Myra hurried to catch up with the caravan. She and her family had run into the motley crew of merchants a few days ago and decided on traveling with the company.
"Traveling in a group is safer," her father had said. But the fast pace of the caravan wouldn't allow her to draw. The last time she had sketched was before their final night in Erarld, and her fingers ached to hold a charcoal pencil once more. She tried finding time to cram in a sketch or two, but the moments of scratching in her leather notebook created such a distance between her and the wagons that she had to run to catch up.
She stopped beside Sree, panting, and handed her the leather book. Sree cradled it in her palms, careful to not rub out any lines. Her eyes opened wide as she scanned the sketch.
"It's beautiful," she said. Myra's cheeks flushed red with bashfulness.
"It's only a flower," she muttered, "and the drawing isn't that good, anyway."
Sree turned to Myra, jaw dropped. "Honey," she chided, "if you derogate your talents one more time, I'll climb the highest peak and shout your praise for the world to hear."
Myra grinned. "You're talking like an old lady again."
"And do I not have the right to do so?!" Sree swatted Myra's arm and the two sisters giggled. Myra reached to retrieve her treasure trove of memories but Sree pulled the book to her chest and pouted.
"Can't I look at some more?" She whined.
Myra longed to hold the book, to feel the rough leather in her grasps, but she consented and allowed her sister to flip through the pages.
She left Sree in all her curiosity and trotted up to her father's side. He was conversing with Trovo, a book trader with a wispy white beard and piercing blue eyes. From what she could gather, he had arrived in a port not too far from her village and was transporting ancient manuscripts to U'ralli, the biggest city of the Southern Isle. His wagon was ladened with scrolls and ancient texts kept in trunks to protect them from the elements. Myra could smell that rich scent of yellowing paper and her mind spun with stories of eras and battles those scrolls had survived through, each word bringing knowledge of a time long lost to mankind.
Deciding not to eavesdrop on her father's conversation, she turned her attention to the surrounding scenery. Fenced plains of lowing cattle spread out on her left and right, showing their arrival to civilized lands. Up ahead the ground rose into a wide hill and exotic scents drifted over the hilltop. She breathed them in, wondering what laid beyond the grassy mound.
Her father's touch startled her, and she returned to reality with a jump. He chuckled.
"Here." He handed her a lovely, brown pocket book.
"For me?" She asked.
Her father nodded. "I bartered it off of Trovo. The old man has a rather infatuated interest in cookies."
Myra looked over her father's shoulder and saw the old merchant stuffing one of Sree's cookies in his mouth. The brown crumbs dusted his white beard, making him look like an eccentric old hermit. Myra stifled a laugh and turned to her confused father.
"Why are you laughing?" He asked.
"Me? Laugh. Nonsense." She folded her arms and stuck out her chin, "You're getting hard of hearing, old man."
Her father sighed and handed her the book. "Sometimes, I just don't understand you."
"Makes life all the more adventurous," Myra said with a wink. She hurried ahead of the caravan, eager to read the book without falling behind the group. When she was a couple yards ahead, she opened the book and squealed in delight. Beautiful birds flitted in the pages. Red robins perched on branches, sparrows chirped at one another, and a bird Myra didn't recognize picked at an exotic fruit with a long, black and yellow beak. The bright colors intoxicated Myra with fascination as she flipped through the book. She found a page with a bright blue bird. She was imprinting the small creature to memory when her foot caught on the rock and she fell on her face. The fall wasn't painful, and she quickly rolled onto her stomach, trying to make it seem as if this spot of turf was particularly interesting.
"What are you doing?" A lady-merchant asked her.
Stars... they're fast. Myra thought.
"Just admiring this interesting blade of grass." She replied quickly.
The lady looked at Myra, concerned.
"And now it's not so interesting," Myra muttered as she scrambled to her feet, dusting the dirt off of her brown dress. She quickly walked away.
Phew, dignity intact. She found Sree again, sitting on the edge of a wagon full of clucking chickens, Myra's sketch book hiding her face.
"Can I have it back?" Myra asked.
Sree looked up, startled. She nodded and handed the book to her. Myra placed it on the wagon beside Sree and hoisted herself up. Once situated properly, she took a stick from her back, split the end, and tied a piece of charcoal in the gap. She flipped through the book, found an empty page, and scribbled furiously. The image of the blue jay slowly melted from her mind. It traveled through her fingertips and coalesced on the yellow page before her. Time fluttered by as she scratched out more sketches. The robin appeared by the bluejay's side, preening its feathers. The black and white bird with the long beak offered a purple fruit to the bluejay, its head lowered and wings spread out behind it as if hailing a king. Finally, three small sparrows flittered above, holding a crown of flowers in their beaks. Myra finished the sketch and handed the book back to Sree.
"It's so beautiful," she whispered.
"Indeed," their father said as he strode alongside the wagon. Myra hadn't noticed him and wondered how long he had been walking there. She took the book back from Sree and produced a little glass bottle from her sack. She opened it and poured a small amount of light brown, slightly translucent, liquid over the page. She then took out a thick brush and gently smoothed the liquid out, cautious to not smudge any of the lines. Satisfied with the distribution of lacquer, she then placed the book aside to dry.
"How much longer until we arrive to Ur-Ureech?" Myra asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.
Her father smiled. "Urih," he corrected her.
She tried again but couldn't get the guttural 'ch' that came so natural to her father. He chuckled and patted her leg.
"A few more days," he said, "But, we have to catch a ferry ride across the river."
"Where?" Sree asked.
Their father grinned and motioned with his head.
The two girls looked to their left and gasped.
The caravan had mounted the hill and now looked out on an expansive valley. A large river, easily a mile wide, snaked as far as the eye could see, with smaller rivers branching out from it. And cradled in the corner of one stood the most magnificent city Myra had ever seen.
U'ralli.
Myra had heard stories of the city, but none of those had prepared her for this. Hundreds of buildings rose above high walls. Three-story houses stood in a maze of brick and wood. Some buildings soared even higher, dwarfing a few squat huts that seemed out of place. A large university boasted a golden arch, its two supporting pillars towered over people who looked like insects from the distance. And in the center stood the City Hall. A magnificent, palace-like building that rose above the surrounding structures. Myra wondered at the diversified architecture.
Her eyes trailed from the metropolis to the long stream of wagons and people coming in and out. There were so many people. Merchants and traders, fishermen and miners, politicians and philosophers, mothers and children, warriors and soldiers. Thousands of people that made up the populace and visitors of U'ralli. Mixed in amongst the merchants and travelers were a few people Myra had never seen before. Pale foreigners with long, golden locks riding in stately coaches. Dark-skinned men and women walking barefoot, long spears leaning on their shoulders and bright scarfs wrapped around their heads. Tanned elders with shaved heads being carried on plush chairs while thick-armed men with bare chests held them up on beams of wood. Myra drank it all in, saving the images so she could add them to her book later. Their caravan crept slowly down the hill and joined the flow of people into U'ralli.
Now closer, Myra could get a better view of the city. Tall walls circled it, with a few gates (including the main one looming in front of them) opened to weary travelers. A few guards walked precariously on the walls, swords on their hips and shields on their backs, as they kept watchful eyes on the procession. The wagon they were on passed through the gate and into the jungle of brick and stone.
Myra gasped. Colors. They were so many colors. Yellow scarfs, blue dresses, purple coats, jade diamonds, pink hats with large feathers. Each street was a coursing vein of spectacular color that pulsated throughout the entire city. Even the common people wore them (although their mismatched clothing hurt Myra's eyes).
She gazed up at women who leaned out of windows, hanging laundry on lines between neighboring buildings. Everything about the city was so diverse, so... intricate. Myra noticed a man who had a flare of red in his messy, brown hair. She marveled at how such a thing was possible until her father noticed and explained.
"The city's main export is textiles and dyes. Years ago they discovered a way to not only color their clothes, but their hair as well." He nodded to a small shop that displayed a sign with bright words splashed across rotting wood.
Tria's Colorful Colors for Coloring Colorful Hair.
"They seem to have a thing for alliteration," Sree noted with a snicker.
Myra saw that her sister was pretending to read, but was peaking over her book to catch glimpses of the surrounding crowds.
"There are a lot of people," Sree whispered. Her hand was shaking slightly and Myra reached over to calm her. She touched her hand and felt an odd sensation, like when you roll your lips and it leaves your nose all itchy, vibrate through her. She pulled her hand back slightly so she wouldn't frighten her sister. She hopped down from the wagon and walked beside her father. "It's happening again," she whispered to him.
His eyes perked up, and he glanced at Sree. Her hand was vibrating now, and so was the wood under her. He walked over and calmly placed his hand on her. Her eyes darted up to his face, and she stopped.
"Sorry," she said, "I-I was a little scared."
Her father smiled. He lifted himself up with strong arms and sat down beside her.
"We all get scared sometimes," he said, "but it's how we handle our fear that matters. Some people can't stand fear, and they run for their lives. Others cover it up with bravery, praying no one will notice. Others, with power. And some bottle it up, hoping that people won't see them as weak." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Sometimes you need to tell a few trusted ones. Tell them your fear, your anger, your love. Because, if bottled too long, they will burst forward." He placed his other hand on her knee and looked sternly into her eyes. "You in particular will produce a special outburst. You need to learn how to let your emotions out, they're what trigger your gifts." He said this last part in a low whisper.
Sree looked up with tears in her eyes. She wiped them away with her sleeve and nodded.
"Tell me," her father said. Myra walked ahead as Sree quietly talked with their father, not wanting to eavesdrop. She climbed in next to Paulon. The women held a long a stick which she used to prod the oxen hitched to the wagon.
"Mind if I sit here?" Myra asked.
"No." The woman grunted.
Myra froze. The wheels in her head turning rapidly.
Does that mean "No you can't" or "No, I don't mind"? She thought. Gah, I hate that question. Why did I even ask it in the first place? I should have said something like, "Hey, is this seat taken?" "May I sit here?" or "Would it please your highness if—
"Yes, you may sit here," Paulon said.
Myra let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks."
She pulled out her sketchbook and opened to a plain sheet. Quickly, before the memories faded, she poured out the images from her mind. Page after page after page, she sketched furiously. A small cloud of charcoal dust drifted from the pages as she scratched out the people from the crowds. She had gone through five charcoal heads before she was satisfied with the results. The pale man with his golden hair laid in his carriage as white horses jostled through a crowd, led by a cracking whip. The dark-skinned people conversed happily in their native tongue, probably wondering over the absurdities of this foreign country. Myra smirked at that thought. The tanned man, with his bald head and long white beard, poured over ancient texts and manuscripts. His muscled servants caring the open palaquin on their shoulders. One page contained a young mother, leaning out of her window to hang the laundry.
"Hmm."
Myra turned to see Paulon glancing at the pictures.
"Not bad," she sad.
Myra blushed. "Thanks," she murmured.
Soon they came to a stop in a large marketplace. Myra hopped off, thanked Paulon for the ride, and walked back to her family. The first thing she noticed was a clear, solemn look in Sree's eyes. As if she had come out of a dream and into reality. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, but there was no sadness in her expression. Instead, relief beamed from her face and her step seemed a little lighter. Myra enveloped Sree in a hug.
"You OK?" she asked.
"Mhhmmm," Sree sighed.
Myra put her arm around Sree and the two girls made their way to a fountain. They sat on the stone edge and dipped their bare feet in the cold water. The coolness was a sweet refreshment from the many days of walking they had done. Myra winced a little because of a blister that had formed on her right heel. They sat there for some time. Talking. Giggling. Eventually the two sisters sat in silence, the cold water on their feet and the bustling marketplace around them.
Myra never believed she would get used to this place. Even if she lived here for a decade. Everything was just so... different from Erarld. The sounds, the smells, the people. At first, all the colors and buildings were sweet surprises, but now they were giving her a headache. There was only so much her mind could absorb. And the sun was shining brightly overhead, heating the stones beneath them and making the air humid and sticky. Sweat trickled down her forehead and stung her eyes and no matter how many times she wiped it away, more would pour down.
Sree tapped her shoulder and nodded to her left. At first Myra saw nothing but Trovo, the book merchant, setting up shop beneath the shade of a building. But, eventually, she noticed dark figures in the shadows. She shaded her eyes from the burning sun and squinted. Children, a few young as seven, others well into their teens, lurked behind the old man's wagon, inching forward.
"I'll be right back," Myra said to Sree. Her sister nodded and returned her attention to the book on her lap. Myra hopped up and, not bothering with her shoes, strode over to the merchant. He glanced at her and his face filled with a wide grin.
"Come for another book?" He asked. "I wouldn't mind trading one for a few, eh, treats?" He licked his fat lips and patted his oversized belly. Myra laughed a little and shook her head.
"I just wanted to warn you," she pointed into the shadows at the kids there. The merchant nodded.
"Well, everyone gets robbed now and then. Wouldn't blame them either, the poor lads, barely got rags to cover them." Trovo reached a hand into his money pouch and pulled out a coin or two. "You there." He pointed at the oldest boy.
The teen seemed frightened at first. Then, noticing the coins in the man's grubby hand, trotted over.
"What's your name?" Trovo asked.
"Kee." The boy muttered.
Trovo dropped five copper coins into the boy's filthy palms. "Take these and make sure to help the youngsters." Trovo nodded his head at the smallest boy in the group. A grubby child with wild, blond hair.
"Yes, sir." The boy said. He trotted back to his group and led them away.
Myra sighed. "Thanks Trovo."
"Twas nothing," the plump man piped.
Myra was about to mention about the possibility of trading a few cookies for another book when a scream burst behind her. She spun around to and saw Sree holding desperately onto her book, a street urchin pulling the other end. Myra ran back to help, but was too late. With a loud riiiiiiip the book tore and Sree fell down, despair in her eyes.
Oh no, Myra thought. She had noticed the cover.
The Quest of a Peasant. A short, silly book, but one treasured by Sree.
Their mother had left it for her.
The urchin had fallen over too and was scrambling to his feet when suddenly a crack ran through the ground underneath him. Myra's eyes opened wide. Malice filled Sree's expression as she rose from the ground. The ground underneath her trembled and more cracks spread out. Myra glanced around frantically for her father, but couldn't find him anywhere. People were starting to stare and one woman with pink hair held her hand over her mouth. Myra, abandoning hopes of finding her father, ran towards Sree and put her hand on her.
"Sree, listen," she whispered, "You need to stop this."
It didn't look like Sree had heard her. She took a step toward the urchin. A tremor shook from her foot and the boy fell in fear. His eyes darted around, frantic, like a trapped animal.
"Sree, listen to me, please," Myra said, louder this time, "I know that book meant a lot to you, it did to me as well, but you got to stop this right now."
Sree turned to Myra, tears in her eyes and a sneer on her face.
"I hate him," she growled.
Her sister's voice scared Myra. She had never heard such an animal guttural come from Sree. It was like she was a different person.
"I know you hate him," Myra said, a little louder, "I would too. But you can't let that anger rule you. Do you remember what pa told you? When I left?"
At the mention of their father, realization started filling Sree's eyes.
"He said to use your gifts for good, like God had planned." Sree murmured.
"Anything else?" Myra pleaded.Sree's eyes fell to the ground.
"And that if I didn't control my gifts, they'd control me."
The ground stopped shaking, and the urchin darted to his feet and ran away. Myra hugged her sister and looked at the crowd around them. She noticed two guards behind the people. One nudged the other, and they both jogged toward the wall.
Probably to get more soldiers. Myra thought.
She let go of Sree, picked up their belongings, and pulled Sree away from the crowd. The people were in shock and didn't stop the two girls.
Eventually Myra found their father bargaining with a local store clerk. She pulled him into an alleyway and told him everything. He went over to Sree and placed his hand on her shoulder. She looked at the ground, ashamed. He pulled her into a hug.
"What do we do?" Myra asked. "All the city will have known by now."
"We leave," her father said as he let Sree go.
"How?" Sree whispered. "The guards will be probably be checking everyone who leaves. And they got a good look at us."
Their father pulled his sack over his shoulder. "We'll wear our cloaks. And if they catch us, we use brute force."
Myra's eyes widened. "We won't hurt anyone, right?"
Her father's brows knit. "We'll try not to."
With that said, he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. The girls picked up their sacks and did the same.
"Stay close," their father said. Then the group walked out of the alleyway, the girls staying close behind their father who kept to the sides of the streets.
God. Myra thought. Help us.
Note from Author:
*holds hand above eyes*
I see a few stragglers floundering about. Would mighty appreciate it ifn ya vote on a few chapters, eh?
*tips pirate hat to ya*
Farewell maties. And until tide brings about another chapter!