Tales Of Grimea, page 6
“That I can’t say, and I don’t know what it’s for. However, the only reason to use Worg poison is to get caught. I’ll give you your money, and an extra few Regalians to warn your friend, Persilius Verde. Make him leave the city within a month. As for me, I’ll consider rearing up our little thief, there, god willing.” His smile returned at her mention, and Salim pointed mischievously at the door. “I think I have one more in me yet.”
After catching up on many little nothings, Hwosh left Salim’s house with a heavy heart. It was dark outside, and he felt as if within an island of light. Within this district, only uncle Salim’s area of influence could afford lighting. It was the old man’s dream to make life better for the downtrodden here, and so he began a chain of charity a long time ago: He would pull the closest families to his house out of poverty and provide them with jobs, on the condition that they gave to charity as often as possible. It began with one house, then ten, and now his circle of good was growing faster than ever before. Hwosh could see, within the light cast by starbeetles trapped in glass, faces content with life and willing to believe in others. When that light begins to fade, their faces would be once more plunged into bitterness.
Added to that particular system, uncle Salim had his Baneen to show for. It was amazing that such a saintly man could have such a wicked one for a sibling, for Saif Qamar was the father of Lor’s undisputed kings of underground and crime, the Miklhab. Uncle Salim avoided talking of Saif for the most part, perhaps out of disappointment.
At Themra, Hwosh took a right towards the north part of town, then almost chuckled when he absentmindedly found himself facing a small water fountain shaped like a cat. He retraced his steps and was knocking upon Percy’s door shortly thereafter.
“Come in, buddy,” answered a sly voice, sounding much younger than its owner had any right to claim being. Hwosh pushed the door open with a grimace. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he grumbled at Percy, who was standing over a book in his blue robe.
Unlike Uncle Salim, Persillius Verde had somehow managed to keep most of his long hair firmly on his head. It ran down him in straight lines, ending at his midsection, just a little longer than his equally greyish blonde beard. Percy was rapidly approaching his seventies and looked it, due to laughing lines wreathing his face like a proud circlet. Like Hwosh’s foster parent, this man here was lanky and thin. Hwosh reckoned he could crush Percy’s hip in his grip, if he so chose. His neighbour laughed then, acting as childish as always. “Do what?” he asked innocently.
“You know what. Don’t read people’s minds without permission, Percy.” Like many, Hwosh had been initially wary of the man’s abilities, but was won over by his character. Unlike magic, the forces of psionics were relatively new and little understood by the common man.
“Ah, but for that you’d have to work on your defences a little, my good friend,” exclaimed the older man, sweeping a side of his blue robe in a grand gesture. Hwosh stepped over to him and sat on his only sofa. Conveniently, it was just wide enough for three. “How did it go?” asked Percy, and Hwosh waved away the question.
“Well enough, but it’s just as I feared. The job wasn’t for a Worg, but for a poison pouch and secrecy.” At that, Percy furrowed his eyebrows in concern, coming over from the tome he had been trying to decipher for the past month and finding place on a chair across from the warrior. “Why go through the trouble if you can just buy better poison?”
At that, it was Hwosh’s turn to frown. Sometimes it was difficult to remember how brilliant Percy could be. It was a paradox of sorts, to see someone so smart being simple minded like that. Then again, Adra was the same way, so the warrior counted it as a blessing for his psion friend. “The guards track poison bought legally through merchant ledgers, and you can’t get that many types anyways. Besides, Uncle Salim said whoever commissioned this job wanted to get caught eventually. If you ask me, the only logical conclusion is they want to scare someone by using that kind of poison. If you catch Worg poison early enough, you can treat the victim. If not, you’ll at least know it was an assassination.”
Percy whistled slowly, looking at Hwosh with renewed respect. “Are you sure about becoming a warrior? You’d make a good scholar, if a bit on the muscly side.” Hwosh mocked lunging at the man and he flinched, causing the warrior to laugh. Good to know he wasn’t reading his mind at the moment.
“So what’s for dinner today? And where’s Adra?” Usually, Percy’s lover was inseparable from him. Despite the two being different in many concrete ways, her age being foremost in that list, the two still got along amiably. At first, the warrior had even suspected foul play on the psion’s part.
“Oh, she went to Hydra’s temple for a quick prayer,” answered Percy, giving the warrior pause. Hydra… that was the goddess of… “Luck?”
“Exactly. You know, for a Lorian you really don’t know much about religions, do you?”
“Nah, not really my interest. Uncle saw early on that I had no faith in gods and forces beyond our understanding. He let me be. Besides, the eastern religion is much simpler. One god, almighty. You’re rewarded in the afterlife based on how much you did for the opportunity given. I have no patience for all that Regalian nonsense about nine gods and distributions of powers and flowery glass. They’re all about pomp and the priests fancying things up.”
“Huh.”
“You know? Last month Niners talked up a storm at the council all about how they’re underfunded for golden chandeliers at their temples. The councillors showed them El’s temples. Mud and clay things, they were. All their funds go to charity, and the Niners went back disappointed. Anyway, religions are just nonsense, so it hardly matters. All empty promises and claims no one can prove. I thought you’d agree.”
By the time Hwosh implied that question, Percy was deep in a mug of tea he’d prepared earlier. The man spluttered for a bit and the scent of lavender filled the air. “I mean, I see what you’re saying,” he gasped a few coughs later, “but the more you learn about the world, the more amazing it seems. I don’t mind people believing what they want. Besides, there are concrete benefits that come from organized groups like religions. Unity and peace of mind, that sort of thing. People commit suicide less often too.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure. I say to each their own. Adra’s a Niner, and it makes her happy. Who am I to butt into it? Most psions feel the same way, because we can see exactly how deeply each person cares about his or her religion. It’s a beautiful thing. Besides, she might very well be right. Who knows? Can’t really prove her wrong, can we?”
Hwosh thought about it for a second, but he had made up his mind about such things a long time ago, upon seeing a small dog being kicked away by a priest’s handlers. The man had watched on in contempt at first. Then the dog had died, and people started booing him. The priest had then raised his arms wide and announced a revelation, saying the dog was going to the third circle of Sol’s heaven, for his owner had died the night before, just shy of sundown. As the simple beggars began to cheer, Hwosh kept the truth about the dog’s owner to himself. Poor old Shemsa still didn’t know where her puppy had disappeared that day. “Bah,” he announced, “If it makes them happy, then sure, but if the sun is dragged across the sky by Sol’s invisible rope each day, then I’m a yal.” Nobody wanted to be a yal, due to the stink.
Too late, Hwosh noticed the slightly distant look Percy was giving him. Before he could empty his mind, the man smiled in a sympathetic manner. “Don’t do that,” he warned the psion again. This time, the old man actually looked sorry.
“I didn’t think there’d be anything that deep on your mind, friend,” he apologized. “It’s just the best way to train you in keeping your guard up against psionics. We can’t usually read beyond the surface of thought easily. Just a hint of what the person is like, and what’s occupying their mind at the moment. If I went deeper too fast, you’d notice and be able to fight it.” Being Percy, he moved to the other side of the room and got another cup for Hwosh. Sighing, the warrior took the slightly cracked thing. The tea was made of multiple herbs, but he could clearly identify ginger in it. It was soothing and sweet.
After a while, Percy and Hwosh began to talk of other things, starting with types of herb teas, then how much water a person needed, and finally exercise. Hwosh was a fanatic when it came to training, but Percy was also fit for someone focused on his mind. The man had picked up some far eastern poses and stretches somewhere and had been practicing them for ten years. Being relatively tall for a Lorian, Hwosh was certainly no giant, and wouldn’t even be considered too large in Regalia. Still, his fighting style was focused on brute strength, and his enormous relative strength was due to similar tactics as well as sheer training.
“I still don’t get why people don’t do these things elsewhere,” said Percy with apparent frustration. It was now a little dark outside, and Hwosh went to light a candle while his next door neighbour ranted. “Regalia’s knights are supposed to be the cream of the crop, but when I was researching for my health all they implemented was hard lifting, endurance and meat!”
“Come on, we’ve talked about this. The defence you ge-“
“I know!” interjected Percy, hands flailing in his usual emotion. Hwosh hated people interrupting him, but stayed his tongue patiently. “Don’t they realized that by mixing flexibility and muscle exercises, you can develop higher strength in a smaller body? Think of the mobility, the health when you get older!”
“Yes, but how are these impressive when someone looks at you? How does it help you stop a blow? I understand that higher quality muscles have many benefits, but the fact remains that more mass and a harder body can save your hide in a fight, or even war. Endurance is a big factor, and their approach has its own merits.” For all his brains, Percy had a way of letting logic escape him at times.
At some, point, Percy realized that Adra had been gone longer than usual and started getting antsy. After about half an hour of that, he finally snapped and decided to go out to Murata’s tavern for a quick meal. Hwosh offered to accompany him, since he was rather famished despite uncle Salim’s excellent stew. He went to the barely furnished room thirty four to deposit most of his coins and changed out of his leather armour in favour of brown pants and a long grey tunic before coming back out to find his next door neighbour waiting at the door. “Why so worried?” he asked of the warrior with a sly grin.
Realizing what was about to happen, Hwosh instantly summoned the image of a date tree to the forefront of his mind. Large and towering, its roots lay tired from trying to suckle out of dried crusty earthy. Its leaves were green, however, and seemed to fan out to block out the sun’s disapproving glare and it was heavily laden with red fruit. A brown trunk connected those two parts, offering inviting handholds for whoever felt like having a piece. A bee buzzed around the garden, and Hwosh could hear a solemn wind trying it’s best to- “Well done,” announced Percy with a laugh. “Soon enough you’ll learn how to channel that incessant inner monologue you seem to have stuck in your brain to confuse whoever tries to read you. I think you’ll be a natural at it, but for now this method will have to do.” The man put on his trademark spectacles upon his slightly bent nose. Not many in Lor wore such things, and the old psion was striking enough with his ever-present Indellektian blue robe as is. Hwosh didn’t see much sense in the slightly tinted apparel because Percy had admitted to having normal eyesight, but he’d gathered that the old man thought they improved his looks.
Murata’s tavern was less than five minutes away from Hwosh and Percy’s apartments, but almost seemed like it was part of a completely different city. Contrasting with clay house neighbours all around, Murata had went through the trouble of bringing wood with him from his home town to build Splinter. Many innkeepers were simply doing a job, but for the thin tall Regalian his tavern was akin to a home. Loud music could be heard from the place, and a few regulars were already staggering away from the warm orange glow spilling from doors and portals kept almost permanently swinging, either in arms or within blows of one another.
Hwosh and Percy silently made their way towards the tavern, although Percy was decidedly friendlier towards those he saw around him. Some smiled back at him and returned his waves, even sharing the occasional drunkard nonsensical laugh, but others eyed the man in suspicion. Murata’s was a place which served not only alcohol, food and games, but also good old Regalian nostalgia. I hope nobody picks a fight with him today, thought Hwosh absentmindedly. It had happened a few times before, but each time the psion from Indellekt had managed to diffuse the situation, and Hwosh was unable to determine whether that was due to his nature or abilities.
When they went through that wide swinging front door, the two were swept up almost immediately in Splinter’s atmosphere. The undiluted strength of glowing lights, hopping music, and medley of banter struck the two with the full brunt of a wave. After a few seconds, even Hwosh found his tense body unwinding, and he fingered the chain of beads and trinkets dangling from his bandanna’s side with a mind slightly less plagued than usual.
The place was crowded, as it was every night. Patrons sat around table to play games or drink. There was no space reserved for dancing, but serving girls and boys pranced around as they went. It was apparently a Regalian custom and Murata’s staff were thoroughly trained in it. Hwosh made his way towards a recently abandoned table, mind already on fried chicken and mushrooms, but a gasp from behind made him turn around.
Percy stood in the middle of the room with his mouth open and face looking slightly vacant. Before Hwosh could say anything, the man blinked. For a second, his expression bordered on anger, but then he started rubbing his beard. Without a word the old turned right and went to another part of the tavern, whipping his long hair aside to avoid a candle here and there. Hwosh debated going after the man, but immediately finding an empty table in Murata’s was a rare occurrence. Burning with curiosity about whose mind his friend had felt and what he had gone off to do, the warrior sat down. In less than a minute, a friendly waitress came over. “Hello, Xera,” said Hwosh, feeling a smile come over his features and brushing a hand through his shock of black hair. She was always nice and could remember orders better than most, so the warrior always felt reassured when Xera was the one to serve him. It happened rather often, actually. He found it strange, however, that she was named after such a far off city. Nobody knew much about the cities in that north-eastern continent across the sea, what with the Mist and sea monsters. As far as anyone know, the only way you could leave V by sea was south.
“Hey there, biceps,” she answered with a nicer smile than given to the group of women she had served just a second earlier. Hwosh ordered two meals promptly, not wanting to waste Xera’s time chattering on a busy night, and she raised an eyebrow high. “Oh, Percy’s with me today,” he explained.
“Coming right up. You watch yourself, okay? Wouldn’t mind patching you up again, but I’d rather see you safe and sound.” The warrior wondered if she had a sore throat, for she sounded a bit off.
Hwosh could see a particularly disgruntled fellow a ways off tapping his glass impatiently. Xera’s hip swayed to place itself between him and the man, causing Hwosh to turn his gaze up at her. “Thanks a lot for back then, Xera,” he told the tall bronze woman. He wondered how old she was, because she’d been working at Murata’s for almost as long as he knew of the place. “I was really inexperienced, but I’m sure I won’t be needing any more patching up anytime soon. I don’t get into fights here anymore and Adra’s really good at stitching whenever I’m not careful out there. Anyway, I think the man over there is-“
“Who is Adra?” asked Xera suddenly, then she thought for a second. “Oh, is she that brunette you and your old friend keep coming here with?”
“Yeah, they’re together.”
“Oh.. Oh!” A short laugh escaped her copper lips all of a sudden. Although she was not pale and thus lacked those luscious red ones so common on Regalians, Hwosh found her own rather nice. “Oh, she’s his girl!”
Hwosh drummed his fingers on the table in slight annoyance. What did she know about Adra and Percy’s relationship? “I… doubt ownership is part of the deal.”
“No, but, I mean… Just look at him! I doubt she’s with a guy like that out of love. You know, there are other ways to woo a girl.” Subtly, Xera rubbed her fingers before her face with a wink, causing Hwosh to sigh. Ignorance.
“That will be all, Xera,” he remarked quietly. The girl’s eyes widened, and the dismissal caused her to gulp before turning hastily and apparently brushing at something on the front fringe of her hair. When she went out back, Hwosh hoped she doesn’t cause their food to be late because of his mannerisms with her.
A few minutes later, a serving boy brought Hwosh two generously heaped plates of chicken upon a bed of well grilled mushrooms. The warrior felt then it was high time that Percy found his way back. He focused very hard, conjuring the old man’s image as vividly as if he were before him. The man had said psions were trained to notice when someone directed his thoughts at them, and true to his words, Hwosh felt an eventual slight tug at his mind. This was a method they used to communicate at times, and with some effort the warrior could also send entire sentences to his friend. This time, however, Percy’s touch felt more forceful than usual. Not now, the psion whispered, and Hwosh could almost hear an angry voice speaking the words. I’m having an argument. No need to come.
The warrior almost got to his feet then, anxious to help his friend. No matter how fit for his age Percy was, he wasn’t going to beat someone in a fist fight. The psion’s words, however, had seemed firm in their tone, and so Hwosh remained at his seat, casting an unfocused gaze at Splinter’s front door and the guests coming or leaving. Murata was in as usual, standing at the bar counter in his uniform and pouring cups for this patrons. Many didn’t drink, and so the thin grey haired Regalian needed to keep fresh supplies of juices for those.
