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fi-fi-squeaks · 2 years ago

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Two Dreamers

Chapter One

Korvosa - 1st of Rova 4722

Two women sat at the edges of a festival square erected in the center point of Old Korvosa. Long strings hung between old worn stone buildings, with paper butterflies pinned to them at roughly even distances. The wind was gentle as it blew across the scene making the butterflies' blue and purple wings seem to flutter in a lazy pace and rhythm. The sky was noisy with the sounds of flutes, drums, and laughter. And the air smelled of sea salt and fresh fried fish from nearby dockside vendors.

One of the women, Kostella, was dressed in a showy outfit of silks and leather that were dyed in the bright and bold colors favored by her tribe. Her lips were obscured by a gauzy blue scarf decorated with bright green stars that twinkled from glitter dust applied across the fabric. Her eyes were alight with mischief and wonder. Her figure hinted at her stout strength, with boots that ran up her firm tight calves and tight hard abs peeking through a hint of midriff just above the waist of her trousers.

The other, Nascha, was dressed in far more muted colors. But unlike Kostella, her outfit was a simple robe cut in the style of Shoanti ritualists with big wide sleeves that hid her whisper thin-frame and a plunging neckline that ended just beneath her belly button. Her skin was a similar shade of dark umber to match Kostella's. Her hair was fashioned in wild spikes that looked even wilder next to Kostella's well-cared-for waves.

“Kostella,” said Nascha as she reached for her hand. “Have time for a question?”

Kostella turned her hand so their palms met and laced their fingers together. She squeezed her fingers and offered a smile and a nod.

“Of course,” Kostella said as her nails scratched along Nascha’s wrists, “You can always talk with me. What is on your mind?”

The Varisian’s lips curled into a warm and encouraging smile that peeked through the opaque scarf she wore over her lips.

“I didn’t mean to, but I sensed your thoughts. And you keep thinking about how you only truly like Korvosa during the festival seasons.” Nascha lowered her gaze to their clasped hands. “So…why do you come back as often as you do? When all this time we could have stayed out in the axe-clan lands or perhaps wandering the road as your tribes oft-do?”

Kostella resisted the urge to shut her eyes or release her dear friend's hand. This wasn't the first time Nascha admitted to touching her mind and reading her inner feelings and thoughts. And though she's grown to accept her friend's unusual gift, it didn't make it any easier to accept at the moment. Especially with how private Kostella was as part of her association with thieves' guilds and crime families across Varisia.

Kostella drew in a breath and cleared her mind as best she could. She squeezed Nascha's hand and then spoke in a voice that was smooth as velvet and deep as a well.

“What brings this up?”

Nascha bit her lip. She kept her eyes low and fixed on their clasped hands. Her fingers shook and her body stiffened. She felt so stiff that she reminded Kostella of a brittle plank of wood.

“I worry. You have encouraged me to pursue my dreams. So I can’t understand why you stay where you aren’t happiest.”

Nascha glanced at Kostella’s face. Their eyes met and locked for an all-too-brief moment.

“So why?” Nascha asked in a fiercely determined tone.

Nascha’s fingers tightened around Kostella’s.

“Hmm…” Kostella said. “Let me think for a moment.”

Nascha bobbed her head and Kostella lowered hers until her chin rested on her chest. Her free hand drummed and her breathing slowed to a lazy pace. Kostella felt how deeply this question mattered to the woman and she had to…needed to give it all due consideration and care.

Why do I come back? Kostella thought.

Korvosa was far from being “home” to Kostella. It was a gloomy place filled with dreary people who seemed untouched by Queen Kroft’s legitimate benevolence. The energies of the city didn’t match or suit the woman in any way, shape, or form.

Also, like most Varisians, her family wandered the roads and valleys of Golarion. ‘Family’ was out there beneath the unblemished sky rather than indoors tucked beneath blankets and painted stucco ceilings. And though Kostella had ties with the city’s thieves guild, those ties were mercenary at best.

Nothing truly tied her to the city. Yet… that wasn't true. And realizing that made Kostella wonder…

“Why am I doing this?” Kostella said.

Nascha raised Kostella's hand. She kissed her knuckles one by one until the Varisian opened her eyes. She gazed at Nascha who could only smile a smile that was marred by regret and sorrow.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” Nascha said, “It’s clearly distressing and—”

Kostella shook her head and raised a palm.

“No no. It is fine.” she said. “I think, I needed to think about this. Because I shouldn’t stay here if it isn’t doing anything for me, no?”

“Perhaps…” Nascha said, “you could leave with me on the boat to Absalom. We could find our dreams there, together.”

Kostella’s heart raced at the suggestion. She felt the song of the festival more keenly than she ever had. As if the mere thought of running from Varisia to be with her partner was cause to celebrate and sing. Yet, her heart ached in some dark noticeable corner. An ache that she didn’t even dare to hide.

“I…could. But what of my family? What of the life I have here? You are leaving to seek the Pathfinders and learn about your gift. How could—?”

“You help?” Nascha asked. “By just being there. You taught me to not ignore an opportunity out of fear. Especially if it’s something you crave so much it hurts. And it’s only right to offer you a choice, you never considered.”

Kostella blinked at her partner.

“Did you pluck that from my mind?”

Nascha shook her head. “I didn’t have to. You may be able to fool the Korvosans. But you can’t ever fool me. Our hearts know the truth better than anyone else.”

The wind shifted and tugged at Kostella’s scarf. Like a curled finger, it plucked and dragged her scarf down her face until Nascha could see how her lip quivered as the Varisian searched for the right words to say.

"I…it's true. I would be glad to follow you. But I don't know what kind of life I could have in Absalom." She gestured a hand towards the festival, where Desnan priests gathered with carts full of wired cages that contained countless swallowtail butterflies. A crowd of Korvosans, Shoanti, and Varisians alike gathered with their hands stretched out towards the sky waiting for the butterflies to be released.

“Does Absalom even celebrate Desna properly?” Kostella said with a small giggle.

“There is one way to find out. Will you come with me?”

Kostella bit her lip. She knew what her heart wanted to say and had no doubts about what she’d choose to do. But the part of her soul that spoke against it had reservations she couldn’t quite shake. Especially given how the two women had only met one month ago to the day. Was there truly hope for their relationship if she took this one big chance?

Kostella didn’t know. But she knew that she’d regret it if she was anything less than honest with her partner. She parted her lips to speak.

DESNA DREAMS!

The shout snapped Kostella out of her distraction. She turned her head towards the square just as the priests opened the cages and shouted the phrase. And like a sea of twinkling blue kites, the air was flooded by a sea of swallowtail butterflies. Some floated to brush against the paper decorations that hung between buildings. Others soared into the sky and fluttered away. While still others roamed into the crowd of onlookers and landed upon their wrists.

“It’s so beautiful…” Nascha said, “Is this a proper Desna holiday?”

Kostella smiled and squeezed Nasha’s hand.

“It is.” Kostella said. “My tribe participates in this ritual wherever we can. It is the only time we gather in large numbers in cities.”

“But what does it all mean?” Nascha asked.

Kostella giggled. “Oh, if we were paying attention, the priests would have explained it better than I.”

“Yet I want to hear what it means to you.” Nascha said.

Kostella blinked as she watched the butterflies flap and flutter to and fro. Their colorful wings shone in the light of lanterns and ghost light spells that decorated the Korvosan square.

“Well…it speaks to hope. Of an unexpected gift for a kindness that sought nothing but to do some good.”

Nascha looked down at their linked hands.

“What does it mean if a butterfly lands on you?”

“That’s a good omen. Similar to how your clan feels after the first pearl is plucked from the sea each spring.”

Nascha chuckled under her breath. "Then it seems Desna has something to say to the both of us."

Kostella looked away from the festival and down at her and Nascha's hands. She gasped when she saw the smallest swallowtail butterfly resting on the back of Nascha's hand. The tiny creature flapped its wings as if gesturing at the two women at once. It then leaped off Nascha's hand and flew away as if its point were made.

Both women sat and watched the butterfly as it flew south further and further until it was just a spec of blue on the dimly lit horizon.

Kostella squeezed Nascha’s hand.

“You know…perhaps I will take you up on your offer. Whatever happens, at least we’ll experience it together.”

Nascha threw herself at Kostella and wrapped the stronger woman up in a sweet tender embrace.

Chapter Two

Aboard The Yarnton - 10th of Rova 4722

Kostella was five days into her first boat trip and she was already over it. She felt like she had seen everything there was to see, even with all the new sounds and smells of the sea surrounding her. The horizon was the same endless sheet of blue. The sky was blanketed in the same sheet of stars and clouds. And she’d already explored the ship from bow to stern.

You couldn’t stop the ship and step outside to walk around and pluck fresh fruits from trees and bushes. The familiar sounds of creaky wooden wheels were replaced by the harsh whistle and flap of wind and sail. And worst of all, most of the crew seemed unwilling to play cards with her just because she won a few games too many.

How does anyone travel like this? She wondered as she paced the width of her room from wall to wall.

Kostella paused in midstep and threw herself down on the bed she and Nascha shared. It rested beneath a small bolted window with glass strengthened by alchemicals that gave a slight scent of pine and grease. The light that poured in illuminated a small squat desk beside the bed that carried only a fat-bottomed pitcher of water. A wide chest was bolted to the floor at the foot of the bed. Its lid was ajar as it was overstuffed with clothes and supplies Nascha and her had brought aboard. The entire square room was illuminated by the swinging of a magical lantern that glowed and dimmed at preset hours of the day.

It was a room like many others aboard the ship. It had a few scant decorations scattered about that gave it just enough character to make Kostella feel at home. Or at least for what it was worth, while they were out at sea.

“Are all ships like this?” She said, folding her arms across her chest.

Rap-Rap-Tap

Kostella's heart skipped a beat. She jumped out of bed and rubbed at her cheeks until her frown relaxed to a thin line. She hopped from foot to foot and stretched her arms wide. She then looked at the door just as it opened. She then grinned when she saw Nascha on the other side.

“Greetings!” Kostella said with a wide smile. “Are you done reading on deck then?”

Nascha bowed her head then stepped past the threshold and shut the door behind her. She turned her back to Kostella and reached down to lock the door with a dull soft click. She then looked over her shoulder and looked for her lover’s eyes and smiled only when their gazes found one another.

“I was distracted and came down to find you?” Nascha said.

Kostella’s eyes shone as she clapped her palms together.

“Oh? Did something happen?”

Nascha giggled and shook her head.

“No. And I��m not going to look for you ONLY when something’s going on.” Nascha said.

The Shoanti took a step forward and rested her hands on Kostella's hips. She drummed her fingernails down along the other woman's curves.

"Then why did you—?"

Nascha puckered her lips and shushed the varisian. She shook her head side to side then leaned in until their foreheads touched and their noses brushed together. She moved her hands up the varisian’s body, then along her arms until her hands covered Kostella’s. She then parted her lips to whisper sweet words meant only for her ears. Her breath smelled like a cozy breakfast and sounded like a song.

“Come up to the deck with me.” Nascha said. “If no one wants to play cards, we can dance.”

“And if we can’t dance?”

Nascha’s grin curled to a devilish angle. Her eyes shone with mischief. And her body swayed in an excited wiggle.

“I have no doubt you’ll find a way for us to dance. Come on, let’s go!”

The shoanti slipped out of her lover’s grasp and seized her wrist. She then twisted and spun on her heels in a motion that made her dress sweep and wave. She tugged Kostella towards the door and reached a hand to throw open the door…only to find that it was locked.

Nascha stared at the door and slumped her shoulders.

“You forgot you locked the door, didn’t you?” Kostella said.

Nascha pinched the lock's turn piece and flicked it open. Then slipped out pulling her love behind her. The lovers skipped down the ship's hall with a bounce in their steps and giggles between them.

Chapter Three

Absalom Arodus 10 - 4723

It had been nearly a year since Kostella came to Absalom and the city suited her far more than she ever thought. It was a city that was far more accepting of her culture than Korvosa ever had. Pathfinders often spoke with her to learn about her culture. Merchants were curious about how their wares compared to what was found in Varisia. And travelers were happy to hear her stories of faraway places they'd never have the chance to see.

It was everything she ever wanted in a home, but never knew she needed. Especially since it was a home she shared with her love. It felt cozy in ways she never knew to such a degree that she stopped yearning for the open skies and wild roads she knew in Varisia.

Life had become a comfortable routine of happy days and lazy nights. And Kostella could ask for nothing more.

So she couldn't explain why tonight was so unlike recent nights. Why did she lay in bed and stare at the ceiling of the inn room she and Nascha shared? Why does she ignore the woman sleeping by her side…

…and why she couldn’t stop thinking about Korvosa.

Kostella sighed. She turned her head towards the bedside table on her side of the bed. The surface was a cluttered mess of shiny trinkets, interesting knives, colorful scarves, small glowing magical gems, and a single letter that stood out from all the rest.

She stared at the letter as if it were a devil at the foot of her bed. Her lips pursed in a rueful pout and her cheeks puffed out as she sucked in a breath. She read the address once again as if hoping that it would be meant for anyone else this time. But the envelope bore the same damned address…

Kostella Salache

Absalom via The Pathfinder Society

“Why couldn’t they find anyone else?”

Nascha murmured and shifted until her shoulder brushed against Kostella's back. She hummed a hum that she only did when she was trying to coax her back into bed. But the sweet simple gestures they shared between them just didn't work that night. And it made Kostella's heart sink and chill as guilt tugged at her mood.

“Go back to sleep,” Kostella said, “I’ll get back in position before long.”

Nascha rolled until she pressed her cheek against Kostella's back. She rubbed her cheek up and down as if hoping to cover herself in her lover's scent.

“Mmnngh nhhh. No you won’t. You’ve been out of sorts since that letter came. And you still haven’t told me what it said.”

Kostella blushed…

"I thought you could figure it out and…"

Nascha reached up and cupped Kostella’s hip. She drummed her fingers along the silk covering her woman’s body. She always enjoyed touching her and tracing her muscles and curves. It had become something she did when she wanted the courage to speak her mind.

“...We both know that’s a lie. I don’t read minds without consent or great need and I don’t think this is either. What is so terrible that it leaves you so tense?”

Kostella sighed and bit her lip.

“Please, tell me.” Nascha said.

Kostella was silent for quite some time. She knew that telling her love what was on her mind was the right thing to do. But it hurt so much to think about. Especially since she had finally come to accept Absalom as her home and Nascha as her home’s hearth. She almost wished Nascha was a little more forceful with her psychic gifts so she wouldn’t have to say it.

But, she loved Nascha because of her devotion and kindness. And she loved how much Nascha cared about her privacy. Nascha would never betray that privacy, even if it was more than obvious that something was haunting her that night.

No, Kostella thought, it is up to me.

Kostella reached for the letter. She took it out of the envelope and folded it against her knee. She then turned on a nearby lantern and read it aloud.

“It says…”

Dear Kostella,

I do not know you beyond your name and I suspect this will come as a surprise. But I need your services in protecting Korvosa. Something is causing the city much harm, with citizens disappearing in the middle of the night and an entire expedition vanishing. My people are scared and I don't have the answers for what's happening or why, so I have spoken to councilors and priests for guidance.

I was desperate enough to seek out a Varisian harrow reader on the off chance that it would lead to insights. And, strange enough to say, but it led to a vision from Desna. The reader whispered your name to me, just as a swallowtail butterfly landed on my cheek.

I am no fool. I know about the many Gods of Golarion and hold Desna in equal regard to my God, Abadar, and to Korvosa's god, Asmodeus. There were no butterflies in the harrow reader's wagon. So I have to assume that Korvosa needs you for salvation. I have spent a month tracking you down and heard that you had traveled to Absalom last year to assist a Pathfinder in training. So if this letter reaches you, I beseech you to come to Korvosa along with a band that will meet you on the 15th of Arodus and come to Korvosa.

I realize that Varisians have been mistreated by the former queen. And all that I have done will never wipe away that stain. You have no reason to assist me or my city. I can only pray that you will feel my sincerity in these words.

Sincerely, Queen Cressida Kroft

Kostella tossed the letter back to the table.

“That is what has been on my mind all night.” Kostella said.

“...you don’t know if you should stay or go. Do you?”

Kostella shook her head.

“Not in the least. Kroft has done right by my people ever since the Scarlet Queen’s death. But her city is still a playground for the same nobles who supported evil men, like The Butcher. Her heart is in the right place, but, as she said, I have no love for Korvosa and if it falls, then the Varisians can just move out and stay on the roads as we always have.”

Nascha sat up and wiggled into Kostella’s lap. She then took the varisians arms and wrapped them around her waist.

“You don’t believe that do you?”

“No. I can tell when someone is running a con. But, this makes no sense. Why would she send a letter to a vague address and hope it reaches me? And the details within…the butterfly, acknowledging our disparate faiths and…”

Kostella sighed.

“I can’t help but feel that Desna needs me in Varisia. To do what, I haven’t the slightest, but, she has helped my people so many times. My heart tells me this is what I must do…”

“But I’m holding you back?”

Kostella squeezed Nascha’s waist and shook her head so fast her hair whipped the back of Nascha’s head.

“No no you could never! Would never…”

“Shhh let me finish.” Nascha said. “I don’t mean that you feel restricted. Because you are happy here. By the hells, I bet you could even take over this city’s thieve’s guild in another year or few. You don’t need me to make you successful since you always find a way. Nor could I restrict you even if I tried, because the best cages I could make for you are made of kisses and hugs.”

Kostella giggled.

“To be fair, that is a strong cage.”

Nasha patted Kostella’s knee.

“I know it is. But, since I met you, you had this spark and brilliance that shone through on rainy foggy nights and in the darkest nights. And a large part of that spark is your faith in Desna and your love of your home and people. And though you claim that your tribes would be just fine if Korvosa fell, we both know that isn’t guaranteed. What if her nobles are acting against her and seek to reestablish the old ways. What if The Butcher wants to wipe out the Varsiains entirely!”

Nascha turned and kissed Kostella’s cheek.

“I will be fine, my love. The Pathfinders have taught me so much about my powers in just under a year and I suspect that I’ll learn much more by the time we reunite. And we will meet again, because I’m ordering you to stay safe.”

Nascha pouted with the gravest look she possibly could…which made Kostella laugh. She giggled and fell back onto the bed and pulled Nascha with her. Nascha pinched her love and both women dissolved into a fit of giggles, hugs, and snorts that somehow ended with them falling out of bed in a cocoon of blankets on the floor and bruises on hips, elbows, and knees.

It wasn’t the most comfortable place for them to sleep. But certainly the best as Nascha rested her cheek against Kostella’s breast and Kostella brushed her fingers across her lover’s hair.

“You convinced me,” Kostella said, “I’ll do this. And I’ll have many stories to share when I return.”

“You’d better, or I’ll send you to Desna until she teaches you to have a better imagination.”

Kostella feigned a gasp. She then spoke in a stage voice that was as melodic as it was a bellow. Something she picked up by learning to perform with Absalom’s theater guild during the early spring.

“Betrayal! My lover intends to wound me.”

Nascha giggled then sang in response, “Nay goodly rogue. I’ve no intention to harm. When a simple sleep spell would suffice.”

The women then rattled off impromptu stage lines in between giggles until they slept. Neither of them noticed a blue swallowtail butterfly watching from outside the window.

----- This story was written as a request for my good friend @moxpunk . Her character has been a wonderful addition to my Pathfinder 2e campaign and I was so honored to have the chance to add to her story.

#pathfinder #writers #women writers #writer #my writing #writing #writers on patreon #writers on tumblr #writers on twitter #writing commissions

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almostfancywombat · 3 years ago

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Shadow Dancer

It was near sundown when a young man, extravagantly yet poorly dressed for the weather, stumbled into Abe-Kes, dazed like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He hardly managed to step a foot beyond the entrance gates before Zhenviny saw him inhaling dirt and took pity. Carelessly obeying the whimsy that had ruled him since birth, he heaved the unconscious man over his shoulder and set off in the first direction his eyes landed on.

From behind the bar’s counter, Makka caught a glance of Zhenviny through the window. She watched as he threw the saloon door open, boots scraping the carpet. Shouting over the small yet rambunctious crowd of the Wheeleri, Makka greeted him with false enthusiasm.

“Tzi-tzi, Sheni ! Delivering parcels? I ordered ahead, but Tergi Bazhnik’s tomorrow, and nothing’s arrived. I’m sincerely fearful that Khyivchuk might skin me should it not, so let’s hurry that along.”

Expertly evading her accusatory tone, he took a jab at her appearance. Spoken with a grimace, “Gee, Makka. Worry about yourself first. You look straight horrendous. Been dreaming lately?”

Head tilted, he was the splitting image of innocence. He brandished those sky eyes like a weapon. While Makka wanted to be offended, it was merely an observation. Zhenviny’s manners were atrocious. He’d even tell his Mati worse.

“Appreciate it,” grumbled Makka, “but spare yourself the worry. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m practically like the dead.”

Makka rolled her head to the side and pretended to slit her neck. Zhenviny promptly smacked her.

“Don’t joke like that.” He spat, puffing and shaking like a bird. “You’ll live a long, healthy life, or so help me. Let’s change topics. I get uncomfortable when you talk like that. We speak intention into reality, don’t you know?”

“I got a fine talent for bringing bad things to fruition.”

“Shut it, Makka.”

Clicking her tongue, Makka ceded. Poor Zhenviny still lived in the past, so it was best to entertain his emotional conceit, lest she wrought a nervous breakdown on his behalf.

“Where’s my package?”

In typical Zhenviny fashion, he took the defensive. “Jump a horse and bring the matter to Akinnalabuk if you got any issues.”

“Got me there,” she huffed, sensing his eagerness to switch topics. “But, hey! When Nascha came over, she said Akinna gave birth. Visiting now would be strange, wouldn’t it?”

“Run into the tihsik and call it a holiday for all I care. Heavens know you need it, and so would Akinnalabuk.” He rolled his eyes, adjusting his bag. His hands ghosted over the fur rucksack draped across his shoulders.

Despite his crassness, Makka assumed the large sack meant he had finally harassed that tight-pursed merchant and retrieved her orders. She was about to thank him profusely when suddenly, the bag shook and coughed and became a person wearing a coat. Makka took a step back and sighed, then rubbed her forehead free of the crease forming there. Contrary to local beliefs, the Wheeleri wasn’t a welcome committee. She was even less pleased to be appointed its head. Impossibly, every visitor found a way to test her. While she dealt with conflict well enough, the local chieftain, Saye-Nochta, disagreed with her methods. Although his paranoia meant she was kept under constant surveillance, he still had his own obligations to tend to.

For once, Makka found herself wishing he was present. Instead, Saye-Nochta was busy completing rounds in the surrounding villages. Without his jurisdiction, she’d steer from conflict, only acting if provoked.

Makka groaned. She’d already ended two fights since the Wheeleri opened for the day and wasn’t above starting one if Zhenviny’s stranger posed a problem. But with such foreign dress and looks—neither of which belonged to the desert-dwelling groups in her state—she took a hasty intrigue. Poor Zhenviny stood swaying, searching until his eyes met hers. As was customary, she regarded him lukewarmly.

Please don’t let this be what I think this is, she begged.

“I found him just outside Abe-Kes,” panted Zhenviny, donning a tired smile. Sweat seeped from his sandy tresses. A whiff of something unpleasant carried when he leaned forward. Likely due to that coat he always wore, no matter how bad the heat. “He said something interesting. Maybe it was fevered mumbling, but it was enough to concern me.”

Makka countered his zeal with a tight-lipped grin. While his nature wasn’t half as hospitable as his actions, Zhenviny acted in extremes. One of Abe-Kes’s resident strays, Makka had never appreciated his self-proclaimed obligation to people like her. In their youth, he’d gathered miscreants by the dozen, and after years of weeding the troublesome members out, only she remained. Their pack of two, sometimes more, was enough for her, but anyone possessing the Tchevtok name seemed to have an innate sense of goodness, no matter how misguided their actions appeared to outsiders.

“It’s near closing time, don’t you know?” Waving him off, Makka hissed. Considering the slew of robberies and territory breaches that had occurred in the past month, interesting was the last thing she needed. “Xen te’elo! Get!”

“I swear, you’ll wanna hear him out. Got Miss Jiu in house? I wanna get our guest patched up before taking him to registration.”

As the saying went, the Tchevtoks had silver eyes. Not a day went by without them prying into matters unconcerned with their names. Zhenviny belonged to a family of scared snoops, digging for answers, then running before the consequences of the uncovered truth caught them. Truly, she shouldn’t have expected any better of her dear, bothersome friend.

“Jiuavu’s out. Pa got a bite in Sak-Che, so she tagged along to ensure he wouldn’t die, I s’pose, but I wish she’d taken that annoying brother with her. Though, if a healer’s what you need, Lyudlya’s filling in.”

“Far-flung! Can’t believe he just left you to tend to the Wheeleri. Your rotten brother can’t be worth all that.”

Shrugging, Makka dismissed his concern. The very least she could’ve done was tend to Pa’s business. It was what loaned his name weight, the only reason people still tolerated his disappointment of a daughter.

Tongue clicking against his cheek, Zhenviny scowled. “Come over, won’t you? Mati always makes too much.” His gaze momentarily softened before returning to his stoic front. “She’d want you over, anyway. We got a new shipment of books, and one’s filled with Teyai patterns and such, so she might wanna consult over your dress. Couldn’t find any news about your brother’s missing things past the Midlands, but you know how that goes.”

“Inni ko’oj!” Makka cooed, leaning over to rest her hand on his. “You’re still looking? Oh, my heart, my soul! My Sheni!”

Scoffing, he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “If you’re so grateful, help me with this lug.”

Setting her cleaning aside, Makka went around to help lower the stranger into a seat. Zhenviny removed the hefty bag from his shoulders and planted it in the stranger’s lap. She glanced at his fashion, noting the thick coat, his shirt’s high collar and obscene embellishments. Even in the dim light, he glittered like a lake when the sun hit just right.

“He speaks Motec? Anything else?”

“Mont’s what he’s mumbling in, but he’s got an accent. It’s tickling my mind, thinking where he comes from. Looking like that, speaking like this…”

“Olut schop bin odyalve? Oyak yaduy suluy. ” Using dreadful Luzhen, Makka questioned the stranger’s odd fashion. Pure styles weren’t common in the region. Makka’s own seamstress was none other than a Luzhen who took painstaking care to include her Teyai sensibilities.

“Neni znyau.” Zhenviny shrugged, then switched, prodding the semi-conscious boy. “Doll Face here entered on the wrong foot. First, he stumbled into someone, then Sayenko got it twisted and accosted him before I intervened. Fortunately, he left to wherever he goes every odd month or so. I barely managed to convince him to leave me him.”

“Firstly, why’s he still in town? Ain’t he supposed to be drawing treaties with the Lasahkaaiya?”

“Was. Something came up at the office and shut it down, apparently. But, gods willing, we’ll explain it’s only a misunderstanding with Doll Face. Don’t wanna stress miy khanyatyy Sayenko anymore than he already is.” He brought a hand to his lips, making the Kiizen gesture of prayer.

Makka grimaced at the nickname. Affection had no business belonging to someone like Zhenviny. Thoroughly disturbed, she figured she couldn’t face any worse shock and turned toward the newcomer, taking in his sunburned face. There was a dull luster to his being. He reminded her of a fire, holding himself like embers clinging to charred wood.

“Alright, so, hear this,” she said, carefully presenting. “You got no place to stay. I got guest rooms upstairs and dishes that need washing. Ain’t a big thing, but you can stay until tomorrow, if you need.”

Company would be nice, she thought. With Pa gone and Nayati creeping around, she felt lonelier than ever and wouldn’t dare bother Zhenviny or Saye-Nochta, knowing how vital they were to keep the village running. She imagined wasting the day away, chatting with Doll Face about his homeland and travels, discovering if he had anything worth trading.

Excitement teeming, she nudged him. “How’s that sound? You up to it? It’d be nice to have someone else here. Maybe I’ll put you up to shining silverware or teach you how to work kottai. Won’t it be nice to take some back to make for your family? They keen on stuff like that? Say, where’re you from? You ever had kottai?”

When he didn’t stir, she wondered if he spoke Mont at all. Granted, constructing a house was easier than forming a sentence in that elusive tongue. It was a language with odd lifts, extensive vocabulary, and words that were built upon instead of being capable of standing alone.

“Yuumi-kax , his soul’s lost.” Leaning down, she tried peering at his face. “You’ve seen better days, ain’t you?”

Head lolling to the side, his gaze landed on Makka. Tired and smoldering, it was still intense enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Dark, narrow eyes of silver danced around, refusing to settle.

A faint, pleasant voice carried from parched lips. “With offers of food instead of thrashings,” he snapped, hunched over to hold his stomach. “Nowhere in my trip was half as endeared to threats as the first man I crossed here, and I entered through Tsedi’naw !” There was a weakness in his shoulders as he tugged at his collar, fanning himself, displaying a patch of skin stained a blistering red. “Yuragom kitte! Imagine the start when I realized outlaws were kinder than your law man!”

His accent used long consonants and irregular pauses that softened his tone and lifted his words. Makka felt that if he sang, it would’ve sounded like the heavens opened. But he spoke so much and so fast, and all of it was new. She had half the mind to tap his forehead and act surprised when she felt warm flesh. Real. He was real and staring back and she couldn’t even begin to fathom understanding him. Not with that spitfire speech nor mysterious character. Yet, despite his sweaty, dirt-coated appearance, he had an evident appeal, an aura of intrigue.

His features were unusual. Pale skin, mostly untouched by the sun, save for the sunspots dotting his round face. He had small, sharp eyes without creases, bordered by straight brows. He had a flat nose atop thick lips, and protruding cheeks.

“Oh, you followed the river?” Absent-minded, Makka handed him a cup. Doll Face hummed, swaying as he downed the beverage in a single, long gulp. “I got trade associates up there, but the trip costs a month of work and ichen. Gotta wait ‘til the slow seasons to do anything outside of here.”

While she lived in a peaceful region of thirteen tribes, the worry of addressing an outsider made her stomach churn. Her stranger could’ve come from a place with loose manners or treated everyone like high hats. There were too many chances for a slip-up, and she didn’t even know if they’d be able to properly communicate.

Usually, she’d call upon her divine force, the shadows for knowledge, but the fickle beings had initiated a standoff months ago and wouldn’t deign to help her traitorous self. Makka grabbed and polished a cup until she spotted her reflection, then continued with another to soothe her itching hands. “What trouble landed you here?”

She asked, although she already had an idea; Saye-Nochta, law and punisher in one. Typically, anyone in his blackbook made Makka’s, but the stranger seemed primarily harmless. Still, until such could be determined, she aimed to drive him away until the ever-reliable Saye-Nochta returned. There was still an evening’s worth of kottai to grind and no need for distractions.

Doll Face muttered into his hands. “It isn’t ‘straight proper,’ harming an innocent traveler.”

“We can’t name you innocent because you ain’t from these parts,” said Zhenviny, matter-of-factly. “But if you wanna change that, let’s share introductions. Arosiy Tchevtok’s the name, but I’m tagged Zhenviny.” An unspoken rule in Abe-Kes was never to directly inquire about someone’s past, but he danced around such, stating basic facts to prompt. “Outside our regular jobs, Makka and me do peacekeeping, so you’re keeping good company—my pa’s even the Holy Man in Toskolaiv and I oversee strays in the central village. If you’re looking to head elsewhere, just holler. Still, I gotta escort you to registration before anything.”

Thinly veiled threats clung to his overbearing politeness, but Doll Face wasn’t inquisitive. Instead, he countered with a resolute claim.

“I seek no true destination. I am merely here to retrieve objects once mine, and perhaps collect new treasures if I may.”

Hooting, Makka placed her hands on the counter and leaned back. That wasn’t suspicious, not at all. Occasionally, the foreign Little Hats bargained to grant foreign workers entrance, usually for specialized work or trade that the region otherwise lacked. Multicultural-inspired wares had found a sudden demand, primarily the Luzhen-influenced ones, so it was possible the stranger was merely a part of some strange cross-governmental program.

“Bak-wakax ? You got a permit? For how long?”

“Erm… The who to do what?”

Despite all her languages, the proper word eluded Makka. She knew what she wanted to say, but not how to speak it into existence. Fortunately, Zhenviny took it upon himself to intervene.

“Just ‘cause I understand don’t mean everybody does.” Annoyed, he enunciated, picking up her slack. “She means a seasonal worker, but I don’t believe we’re expecting any from your parts.”

“I suppose I can be something of the sort,” mumbled Doll Face. “Foremost, I seek High Noon. Would you know where to find him?”

There was a stillness to Zhenviny that no one would’ve noticed otherwise, but Makka knew him better than herself, and even with a blank expression, he looked like he’d been asked to summon a demon. Ever so slightly, his lips flattened and his grip on his cup grew just a bit tighter.

“Knowing local diction’s a talent,” he praised, playing dumb, “but salvation happens where bells ring. I’ll take you to the Grand Temple in Toskolaiv, if you’d have it. Or another place, whichever way your beliefs sway. There’s a few in the region—the Anpao even got this fire pit.”

“No, sir. I need High Noon to guide my journey. There are items I seek.”

Scorpion venom pricked Makka, paralyzing. There was no mistaking it. High Noon, spoken with the correct pause and tone. Shaking her head, she conjured a delusion; the words must’ve turned into something the stranger didn’t mean, a case of mistaken identity.

It was a common enough phrase, innocent without knowledge. It was a time of day. He only wanted to see the sun at its peak. The valleys surrounding Abe-Kes boasted a gorgeous sunrise. High noon also meant ‘salvation’ in Motec. Nothing about Doll Face seemed remotely Kiizen, but practices weren’t restricted to a single type of person, so Makka refrained from assumptions. Yet the longer she looked at him, the more unease settled into her heart. She despised the notion that some people simply didn’t have a place to belong.

“Ain’t searching in the right locations if you’re in my place,” she gruffly said, walls steadily rising. Her reputation would be soiled if she refused to help someone in need, so she stubbornly yielded, sharing that there were always families looking to feed in exchange for stories, and a guest house existed in the Luzhen settlement. What a shame. They could’ve been friends if only he’d kept that name from his mouth.

Doll Face gave a shaky laugh, clutching at his midsection. “Abe-Kes and that name are all I have. I lack strength and resources to walk another mile. I can offer a small sum, but little more until I find him.”

“Your scuffs could fetch some.” She glanced at his shirt and sighed at her callousness. Nobody took Makka’s pity, not even a half-dead man. She’d simply send her regards if he teetered past that, but she couldn’t spare herself the pain. “For now, I don’t got the will to give another hairsbreadth.”

“Please,” he begged, eyes wide as he stood, bracing on the counter “I must meet High Noon to ask help of him. Only his powers alone can help me.”

His hands shot forward and wrapped around hers. They were large and warm, and in his gentle hold, she nearly melted. But Zhenviny shoved him before Makka asked what allowed him to keep such smooth skin. Where hers was scarred and rough, his were smooth and unblemished.

Thoroughly scandalized, Zhenviny acted as if he’d been slighted. “Oy, oy! Get your hands off her! Who do you think you are?”

Doll Face looked as if Zhenviny asked him to uncover the universe’s secrets. There wasn’t an inkling of malice to his actions. He seemed as innocent as a child, unaccustomed to a foreign land’s customs. However, Makka was too sap-headed to call attention to it, and the dubiously sober patrons swerved their way. Gazes trained on the stranger, hands creeping toward waistbands.

“Poryadku! Yáʼáníshtʼééh! I’m fine!” She quickly clarified, eyes darting. She raised a hand, dispelling any worry among the loyal customers. She knew the sudden touch wasn’t offending; the slip-up must’ve been a cultural difference, because she sensed he was far touchier.

“Pardon my manners. I don’t understand your rules here.”

“Get to learning,” Zhenviny snapped. His hands rested on the counter, drumming. “Ignorance ain’t helping your case, and if Makka or Sayenko doesn’t like you, nobody will, and word spreads fast when it concerns potential threats. Lest you wish to sleep with the nashokeus —”

“What is ma-sha-skyuu ?”

“Why you—”

Doll Face flinched as Zhenviny rose, caught in his shadow. He brought his arms up to shield himself. “I mean wrong by you!”

“Apologize, then.”

The stranger paled. “Pardon?”

“Apologize to Makka, and I’ll see how I feel about entertaining you.”

Once the apology fit Zhenviny’s standards, he resumed his front. “Suitable,” he murmured. “Since you made peace, we’ll hear you out now.”

“Don’t go making promises for me, Zhenviny.” She closed the distance between them and glared. “Go eat your coat. You’re making the poor man out as a convict when he’s only here to search for someone he won’t find.”

All the necessary information had already laid itself out. Asking any more didn’t make any sense; a stranger entered town, then Saye had a skirmish, and as usual, the aftergrass became hers. Only this time, Makka wouldn’t remain passive in their shenanigans.

Puffing his chest, Zhenviny surveyed the room for an imaginary threat. “Sure, he won’t. Not as long as I have any sway.”

“Please,” Doll Face sighed, face planted against the table. His hair splayed out as he ran a finger across the counter. “I don’t intend to stay long. If you may, I’ll take the information and be on my way.”

Makka nearly forgot the supposed purpose of bringing him and still wasn’t sure why she was tossed into the mix. Already, she longed for the day to end. “Then, let’s see the busy man out. I also got somewhere to be soon.”

Although she tried to hide it, unease crept into her. She hoped Zhenviny would catch on, but his priorities lay in putting on airs for strangers.

“Lazhe. Meni potribno lenni dorostarym chodar .” There was something Zhenviny was waiting for the stranger to say, and he didn’t care how long it took to hear it. Yet another irritating habit. Whenever he got an idea, he’d stop at nothing to fulfill it.

“How kind of you, claiming responsibility,” grumbled Makka, joining Zhenviny on the other side of the counter. Reaching for the keys in her pocket, she passed them over, intending for him to take Doll Face to the storage room. “Take them, but he’s leaving once you’re done. If he goes around kicking mounds after, I’m taking both of your legs out.”

Zhenviny laughed, reaching over to slap my shoulder. ‘You can try,’ the gesture said. Begrudgingly, she agreed because he’d act difficult otherwise. With him standing by, closing was made easy; reputations preceded everyone in Chan-nup’a Kaajol.

Barflies drove out in heaps, patting him on the back, offering sweet partings. With him standing prudent, no one dared to even look at Makka. Known pay-laggards even passed coins and dipped their heads, and by the time they cleared the saloon, only the stench of kottai brew lingered. After spending all day rushing between it and tables, the kitchen didn’t seem too appealing. Makka hoped his family wouldn’t mind her intrusion at their table tonight. While eating alone made a usually joyful time a chore, the last thing she wanted was to swell his head and admit she wanted to share a meal.

“If you’re up for it, I was thinking we could harass the outpost master. Maybe after, we could—”

Before she explained her grand plan, the stranger collapsed. His body quivered as it slammed into hers, and Makka seized his shoulders, supporting him as he leaned forward. Coughs rattled his body. Something warm splattered onto her. Bile seeped into her apron, smelling like soured milk.

“Sorry,” he said. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes before they rolled back to reveal the whites. Legs shaking, he lost balance and fell over, his entire body going slack against hers. His shoulders were surprisingly bony.

“Sakes alive!” Makka cried, struggling to keep upright. “The poor man’s exhausted. What’d you say happened?”

“Sayenko didn’t rough him up, but he scared him good.”

“X’la! Sometimes, you’re so dense.” Heads bumped as Makka loaded Doll Face onto Zhenviny’s back, careful to avoid dirtying him. Groaning, she ripped her apron off and tossed it over a chair. Any sane person would’ve quivered before the man. Zhenviny himself wasn’t much better, but he had the advantage of a conventional appearance.

“Everybody in power’s gotta be a bit dumb,” he dismissed. “Otherwise, we’d be corrupt. But sometimes I do worry that being so open-minded means Sayenko’s brain will shake loose someday.”

Makka’s laughter shook off any lingering anger. How she adored Saye-Nochta; despite a strong intuition and keen eye, he was plain stupid in some regards. Such went his misplaced distrust of short-haired men, which meant it didn’t touch the chin. He was warier of outsiders than even her. In the case of Doll Face, Saye-Nochta must’ve gotten mixed up. The man was dribbling puke and seemed as threatening as a newborn calf.

“I think it’s already gone if he accosted this guy.” If anything, she expected that he would take a beating instead of giving one.

“If you think so,” he began, voice strained and wary, “then I’ll trust it. Your word is law, Makka, but we’re putting him in the storage room and I’m waiting with you ‘til he wakes.”

Makka clicked her tongue. First, she hadn’t made the trip with Pa, and next, she was condemned to playing doctor when she’d been promised an interrogation. At this point, she was fixing to wail on him, unleashing months of fury. Only the stranger kept her from lashing; she wouldn’t have entrusted anyone with Zhenviny, much less, the ailing newcomer. Since she couldn’t justify the surge of protectiveness, it remained undisclosed.

“People gotta stop doing things without asking me,” she mumbled as if Doll Face vindictively chose to fall ill.

With everything about the encounter bogging her down, Makka weighed her options. To allow him to stay, or not? To allow him to get closer to her, then High Noon by proxy? Maybe, if she played her cards right, she could—

Sighing, she shook her head. Gathering the stranger’s belongings, she followed Zhenviny into the storage room. No, she wouldn’t seek anything from Doll Face just yet. If an opportunity arose, if he mentioned anything noteworthy or pertaining to business, she would seek it. Otherwise, she would strive to feign disinterest.

Scheming wasn’t part of a proper lifestyle, anyway, and Makka still needed to sort things out with the Wheeleri and Khyivchuk’s Tergi Bazhnik. A bird of passage no longer, these were far better things to concern herself with.

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