FATELESS: A Boy’s Bonds

Two For Six

Shadows danced in my peripheral, the inn’s stagnant air joining with mint scented herb to create a somewhat suffocating aroma.

Rugs blanketed the floor, each one displaying a different design, their strange colors warring with one another. Lonely tables and chairs sat empty throughout the room.

Running a finger across the smooth surface of one such table, I pulled away to find that my pale fingertip had been turned black.

No-one had cleaned these tables in some time, but the lack of dust hanging in the air indicated that the inn still saw some use.

Perhaps the owner lived upstairs, and the town simply hadn’t seen many visitors.

I didn’t find that quite likely, since Ormr could be found along the path one would take to visit Ymir or Roa. But these were strange times.

“Well, at least it’s not snowing,” Ruse said, running his gloved fingers across a chair’s dusk-covered rail. “Look! There’s even a fireplace.”

I followed his gaze.

Indeed, there was a fireplace situated at the far end of the inn. Empty and dark, likely filled with dust and cobwebs.

As I stared into the shadows, Ben pulled out a chair and sat himself down. The young archer sank into its wooden comforts and placed his bow across the table in-front of him.

“I’d prefer a bed,” Ben replied.

The group gestured their agreements, myself included. Though I was the only one refraining from airing my exhaustion, I was also the only one suffering from magical backlash.

I wouldn’t be able to heal properly without a comfortable place to rest.

Nara strode forward with her hammer at the ready. She was apparently prepared to clobber anything that clambered out from the inn’s dark depths, whether it be patron or monster.

Tia, by contrast, remained stuck to my side. “Is it alright for us to be here?” the girl asked with a nervous quiver.

Noticing that she was staring at me, for some reason, I shrugged. “Better than risking the storm.”

“Hrm. Let’s head upstairs,” Nara grunted. “We’ll handle the specifics once we’re rested.”

Floorboards creaking beneath her heavy boots, Nara began ascending the stairway to the upper floor. A pack full of blighted wolf pelts sagged behind her back, releasing a rancid odor.

I weighed our options; whoever lived in the inn was likely asleep, so I decided that it would be fine so long as we snuck out before they awakened.

Even if we were caught, it wasn’t like Ormr had any kind of official law enforcement, and I doubted that any of the townsfolk could be a threat to our group.

I was no stranger to breaking the law.

It wasn’t like I was some hardened criminal, even though I was covered in belongings stolen from my village. But the great thing about Geimhread—or the worse thing depending on who you ask—is that laws are hardly ever enforced.

Some villages have designated guards, but I’ve seen how useful they are when it truly matters.

Sorry, Father.

As I followed after Nara, intent on falling asleep as soon as I was in relative safety, an unfamiliar voice broke through the tense silence.

“I’m always glad to have guests,” the voice said. “But it’s customary to check in with the owner first.”

Nara was the first to react, moving with speed belying her large form. The huge warhammer in her hands swung through the air and into a battle position as her dark eyes locked on the far side of the room.

Despite my heart hammering in my chest, I turned slowly and searched the inn’s common area. Tia was beside me, watching our reactions with wide eyes, her meager battle instincts straining to comprehend the situation.

My gaze swept across the inn’s shadowy interior and settled upon a broad counter. Standing behind it was an elderly man, his gaunt body stooped and leaning on the wooden countertop.

What little was left of the old man’s silvery gray hair practically glimmered in the dark, much in the same way as mine. The man’s features were shrouded in shadow, but it wasn’t the man’s appearance that concerned Nara and I.

Neither of us had sensed his approach, nor his presence.

I was certain that we’d looked straight at that counter several times. Perhaps the old man had hidden in the shadows before ascertaining our group’s intentions.

Judging from the state of the inn, the innkeeper might have been alone. If we had been brigands, he would have been defenseless and trapped inside with us.

I shook my head. Something doesn't feel right...

The old man sighed, bringing a slender fist to his chin as he observed the newly arrived patrons. “Well? Are you goin' to rent a room or not?”

Floorboards creaked behind me, and I glanced behind to find Ruse had stood up. He fixed his usual fox-like grin on the old man, eyes sparkling.

It was the mask Ruse always wore when conducting business. Nothing more than a mask, I knew. And one reason why I couldn’t bring himself to trust the Four Fists’ leader.

“Hello, elder! It is as you say, my friends and I are quite weary from our journey and seek shelter for the night. I trust that you have the space?” His green eyes rolled across the dust-covered inn to prove his point, though I doubted the innkeeper could see Ruse’s expression in the darkness.

The old man grunted. “Hmph. ‘Elder’, you say? Do you know what an aged gentleman hates more than the cold?”

“Back pain?” Ruse suggested.

“Being called old,” the old man said. Ruse’s smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “Well, you got the right of it. I have plenty of room upstairs. If you have the crowns, of course.”

A light laugh fell from Ruse’s thin lips. “Of course, of course!”

Ruse strode over to the counter, hands rustling inside of his pockets. He made a short ‘aha!’ sound, and pulled a small brown pouch from within; Ruse was always adamant that he be the one to hold onto the party’s funds.

“That’ll be two silver crowns, lad.” The old man held his hand out, gesturing for the mercenary to pay up. In response, Ruse’s smile deepened.

“Two silver? A fair price, my friend. Unfortunately, the atmosphere is a bit lacking—on account of the dust, darkness, and general creepiness. How about one silver and a couple of mostly intact wolf pelts? Great for keeping warm…”

“Two silver or you can take your chances out there.” The old innkeeper jerked a thumb toward the door.

Whispers of wind echoed through the old building as if on cue.

Sighing, Ruse reached into his sack and withdrew two silver crowns. “Of course,” he replied distastefully.

“Hmph.” After taking the crowns from Ruse, the innkeeper sat them on a small scale. He seemed to take some notes before nodding in satisfaction. “You won’t find prices like this anywhere else in West Geimhread, lad. Two silver for six patrons is a real steal, and you canna bet that I’d be charging more if it weren’t for the...” His gaze shifted toward the dark common area, a forlorn expression settling on his face. ‘’Creepiness”.

“How long’s it been since you had a customer, old man?” Nara asked.

The old man’s eyes settled upon the dark skinned woman, his thin lips curling. “Venutian? Bah, can’t afford to be picky. Business's been slow on account of the storms. Ain’t many travelers these days.”

As the innkeeper spoke, Tia–who had been watching the man with a frown—spoke up. “Excuse me, but there are only five of us.”

The elder’s eyes turned toward her, his aged brow creasing. “Ah, my mistake. I thought I saw another...”

Alarm bells went off in my head, a chill dancing down my spine not unlike the one outside. The innkeeper’s weary gaze met mine for a moment.

Though I thought it may have been my imagination, the innkeeper seemed amused about something. A coy smile spread across the wrinkled expanse of his face as he turned back to Ruse.

What was that? I wondered, fists clenched.

“Age gets the best of us all, my friend,” Ruse said with a grin, drawing a huff from the aged innkeeper. “Two rooms, then? One for the men and another for our beautiful ladies?”

Waving a hand, the innkeeper nodded. “Yes, yes. Head upstairs and down the hall, you’ll find that the fourth and fifth rooms are empty for your use.” With that, he reached into a drawer and retrieved a set of silver keys.

The old man wrestled with a keychain that seemed to have keys for far too many rooms, and eventually passed two of them to Ruse. “Enjoy your stay. If you have any trouble, ask for Byulf.”

“Your name?” Ruse asked.

“Since the day I was born. Now get out of my hair, all of you. I trust that you’ll show my rooms the same respect that I’ve shown you.”

Nara’s body shifted in irritation, glaring holes into the old man.

Ruse simply flashed a wide smile and nodded. “Of course, my friend. We shall go claim our rest, and tomorrow we’ll talk about those wolf pelts…”

Ruse was the first to start toward the stairs, followed by Nara and Ben. The latter wobbled on unsteady feet as he trudged up the wooden stairs. I wondered if the boy had actually died during our journey, and now we were traveling with his walking corpse.

When it was just Tia and I left in the common area, I glanced back over my shoulder. Byulf the Innkeeper leaned on the counter, watching me. My eyes narrowed, suspicion evident.

A soft touch on my left arm made me jump.

“Frost? We should get going.”

I nodded, and set off toward our rooms.

The innkeeper’s gaze remained on me as I set up the stairs, and I fought the urge to look back. Something was most definitely wrong with this town.

As Tia and I strode down a narrow hallway, as dimly lit as the rest of the inn, a voice chuckled from the recesses of my mind.

‘This is going to be fun.’

~~~

~~~

 

The Four Fists split up at their respective rooms.

Not another word was said as our collective exhaustion took hold, Ruse and Nara desperately fighting with their keys to open the doors. Tia flashed me a small smile as she followed Nara into the fifth room, while I joined the men in room four.

A heavy, dreamless sleep descended upon me as soon as my body touched the bed. The storm’s soft singing passed through wooden walls, filling the silent lodging with a ghostly lullaby.

My pale chest was latticed with thin cracks that brushed against my soul, casting a blanket of lethargy upon me. It was a deep, leaden exhaustion that made even dreaming a momentous task.

If one had been watching, they would’ve seen the deepest of the ominous cracks begin to fade away. Most magic-users would be astonished by the sight; it wasn’t natural for such a young and inexperienced magic-user to recover so quickly.

What no-one would see was the thin purple thread that connected my soul to the incorporeal spirit hovering over me.

Zakarot always refrained from physically manifesting, and so he had plenty of power to put toward my health. Though this was hardly a permanent solution; I would be irreparably scarred if pushed too far past my limits.

As time passed and the storm’s onslaught began to relent, so too did my slumber. Something warm tickled my cheek as consciousness returned to me.

The sensation wasn’t uncomfortable, though it contrasted starkly with the bitter cold nipping at my toes. I reached for the blankets, only to find that they were missing.

With a deep sigh, I opened my eyes and turned toward the warmth.

And then quickly turned away.

Lying with his mouth practically pressed against my right ear, Ben slumbered like a hibernating bear. Thunderous snores shook the thin mattress beneath us, and the boy had wrapped our shared blanket around himself like a cocoon.

Leaving me to shiver in the cold.

It hadn’t been my first choice to sleep beside Ben, but the innkeeper hadn't mentioned that our room housed only two beds. The other option was, of course, sleeping with Ruse.

Which I had immediately rejected when the older man began wiggling his eyebrows at me. Rather than trying to sleep beside the snoring boy, I pushed myself up and studied our lodgings.

Room four was no larger than my bedroom back home, and even more sparsely decorated. Aside from the two mattresses, there was sheer rug in-front of the door, and a tall dresser next to the sole window.

The rest of our room was empty save for our respective belongings strewn haphazardly across the wooden floor. My own cloak—still soiled by the wolves’ black blood—covered the same sack I’d taken from Flykra Village.

As I stared at the cloak, which always brought my thoughts back to its original owner, I felt someone watching me. It was the third time this had happened since entering Ormr’s boundary, but these eyes weren’t as mysterious as the last.

Looking to the second mattress, I found Ruse leaning against the wall.

“Do you think that’s a problem?” Ruse whispered. I arched a brow, not understanding the question. He nodded toward Ben’s sleeping form. “Perhaps we should take him to a medician. We all snore a little, but this is just unnatural. A symptom of a larger issue, hm?”

I followed Ruse’s gaze and looked at Ben, still sleeping soundly despite the whispering. Though I doubted that any amount of speaking could wake the boy. “My father was the same way. No sense making problems out of nothing.”

Ruse cocked his head, a strange smirk forming on his thin lips. “You don’t talk about your family much.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“My parents? Well, you’ve never asked me.” Ruse said. He crossed his arms around himself and shrugged. “I've never had the pleasure of meeting them. Though I do know that my father is a soldier, and that he’s been stationed in Geimhread since before my birth.”

My eyes widened. It was hard to imagine the silver-tongued mercenary as an army brat. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Ha! No, no. That’s only a coincidence, I’m afraid. I ran into some trouble back in Centurios. My father and I quite obviously live very different lives. There’s no point in disappointing a man I’ve never met.”

Centurios.

I knew that Ruse had spent some time there, but why the man chose to leave the empire’s most prosperous city had been a mystery. It seemed like the perfect place for a fox like Ruse.

“You mention Centurios often,” I said. “Were you born in the imperial city?”

“Mhm. Born and raised, so to speak.” Ruse said, nodding. “If you can call eating from dumpsters and showering in drains as being ‘raised’.”

“You said that you ran into trouble?”

“Am I being interrogated, Frost?”

Shrugging, I met the man’s eyes. “I can only imagine how you were given your nickname.”

Ruse’s expression changed at that. His perpetual smirk faltered as he became distant, as if recalling repressed memories. I knew that expression well.

“We will have to leave it at that. A man must keep some secrets to himself. Wouldn’t you agree, Frost?”

“...Fair enough.” I replied, looking away.

Ruse was right; the man’s past was none of my business. No more than my own past was the Four Fists’ business, and the mercenaries had done well to respect my boundaries.

With those final words, I stood up and ceded the bed to Ben, who immediately began to sprawl across the space I’d been lying. The wooden floor was cool beneath my socks, which were still damp from the journey.

Ruse muttered something about sleeping in socks, but I ignored him and reached for my precious cloak.

“Going out?” Ruse asked, watching as I approached the door with the cloak slung over a shoulder.

“Don’t wait for me,” I replied. Then, I quietly pulled open the door and stepped into the pitch-black hallway beyond.

There were no windows nor lanterns out there. Not knowing how many guests were staying in the inn, I stepped softly while making my way toward the inn’s single washroom.

Though I kept my guard up, no mysterious innkeepers appeared this time.

The washroom was fortunately lit by a lonely candle, its thin flame threatening to disappear. I wished not for the first time that I was able to use pyromancy.

For a traveler, pyromancy and hydromancy can both be extremely useful.

Placing my cloak on the counter, I sighed and ran my fingers over the fabric. The white cloak had proven to be my greatest companion; its surface was smooth, almost like leather. Runes were scripted across its soft interior, and though I still couldn’t read them, Zakarot was able to decipher their functions.

One script was earth-attuned, which somehow made the cloak impenetrable. Even after battling against the horde of blight wolves, not a single tear could be found.

The second script was an advanced melding of frost and flame runes, which protected the wearer from extreme temperatures. Though the runes were only useful once activated by a certain threshold.

After beginning my journey, this specific feature had saved my hide more than once. I'd been forced to spend many days trudging through the harsh elements.

It was clear that a copious amount of crowns had gone into the cloak’s crafting. The Aneira Invidia I knew wouldn’t have been capable of affording this. In a way, this cloak was a remnant of Mother’s previous life.

A woman I’d never known.

After removing a canteen and handkerchief from the cloak’s inner pocket, I began affectionately wiping down the stained garment. The leather-like material was fortunately simple to clean.

Wiping in circular motions, I watched as the crusted blood gave way to the white beneath. The smell had returned now, the volatile odor of rotten eggs that marked the Demiurge’s presence.

Wringing the wet cloth above a bowl placed on the counter, my thoughts drifted.

I began to consider the things I’d seen and felt since arriving in Ormr. Reclusive villagers, mysterious silhouettes, an innkeeper who evaded both mine and Nara’s attention, and the oppressive foreboding that accompanied me even now.

Something was very wrong with this town, but I’d already suspected as much. Zakarot’s hints were hardly ever subtle.

‘Accompany them to Ormr and take in the sights’, the spirit had said.

For all Zakarot’s joviality, I was fully aware of how obsessed he was with the Demiurge. Sometimes the spirit’s true feelings would slip through his hood; bitter resentment, scorn, and rage.

Emotions that still followed the spirit like a flock of carrion even after his death. I didn’t know much about Zakarot’s past, but the Demiurge and its followers must have done much to earn his ire.

His was a mission that transcended the boundary of life.

As I contemplated, my eyes settled upon the mirror in-front of me.

A barely recognizable face stared back, the contours of sunken cheeks and eyes revealed by the faint candlelight. My hair was disheveled and longer than ever before, and lopsided bangs hung in-front of pale eyes.

Evidence of the many times I’d attempted to cut it myself. Though I was loath to admit it, I was helpless without Lara in some regards.

My hair wasn’t all that had changed during the past five months. I was still quite slim, but my pale skin had begun to tighten and reveal the muscles hidden beneath. I was no longer a sickly looking shut-in.

Now, I was a sickly looking mercenary.

A part of me wanted to go home and show the family, who would be more than shocked at how much I’d changed in less than a year.

If one looked deeper, however, they would see the details that I preferred to hide.

Beneath the new muscles and long hair were groups of scars, both faded and recent. The remnants of the first months of my journey. How many more scars would I accumulate by the time this was over? How much would be left of Zavis Invidia after defeating the Apostles and stopping the Demiurge?

It was ironic.

I’d spent fifteen years wishing I was anyone besides myself, and now I was afraid of becoming someone else. Something else.

After assuring that the cloak was cleared of the wolves’ blood, I nodded in satisfaction. I left the washroom, and those rather disturbing thoughts, behind.

There were many questions swirling around in my mind, namely why Zakarot had guided me to this disturbing town.

But answers could wait until morning.

I returned to bed, and fell asleep as soon as Ben was wrangled back to his side.