Pillar

Chapter Twenty

Stopping by the Gnarled Root, Vivian paused as she caught Ezra slowly doing needlework on an older Tyrik fisherman, Jack leaning over the front table next to the chest with his orange book.

“Hey,” Vivian said, catching his attention. She tried not to wince when Jack flinched at the sight of her, “thanks for sending over Ezra.”

“Good to see you’re on your feet,” Jack said, folding his book closed. “And you can thank Ezra yourself, as he was the one who went out of his way to learn of what happened to you. He used his status as a veteran to get in to see you, something he doesn’t throw around a lot.”

“He didn’t mention that…” Vivian said, leaning on her staff as she pondered the information. Her satchel, empty save for her journal and multiple money pouches, hung off her side. “Anyway, I wanted to also thank you for going along with my experiment with the tattoo.”

“Seemed to work well enough on that woman you picked a fight with,” Jack said, obviously still annoyed at that.

“Well, it saved my life. I don’t know how much you know, but me and two Royal Guard encountered a mountain of a Silt Troll-turned-Vessel. It’d just finished killing the brothers, and killed one of the guards with a casual clenching of a massive clawed hand.” Vivian explained. “Between me and the remaining guard, we were holding it off. Before it could kill me, I used my tattoo on it, weakening its muscles enough to finish it off.”

“Hmm… well I can’t say I’m proud that I created a weapon, but if it saved your pretty little head then I can’t be too upset,” Jack smiled. “You still owe me that date, you know.”

“I could stand to have some Fyr right around now, if you’re not busy?” Vivian offered.

“Now? A little early to be drinking, isn’t it?” Jack leaned out from under his canopy and looked up at the overcast sky. “I can feel a storm coming in as well, never good to drink when rain is coming.”

“I just got out of the hospital and could use a little poison to de-sanitize my body. Come on, my treat?” Vivian offered, smirking.

“You know that’s a creepy look for you, right?” Jack said, stuffing his book under the table before pulling a large key from his pants. He leaned back and shouted at Ezra. “Watch the shop, I’m stepping out!”

Ezra grunted, leaning over the sailor as he inserted the enchanted needle in, forming the scales of a serpent. “Got it. You locking up?”

“Yeah, putting up the sign. We’re not getting many customers anyway,” Jack said with a shrug, pulling a wooden sign up to hook beneath the sign detailing a twisted root and the shop’s name. The words “CLOSED” were carved in jagged red letters and seemed to bleed from the cuts in the wood. He jerked his head towards the tavern down the street and stepped around the table, his leather belt and lower torso guard sliding along his body as he moved.

Trying to hide the hurt in her voice, Vivian looked towards the Sound of War, the two-story building visible even from this distance due to the flagpole bearing a tattered piece of cloth whipping in the warm breeze of the river front. The black cloth bore a stitched white sword crossed over a sickle, the old pirate flag which would be a normally strange sight to see.

“Think they’ve started on their Dragon Fish stew for the day?” Vivian asked, watching as Jack pulled a hatchet from beneath the table, sliding it into a loop on his belt.

Jack shook his head. “Doubt it. I imagine we’ll be having bread and cheese, along with some cold meat from last night’s dinner.”

“Lovely,” Vivian muttered.

“Not like they’ve had any decent stew the past few days,” Jack groused as he walked out into the street, running a hand through his spiky hair. “Fishing’s been pretty bad the lately. Everything pulled up has been sick or dying, with a few creatures proving poisonous to any who’d eat them.”

“Really?” Vivian was surprised. She vaguely remembered hearing of this, as well as Bo and his fellow hunters mentioning how well their goods had been selling regarding what the fisherman had been bringing in. “So how are thing going in your section of the District?”

“You mean have I noticed anything out of the ordinary?” Jack asked, giving Vivian a sidelong glance. “I know you’re working for the Royal Guard, no need to beat around the bush.”

“Sorry,” Vivian offered. “Didn’t mean to make it sound like that… just wanted to know if you’ve encountered anything late at night, you know, on your way home?”

“Girl, I sleep in the shop,” Jack laughed. “You think I’m going to waste precious silver on some tenement in the Housing District?”

“I know Ezra and your other workers do…” Vivian said.

Jack nodded. “They all chipped in and bought a home, close to one of the wells even. They share the house and work in shifts at different jobs around town. Ezra is the only full-time tattooist I have.”

The Sound of War loomed upon them, the squat thatched-roof building already having smoke rise from the chimney despite the warmth. The stone of the building was worn and smooth, an engraved plaque bearing the taverns name, with a small sign attached to it.

“No wizards,” she muttered, reading the sign once again. She hadn’t been confronted yet, and the owner had to know she was of the spellcasting sort just by her staff, so perhaps he wasn’t trying to keep out all wizards.

“Yeah, old James dealt with some rough and tumble wizards about twenty years ago, banned them from his bar ever since. I assume you’ve never used magic in front of him?” Jack said, pulling the heavy oak door open.

“Yeah, I’ve been a good girl,” Vivian smirked.

Jack shivered, though not in delight. “Seriously, that’s creepy. But, so long as you refrain from magic he won’t toss you out.”

Walking in, the smell of spicy lamb stew assaulted her senses. The warmth of the room was suffocating, with four windows open along the far wall overlooking the rest of the wharf to allow a cool breeze in. The wooden fixtures near the bar were bolted to the floor, but the various tables and chairs were free from such confinements. A few older fishermen sat along the bar, grousing into their cheap ale about ill-luck while sharing stories with James.

James was an obese man, easily four-hundred pounds, balding with a greasy beard and a stained, sleeveless tunic that showed several faded tattoos. He squinted a lot, and always looked as if he’d just taken a bite of Bearberry Pie, the scowl akin to that of an old wolf looking at you to decide if you’re worth the effort. He had thick fingers and tanned skin, with numerous scars on his knuckles from his days as a fisherman. He was busy leaning over the bar speaking with one of the sailors to take note of Jack and Vivian, but one of the three barmaids rushed up to them.

“Vivian!” The barmaid, a girl no older than fifteen winters old squealed. She was dressed conservatively, with a long dirty smock and short cropped brown hair, a pair of glittering golden eyes dancing beneath her bangs. “Where’ve you been? Last we heard you were injured fighting some monster of a troll, and before that you sent in Ukah to get a couple of kegs and a cauldron of stew!”

“Yeah, I know Sera, I should visit more, but I’m finding myself busy these days with work,” Vivian said, holding Sera out at arm’s length. She winced when the girl jerked away, looking at Vivian in terror.

“By the spirits, what happened? You look like you spent training session as a practice dummy!” Sera asked, eyes roving over Vivian’s numerous scars. “Holy King, there’s even some on your face!”

“Sera!” James barked from the bar, interrupting the girl, her voice having grown steadily louder. “Stop gawking and help them out. You’ve seen scars before, she earned them just like a soldier I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Vivian agreed weakly, “took me a few days’ recuperation, Master Bleak helped stitch me back together.”

James snorted and spat on the ground. “Bleak, eh? He cost one of my friends their home in some duel he had with another wizard. He never could rebuild from it, even after selling the plot and buying a boat. Least the bastard can stitch people back together…”

Jack and Vivian rushed to a table in the back, around the central fireplace where the cauldron of stew was boiling and closer to where a familiar face sat staring at several sheets of vellum.

Dressed in oiled leathers and a bright red vest, Mr. Riley was a merchant that laid claim to no land. He called his caravan home, and his family of merchants had settled in town to earn a decent living during the time it would take for the harvest to come in. With the Flaming Phoenix Festival but days away, he’d be moving on soon. He’d stay and sell what he’d kept in store for the occasion, but up as much grain and barley as he could, and head east towards the Copper Cliffs, a place where the Iron Hills Plateau and the River Valley’s Plateau met. Elevators operated constantly to keep the steady traffic going up and down between the split-city, one which never slowed down or allowed itself to stop.

Vivian had passed through there for two days, picking up dozens of trinkets and scrolls for her collection. She’d learned her simple healing spells from a scroll detailing which earth spirits to invoke, and she’d mastered her control over ice through an equation she’d never thought up. She knew she’d have to visit again when returning to the Tallow Hills, and looked forward to it.

“So, what’ll it be you two?” Sera asked, bouncing on her heels as she waited for them to settle at a table.

“Four shots of Fyr, and a glass of Bitterleaf,” Vivian said, turning to Jack. “Anything else beside the shots?”

“I’ll take a bowl of stew if you dice a few peppers into it,” Jack said with a moment’s hesitation.

“Sounds good!” Sera said, spinning to prance away to the bar, then the kitchen.

Vivian turned to regard Jack. “Didn’t know you liked spicy food…”

“A lot about me you don’t know,” he smiled back.

“Enlighten me then,” Vivian said.

Jack did so. Born to soldiers, he was raised by members of a dead Clan in a city that had been razed when he was only nine years old. His father dead, his mother took him, and they joined a caravan of refugees. She later abandoned him, leaving him with the soldiers of the refugees, who trained him to fight. He fought with a mercenary band known as the Eagles Talon for fifteen years. He then left them and joined a circus where he became a performer with his hatchets. It was there he learned how to tattoo, and fell in love with the trade. When the circus came to Hamlin one year, he just stayed behind and opened a shop. That’d been twenty years ago this coming winter.

“I still practice with my hatchets, just so you know, so no funny business!” He said, pointing at her as he downed his second shot of Fyr, shivering at the boiling sensation the fiery drink left behind.

Vivian laughed as she sipped her Bitterleaf, legs crossed with foot bouncing from the exciting stories. “Yeah, you know me so well. Going to seduce you whether you like it or not.”

“Poor Ezra’s heart would be broken!” Jack laughed.

“What?” Vivian asked, the alcohol dulling her senses.

“Ezra… never mind, forget I mentioned it,” Jack said, slapping her back. “Let’s get another shot, eh?”

“Yeah,” Vivian said as she flagged Sera down. “Another shot should make everything better.”