Tempest

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

It turned out that Colm had vastly underestimated the size of Caithmor in his mind. The last night of their journey, they all slept beneath the wagons in the side streets of Bellyn, the city that came before Caithmor on the main road, and as raucous and rowdy as it was, it had nothing on the capitol itself. There was no sea to see, too many buildings and streets crowded with people and horses and occasional filth. The noise was never-ending, a blurry mix of accents all at high volume, and above it all were two tall buildings: the Ardeaglais, the white cathedral dedicated to the Four and their worship, with services running all day and all night, and the other a square stone tower that was part of the castle of the King, Iarra Westward.

The sight of Fergus's camels was generally greeted with cheers in the merchant quarter, and they settled in and started unloading quickly. Those who'd joined the caravan for the ride made their final farewells and, in some cases, payments to Fergus or Marley before going their ways. Colm stayed and helped them unload the heavy cases of stoneware, the furs and spices and rough iron pendants from the north, and Fergus whirled and wheeled and struck deals right and left, laughing one moment and raging the next as he hobbled around. His energy was a sight to behold, a welcome change from the lethargy that had taken him for a few days after his injury and revelation. Marley had taken Colm aside one afternoon and firmly explained to him exactly what he would do to Colm if he spilled Fergus's secret.

It had been a slightly frightening experience, and one that also left Colm with a strange longing in his chest. He had never had a friend like that, one who would stand by him and help him through anything, curses and weary miles and whirlwinds of mood that seemed to change at a moment's notice. Baylee was always on his side, but her presence was a familial one, her fervency in part defined by their blood relationship. She hadn't chosen him because she hadn't needed to. Colm thought that it must be nice to be chosen.

Caithmor was divided into districts, loose and sloppy though they were, and once Colm realized that between the merchant's district and the waterfront were the church grounds and the naval yards, he was more than grateful to wait for an escort. Marley ended up providing this service, since Fergus wasn't mobile enough to march over the cobbled streets for as long as it would take to get to the Cove, and, as he put it, "Someone has to stay and take care of the camels."

"It was a pleasure to ride with you, Weathercliff," Fergus told him, shaking his hand firmly. "Seek me out the next time you need passage somewhere. If I'm not going there myself, I'll know someone who is. My home is here, just beyond the Golden Lion. It's where I while the winters away." He pointed over his shoulder at the closest inn. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get these beasts settled and the wagons squared before I can go visit my lovesick wife."

Marley rolled his eyes. "Lovesick indeed," he muttered as he turned and led Colm down a side street. "More like heartsick now that that great idiot is back. Geneve is my least favorite of his wives. She has little tolerance for his presence beyond the money he brings home every trip. Still, she runs his business here in Caithmor and does a good job of it."

"Why aren't you married?" Colm asked, nimbly dodging a mule that had decided to stop in the middle of the road for no reason. Its owner cursed it creatively as they walked by.

Marley shrugged. "I never had a mind to marry. Keeping a wife happy takes too much work. Besides, Fergus has always had more than enough appetite for women for the both of us." He sped up after that, effectively ending Colm's nascent attempt at conversation. That was fine with Colm. His head was full of his surroundings, trying to make sense of buildings that stretched into the sky, of people in wearing colors he'd only seen in nature before, rich blues and purples, reds and oranges so vibrant they could have been snatched from a sunset. The air was both enticing and revolting, smelling simultaneously of sewage and effluvia, hot cooking food and the sea, so close and yet somehow farther than ever, separated from Colm by a never-ending flow of people and animals, merchants and priests and soldiers and sailors.