Something Extra - Hungry Heart - Ch. 21 (Patreon)

Chapter One  / Chapter Two  / Chapter Three  / Chapter Four  / Chapter Five  / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten  / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen / Chapter Eighteen / Chapter Nineteen / Chapter Twenty 

Chapter Twenty-One – Shroudharbor

Toru sensed his nostrils flaring as they were tickled by the smell of smoke rising in the distance. It was a scent mixed with human activity and fish freshly caught, and his belly rumbled in sympathy. Any questions he still had about the place, Shroudharbor would answer on its own.

This wasn’t Whitekeep, a small town with stern-looking people, and not Fairside either, with its citadel now shooting its proud towers toward the sky. Shroudharbor was a place for merchants, people of the sea, and a flurry of new scents.

The first houses they spotted also served as stalls where sellers of all kinds displayed their wares. Some of them looked like they belonged to the place, their faces wrinkled and carved by the salt in the air. Their smiles were large, but their eyes were cunning.

Toru walked down a road paved with small stones, taking in everything with hungry eyes. Also, with a hungry belly. But, they weren’t the kind to have money, so they would have to be satisfied with the food they still had in Duril’s bag. Which was delicious…

Nonetheless, the smell of grilled fish was making him drool. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared longingly at a stall where a woman who looked as wide as she was tall turned fish from one side to the other with delicate moves. Her face wasn’t wrinkled like the others’, and her skin was shiny with health and happiness.

“Would you like one, young traveler?” she called to him.

Toru shook his head. Varg and Duril were nearby, taken with the novelty of the place just like him.

“Come on, have one,” the woman encouraged him.

“I don’t have money,” he said honestly.

“It’s all right. I won’t go broke if I give you a fish. You look like someone who would enjoy it.”

Toru hesitated for a moment, but then he walked over to the woman’s stall and shyly took the stick on which the fish was impaled. He sank his teeth into the soft flesh, the sweet juices bursting with delicious flavor on his tongue, and then opened his mouth wide and stuffed it all in. He gave the woman back the stick, now free of all traces of food.

The woman stared at him for a moment and burst into laughter. “You’re a big lad. And hungry, too. If you want to earn some money, my husband always needs people on his boats.”

“I’m no sailor,” Toru said. Suddenly he felt guilty about eating everything, without even thinking about Varg and Duril. They had to be hungry, too.

A tiny tyke rolled toward them from the back, running on wobbly feet, and then crashing into the woman’s leg.

The woman grabbed him and hiked him up on her hip. The boy looked like her, the same chubby cheeks and chubby hands. He giggled as she bounced him up and down, but then he started coughing.

“My Moony here, he’s a bit sick.” She tried to sound like there was nothing wrong with that, but worry crept into her voice. “But where are my manners? I’m Naella. My husband’s Teutron, so if you ever need work while you’re here, don’t forget to ask about him.”

The boy buried his face into the crook of his mother’s shoulder, coughing louder.

“My friend’s a healer,” Toru found himself talking. “Maybe he could take a look at the boy.”

Naella’s face lit up again. “He could? How much does he charge?”

“Nothing. And you gave me a fish, anyway.”

Naella laughed. “Then that’s mighty cheap. Where is your friend?”

Right then, Varg and Duril walked over to him. Naella’s eyes grew wide, and only then Toru realized that she must have been looking at Duril. Half-orcs might not be a common sight here.

“He doesn’t eat children,” he blurted out. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Making friends already?” Varg placed one hand on Toru’s shoulder.

“Naella’s boy is sick,” he said without any other introductions. “I told her maybe Duril could give him one of his potions.”

A tense silence fell, as Naella observed Duril with keen eyes. She didn’t look scared. She turned to one side to let them see the boy’s face. “We asked around, but the cough medicine my husband brought this morning doesn’t seem to do much.”

Duril approached the woman gently. “May I touch his forehead?”

The boy shied away from Duril after his mother nodded.

“It’s true what Toru says. I don’t eat children,” he said.

Naella’s face stretched in a smile. “We see all kinds of people here. We’re not that easy to impress. You’re a healer?”

Duril nodded as he examined Moony who seemed to feel safe in his mother’s arms. “Yes. We come from Whitekeep.”

“You’re a long way from home. It’s up north, isn’t it?”

Varg cleared his throat, and both Toru and Duril kept silent. There was no use letting strangers know about the curse that had befallen Whitekeep.

“Indeed,” Duril said. He searched his pouch and took out a potion. He handed it to Naella. “I’ve offered this many times when people came to me with this kind of cough.”

The seller took the vial and looked at it.

“You can give him a few drops after each meal. It should help after a few times.”

“Thank you. Now, please, help yourselves,” she said and pointed at the fish turning a delicious shade of brown on the grill. “Unless you want money. How much is it?”

“No, please, we cannot take any money,” Duril said. “I just hope that your son gets well soon.”

“But we’ll grab a bite,” Varg said. He helped himself but only to one fish and offered Duril another.

“I already ate mine,” Toru said when Varg made a move to grab one for him.

“Then we should move on,” Varg said. “I wish you good health, Naella, to you and your family,” he added politely.

“Are you sure you don’t want more?”

“No, we’re good, and thank you for your hospitality.”

They were about to leave when a man who was the spitting image of Naella, only even larger, hurried up to them. He threw them a suspicious look. “Who are you?” he asked.

Shaggy hair covered his head and a long beard obscured his face.

“They’re travelers,” Naella said.

“Hmm,” the man said. “Not helping themselves to the wares without paying, are they?”

“No. They gave me a potion for Moony.”

The man turned his suspicious glare at them again. “I brought that herbal from Friar Ralf. You should give that to him.”

“I did,” Naella replied and put her free hand on her hip. “Friar Ralf gets drunk on his herbals day in and day out. Moony slept like he was dead until moments ago.”

That was a strange kind of medicine, then.

“Which of you is the healer?” the man who must have been Naella’s husband asked.

“I am,” Duril replied.

Teutron threw Duril a look of unhidden disdain. “Are you an orc?” he spat.

“Just half of me,” Duril replied in a neutral tone.

The man harrumphed. “What business do you have in Shroudharbor?”

“I think that’s their own business, husband,” Naella chided him. “Are you a street runner now? You don’t go around, asking people about their affairs.”

“And they shouldn’t go around, giving medicine to people like that. Who knows what they put in there?”

“They’re good people, Teutron. Look at them.”

“I’m looking at them.” The burly man looked them up and down. “I see an orc, a warmonger, and a vagabond.”

Varg grinned and leaned toward Toru. “You’re the vagabond.”

“I don’t like orcs, and I don’t like vagabonds. And warmongers are not welcome here. Give them back their medicine, woman.”

Naella appeared to be ready to protest for a moment, but then she took the potion out of her large apron pocket. She handed it back to Duril. “Forgive my husband. He spends so much time at sea that he forgets the laws of the land. And hospitality,” she added while throwing her husband a pointed look.

“Then we’ll be on our way,” Varg said and took both Toru and Duril by the shoulders and left the fish stall.

Toru had a mind to tell that burly man a thing or two, but he knew that he couldn’t let his spirit speak for him while in a new place. “As soon as we get our answers, we’re out of here. It’s a nasty place,” he declared.

“Although the fish is not half bad,” Varg said and laughed. “Don’t take it to heart, Toru. We’ll find plenty of people like that everywhere we go. Now we should head over to their library so that Duril can start sticking his nose in their books.”

“How rude of them,” Toru huffed. “And I did like the fish, but I didn’t like that Naella gave Duril back the potion. It was a gift.”

“We got three grilled fish for it,” Varg reminded him.

“Still,” Toru insisted, feeling pretty miffed on Duril’s account.

“She didn’t give me back the potion.” The healer uncapped the vial Naella had handed to him and sniffed. “This is some kind of liquor.”

“Ah, that must be the medicine from the famous Friar Ralf,” Varg said. “He must be treating the population here by getting them dead drunk.”

What kind of healer was that? Toru wondered and hoped that they would never need to get treated by that kind of healer. Besides, Duril had to be the best, anyway.

“We need to plan our stay,” Varg began. “First, we need to find the library and leave Duril there to learn as much as he can about what interests us.”

Toru guessed that Varg didn’t want to talk out loud about the world being on the brink of danger, so he just nodded with a small grunt.

“While Duril gets his nose in those books, we’ll find work so that we can put a roof over our heads tonight.”

Toru scrunched his nose. “We could just go hunting. I don’t like the people here.”

“You shouldn’t judge a place by just one man. And the woman, she gave you a fish, didn’t she?” Varg scolded him.

Toru pouted. He still didn’t like the idea of heavy work. He could hunt, catch enough food, and then sleep happily for the rest of the day under the naked sky.

“We need to learn about the people here,” Varg explained. “What better way to do so than to work by their side and break bread with them at the end of the day?”

“Ugh, are we going to work for bread?” Toru protested.

“Kitty, you’re making me want to chew your ears again. Duril may or may not find what we are looking for in those dusty tomes at the library. Look around. Does this place look like Fairside? Where is the danger? Can you see it?”

Toru scratched his head. He needed his enemy pointed out to him. Anything else, he couldn’t understand. “No. Maybe Agatha’s wrong, and there’s no curse of darkness,” he said, perking up. “Maybe all I’ve smelled so far was grilled fish, and I wanted to come here and eat some.”

He yelped as Varg grabbed his ear. “We didn’t leave our homes behind so that you could eat some fish. And you know that the threat is real. You had a taste of it, didn’t you?”

Toru fell silent, and Varg gave up on twisting his ear. The tigershifter knew the darkness was alive, hidden somewhere, but he wasn’t keen on searching for it and dragging it out by its beard – if it had any – if he could help it.

“Just follow my lead,” Varg ordered. “It looks like I still need to teach you a thing or two about being part of my pack.”

“You’re a slave driver,” Toru complained but fell in line with Varg and Duril after letting them walk a bit in front.

Duril was conspicuously quiet as he engaged in his usual sparring with the mutt. The healer appeared to be lost in thought.

“What is it, Duril?” he asked.

“I’ve just noticed something, but it may be just my imagination,” the healer said. “One in several people looks like they are suffering from something.”

Toru and Varg began paying attention to their surroundings with different eyes. A man who looked like heavy years had bent his back was hiding his face in his palms, heaving. A few feet away, a young woman was holding a hand over her belly and she was too pale in the face to be all right.

It wasn’t like everyone was sick, but it was out of the ordinary to see so many people affected by all kinds of afflictions in the same place. Toru didn’t know how that felt on his own since he didn’t get sick.

“Is it the curse traveling with us again?” he whispered quietly.

“Or it arrived before us,” Duril replied. He walked over to the elderly man and asked him something. Then, he handed him one of his potions. He returned to Toru and Varg with a pensive expression on his face. “He has been like this for weeks now. He told me that everyone seems to be getting sick these days.”

Varg met Toru’s eyes with his lips set in a grim line. “We might be the ones who need to step up the pace.”

“Do you think it’s the same thing that was in Whitekeep and Fairside?”

“We cannot know,” Varg said. “But we’re here to help people, so Duril will have the task of learning what’s going on with all of these afflictions tormenting the city dwellers.”

“Then we need to find the library,” Toru agreed. “We should ask around --”

Duril was quicker than he was and just asked a passerby for the directions to the library. The man had a weary expression on his face, and he was pulling a heavy cart after him. He threw Duril a look of distrust, and Toru took one step toward them, having decided not to let anyone else question how much human really was in the healer’s body.

Varg stopped him. “Duril is strong enough to stand up for himself.”

“What if someone kicks him or hits him?”

“Then we intervene. And you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

“I don’t like either,” Toru said with conviction.

“Are you a fly?” Varg asked with a chuckle.

“Then what are you talking about? Who’s the fly?”

“He is,” Varg said, and pointed at the weary-looking man talking to Duril.

Before he had a chance to ask the wolfshifter what he meant by that, Varg strode over to the man. “Good sir,” he said courteously, “we can see that your burden is heavy. Will you allow us to help you?”

The man looked them up and down and pursed his lips. “I don’t have any coin to give.”

“And we don’t require any. Just let us pull your cart and the only thing we ask is for you to point us in the direction of the library.”

That seemed to make the man a bit more lively, as he began to gesticulate and explain what road they had to take to reach their destination.

“Then I’ll head over there, and you can find me later,” Duril said.

Toru wasn’t happy with splitting up, but Varg continued to insist that the healer needed to read books to find out new things. Another thing he wasn’t happy with was being a beast of burden again, but since Varg was the leader –

Since when was he the leader?

***

Duril stopped in front of the large building and let out a small, reverent sigh. Besides magic, he had always dreamed of reading a lot of books, as the knowledge he found between their pages filled him with wonder. But there had been few books he had read in his life, let alone been able to bring home with him. Now, he was like a famished man who had endured privations all his life presented with a lavish buffet.

The library was housed in an imposing building that appeared to have been erected through the power of will as well as that of body. The dark blocks of granite had been polished to perfection so that they would fit together precisely, as no sign of mortar could be seen. The building was larger at the base, narrowing toward its crest, and on top a belfry lay. It had to be an important landmark, and Duril could easily imagine the people hiding behind those thick walls after heeding the toll of the bell in times of strife.

If a stranger would have been tempted to mistake the library building for a castle keep, such misconceptions would soon be dispelled by the inscription on the lintel.

“Walk in and drink from my fountain of knowledge,” Duril whispered.

As if that had been the magic incantation able to grant him entrance, the large door opened in front of him. A small man, dressed in a monk’s outfit peered from behind. “Who are you, stranger, and what do you seek?” His voice was hoarse, and his small, beady eyes were filled with intelligence.

“I seek knowledge,” Duril said politely.

The intelligent eyes examined him from beneath caterpillar-like eyebrows. It was hard to tell his age, as the little hair on his head was white like snow, while the thick eyebrows were a dark brown.

“What kind of knowledge?”

“Of magic and tales about the end of the world,” Duril replied, hoping that he was on point with the description of his task without giving away too much.

“The end of the world,” the man repeated and examined Duril. “Where are you from, stranger? Zukh Kalegh?”

Duril had never heard of such a place. “No. I come from Whitekeep.”

The librarian appeared to be lost in thought briefly. “Ah, I see,” he said enigmatically and threw Duril a shrewd look. “Then you are welcome.”

With a screech and a sigh, the door opened wider, a reminder to its tender that its hinges needed oiling. Duril stepped through and found himself in a cavernous room. The ceiling looked as if it could be as high as the level at which the belfry stood, but he couldn’t be sure. Narrow shelves lined the walls up to the ceiling and stretched into the distance. Duril could only guess where they ended. The façade was impressive, but it was difficult, if not impossible, to tell how deep the library stretched.

Duril took a moment to drink in the smell of old books. Even if it was a bit dusty and a bit musty, he wouldn’t have traded it for the world. The librarian truly had his work cut out for him if he had to care for all those tomes on his own.

“Do you have any help?” he asked.

The librarian wore a plain dark grey robe similar in shape to what most monks wore. However, there was nothing pious in the way the librarian moved around, quick on his feet and bent to a purpose only he knew.

“Help? For what?”

“For taking care of all these books.”

The librarian waved impatiently. “No. I have a system. And this is my home. I am Elidias, the custodian of the Shroudharbor library.”

“My name is Duril. I’m a healer and potion maker.”

“Your hand,” Elidias said. “May I see it more closely?”

The librarian must have noticed the symbols.

“Of course.”

The only natural light came from the windows on the door wall. Otherwise, the only other source was a lamp placed on a wooden desk, which was most probably the librarian’s. Since he could see in the dark just fine, Duril didn’t have an issue with examining his surroundings.

“Step closer,” the librarian requested and motioned him toward the desk.

Duril said nothing as Elidias grabbed his hand and then stared at the symbols while muttering something under his breath. “Old wood, can you hear it?” he questioned.

So, the librarian had recognized the markings for what they were.

“I made a door open once,” Duril said.

Elidias let out a hearty laugh. “That’s something that might come in handy more often than not.”

Apparently, the librarian was thinking of the same things as Toru. Duril shook his hand. “I wouldn’t abuse it.”

“Why?” Again, the shrewd eyes examined him.

“Because it would be wrong.”

Elidias’s face stretched into a smile, and his eyes glinted with mischief. “An orc who talks to trees and believes in good? You’re a sight for sore eyes, my friend.”

“I’m only half-orc,” Duril pointed out.

The librarian laughed louder and patted him on the back. “Which half are you talking about? The top or the bottom? The right or the left? The front or the back?”

Duril was discomfited for a moment. “I couldn’t say,” he admitted.

“See?” Elidias’s smile deepened. He put his hand briefly on Duril’s chest. “Anyone asks, and they want you to be human, you say: I’m human. And if orcs ever cross your path, you say: I’m orc. And you will never be wrong.”

Duril couldn’t contradict the librarian. “I hope I don’t ever happen to cross roads with orcs, though.”

The librarian was laughing so hard now, tilting his head back and patting the generous girth of his belly. “Hope is a wonderful thing, my friend. But you will meet orcs, if you travel long and far enough. What did you want? The end of the world? We’ll have to walk a little to get there.”

Pleased with his pun, Elidias grabbed the lamp and began walking down one of the aisles. Duril hurried after him, intrigued by the quirky librarian. Not that he had met many librarians in his life, but this man seemed unique in his strangeness.

Duril was equally in awe of the custodian’s knowledge. He had recognized the gift from Lady Amethyst right away, and he seemed to know enough to make the prediction that one day the healer would meet others of his kin.

As a child, Duril had imagined such a moment in different ways than he did now. He had seen orcs in the war, but as a non-combatant, he had never been close to one. As a child, when the other kids were mean to him, he had dreamed of having his father come and take him and maybe teach those children a lesson. But such thoughts had always left him drained and feeling sick, and after he had seen the atrocities his kin were capable of, he had renounced the hope of meeting them and becoming a part of their tribe.

Just as people said, orcs were victims of bloodlust. He didn’t want any of it.

“Don’t deny the orc you are,” Elidias said, as if he could read his thoughts. “It’ll bring you grief.”

“I’ve only lived among humans.”

And shifters. Duril didn’t add that.

“Humans can be as bad as orcs, if not worse,” Elidias said.

“That is true,” Duril admitted. “But can orcs be good?”

Elidias turned and held the lamp high to look at Duril. “You’re good, and you’re an orc. You just got your answer.”

With that, the librarian turned on his heels and continued his fast-paced walking. Duril hurried after him. “Do you really know where everything is in this place?”

“That’s my duty,” Elidias replied. “And it’s not every day that someone from Whitekeep walks in here and asks about tales about the end of the world. We have a special section for them.”

Duril wanted to ask if that “we” meant that there were other librarians, but Elidias stopped in front of a shelf. “Let’s see. What sort of end of the world are we talking about? Will it be a great flood? Or maybe dragons will shoot fire from the sky? Or a big winter will come rushing in, freezing everything?”

Duril now wished he had had a good lie ready so that he could explore those books in peace.

“Or maybe,” Elidias’s voice dropped to an amused whisper, “we’re talking about dirt coming to life and fire from within?”

Duril opened his mouth and closed it. There was no point in beating around the bush. “You know about it,” he breathed out.

“Just guessed,” Elidias said. “No, maybe guessed is a too confusing word… Ah, I know. I saw it in a crystal ball.”

“In a crystal ball?”

“Not really. That was an inside joke, as we say.”

Now Duril’s curiosity was piqued. “Who are you talking about? Are there more librarians here?”

“No, and I’m not talking about that morose bunch,” Elidias said with emphasis. “I’m talking about something else. Something high above.” He pointed at the ceiling.

Duril followed his gesture and blinked. What could Elidias be talking about? His roundabout manner of speech reminded him of someone. “Do you happen to know Agatha, the witch from Whitekeep?”

“Ha, do I know her?” Elidias laughed. “Heard of her, yes. And listened. Now, let’s grab what we need and then we’ll climb.”

Duril watched the librarian as he hiked several heavy-looking tomes and balanced them in one arm.

“Do me a favor and hold the light,” Elidias said.

Duril took the lamp and then, Elidias began walking again. Where were they supposed to climb?

When they reached the end of the room, only then did Duril notice the stairs. They appeared to have been carved into the wall and looked like they had been stepped on thousands of times, polished and sunken in the middle by the multitude of feet that had walked them.

“It’s a long way up,” Elidias warned. “But what’s a little hardship when you want to save the world?”

The librarian knew a lot about it, it seemed, and Duril could barely wait to question him and maybe see his crystal ball.

“I don’t really have a crystal ball,” Elidias said like he was confessing to a minor misdemeanor.

“Then how can you know so much? And do you know what happened in Whitekeep? And Fairside?”

“Some things, I can hear them before they happen. For others, I need travelers to visit and tell me about them. Agatha is a reader of smoke and ashes, but I’m a listener, my dear friend.”

“So you can tell the future, like Agatha?”

“Not quite like her. We would be redundant, then, and if there is one thing we don’t want, that’s redundancy. And none of us can really tell the future.”

Duril didn’t dare to question the truth of that statement. He looked at the vast library as they continued to climb. It was truly a sight, and he wished he would have the time to go through all of those precious books.

“Maybe you’ll come visit after,” Elidias said.

“Can you read minds?” Duril asked, a bit unnerved by the librarian’s habit of having a conversation with his thoughts.

“Only when someone is as close as you are, and their heart is open.”

“Ah. So you could tell everything I thought ever since I set foot in here?”

“Even when you were just standing outside the door. So, I have eyebrows like caterpillars?”

“Oh, I apologize --” Duril started.

Elidias laughed. He looked like a man who liked to do that a lot. “I don’t mind it. Caterpillars become butterflies. So, ready for some doom and gloom?”

So caught up in the conversation, Duril had missed their reaching the top of the stairs. Elidias pushed against a wooden trapdoor with just one hand, while he balanced the tomes in his other arm. Light flooded in from above.

“Welcome to my study,” Elidias said courteously.

Duril followed him and, once more, his breath was taken away.

They were inside the belfry, but the place was organized, indeed, as a study room. There were desks, papers, books, and instruments for writing everywhere. A heavy bell hung from above, and its rope reached the ground.

“Do you spend a lot of time here? It’s pretty windy.” Duril moved to one of the open walls and took in the stretch of Shroudharbor, as far as his eyes could see. From there, he could see the fishing boats and the vast expanse of water, too.

“But it’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” Elidias asked. “I must be here if I want to listen to the wind.”

“Did the wind tell you about what happened in Whitekeep and Fairside?” Duril asked.

“Ah, Fairside. Vilemoor no more,” Elidias said with glee. “Yes. Agatha reads ashes. The wind carries them. I listen. But enough about such technicalities. Let’s see what we have here.”

Duril followed Elidias to a desk and accepted the offered chair politely. The wind blew heavily and it brought cold with it, making him thankful for his thick skin. The librarian’s few strands of hair left on his head performed a chaotic dance.

“Who’s traveling with you?” Elidias asked as he placed the heavy tomes on the desk and began to leaf through one with incredible speed.

“I thought you’d know already.”

“While I’m looking for what we need, I’d like to hear your story. I am a listener,” he added.

It looked like that role was much more important to Elidias than that of being the custodian of Shroudharbor’s library.

“Toru is a tigershifter,” Duril began.

Elidias muttered an affirmation of sorts, as his eyes danced over each page for a few moments.

“He came to us, called by the road. And Whitekeep --”

Duril wasn’t used to being particularly talkative. But as he recounted their adventures so far, with all the good and all the bad, his tongue became loose and his heart warmed, and he discovered the heretofore unknown pleasures of telling tales.

“And now, you’re here,” Elidias said once he finished. Unlike previously, his eyes were no longer laughing. The look in them was intense, too. “I’d say, in the nick of time.”

“Is something afoot already?” Duril asked, feeling a chill coursing down his back that had nothing to do with their being in that hawk nest, suspended above the rest of the city amidst the rushing wind.

“There’s always something,” Elidias said, and his eyes became glassy and unfocused. “But the world wasn’t built in a day, and it won’t disappear overnight. Now, here is the tale you asked me about.”

Elidias turned the tome toward Duril so that he could read the words.

“A tiger walks the path of destiny,” he whispered as he read the first line and shivered.

TBC

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