The Chronicles of Krarshe: The Hearts of Men, Volume 1
Chapter 8

Krarshe awoke from his fitful sleep again. His bed sheets were damp with sweat, thanks to the heat of Sirnus. And humid. Disgustingly so, given the time of day; the sun had yet to crest the horizon. He tossed and turned for a bit before finally tossing them off onto the floor. He splayed out on the bed and stared at the ceiling, having given up on trying to fall asleep for the fourth time.

“What should I do?” Krarshe pondered. After the last spell he cast yesterday, he really didn’t want to deal with his classmates’ gossiping, especially with this being the third time he’d done something abnormal. More than that, though, was Tibault and Bri. He was fine with their astonishment after his first two spells, but this time was different. More uneasy, more fearful. That was probably the last thing he wanted them to feel. His thoughts raced back to a memory from before he set out on this journey. “Simply fear you...” Krarshe muttered, echoing the words his father said before he left. “Nothing simple about it.” He was prepared for people to fear him, he just wasn’t ready for people he’d started to build a relationship with, for his friends, to abandon him so quickly. Was their relationship so fragile to shatter from a single event? A single spell? Krarshe hoped not, but he couldn’t dismiss this gnawing apprehension.

Complicating his emotions was his run-in with the girl Lycia. He couldn’t pin exactly what this feeling was, but she was occupying his mind more than one would expect from the short meeting. Every time her bashful look came to his mind, a nervous excitement overtook him.

Krarshe’s thoughts were a whirlwind of concern and confusion, his emotions rapidly alternating between gloom and a strange, gleeful delight. Krarshe rolled over to face the lone window in his room. The sky was dark, stars covered by clouds of an oncoming rainstorm. “How appropriate,” he commented to himself.

As the time passed slowly, the sky was beginning to brighten, turning the clouds from the darkest black to a bland gray. He wiggled himself to the edge of the bed, tossed his feet over the side, and sat up. It may be best to just skip class today and not see them, he thought. At least until I figure out what to say.

Krarshe stood up and walked over to the sack he had and pulled out the outfit he bought for himself when he was an old man. Looking at them now, they did seem fairly shabby, but it didn’t matter much. He threw them on and made his way out of The Easy Lute.

The streets of Feyfaire were quiet this early in the morning. It was actually a bit spooky, considering the commotion that usually filled them normally. With Feyfaire so desolate, and the other districts likely the same, he decided to head toward South Bank. Normally, it wasn’t the safest place, but his shabby clothes would likely work in his favor this time. Additionally, any unsavory people had likely given up on replaceing targets by this time and scattered to the shadows as the number of city guards rose with the sun.

The shift from Feyfaire to South Bank was anything but subtle. It was as though two distinct cities had been placed next to each other by the hands of the gods, a divide between the bright, cheerful pavement of the trade district and the dark, melancholic stone of the impoverished port district. The shoddy buildings on South Bank’s side of the street were in stark contrast to the well-kept buildings of Feyfaire on the opposing side. The further into the district one went, the worse it got. Broken crates and debris from crumbling buildings littered the alleyways, along with barrels of fish scraps so rancid that even the stray cats avoided them. Krarshe hurried through the heart of the district, not wanting to linger in this squalor.

By the time he cut through the heart of South Bank to the Silver River, it was dawn. A few people began mulling about as they prepared for their day. Krarshe found a secluded spot with a good view of the wharf, hopped up onto the low stone wall that guarded the street from the bank of the river, and sat down. This was the main dock for fishermen in Remonnet and he could see it was already busy, bustling with boats of night fishermen unloading their catch. Further down river, the dregs hauled up catches of their own, dragging the decaying matter which got caught in the wharf up from the riverbed and hauling it out of the city. The goings-on here was likely the only activity at this time, and the best distraction he’d replace from his thoughts.

The stench of fish was overwhelming, even from this distance. He couldn’t imagine what it smelled like on the wharf itself. At least this fish was fresh. He looked across the river to the residential sector of Stormbridge. Despite being just across the river, the buildings there were in much better condition than those in South Bank. He wasn’t sure if it was just newer, or if the city had just invested more in Stormbridge. It was guarded from attacks by a branch of the Silver River which had split from the main river a bit upstream, granting it safety and thus a better place to invest in. The split apparently appeared not long after the start of the war, likely man-made, and has served as a deterrent to attacks from the north ever since. Or so Krarshe had been told, with no way to verify the claim. Regardless of the reason for this, only one thought filled his mind: did it smell of fish on the far shore too?

After watching the boats come and go for nearly an hour, Krarshe heard his stomach growl. He hadn’t yet eaten breakfast, and the reprieve from his troubled thoughts had given his stomach a chance to complain. He had gotten what he was hoping for, a reprieve. Looking once more over the river, he got up and hopped off the wall. As he turned the corner, he bumped into a big burly man, his black beard covering his ridiculously broad chest.

“Ach! Woochit kid! Fookin’ li’l shit. Ahh, muy heead,” he grumbled, wincing and grabbing his large, oily forehead. Krarshe could smell the booze on his breath, somehow overcoming the stench of fish. “Snatch’r take yeh, fookin’ brat!” He stumbled past Krarshe and continued on.

Krarshe watched the man staggering slightly for a bit. His clothes were pretty dirty, stained with unknown substances. They were tattered in places, worn down from excessive use. It wasn’t just the buildings that were run down here. South Bank was unquestionably the most dangerous district in Remonnet, mostly occupied by poor fishermen and the desperate. You could easily replace your purse missing. Or worse, disappear into a back alley, taken by some thugs and sold into slavery. It wasn’t unusual for parents in other districts to use South Bank as a scare tactic for misbehaving children, not that they’d ever let them actually come here. But, it was also probably the best place if you wanted to vanish from public knowledge intentionally, too.

Krarshe shifted uneasily, thinking about some of the goings-on here. Turning his attention from it, he figured he should probably leave South Bank to replace food, to avoid any incidents. Even in the relative safety of the day, it was dangerous, and he wasn’t looking for any trouble. Being careful to not run into anyone else, he made his way back to Feyfaire.

Krarshe sat down heavily at the table in The Easy Lute. He had spent most of that morning wandering around Feyfaire, checking out the wares of various street merchants, though it felt more like he was walking around for the sake of keeping himself busy. In the afternoon, he went to the school store in hopes of the girl Lycia showing up again, but he was not so lucky. Not a single customer showed up, and he ran out of things to keep himself distracted within the first hour. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. He just sat at the table and waited for a waitress.

The bard, Henry, was joined by another person, a slightly chubby woman with blond hair which hung down in several tight curls. She was adjusting the collar of his loose-fitting shirt with a serious face, though Henry just smiled back at her. After she finished, she walked back behind the counter. Henry sat there adjusting his lute strings methodically, his hands well-practiced. The woman eventually came back out with a small ring of wood with some kind of material stretched over it. She tapped it a few times, making a dull thumping sound.

Henry and the woman talked for a moment before turning to face the room. She started with a beat against her instrument rhythmically, followed shortly after by Henry. The two began to sing a song Krarshe didn’t recognize, but it was a quick, cheerful tempo. The woman’s higher pitched voice mixed harmoniously with Henry’s lower, smoother tone. Before Krarshe knew it, some of the more inebriated customers began trying to sing along to it, albeit poorly. The whole room seemed to be filled with a jolly atmosphere. Krarshe groaned. He wasn’t in the mood for this.

As he stared at the table, trying to stew in his frustrations, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Na’kika, standing with a tray and a friendly smile. She gestured to Henry and the woman and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“They’re quite good,” Krarshe forced himself to smile back, not wanting to bring the catfolk girl into his dilemma. “Who is she?”

Na’kika pointed toward the back room and then put her hand out to her side, around waist height, as though she was indicating one’s height.

“I’m not sure I follow...” Krarshe said, face contorted in confusion.

Na’kika scratched her head for a bit, before smoothing out her short orange-red hair and trying again. She again pointed to the back room and then crossed her hands in front of her, palms open and faced up. She then began turning back and forth slowly while looking down at her empty arms.

“Umm...”

Na’kika furrowed her brow and pursed her lips, clearly getting frustrated. She breathed deeply and started gesturing again. This time, she pointed at Henry and the woman, and then clasped her hands together, fingers laced. She brought her tail over and wrapped it around her clasped hands loosely. She once again, more insistently, raised her eyebrows at Krarshe.

Krarshe had no idea what she was trying to say. “I’m sorry, I still don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

“Ugh. She’s trying to say that she’s the innkeeper’s daughter and Henry’s betrothed. Even I could see what she was trying to say,” said Valerie from behind Krarshe, startling him.

“Seriously, are you always behind me?”

Valerie just laughed, evading his question. “Do you really not get any of those gestures? Cradling a baby? Marriage entwining ceremony?”

“Honestly, those are... Well, that’s not how things are done where I’m from...” Krarshe admitted.

Valerie and Na’kika both just gawked at Krarshe in surprise. “Really? Not even holding a newborn?” Valerie asked, bewildered. Na’kika gestured what Krarshe could only assume was the same astonished question.

“It’s... Just differences... I... I don’t know how else to explain it.”

Na’kika made a sympathetic face and then petted Krarshe’s blond hair gently.

“You poor boy,” Valerie soothed. “I don’t know where you’re from, but that... I just can’t even fathom...”

Krarshe looked up at Na’kika. She just kept petting his head with a smile on her face. Krarshe couldn’t compete with her, and his face cracked into a heartfelt smile. She really is a kind girl.

“I’m fine, Na’kika. Thank you,” Krarshe said, stopping her hand.

Her smile widened, revealing her enlarged canine teeth. She gestured to the kitchen and then to his table.

“If there’s any fish stew, I’ll have that,” Krarshe said.

Na’kika nodded once and hurried to the kitchen.

“I hope you appreciate the new song too, just for you,” Valerie quipped with a grin.

“Yeah, she’s really good. Thank you,” Krarshe said, watching Henry and his betrothed.

“No, don’t thank me. Na’kika was the one who suggested bringing in Giselle.”

Krarshe turned back to Valerie. “Really?”

“I swear on Teva’s name.”

Krarshe was surprised. His talk with Na’kika last time was intended as just a friendly chat, but she took it seriously.

“Giselle is also a musician, but she’s got real experience unlike Henry. So again, you should thank her later. Oh, I have to get back to work,” she said, scurrying off to a customer waving his empty mug. “Enjoy.”

Krarshe sat alone at his table, once again accompanied only by his thoughts. But now, he had another thing on his mind. This catfolk girl was making her situation weigh on him even more. She really didn’t deserve what happened to her, and it frustrated him. More and more, he was seeing her as a friend, and he wanted to do what he could. Friends... Krarshe thought. “Ugh, well, there’s that issue again...” Krarshe muttered, remembering the events at school the day before. He shook his head forcefully, trying to dismiss his thoughts. He focused on Henry and Giselle and tried to let their merry music distract him, with middling success.