The Crescent Hour ✓

Chapter 10. Kirisal

In the middle of a great depression was Kirisal, perched on a tall rock formation and sequestered from the mainland. Mist coiled around it like a giant dragon resting in its nest. White domes extended out of the stone buildings and towers loomed over the rooftops, their tapered tips piercing through the fog. Trees jostled for space and houses made of white stone were sprawled along the edges of the streets.

Patches of blue lichens and green vines enmeshed the city walls like a spider’s web, standing out from the sea of white. It was as if the city itself had been carved from the bleached bones of a giant. A sturdy bridge connected the mainland to the city gates. Two pairs of white tusks arched over both ends of the bridge, their tips meeting to form triangular shapes.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Clara said, squinting her eyes to get a better view of the city.

“Kirisal is one of the oldest cities in Aurion,” Tamer said. “Let us make haste. When the sun sets, we won’t be allowed to speak with the Great Scribe.”

Clara surveyed the scenery as they marched down a small hill, heading for the city. She looked at the mist below while they walked on the bridge. A thick blanket of fog blocked her view so she couldn’t tell how deep the depression around the cliff was. Five men stood at the gate, guarding the city from intruders. One of the guards stepped forth, his cold black eyes observing them as they approached the gate.

Homunculi, she thought, a feeling of dread taking hold of her.

She couldn’t explain her dislike for the soulless Homunculi. They resembled humans and yet there was something unusual about them, something that made her wary of their kind. If they had no souls then wouldn’t it be wise to assume they had no conscience? Were they created for the sole purpose of obeying their makers—the alchemists—or did they have freedom to do as they pleased?

“Who are you?” The guard asked, the silver loop on his left ear glinting in the sun.

“I’m Tamer. These are my companions and we’re from Amarant guild. We seek an audience with the Great Scribe.”

“I’m afraid the Great Scribe is ill. He may not allow any visitors,” the guard replied, folding his hands across his chest.

“We’d like to speak with him. It’s important that we see him,” Eryx said.

The guard sighed. “You may pass.”

The other men broke their formation and unlocked the iron gates. With a noisy squeal, the doors swung inward and they stepped into the city. Grey stones stretched out to a boulevard and branched out at the junctions. Passers-by watched them as they took the main road, their colourful clothes drawing Clara's attention.

Many of them wore robes of rich colors, tied by sash belts around their waists. Their wooden sandals tapped against the stone ground and their turbans bobbed on their heads as they hurried past them. Clara stared with unabashed interest as a humanoid male of a race she hadn’t seen before crossed the street, a silver staff with a curved blade on the end in his hand.

“Who is that?” she asked, pointing with her index finger and then lowering her hand when she remembered it was rude to point at people.

The male was of a tall stature. He had a green complexion. Tiny scales shimmered on his long arms to his elongated fingers. He had protrusions slicked back on his head, ending at the middle of his scalp. From below the protrusions, long shocks of red hair trailed to his waist. His ears were much like Eryx’s, fin-like and pointed. Clara stared at him until he entered a café.

“An Olek. It’s rare to find them on land. They tend to keep to themselves,” Tamer replied. “They live in an underwater city.”

“An underwater city? Oh, I’d love to visit such a place,” Clara said, a note of excitement present in her voice. “I suppose it doesn’t matter though. I need to get back home.”