throw what looked like giant thin blankets into the branches. Indeed, the old trees seemed like they were well maintained, their limbs kept clear of the road to allow carriages through. Every now and then a farmer or even a merchant would pass by bringing goods to or from what lay ahead. He could ask the people passing what was down this road, but it really didn’t matter what it was. He was almost always guided by a gut feeling about where and when to go. It got him this far, it had been two winters since he woke up in one of the tents of a wild clan with no memory of what happened before.

“It must be a very large city.” He thought to himself, feeling vaguely that he had come to this conclusion a few times already.

His memory was never good, and it seemed to be getting worse of late. Or at least he thought it was getting worse. It was hard to tell.

Farmhouses marked the road with increasing frequency, telling him he had left the last village a couple of hours ago. He tried to recall the name of the place he had left but could only seem to be sure that it started with “Rev.” He chuckled at himself for trying to remember something so unimportant and tried to put it out of his mind but soon the thought came back unbidden.

“Maybe it was Lev-something,” He mumbled aloud.

Eventually, the farmhouses and maples gave way to larger two-story buildings packed close together. Some with trade shops on the first floor, the sounds of industry coming from their open doors. The buildings, like the trees along the road, had bright cloth draped over their corners and formed arches over the streets. The streets started to intersect at semi-regular intervals, with increasingly larger buildings and more people walking on the street the longer he walked. Nearly everyone walking the street seemed excited, with only the occasional stern faced patrol. He continued to follow the feeling that has guided his wanderings for two and a half years as he moved further towards the center of the city. The street eventually came before a gate in a wall protecting the inner city. Even though the arch was wide enough for two carriages abreast, the traffic going in was still congested by guards checking faces and the cargoes of wagons.

They stopped a woman leading a pack horse and made her remove a bright red cowl to look over her face. They must have seen something they didn’t like because they began questioning her. The woman dug something out of her saddlebags and began pointing at it emphatically. Even from his position far back in the line, he could tell the woman was getting angry, and soon started yelling. After thoroughly searching her saddle bags the guards eventually let the woman go. With an animated gesture he had never seen before but felt like he could guess the general meaning of, she started towards the arch again in a huff.  There was Something about the bright almost jarring colors the woman was wearing tickled Kell’s mind with feelings of warmth. In what felt like longer than it probably truly was, Kell was finally at the entrance to the inner city.

Two men in not-quite matching armor stood guard at either end of the arch, with a spear in one hand and the other resting naturally beside the scabbard of a long sword. The armed guards had the proud stance of someone aware of the importance of their duty, but the furrowed brow on one of the faces and a slightly nervous energy to the way the other scanned the crowd said they were unsure of what exactly they were looking for. A third man stood in the middle of the two lanes of people going in and out of the wide gate. This man was older, with gray hairs on his short, neatly trimmed beard. The armor didn’t look like it was of much better quality than the other guards, but he had a green cloak trimmed in yellow and fastened with a bronze boar-head broach. If he was unsure about anything he didn’t show it. His sharp eyes looked Kell up and down, and while they lingered on the symbol painted on his forehead, he quickly moved his attention to others in the thick line of people slowly moving forward. As he moved into the gate Kell tried to calm his quickening breath, the inner city looked like it would be even more crowded than the streets outside the walls. He was never comfortable with being enclosed, and while there was enough space for each person walking the street to have ten or fifteen feet to themselves once they were past the gate, Kell still found himself nervously glancing around. Continuing along the street he entered for a while and turned down a side street when he saw the colorful sign of a barber. He continued in this way, taking cues from the environment that tickled his foggy memory. With the sun soon about to set, Kell only realized he was at his destination, or rather only knowing this was his destination, when he was at the counter of a tavern called The Dying Sunflower. He looked up at what he thought was a familiar face of a young man, who looked both happy and concerned to see him.

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But before the man could speak there was a shout coming from directly behind Kell followed and the thud of something hard hitting against his skull consumed the world in darkness.

 

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Yawning, Kaeden covered her mouth with the back of her hand, a rare surviving habit of etiquette that she had acquired in her youth. Eight years of life on the road have undone many of the lessons learned for almost twice as long in the Onyx Courts. She stood out among the other patrons of the tavern. Even while sitting, her curving dark horns gave the impression she was tall, rising five inches above her slightly curly red hair. She was wearing less than most locals would for late fall, a simple dark-blue blouse and tan breeches fastened to long black boots. Sitting hunched over her bowl of thin stew that, when brought to her, had four small strips of chicken. Although not being much of a cook herself, it was still hardly much of a step up from the dried bread and over-salted fish of the past week. The cook was certainly not the reason why the tavern was nearly full nearly every evening. It was the drink, a spiced mead somehow a copper twin cheaper than anywhere else. The kind of place that attracts locals more than travelers.

It was the last week of the month of Crowns in the Human nation of Ferrias, named so because of the red, orange, and golden leaves decorating the boughs of trees and littering the ground beneath them. It wouldn’t be long before people made their own offerings as well in the month of Prayers in hopes that the Twin gods might make the coming frost season shorter. But before the austere month filled with fasting and litanies, the land became rich in color this time of year, not just from the trees but also from the people. All but the most destitute would put on clothes of vivid colors, feast, hang multi-hued patchwork textiles from the trees sewn in the previous frost season, and attend the festivals. Depending on the size and wealth of the community they could last the entire 8 days and would attract traveling merchants, menageries, and street performers of every kind. Crowns End is marked with competitions with large towns and cities offering substantial prizes for the winners and a large public feast followed by music and dancing. The last week of Crowns was a joyful celebration of the seasons of plenty.

Or at least it was supposed to be. With eyes like green gems, she scanned the public room noticing the sour countenances on nearly all the men’s faces, many of whom carried cudgels tucked in their belts, some with nasty looking metal studs driven in.

Kaeden stretched her back, sending a large splash of golden scarlet out of the mug in her right hand onto the sawdust covered boards of The Dying Sunflower as both elbows reflexively pulled back. This accentuated her normally modest bust and coupled with the half-drunken groan as her spine cracked, drew glances from a few men sitting at nearby tables, many of whom would have thought better of, if they were less intoxicated themselves. This did not go unnoticed, and a wicked grin displaying two sets of sharp canines in the direction of a man, whose eyes lingered a little too long, made the suddenly much more sober patron stare down long and hard at the reflection at the bottom of his mug.

Giggling loudly at the thought of what her mother would have done to any one of these men if she caught them leering, many humans knew of the infamous Crimson Curtains of the royal family in the north lands but any noble who had station owned a patchwork of lesser beings who thought they were anything but, adorning their family estate.

Feeling a sudden pang of homesickness, she went about finishing her disappointing meal and by the end of it she was unsurprised to find herself still hungry. However, she knew she would get the rest of what she wanted from a cup rather than a bowl. Her people had a strong constitution and so their alcohol is far stronger than that in the Ferrias States. She got up from her bench and headed to the counter to get three more mugs of mead, as the serving maid seemingly didn’t like coming to her table. 

Hours passed and the day was just about to turn to night. Having finally quenched her thirst, and having to get up before the sun, Kaiden stumbled from her table to head up the stairs to one of the few rooms the small tavern offered. On her way over she noticed a human kid enter the tavern. She was not very good at telling the age of humans but she would have guessed the kid was between seven and ten years old. Abruptly she noticed the markings on his forehead just before he turned to the keeper behind the bar. Shock mixed with drunkenness caused her to trip over her own feet. With a yelp she fell forward and smashed the curve of one of her horns on the back of the kid's head. With a groan, more for the hassle than for any pain she felt, Kaiden climbed up off the floor and saw what little conversation in the common room had died out with all eyes divided between her and the motionless boy. Some of those eyes had anger in them, but luckily for her, most held fear. It would only make what she came to do harder if she had to kill anyone, but looking at the red matting hair where she struck the boy she was concerned it might be too late.

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