A Place To Bloom

Father in Heaven, I have sinned. Sorry, um… hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done…

"You Caleb?"

I turned to look. Standing in the doorway to the altar was a man with a worn face and long, graying hair. He wore polished armor, and over one shoulder was a red sash bearing the gold lettering of the Count, held by a gold clasp in the shape of Falcon with His wings swept in a dive. At his belt he had a sword with a diamond-tree stone in a weighted brass bulb at the end of the hilt. He held out a small, folded piece of paper in one hand.

For thine is the kingdom, the honor, and the glory. Amen. I stood. "I am he."

"You're called to arms. Take your sword, your bow, and make for Carthia at once."

I took the paper and opened it. "I have neither sword nor bow, and where is Carthia?"

The man took a deep breath and groaned. "I'm the messenger."

His heavy boots clomped over the wood floor of the church on his way out. As he passed, Sarina's face peeked out from the last doorway. Her simple brown robe bounced spritely as she darted out and flitted over to me. "What was that about?"

I studied the paper in my hand, still trying to wrap my head around what had just happened, unsure if any of it was even real. "I've been conscripted."

"No!" Her black eyes locked onto mine. "You can't!"

I shrugged. "Well, I suppose I'd rather not, but…"

"You can't!" she cried. "No!"

The old friar's voice creaked from behind us. "Sarina? What is the matter, darling?"

She froze. She held perfectly still and gazed through me as though seeing something on the other side.

Father Yewan shuffled close to her as fast as his years would allow and held her steady.

I found no words.

The old man saw the paper in my hand and took it. He held it far from his face and squinted, then turned to look me up and down. He nodded. Then he scrunched his chin, and his eyes started to tremble. Finally he took a deep breath and crafted a smile around his lips. "I knew this day would come."

"You did?"

He raised a finger. "I have something for you."

He turned to Sarina, who still hadn't moved. "Sarina?"

She didn't respond. He leaned his face close to hers and called her back once more, "Sarina?"

Her eyes were the first to return. She scowled at Father, "NO! HE CAN'T GO!"

He took hold of her arms, but she shook him away. "NO!" She stormed off.

I called after her, "Sarina!"

But when I stepped to go after her, Father held me back. I looked back at him, and he took my hand. "She needs time with this. First, I have something for you."

"But…"

"You will see her again shortly. She needs to hear it in her mind until she gets used to it—you will see her soon. Come."

He led me down the narrow, freshly plastered hall at a slow pace, past a scribbled drawing down by our knees.

"Tonight," he explained, "we shall have a proper farewell for you in the great hall. My eyes don't work as they once did—are they sending you to Kulun?"

"No," I shook my head. "Some place called Carthia."

The old man furrowed his brow. We walked past a group of painted handprints of all colors on the wall, each no bigger than my palm and no higher than my hip. I looked at the paper again to be sure I'd read it correctly. Father shook his head. "I can't say I've heard of it. Let's see what we can find."

The old friar's private study was a world cast in yellow through amber windows in a hashed frame. Rows and rows of books and curiosities filled the shelves opposite his desk, a simple wooden plank atop four legs that wobbled in one corner no matter how much paper you put under them. The old man went for a tome on the top shelf and took it down. 

PLACES WITHIN AND WITHOUT THE EMPIRE, Vol. III

Father Yewan chuckled lightly as he rifled through the pages. "That girl adores you…"

I laughed and shook my head. "We're just friends."

He cocked one eyebrow and gazed at me with a sly grin. Then he shook his head and turned the book to me before stepping away towards his desk.

Carthia - no further entries. See Vol. II.

I closed the book and brought it back to the shelf, wiped the dust away, returned it to its rightful place, and took down the one next to it. Meanwhile, Father hammered against a floorboard behind his desk. He kept at that until it gave, then lifted the board and reached beneath the floor. I leafed through the book until I found the right page.

Carthia - a city south of the Terbulin Ridge under the protection of the Duke of Heralia. Take the road south from Ulum, seven days by foot.

I complained. "That's not helpful. It just tells you how to get there. That's all."

Father Yewan smiled. "Every flood begins with a single raindrop."

In his hand was a long mass of gray, withered cloth with faded red ribbon spiraled about the length of it, and at one end it gave the shape of a cross beneath.

"This belonged to Sir Haltha." He undid the ribbon at one end, slowly unwrapping it as he spoke. "That's his tomb in the garden, the same one you and Sarina used to play around. When I was a young man, he gave everything to the orphanage."

When the cloth was finally unwrapped, a long, leather sheath housing a blade appeared with a handle of leather worn to a shine and a tarnished brass crossguard.

"Take it," he said.

I'd never held a real sword before—it was heavy. I pulled the handle from its scabbard, and a plain, unpretentious blade emerged with nicks and scratches from stories untold. In tales, a sword was always magical, a shimmering, bejeweled icon of purity that glowed when it met its rightful wielder. This, however, was crass and brutal, devoid of so much as an etching on the blade and given wholly to its true purpose: murder.

"This should suffice for a sword," Father said. "I suggest you begin practice with it immediately. Hone your skills now while you have time, lest you need them and have no time."

That made me smile. "You've told me that a thousand times, Father."

He leaned in. "It bears repeating! Now, as for a bow, you may take mine—you always do anyway."

I couldn't muster words. This sword, this blade in my hand, it spoke things to me I didn't like to hear. Things I wasn't ready to think about.

Father must have read my face. "Are you frightened?"

I took a deep breath and let it out, then turned to him. "Yeah."

"Good," he lowered his eyes. "It is a frightening thing. We will trust in the Lord, because that is the best we have at all times. I would be worried if you weren't frightened. Now, go. Tell all your friends we're planning a farewell in the great hall this evening."

I chuckled nervously. "OK."

The first thing one saw upon exiting the church was the massive, twenty-foot totem beside the hot bath bearing the carvings of ancestral spirits—Rattlesnake, Cougar, Wolf, Bear, Bison, and perched at the apex with His wings spread was Falcon, all freshly painted in red, white, and black, and facing the church directly.

I started across the bridge that spanned the waterfall at the center of town. Above the rushing water, I heard the hoots and growls of children playing at being a monster. A smile encroached upon my face, so I knelt beside the edge and thrust my head beneath to get a good look at my tormentors. Of course I added a growl of my own for good measure and was rewarded with peals of laughter. Teryn from the orphanage, and Jule and Xander—the tanner's children—looked back at me. "Where are you off to, Caleb? Don't you have chores?"

"I have to go do this war thing. And what about your chores, Teryn?"

"Please don't tell Mother where I'm at?"

"I wouldn't dream of it. Have you done your lessons?"

Teryn hesitated. "Maybe."

"You need to do your lessons."

"They need to do themselves."

I wasn't sure if I'd heard her correctly; the water rushing over the rocks may have changed her words before they reached me. "Teryn!"

"I don't want to!"

"We all must do things we don't want to, Teryn, and you must do your lessons. How's this. You go and get started, I'll come by later and help you finish up. Fair enough?"

She huffed and came out with her arms crossed. The little girl was covered in mud, almost enough to hide the pox scars on the right side of her face.

"You'll have to wash up, too," I added. "Father's planning dinner tonight. Maybe if you get through your lessons I could sneak you some maple-cream minicakes."

At that she perked up "OK!" and ran off.

Up ahead was the massive stone foundry with plumes of black smoke reaching into the sky. By the stone archway I saw that messenger from the Count again. He looked up at me, frowned, then walked off. I ran. Davod stood there holding that same piece of paper I'd gotten.

He'd grown up to be a large, burly man. His olive-green skin was drenched in sweat that reflected the red glow of the furnace nearby. A blast of heat met me along with the wretched stench of burning coals as soon as I'd entered, and Davod turned his eyes to me while slicking back his long, dark-green hair with his free hand. "I just got called to arms."

I nodded. "Me too."

"Oh shit!" His eyes went wide. "Come."

He led me outside and away from that burning stench to where the air smelt of fresh basil in the rain. He was my height, but with muscles rippling beneath a sweaty sheen. He stretched his arms out and rolled his neck in all directions. "Shit, man! I can't believe this! And you're going, too?"

"Yeah." I sighed, still grappling with the news.

He shook his head and looked off, "gods, this changes everything, doesn't it?"

I nodded and took a deep breath. "Yeah."

He looked at his own summons and read it again. "Are they sending you to this Carthia place? I never heard of that before."

"You neither? There's a book in Father Yewan's study, says it's south from Ulum beyond the Terbulin Ridge."

Davod furrowed his brow and looked at me with eyes wide. "There's something out that way?"

I shrugged. "Well, apparently, Carthia is out there."

He huffed. Then he shook his head vigorously. "I still can't believe it." He looked at his summons once more.

"Speaking of which," I added, "Father wants me to tell you he's got dinner planned for this evening at the church…"

Davod shook his head. "My mum's not going to like that—you know how she feels about your foreign god."

I scrunched my lips some. "Well, Father Yewan already called dibs on hosting, but lucky for me I won't have to explain that to her." I grinned wide. 

Davod laughed. "Thanks for that. What are you going to do?"

I considered the matter. "I wonder if Dariana might know something about this place we're headed."

He chuckled lightly to himself. "You're going to go see Dariana?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He smirked. "What the hell do you think it means?"

I shook my head. "If anyone in Gath knows anything about this Carthia, she would know."

Davod chuckled. "Sure. Yeah, of course."

I sneered. "Whatever! I'll see you this evening."

"Hey," he called out.

I turned. 

"Whatever war they got going on, they better watch out, 'cause they got us coming!"

I smiled wide. "Yeah, man!"

As I left the smoky stench of the foundry, a cold gust of air came off the mountains and brought a drizzle with it. I saw Talys across the cobbled street tending her flowers. I tried to sneak away before she saw me, but then I heard the melodious sound of her voice, "I see you, Caleb!"

Her parents were Goloagi, meaning her hair fluffed up in curls as it cascaded down her back. She was always short, even when we were little, but she'd blossomed into some generous curves. "Good morning, Talys."

She smiled through plush lips and looked up at me even from ten feet away. She had on a white cotton dress that hugged her figure and cut the hem halfway up her thighs. On her feet she wore dirt-stained canvas sandals that allowed her toes to peek out. She doubled over and giggled, making full use of the musical register as she spoke, "why in God's name are you carrying that ridiculous sword?"

I stood up straight, rested one hand on the hilt, lifted my chest high, and gazed gloriously towards the heavens. "I am called to arms! I shall swear to die for our holy Emperor so that he may go on being a cunt… or cunt emperor to be holy… wait, which was it?"

She didn't laugh. She shook her head and couldn't break free from seriousness. Tears fell down her cheeks.

I breathed in. "Alright, what's wrong?"

She wiped her tears and came directly to me, took hold of my hand, and led me beneath the awning she used as a shelter. She had ramsua, rose, fahrain—flowers of all kinds arranged by color that filled the air with a chorus of fragrances.

There she turned and pulled me close to her body, and threw her arms around my hips, burying her face on my stomach. I rested my hands over her back at first, but then the truth came—I might never see her again. So, I held her tight until the clock ran out of time.

She pulled herself from me and wiped her tears, then directed me to sit with her behind her work counter. "They said it was Geraln and Davod, and the Baron had to choose one more. We all thought…"

My eyes went wide. "Geraln's coming, too?"

She cried again and whimpered, covering her face only to lean forward and cry some more. 

"Talys, come on! Look, you get a solution to your Geraln problem."

She squinted and pursed her lips. "I do not have a Geraln problem; he has a he needs to leave me the fuck alone problem. It's actually quite simple."

That made me laugh.

"... If I choose to do something nice for you, that's me being nice. It doesn't mean anything else, it never did, and it never will. If he can't handle that, that's his problem, not mine!"

"Clearly."

Then she settled back down to somber. "But you're going, too. I don't want you to go."

"I don't want me to go either, but we leave at daybreak tomorrow. Father has something planned…"

"No." She shook her head, and another stream of tears flowed down her cheek. "I… you can't go."

I shrugged. "Maybe it won't be that bad…"

She sat up. "Listen. I've heard about men who go off to Kulun spouting all manner of nonsense about how God commands them to defend the Holy Land, and those men never come back. Please don't be that man."

"I'm not."

"I know you. You have to promise me you won't get wrapped up in that."

"I won't," I assured her, "because they're not sending us to Kulun."

Talys furrowed her brow and tilted her head to the side. "Where are they sending you?"

"Some place called Carthia."

Her eyes wandered about for a moment before turning back to me. "I've heard of it before."

My whole body perked up. "You know about it?"

She shook her head. "I don't know anything. My mother said she almost went there instead of here."

"It's a haven for runaway slaves?"

"I don't know, Caleb. She's mentioned it a few times, that's all."

"What, exactly, has she said?"

Talys looked up and expounded in her melodic voice. "She said that after she escaped my father, she was supposed to get on a ship headed for Carthia. She woke up late, only to find the ship had already been raided by the Invisible Hand, who killed the entire crew and returned the slaves to their masters. I'm afraid that's all I know."

"So… you're saying she didn't end up there, then?"

Talys pursed her lips and squinted. "I see you. You joke about it because you can't face the reality of what's happened."

"Maybe." I scratched my head and thought about how I might change the subject. "Do you think Dariana might know something about the place?"

Talys's eyes went wide and she nearly giggled. "What?"

I sat up straight. "If there's anyone in our little corner of the Empire who knows anything, it would be her. You know that."

"Right," Talys giggled as she nodded. "That's not what I'm talking about."

"Nothing's going to happen. There's nothing going on between me and her."

Talys smirked as she sang, "oh, I believe you! Dariana has nothing going on with quite a lot of men. What's it to me if you're one of them?"

With that she stood and reached her hand out for me to take—I'd be a liar not to notice her toned thighs. I stood with her, and the top of her head scarcely reached my chest. She looked up at me through deep, emerald-green eyes and sighed, "help me with something before you go?"

"Of course."

She brushed her fingers over some delicate purple flowers, but I struggled to notice anything beyond the way that simple dress hung over her backside. She turned just as I was looking, too, and smirked before I could look away.

I followed her through a narrow gap between stalks of long, blue flowers on one side with a bucket crawling of blooming vines on the other. From another shelf, she took down two small ceramic pots and gestured to two others on the shelf behind them. "Grab those for me?"

Each had a delicate, light-green leaf jutting out from what looked like nothing but pebbles. "Sarina found these for me. They're so beautiful when they bloom, but they won't do that for me down here in the valley. They do seem to like the morning mist, though, so I put them outside when it gets like this. Come."

"They sound testy."

Talys turned to face me. "For every flower a place to bloom, isn't that what they say? If I want these to bloom, it falls upon me to create the right place for them. Calling them names won't do any good now, will it?"

"I suppose not."

The mist caught her curly hair and left ephemeral droplets all over. She leaned her neck all the way back to look up at me with her arms about my hips. "Well then, you go and do what you need to do, whatever that is, and I'll go find out what Father Yewan has planned."

And so we embraced. I held her tight, and she held me in kind. Something about the way she squeezed herself around me shook off whatever armor I'd managed to create around the simple truth: I was going to fight some men I'd never met, probably get killed, and that would be my end. Whatever I'd hoped for, whatever I'd dreamed, all of it dashed by a simple, brown piece of paper. I wanted to fold myself around her. 

It was at least two minutes before we pulled from one another and spoke our goodbyes.

A gentle drizzle covered the cobblestones of the main road with a treacherous sheen of water as they led down a steep slope towards the outside of Gath. Across from Makon's still was Yenia's bakery, where fresh rolled cakes drizzled in honey beckoned to passersby such as myself. 

I came in, and a woman with a kind face and long, silver hair tied behind her back wearing an apron smudged with flour shot me a wry smile. "Skipping your chores, are you?"

"A little bit," I shrugged. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

She'd had a spit made of rolled, hardened cookie-crust that she dipped into a vat of cake batter, then rolled it over hot coals for a minute, before dipping it again, rolling, then dipping, then rolling, until it made a log of deliciousness six inches in diameter. "Anything for you, my love."

"Could you tell Wen that Father Yewan is hosting dinner at the church this evening? Davod, Geraln, and I have been called to arms. He wants to have…"

"Don't play with me, boy."

"Um…"

She shot her eyes up at me and set her roll cake down. "Are you joking? Please tell me this is a joke."

I showed her my summons. She picked up a wet rag hung beside her oven and wiped her fingers clean, then leaned over to look at it, covering her mouth with one hand. "Gods! They're sending you to Carthia!"

"You know of it?"

She shook her head and frowned. "I have a friend who lost both her sons there two years ago. They told her if she talked about Carthia to anyone, they'd take away her widow's pension."

I reeled from that and furrowed my brow. "Who told her that and why?"

She shook her head but didn't answer. Then she returned her gaze to me. "Have you thought about Naveris?"

I blushed. "I have not."

She pursed her lips. "I know Guenevieve would be deeply honored. You have no idea."

Wen's mum turned towards a wooden rack beside the window. She pulled out a large metal sheet with a dozen roll cakes on it, still steaming and sending out fumes of honey to wrap around my neck like a leash and pull me in.

I tried to laugh off the question. "You know that's a… Falcon tradition. I…"

"You're a Falcon, boy, have you looked in the mirror? Blood is blood. Anyway…" Yenia took a spatula and stacked two of those covetous treats like wheels in a brown sheet of paper, folded it up, and handed it to me.

I couldn't wait. I sank my teeth into that thing like I needed it. I burnt my tongue, it was so hot, and I ended up with sticky crumbs all over my lips. "Thank you! I'm so sorry; I should have said that, first."

She laughed and rested her hand on my arm. "Don't thank me. Just know that if you do change your mind and you and Guenevieve feel like making me a grandmother this evening, you absolutely have my blessing."

I laughed hard at that.

She raised her eyebrows and added, "and tell Searnie not to worry about the pastries."

I nodded. Then as I turned to leave, I had an idea. "I'll tell her you're bringing maple-cream minicakes."

She crossed her arms and tilted her head. "I didn't say that."

"Nah," I grinned, "but I'll tell her you did!"

"Get out of here!" she laughed.

Beyond where the cobbled road ended was the final totem marking the end of Gath. At the top, facing out towards visitors with His wings stretched wide on both sides, was Falcon. The last building on the right—the only one beyond the totem—was the Flaming Wyvern.

Outside the building, planks of wood bleached by the sun rose two stories to meet a wood-shingle roof. Inside, the room was dark but for high windows on three sides that were left open and brought in fresh herbs potted just beneath the sill on each. Several tables lined the walls, each with empty chairs, and Dariana crouched low, reaching a broom beneath one of them.

She didn't look up. "Good morning, stranger. Will you need a room?"

I decided to play along. "Why yes, in fact…"

She snapped her neck towards me at the sound of my voice.

"... I have traveled far in search of a legend. For I have been told that there is an innkeeper here, who is objectively, inarguably, the most beautiful girl in the whole barony."

She stood and laughed, gazing at me with those light-green eyes. Dariana wore her sandy-green hair as one thick braid wrapped around her crown and let the rest fall freely behind her. Her voice dripped in sarcasm. "In all of Gath, you say?"

I nodded. "Yup."

She shook her head and smirked. "You never were the ambitious one, but that's pathetic."

"Hmm," I scratched my chin and allowed my eyes to survey her. She wore a blue apron covered in dust, and her generous bosom fought the buttons of her blouse. Her long blue skirt was hemmed just above her ankles leaving her feet bare. "I dare say, perhaps I heard Osenia. All of Osenia."

"Ooh," she popped her eyebrows. Her skin was a shade darker than the rest of us, and in this light it worked very well for her. "The whole county! Well that's an improvement."

We stood face to face. She looked up and passed her light-green eyes back and forth between mine. I nodded. "In the entire Duchy of Heralia. The most beautiful of all. At least that's what I was told, anyway."

She smiled wide at me. "That's better!"

"No," I held up a finger, "the whole Empire."

Dariana laughed. "I wouldn't want that kind of attention…"

"Since the dawn of time, and for all eternity, everywhere in all creation and all at once, such that God himself had decreed forever and ever, shall there ever be a girl with such a remarkable arse."

She cracked up and slapped my arm. "What the hell are you doing here, you lout?"

"Have you ever heard of a place called Carthia?"

She pulled back and sneered, "Carthia?"

"Have you ever heard of it?"

She turned her face to one side and squinted, "what have you heard about Carthia?"

"Well, I…" I bobbed back and forth. "I don't know anything about the place."

"No," she shook her head. Her voice quivered. "Why are you asking about Carthia?"

"Do you know anything…"

"You first."

"I was called to arms."

Her face turned white. Her eyes bulged and her lips froze. The broom fell from her hand and clacked onto the stone floor.