The Shattered Lands - Chapter Three

As night descends on Dryxovan, Erika finds herself in a tavern, looking to still the turmoil of the day, but instead coming face to face with the one who caused it.

More than anything, Erika wanted to forget every facet and minute of that day. If her first working week with Hachi went with it, it wouldn’t have gone amiss either. In fact, she willed the last two months to evaporate into smoke and drift away, taking her misery and leaving only her living parents behind.

Artor had somehow convinced her that drinking would speed that process along. She walked the cobbles downhill to the Verdant Fields taverna, on the edge of Dryxovan that faced inwards toward the Core of the Shattered Lands.

The establishment was ever in competition with the dockside bar and inn, the Storm Shelter, where there were more dancers, prostitutes, and elicit activities. The rivalry was mostly good-natured, and the route between them was littered with smaller bars and pubs, making it a rite of passage to travel between them and remain standing by the end of the journey.

She could have walked along the edge of Dryxovan and bypassed all of the noise, along the fenced path that marked the periphery of the island, but at night the shadows of rocks and other islands were murky and blocked out the few stars visible at this distance. It had always made her uneasy, and tonight was especially dark. Only the faint glow of the Moon penetrated the barrier of rock, and bathed her in comforting natural light, helping the lanterns hanging on hooks and rope overhead. The little beacons were strung between the tops of the ruined buildings, between the old spires and ramparts that had long since lost any semblance of what they once were.

She could hear the chattering of Dryxovan’s evening strollers out at the night market a street over, and snippets of conversation from the dwellings and shops around her. It served to brighten her mood for a moment, before it turned dim once more. It was a warm reminder of the life that still prevailed in this dying world, but a bitter reminder of what she no longer had.

The taverna waited for her at the edge of the scrubland that had been converted into farmsteads by some of the locals. With the way some of the ruins encircled their patch of nature, it had probably been a park that the ancient citizens had frequented before the doom that had befallen them and everyone else.

The bounce of the music from inside gave her a lift, shaking the wooden shutters over every window. The lilt and pulse of it, and the beat of the drums seemed to draw her heart into its rhythm.

The Verdant Fields had once been a building full of one-room dwellings, but time and some kind of forceful impact on the roof had hollowed out the entire thing. The top floors were completely gone, but a new wooden roof had been built over the ruins, and the inner walls were almost all replaced with supports so that the inside was mostly one big open space. Still, for a dressed up ruin it had its charm, decorated with green fabric hangings and paintings that local artists had left directly on the ancient brickwork, as well as wildflowers that grew from the mosses and weeds that had wound their way between the old bricks.

She pushed through the doors. Artor and the rest of their group of friends were there already, enjoying a round of freshly brewed beer from the cellar of the Verdant Fields itself, from their own crop of wheat and barley. Artor raised his wooden tankard and bonked it against his cousin Borannen’s, who loaded cargo airships at the dockyard. Lynn, the youngest teacher at the Dryxovan schoolhouses, was nose to nose with Korey, one of the barley pickers, preparing to kiss him as she always did after three beers.

She thought of joining them for a moment, but her eyes were drawn to the stage, set up in the far corner. Three musicians played, and a few of the tavernas patrons were gathered around them, dancing in pairs and threes, or just nodding along. Erika leaned on a wooden support beam and listened.

The singer carried an instrument as well, a wooden plank as the frame for a single thick string, that he plucked in rhythm with the drums behind him, changing the pitch and tone by pressing down on it. The drums looked to be a pair of old barrels, one that held a gallon, and one that could have held five or six gallons, with leather stretched across the open top. What seemed to be a flattened, old steel helmet acted as a cymbal, and the drummer patted out the rhythm with thimbles on his fingertips.

The most impressive of them was a boy of twelve or thirteen, sitting on a stool with his instrument in his lap. This one was similar to the one played by the singer, but with a wooden box at the end on his legs, and with a thinner string and a sharper sound. The boy changed the notes by sliding a piece of metal pipe up and down the string, a melodic whine that danced and tumbled along with the rhythm.

The singer began, voice deep at first, but skilfully climbing the scales and dipping as the song demanded.

“‘Music: hold back the Void in me,

Music: hold back the Void in me,

Light up the stars and chase out the dark,

Hold my hands and cleanse my aching heart,

Guide the winds that’ll carry me far,

Music: hold back the Void in me.

Keep the Void out of my old soul,

Keep the Void out of my old soul,

Keep the wide old smile on my lips and defy,

The evil that creeps when the well runs dry,

Music’s the sword that I hold up high,

Keep the Void out of my old soul.’”

Erika closed her eyes and leaned her head on the beam, listening as the boy brought the music up into a new intensity. The crowd gathering around cheered as they danced faster and more wildly, as the notes and the rhythm quickened. The singer repeated the same two verses again, but his voice grew in power, and went an octave higher.

The music was an entirely different kind of magic than the spells and wizardry from stories. It harmonised with her heart in that moment, and brought her along with it on a journey that zipped between the islands and touched the heat of the very Core itself.

When they finished, Erika opened her eyes at the cheers, and turned to the bar. Abika was serving, bosom as ample as her belly, and gave Erika a warm smile as she approached. Her step faltered, however, when she noticed the man at the corner of the bar, on a seat that faced the door.

Irellian was looking over his shoulder, applauding the band with a grin. His hat sat on the bar in front of him, revealing his cropped hair, black at the root and deep brown at the tip. He turned back to Abika, and waited as she served Erika.

“What’ll it be, luv?” the barkeep asked warmly.

“A beer, please, Abi.”

“Aye, on its way.” She glanced up at Irellian. “You trying to catch my eye, stranger?”

“All evening, and I don’t just mean for the drinks.” He grinned at the jest, and dropped a bit of gold on the bar. “I’ll pay for hers, and a cup of that plum liquor for me. Send the change to the band, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t, but if you’re trying to catch my eye, a word of advice.”

Abika leaned over the bar, presenting as much of her teats as she was able. “Don’t be buying drinks for other women, because I’m the jealous type.”

“I’ll be sure to remember,” he replied, keeping his eyes on hers purposefully. “The drink is a friendly one, to make up for a difficult morning. Otherwise you have my undivided attention.”

Abika poured his drink from a dusty bottle on the top shelf, while pumping the beer up from the cellar at the same time.

Erika took the wooden tankard with a smile, but a nervous one. Abika gave her a wink, and pointed to the pistol at her wide hip. “I’ll keep him well-behaved, don’t you worry.”

Erika forced her smile, remembering how nonplussed Irellian had been on the receiving end of a blunderbuss. She could have stayed where she was, but she had no intent to make the bounty hunter angry. She slowly edged over to him, and sat down at the corner where he was.

“Thank you,” she said meekly.

He nodded, reaching into his pouch again. He put three gold bits in front of her. “We agreed to a hundred and fifty. You paid me one fifty three.”

She chewed her lip for a moment. Three gold bits would feed her for four or five months, or book her passage to another island. Senon was closest. She might even be able to afford to share a small house there, or rent a room, or at least stay at an inn for a month or so while she found work.

“You’re welcome,” he grunted. “You need it more than Hachi does.”

She looked into the honey-coloured beer in her tankard, and sipped it.

“The drink here isn’t half bad. It’s rare to find a tavern that brews its own beer. As for this stuff …” He held up the glass, and inspected the clear liquid inside. “Well, it’s old, but it does a job.”

Erika made herself nod.

“Not talking to me, eh?” Irellian snorted. “You should. Men like me keep you and your young friends safe.”

She looked up at him. “Is that why you do it? To keep us safe?”

He grunted. “No. I do it because I’m good at it. Because it pays well, even with the odd fat man wielding a shooter.”

“So … why do you drink alone?”

“I came here alone.”

“But you don’t have to drink alone.”

He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. “Well, apparently I’m not drinking alone, now, am I?”

Erika blinked at him as he raised his glass to her. She touched her tankard against it hesitantly.

“Cheers,” he muttered. “May the band keep playing, and may the stars light up the Void.”

“Cheers,” she replied.

“What’s your excuse, then?” he asked. “It’s obvious why I’m drinking alone, but why are you?”

She shrugged. “I’m meeting friends here. Actually, they’re here now.”

“Ah.”

She drank a little more beer. “Why would it be obvious?”

“Hmm?”

“Why you drink alone.”

Irellian let a smile pass over his face. “You’re scared of me. I’m not offended by that, you have reason to be after this morning. Everyone else though, they feel the same way. They might not quite know why, but when they see me at a bar, or out on the street, they know in the back of their minds that something is … wrong. Something is dangerous. Some old instinct perhaps from when we were a younger race, fearing predators, back when the world was whole.”

Erika frowned at him. “When the world was whole? What do you mean?”

He snorted, and waved his hand. “Pay it no mind. It’s the liquor talking.”

If anything, that made Erika’s frown deepen. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Master Irellian.”

“Rand.”

She blinked at him. “Erika.”

He nodded. “Well, Erika, good. The odd kind word aside, you ought to stay far away from men like me. We’re not often the type to socialise with.”

“Abika doesn’t seem that scared of you.”

Rand chuckled and waved a hand. “Abika performs that same song and dance with her cleavage with everyone, it gets extra drinks out of the drunkards and the thirsty boys your age. You think she wears that pistol for the folk on Dryxovan?” He shook his head. “No, no. She’s wiser than that. She knows when danger’s lurking in her midst.”

Erika looked around. Rand Irellian was drawing some attention from the men who were off-duty guardsmen and dockworkers, as well as the rougher farmhands, protective of their land. Artor had noticed that she had come in, and was checking on her with every other glance. She smiled at him, to let him know she was alright. “Are there many others like you?”

“Bounty hunters? Yes. Bounty hunters like me? Gods above, I hope not.”

Erika frowned again. “What are gods?”

He smiled the same strange smile as before. “Answering that question requires a lot less plum liquor than I’ve been drinking…” He chuckled. “…or a lot more of it.”

She almost laughed, until the dead faces, and remains of faces, of Captain Vriess’s crew flashed across her memory. She gulped more beer, and coughed.

“Those people you killed … did they deserve it?”

Rand paused. He stared at the bar for a moment, then drank down the rest of his liquor in a single gulp.

“Truthfully?”

Erika nodded.

“You read Vriess’s bounty notice. He needed to go. His crew too … probably. The two in armour killed and … did worse … to their fair share of merchants, aermen and settlers, no doubt. The powder heads … ha … most likely. Powder brings out the beast in a man. The helmsman … that’s trickier. He was a lad, not much older than you.”

“What about the girl?” Erika whispered.

Rand sighed. “You’re asking the questions that keep me up at night. Maybe she was just along for the ride. Maybe she was just as mean as Vriess, I don’t know. I only see a moment of their lives, Erika. Just a moment, but it’s the moment that often brings their story to an abrupt end. She could have surrendered, and I would have spared her, brought her to your gaol in irons to serve a sentence … but she didn’t. They never do.”

He looked up at her. “She was about your age. How old are you, Erika?”

“Fifteen.”

Rand snorted. “Fifteen. Fifteen quick years. Barely a blink of an eye.”

Erika frowned. “I’m no babe. I work, I support myself.”

“As I did, when I was your age. As your parents probably did.”

Erika’s jaw tightened. Rand nodded, knowing. “How did it happen?”

“Fever,” she muttered. “My mother first, then my father. It was a cold snap …”

“The recent one?”

Erika nodded again. “Why do you think it’s so crowded in here? People are celebrating being alive, celebrating the crops coming back to their height … but I have nothing to celebrate. I’m alone, in an empty house, working for coppers.”

Rand patted her arm. “There are plenty of people who care for you here. I can see some of them preparing to liberate you from my terrible clutches.”

She glanced in the same direction he was, right at Artor and Borannen, who were watching them and muttering to each other.

“They don’t mean any harm, I promise.”

“I know.”

“Don’t … hurt them.”

Rand frowned at her. “I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it. At least … I like to think I never have.”

Again, the dead girl’s face crossed Erika’s mind. “How long have you been doing what you do?”

“A long time.”

“Is it always pirates?”

Rand shrugged. “Most of the time. They’re everyone’s problem, so everyone wants them dead, and they’re a handy bogeyman for island mayors and tribe leaders to take care of and look like they’re strong enough to protect their people.”

He smiled over her shoulder. “Speaking of which…”

A hand lightly touched Erika’s waist, and Artor pulled up next to her. “Another round of beers, Abika! You’ve got the good stuff on tap tonight.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, laddy?” Abika snapped as she walked on over. “My beer not normally to your liking?”

Artor blushed. “No, no! We love the beer, six more please. Five for the table and one for our friend here.”

His eyes fell on Rand with a challenge, which the bounty hunter met with a smile.

“Where’d you get the coat?” Borannen said loudly, popping a meaty arm around Rand’s shoulder. “I could use a coat like that.”

“Go on a lot of air trips, do you?” Rand muttered.

“Could use it for a cold snap, looks warm.”

“Go to the table,” Artor whispered to Erika. “We can handle the flyboy.”

“You don’t need to handle him, Artor, he’s not-“

“After what I saw this morning, yeah, he is,” he hissed.

Abika looked over at them. Her hands rested on her hips. The right one was an inch from the handle of her pistol. “Easy, lads. We’re not going to have a problem here, are we?”

“No, not at all,” Rand murmured. A smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked at Borannen. “Not from me, anyway. The coat’s tailored, by the way, but second hand. Cost me five silver bits and a very fine dagger that a brigand stuck in my thigh. If you like it outside, you should see the lining.”

Rand turned on his stool and opened the coat to reveal the thin leather armour beneath, and four pistols. One sat on each hip, two were in matching shoulder holsters.

Borannen took a step back and held his hands out at his sides, any threat he may have been presenting immediately gone. Rand gestured to the lining of his coat, a swirling, silk pattern of purple and dark blue, like the sky above them. “It’s a lovely design, isn’t it? I wish I knew who wove it originally … but they’re likely long dead.”

Artor swallowed, turning bright red.

“Erika, I believe your friends wish for your company. I won’t stand in their way. I appreciated a taste of not drinking alone.” His eyes flitted to Borannen again. “I’ll let you know about the coat.”

“Come on Borannen,” Artor muttered. “Let’s go.”

The two lads got up with Erika, and guided her to their table.

Maybe they were right. Rand certainly didn’t feel like they were wrong, he had told her as much. She would surely feel much better around her friends.

The trouble was, she didn’t. The music was still skilfully performed, but it became dissonant in her ears, and she was distracted by all of the words passing around her. Lynn and Korey’s kissing made her uncomfortable, and Artor’s eyes kept going over to the bar, where Rand still sat.

She excused herself when the band finished, and walked home. Artor wanted to go with her, to make sure she was safe, but she wanted no company, as much as she appreciated it. All she wanted was to sleep, and hope the new day brought more comfort.

Rand was still at the bar as she walked out of Verdant Fields. He had the bottle of plum liquor in front of him, and was pouring a new glass.