Danais woke up on the fourth day to the sound of birds chirping outside his window. In his state of mind, it sounded more like squeaking. ‘The urge to throw a rock’ was his first thought. He yawned and contemplated getting out of bed. Eventually, good sense won over. It was a day off, and he wasn’t going to waste it away snoring in bed. He walked down the hall to find a note from his uncle on the bath. It stated that there were a few pots of boiling water in the kitchen so he wouldn’t have to take a cold bath.
He filled up the tub with the hot water then went outside to the pump and gradually added cold water till he got it to just the right temperature. It wasn’t that often he had the pleasure of a hot bath, so he relished every minute of it. He grabbed his towel, after he was done, and dried himself off as he headed back to his room. As he lay naked on his bed, the morning sun was still trying to come through the window. He stared up at his cracked ceiling and couldn’t help but reflect on his misfortune.
Danais was an Atorathian, one of those blessed with a natural, albeit varying resistance to magician’s spells. However, he was what the magicians would call ‘silent’. Or more commonly just ‘peasant’. He didn’t have any of the gifts. It was speculated that Atora requested they be given this power out of his hatred towards the magician who poisoned his mother. Therefore, the blessing had its downfall: some people just weren’t born with it. In theory, it wasn’t quite so simple because there were non-magicians in all the provinces and there was no fancy story to explain why they were silent.
Also, Atorathians were arguably the best hunters, or trackers, of anything. Often they were referred to as hunters. Their skills were best used by magicians as assassins or bodyguards, usually for political and internal reasons. Due to the Atorathians resistance to magic, it was hard for magicians to sense an Atorathian’s presence. Thus, Atorathians were very reliable assets in protecting or destroying other magicians.
Danais had minor hunting skills, but nothing a mere human couldn’t match. Strategic thinking and combat were arguably some of their better talents as well. These were gifts from Ronilas, the Goddess of War and Wisdom—yet two more things he didn’t get. He probably could hold his own against another mortal, but against a trained magician he didn’t stand a chance. He had at least acquired the physical attributes of an Atorathian: muscular in proportion to height, never skinny, fat, or overly muscled. An overweight or too-slim Atorathian was usually an immediate giveaway of the ‘silent’ ones.
He got out of bed and stared at himself in the mirror. At least he had the appearance of being normal. At his age, if his shape hadn’t changed he was bound to keep it. His ears pointed up at the top much like an elf’s, except still rounded. The bottoms melded seamlessly into the head in a way that one usually didn’t notice Atorathians had no earlobes, until closer inspection.
Danais had a habit of doing this, looking at himself in the mirror: just to make sure that at least one physical attribute of his people’s was still intact. Thin, curved eyebrows, medium rounded nose, perfectly chocolate-brown complexion, full lips with a hint of pink, and straight, midnight-black hair, which he kept very close-cut. He even possessed the unarguable Atorathian skill of love-making; the only skill no one could connect directly to a god. This skill was so renowned that it garnered as much money in the brothels as that of being a hunter—so much so that Atorathians always demanded top price for the ‘services’ of their travelling troupes during wartime.
Usually, they were the gifted. The silent types like Danais were considered peasants, and no matter how good they were, they could not demand high prices. He did, however, seem to make more than a peasant should, he would sometimes do it if money was tight at the farm on which he worked. He sighed and prayed that maybe he was the son of a god, and any day he’d wake up with all the gifts of his people and more. But that was every peasant’s dream—certainly not something that was going to happen to him.
Danais took a deep breath, put on some undergarments, three-quarter length slacks, a button-down sleeveless white shirt with collar, worn outside the pants, and then he took one last look. He smiled in approval. He may have been a peasant, but at least he was an attractive one. Being an Atorathian peasant was the lowest of lows because the Salinor of today existed only because of Ronilas and her family’s actions. Atorathians shaped the new world, so their peasants were treated lower than all the peasants. But he refused to let that thought bring him down. He put on his sandals and headed out of the house.
His uncle owned the farm he worked on. His uncle, as far as Danais could tell, was gifted but only average in efficiency of all Atorathian skills. He had taken Danais in after his parents died. Unfortunately, he could only pay his nephew as a peasant. Favouritism was everywhere, but it had its limits. Treating peasants as favourites wasn’t the same as paying them as such. In a free world, even peasants could revolt, so keeping up appearances was good for business. But, otherwise, his uncle had treated him even better than his own children sometimes, Danais thought. This better treatment also came with increased disappointment when he had done wrong, but that’s how it was. His uncle never talked about Danais’ father or mother. Danais’ origins were a complete mystery. He did know that his mother was said to be as beautiful as Ronilas herself. That was a thought that Danais cherished.
His uncle’s oldest child, who was an army general, had trained Danais like he was gifted; teaching him fighting and tracking skills he couldn’t perform even to a small percentage of accuracy. He didn’t understand the purpose of this and was easily frustrated. None of this seemed to perturb his cousin though.
He strapped his money bag around his right bicep and tried to get into town as fast as he could. She, his cousin, was supposed to be visiting today and he wasn’t looking forward to a training session on his day off. He loved her—but not that much.
Upon her arrival, she somehow managed to corner him against a wall and practically threw him into the air after grasping him into a hug. He was a little guy, only five feet four—small for any of the provinces in Salinor, even for Atorathians who were generally short.
“So how have you been, little one?” she asked.
“I was doing well when I was breathing,”
His cousin put him down. “You’ve grown a lot since—Matured I guess. You’re still the same height. How long has it been?”
“Five moon cycles since your last visit.”
“So why are you running away so fast? Trying to avoid another training session?”
“Can’t I just be going for a walk?”
“Not at the pace you were moving.”
“I was just trying to get into town while the morning pastries were still hot.” Miri raised her eyebrows. “And I knew you were coming, so I was trying to avoid you.” Danais relented. No point in denying the obvious.
“I see,” Miri chuckled.
“I can’t waste my day away training. I’m a man now. Many moon cycles past my sixteenth name day. I have to go do manly things.”
“Like eat pastries?” Miri slightly raised her eyebrow again as she stared down at him.
“Yes.”
“Should I ask who she is?”
“Bye, Miri. I’ll talk to you when I get back.” Danais, although not really going to see someone, had considered meeting someone would be a possibility. He wasn’t about to let his cousin see that, though.
Danais liked the walk down the mountain. It was known as Chibal Way. It was the main road through the mountain, and it trailed all the way down on the other side. It turned off to many villages in the province, and he passed some of these roads while going down. The mountain wasn’t high, more like a hill compared to the real mountains in Salinor. But most of Atorath was on elevated land. Easily forgotten because of the wide spaces, it still felt like ground level.
The walk down was peaceful, and the farm was partly surrounded by a forest, so the path leads through the woods sometimes. The tall trees and the light shining through the leaves were extremely calming to him. On this walk he could, if only for a moment, forget who he was. Maybe one day he’d travel further into the other side of the mountain and explore the woods more thoroughly. Someday he would get to see more than the farm.
The town was on the water’s edge of the main city of Atorath. The main street which bordered the shops on the river’s edge was called Londar. The town itself was called Chin. The city was semicircular with a grid of streets that branched off from the main road, intersecting with the roads coming in from the curved border. The market was a square section of stalls in the centre of town, full of fresh fruits, vegetables, jewellery, clothing, and the like. The bad area, if coming from the water, was a section off to the back right. Located on the circular border of the city. The slums were known as ‘The Burrow’, this slice of the pie shaped section of town got nastier and grimier the closer one got to the centre of the pie. This was where most of the town peasants and thieves lived—or, more accurately, hid. Thieves were everywhere where people had money and items to be stolen. The Burrow was merely a place to escape.
Danais didn’t find it to be that bad as he walked through. He could’ve easily avoided the area, but he liked tall buildings. It was not glamorous. There was laundry hanging overhead somehow drying clean, in the smog. Lots of small dark alleys curving among the regular grid of streets, and people shouting and rushing to their jobs late. The Burrow was full of his kind of people, some of whom he worked with on the farm. He spoke to a few as he walked and also had to defend himself from a thief who thought he could steal his money. After defeating him, Danais stole his for good measure and continued to walk on. He had a slight bruise on his hand from where he punched the thief and one on his arm from when the thief grabbed him. Neither of these bothered Danais much. He had been in much worse brawls before. Soon the streets became clear and regular as things like pubs and barber shops started to appear. At the end of the next block, he made a left onto Licol Road.
This particular block was the brothel centre. Both sides of the road looked quite clean and unassuming. However, the signs on the inns were very clear as to what their product was. Usually, there was a scantily clad male or female next to the wooden inn sign, or murals painted on the entrance doors of men or women in obviously sexual situations. It was, Danais thought, rather good art, but he wondered if the artists did other conventional art as well. Surely this type of art was only a means to pay bills and not that profitable.
He was two blocks away from the main road, and the other two blocks held more of the usual town fare: family-owned apartments on top of family-owned inns and so on. The priciest—but not necessarily the best—shops were on the main road. It was the longest street, so they tried to lure in rich clientele and unsuspecting victims before they could get into the market, which usually held the most exciting, harder to find items. On the other hand, a lot of the shops did have quality goods, and it looked good for the owner—and the people shopping—to be seen on the main street. There was also a secret exchange between friends and family; depending on what shoppers were looking for, the shop owners would tell their customers what stall to go to in the centre market. It was a good strategy to partner with someone. If the merchant didn’t have enough product so that he or she could fill a shop on Londar, partnering with someone could give their smaller centre market shop some business. On the other hand, some merchants had more than one shop so they would direct customers into the market to buy more things from them under the guise of sending them to another merchant. Having connections with the main city of Leanor, situated in the middle of the lake or river, was for people who had the biggest market influence, like his uncle. There were advantages to not being a peasant and having a farm so large and so close to the major city and the province town.
Londar actually travelled all the way down the northern side of the river Maltar; then there was an eastern bridge that travelled over the river to the provinces on the southern side of the main city, Leanor. There was no bridge on the western side because that was where the river roared into the waterfall named Latik. The province borders between the waterside towns were usually just land and trees, dotted with an occasional temple for the male and female priests who preferred not to live at the more conventional temples in the towns. These temples were usually big and elaborate, like the temples in the main city, Leanor. Danais had yet to travel far enough from home to see any of these temples. He only saw the ones he frequented in the town.
The Maltar River surrounded the main city, Leanor, named after the Goddess of Love, forming an island in the middle of a lake. Leanor married Atora after he made the hike up the Jargadine Mountains to save his mother. He had made the dangerous journey assuming he was following her mother Salinor, only to find that it was the daughter. The two fell madly in love and married before Atora became a god. He named the major city after her. It was the only city in all of Salinor to be named exactly after a god.
Leanor’s tower was on the western point of the island. Danais could see it from the town. It was the only part of the island he’d ever seen. The city was so vast; Artists struggled to capture all its beauty on one canvas. It was the third largest city in all of Salinor. Danais had never stepped foot on the island before but had always dreamed of it. However, his mind couldn’t dwell on that just yet. He had finally made it to the main road, and directly in front of him, across the road, was his favourite pastry shop; the smell of fresh goodies was overwhelming his thoughts. He almost forgot sometimes it was a long journey to get here, but it was worth the walk.
The owner of the shop was Garnter. As such it was rightly named Garnter’s Pastries. Danais was quite sure he’d have to wait a little while for a warmer pastry, having missed the first batch. He didn’t care, though. A good pastry is a good pastry, warm or not. He was at least still early enough to get a good view on the outside terrace. Peasants were sometimes forced to give up their seats to the Nobles. He enjoyed the view over the harbour and watching the ships come in from the city. Maybe if he were lucky, not too many of the rich would come, and he could sit outside and stare at the water all day. He stepped inside the door, and the bells chimed to signal his entrance. His ears and his nose were delighted.
“Danais. Come, come. You’re late,” Garnter beckoned him to the counter.
“I ran into Miri on the way down!” Danais responded in explanation.
“Ah, so have the bruises from her last session healed yet?” Garnter asked teasingly.
Danais just scoffed and looked through the glass. He eyed the expensive tarts and cakes, and so wanted to say, “I’ll have that, and that. Oooh, and two of those.” But he couldn’t afford even half of that. He let out a sigh and was about to place an order when a customer interrupted him.
“Still wishing beyond your means, peasant boy. Why don’t you go down the street and buy a bread roll? I’m sure you can afford that with your coins. I didn’t know you allowed such scum in your establishment, Garnter.” Danais would’ve said something, but arguing with a magician wasn’t wise. Luckily he didn’t have to.
“The only scum in here right now is you. I won’t have none of that talk in my shop, or you will have to leave,” Garnter said. The two glared at each other for a moment, and then the magician smiled and got back to reading his books and scrolls.
“Thank you,” Danais said. Even in Atorath it was hard to find good, decent people sometimes.
“Nothing to thank me for. I may make you give up your table sometimes, but I won’t tolerate direct hate speech. Besides, I get a lot of my supplies from your uncle. And my son is—” Danais looked up for more details, but Garnter quickly changed the subject. “So what will you have?”
“Something boring and inexpensive.”
“Boring? For you? Never. Not in my shop.”
“He is right, though. I can’t afford anything good.”
“Nonsense. You can do anything you want—gifted or ungifted.” Danais smiled. This was part of why he loved coming here. The lies just flowed off of Garnter like water.
“So I’ve got a fresh pumpkin tart baking just for you. And an extra large banana nut muffin. Just about ready, with extra cinnamon and brown sugar just for you.”
“I can’t take that,” Danais objected, but Gartner was already placing them on a wooden tray just for him, with a small glass of spiced milk.
“There you are,” Garnter said, and then scoffed. “Boring? How dare you even use that word in my shop? Especially when ‘you’ are in the same sentence as the word.” Garnter made sure to emphasise the word “you” and smile.
“And how did you have this ready at the exact moment I arrived?” Danais asked coyly.
“Well, a magician friend of mine hazarded a guess at the time you’d be here. He was a little off, but all this talk made it just right,” Garnter replied rather matter-of-factly.
“That’s cheating.”
“Me… cheat? I’m offended at the thought.”
Danais laughed. Garnter was definitely a much-needed pick-me-up after all the moping he had done in the morning. “Thanks.”
“Just run along. I have paying customers to deal with. And if you tell your uncle I gave you free food, I’ll tell him about the extra milk you snuck me when I ran out last week. I’m not taking your money.”
“Garnter?”
“Let me rephrase: If you don’t take that food for free, I will tell your uncle about the milk.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“I’m doing it out of love.”
Danais went out to the back and found himself a nice seat by the rail. He loved to look at the boats—all kinds, from rowboats to tall ships with sails. There was even a battleship heading toward the outflow of the lake. The river curved off before the waterfall and, after a slow decline, met with itself again a distance away from the waterfall. Danais let his mind wonder; he pondered being a noble in Atorath, or maybe a soldier—all the things he could be if he were not silent. He had wasted away the better half of his life dreaming of how prominent he would be had fate smiled down on him.
Danais sat and stared for over an hour, mostly at the tall ships that were usually privately owned by magicians. He’d acquired a certain Atorathian pride, even though he was ungifted. Some Atorathians seemed to think they were better than magicians simply because they were Atorathians and the peace of Salinor had originated there. All countries had associated a sort of pride or prejudice directly related to their skills over the years, but this Atorathian pride was the most frowned upon—ironically enough, for the same reasons the pride existed in the first place. Even so, sometimes Danais couldn’t help wanting to be a part of that world. The world of the gifted.
“You have a nice voice,” someone said.
Danais was in the middle of an Atorathian folk tune and hadn’t realised he was singing loud enough to be heard. He stood quickly when he realised it was a magician.
“I’m sorry, sir. Would you like to sit at this table?”
“I’m just fine at mine. Admiring your singing.”
“Thank you, sir. You are most kind,” Danais replied with a bow.
“Still, I would like to join you. May I?”
Danais was weary of Magicians’ kindness, primarily because he was a peasant and it could just be a mean jest. Then there was the fact that one couldn’t tell if a magician was working for the Tyrant. A kind invitation could turn into unwanted enslavement for a peasant. Even magicians could be forced to align with the Tyrant if they weren’t cautious enough. But he was a peasant. There was certain protocol. He couldn’t say no, no matter how much the demand seemed like a question.
“Don’t be alarmed. I assure you that I mean you no harm. I only want to talk.”
“Yes, sir. I would be honoured if you would join me.” Danais prayed a silent prayer to Miron, the God of Good Fortune, and hoped that his instincts would prove correct. The Magician sat at the table and offered Danais some wine. It was the expensive kind, with a name that Danais couldn’t pronounce. This magician let him drink freely and didn’t ask or try to persuade him to do anything. So he wasn’t working for the Tyrant, Danais thought. He wasn’t a man-lover seeking sexual favours, and he wasn’t trying to hire Danais to do some sort of job. So who was he? And why so generous?
“Well, it seems you’ve drunk the whole bottle. I’ll have to order another. So tell me about yourself, young man.”
“Danais. Danais Tomal de Nera of Atorath,” he introduced himself in the typical greeting: first name, title, sub-province, then main province.
“Ah. So you are originally from this sub-province of Nera?” the magician asked.
“Yes.”
“And you are not a mixed breed?”
“No. I am full blood Atorathian.”
“And silent, or just weak-gifted?”
“Definitely silent. I’m just unlucky.”
The magician poured Danais an eighth glass before continuing.
“Some say that the climb up the mountain was a tale, a legend forged because Atorath was the only province without its own god to worship. They needed a story. The poisoning was a sham and only a rumour. That the gods were always gods and never mortals.”
“Jealous. Morons. It is all true. Why believe in the gods and not the story? Why respect Ronilas Goddess of War and Wisdom and neglect her mortal beginnings? To deny that would be to deny the War of the Beginning. It is a great folly. Heathenish, even.”
“Really?” the magician said with a sly yet inquiring smile.
“Yes. The real reason is they refuse to believe a God would love a mortal, or that Leanor would marry Atora while he was still mortal. And that she would choose Atorath to have her main temple built. They refuse to give us any more importance in history, so it serves their purposes to make everyone always a god.” Danais was very passionate about being an Atorathian, as most Atorathians were.
“So more about you then,” the magician suggested with a smile, moving on to another topic almost too deliberately.
“Parents died when I was young. Live with my uncle. Work on his farm. He grows some of the best fruits and vegetables, and he runs a small milk business as well. Spices and herbs. Certainly not the best in all Salinor, but the best this side of Atorath. Only the Richies can afford to import the best food from everywhere, and still, even they don’t always do it.” The wine was really loosening him up. Richie was a slum term for the nobles—an insult really, and something the peasants used commonly. “Peasants like me don’t get to sample that type of fruit or meat.”
“Your age?”
“Seventeen. Only a few moon cycles from my eighteenth name-day.”
“And the singing.”
“They say that my mother had an enchanting voice. Well, so my uncle says. And even though we are, arguably, said to be the most beautiful people in Salinor, my mother was said to have the beauty of Ronilas’ gift to Salinor.”
“Now that is a high honour,” the magician offered. “It is said that when Ronilas offered the dress to Salinor, she was smitten by it. It was a shimmering blue with a sheer, flowing, top layer that always seemed to ripple like the ocean in the slightest breeze. It was laced across the chest, with a bluish purple likeness of Salinor’s own Phoenix on the front. So captivating was this dress that even she, the mother of all, could not keep her eyes off it. She decreed that anything beautiful beyond explanation should be expressed in the way you described your mother’s beauty. I have artwork by Polin that garnered the same praise.”
“You own a Polin?” Polin was by far the best artist of any art form alive in Salinor. Danais stared open-mouthed. He’d never met anyone who could afford her work.
“Your mother sounds like someone to be proud of, even if only for her beauty.”
“Thank you, sir. I know nothing of my father. So you believe the Atorathian legends?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then why did you toy with me,” Danais requested.
“Just curious about your conviction.”
“Oh,” he replied with a nod, sipping from his eleventh drink. “Have you been to the city before?”
“No. My uncle always took his children but never me.” Danais seemed to drift off as if he were remembering something. But a voice brought him out of his trance.
“Did you say something?”
“My son’s twenty-eighth is on this seventh day. I would like you to sing at his celebration.”
“Tara’s teeth! You’re pulling my leg,” Danais exclaimed, and then immediately realised his mistake. Calling the Goddess of the Underworld’s name was common and foul language. However, it wasn’t used much in front of strangers and definitely not people of extremely high rank unless they were good friends. His present situation fit all the wrong criteria.
“I apologise for using the horned tailed goddess’ name in your presence.” He said a quick prayer to the earth, wind, and stars before continuing. “It’s the wine, I don’t have a problem holding my drink but,” Danais trailed off and looked to the ground. The magician did not force him to continue. “I’ve never had such exquisite wine. And may never again. I’ve been taking advantage of your kindness and did not pace myself as I should, not knowing how I’d react to something new. This has loosened my tongue and caused me to talk to you below your rank. I will offer you my services in any way to make up for my ill behaviour.”
The magician laughed a hearty laugh. “Raise your head. You are young and have no money. You did what any man in your position would’ve done. And I was pouring the drinks. So I should be the blame. Now about my offer?”
“I work on the seventh day. And it would be wrong for me to ask for pay after you’ve treated me to wine. However, I’m not in the position to pass up money,” Danais offered.
“Don’t you worry about that. Just answer the question.”
“I’ll have to talk to my uncle. I am a man. But a man under his roof.”
“You just tell him that Lord Vardon has invited you. And tell him I’ll kill him if he says no.”
“Vardon? The Lord Vardon?”
“I am. It was nice meeting you, Danais Tomal de Nera of Atorath.” That was the last he said before buying one more bottle of wine and having it delivered to the farm. Danais left the pastry shop for a walk and ended up being chased by young magicians who knew he was silent. It was an attempted stoning, but they had bad aim. Danais managed to lose them in a pottery shop.
“Thanks,” Danais said meekly to the shop owner who had allowed him shelter from the stoning.
“You should hurt the little minions next time,” the shop owner said to Danais.
“I don’t hurt people smaller than me,” Danais responded with a sigh.
“Just get on out of here. I’ve got clay to mould,” the shop owner said with a smile, and Danais left. He walked farther down and came upon the glass shop called Jovi’s—the best in town. It was on one of the few streets without an “L” name: Tiath. Danais thought that whoever officially named the streets got a little out of hand with the letter L. Thankfully, as far as he knew, the other towns did not fall to the same fate, either out of protest or the fact that they just changed all the original names.
“Mr. Jovi? Are you in?” Danais asked as he walked in. Jovi wouldn’t leave the shop open unattended, but it was only natural for Danais to call out.
“Is that young Danais?” Jovi asked as he came out from the back. “What brings you here?”
“I need something made. A plate infused with blue black and purple. And semi-transparent.”
“That’s gonna be pricey,” Jovi responded with a note of concern.
“I’ll get the money. You know I’m good for it.”
“Who’s it for?”
“Swear on Jantu the Goddess of Truth and Promises.” Danais wasn’t about to tell him unless he swore not to repeat it.
“I swear on Jantu I won’t tell a soul. Or the person holding the soul either.”
Danais sighed to stop from laughing. Then he said directly, “The son of a Vardon.”
“Really? Now that is impressive. For that, I’ll do it for free.”
“Jovi—”
“I insist. Good for business when a magician family such as that is gifted something of mine. Sales will rise. I’ll make back in quick time what you won’t pay me.”
“I will pay you.” Danais was going to try to put up a stronger argument, but Jovi was forcing him out of the shop while pretending to not hear him.
“And why do you smell of expensive drink that I know you can’t afford?”
That final statement was more than enough to stop Danais from fighting and leave more quickly.
“You’re not answering me, child!” Jovi shouted as Danais ran, but Danais had no intentions of trying to explain it and continued to run on.
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