The Chronicles Of The Council #1: The Sun's Tears

Chapter 33: Laelia - Filth

"A religion true to its nature must also be concerned about man's social conditions... Any religion that professes to be concerned with the souls of men and is not concerned with the slums that damn them, the economic conditions that strangle them, and the social conditions that cripple them is a dry-as-dust religion." - Martin Luther King, Jr.

We follow the winding roads deeper into Raven's Peak. The stone we pass bear witness to its history and point us towards our destination. The city near the market has buildings made of perfectly shaped stone bricks - the dark granite polished until perfection. We traverse the next few neighbourhoods, changing from sun-bleached slates, to moss-bedecked roofs, and ultimately to the slums that are a mixture of the characteristic tenebrous Hiraebav Mountains and an artificial ochre reinforced by shady wooden beams.

The stench of poorly removed human waste, rotting wood and decay is not dulled by pulling my mantle over my nose and mouth. Pools of stagnant water collect between potholes and up-turned stones. Insects buzz in circles around the water. I spot a dead rat floating in one of the pools and I am sure that the pools are not filled with water alone.

We pass a few wary figures glaring at us menacingly from the doorways of their crumbling shops. Their broken windows, barely transparent, hides their wares from our prying eyes. The buildings grow closer together and the streets are deserted. The wind picks up a crumpled paper and blows it against my ankles - staining my peach coloured dress with the dubious fluid from the potholes. 

The same wind carries a young girl's heart-rending sobs to our ears. Turning towards the sound, I see an older woman in questionable attire pulling a younger in similar clothing towards a door with a sign confirming my suspicions - Braen's Brothel. Aedan's hand encloses my clenched fist as he tugs me forward.

The unseen eyes, glaring from the alleys and broken windows, can sense that we are elves, or at the most that our dignified attitude are unfamiliar to this run-down part of town. Our clothes, my bright peach dress and Aedan's forest green, are the only specks of colour in this cesspit. I can cut their hostility from the air and serve it to myself with a side dish of hatred. A shiver moves down my spine. This was not the best idea. It was not even a good idea, but we cannot go back.

"You should cover your ears," I whisper to Aedan - mine at least mostly hidden by my curls. He nods and pulls his cape over his head.

An old, sinewy and ratty man eyeballs us from the crumbling arch of his butchery. I walk to him fearlessly; definitely not intending to buy meat of questionable origin from his shop.

"May the sun shine brightly on you, friend," I say as friendly as I can muster.

He concentrates intensely on ignoring me, earning me a mocking smile from Aedan. "Sister, you will have to try a different approach."

I pull my dagger out and study it while keeping my distance. "Tell me where your filthy thieves gather."

He makes a show of pretending to see me for the first time and snorts - exposing his total of seven useless rotten teeth that might splinter at the slightest hint of a bite. "If you think that me are afraid of you dagger and you, lit' miss, you're wrong."

Aedan, as swift as a hawk, has his elegant sword on the man's gulping Adam's apple. "Your thieves' den, now."

I give Aedan an evil look: "My next step would have been the same. I was just trying to be polite - you can't go around holding weapons at everyone's throats."

The man points: "Two streets down and one to the right. The noise; you'll know 'em from the noise."

Aedan sheathes his sword and walks away.