Hungry Heart - Book 5 - Ch. 4 (Patreon)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three 

Chapter Four – The Enchanted Printer

The Grand Market was located at the heart of the city supposedly, and Varg would have thought finding it shouldn’t be too hard. However, it seemed that the labyrinthine nature of the streets of Coinvale begged to differ. As expected from a place dedicated to the art of trade, there were many market squares and commercial areas that tried to entice them with wares of various kinds while they marched toward their destination.

The vendors and passersby that appeared to be locals had kindly guided them to the Grand Market, but the main obstacle was the sheer size of the city. It sprawled over an area that rivaled even Scercendusa, and only its location far from the capital made Coinvale not so easy to access to the people living on the other side of the continent. Varg was surprised he had never heard of it until now.

“How new do you think this city is?” he asked Claw, who walked by his side in conspicuous silence.

While he wished his friend would confide in him, he didn’t want to press the bearshifter into saying anything just yet. Claw appeared to be taking in his surroundings before declaring it dangerous for them. It was that circumspect waiting that made Varg feel a kind of unease. His own senses sharpened as they continued their trek through the city.

“That is one good question, puppy,” Claw said in his usual sonorous and playful voice. “While we continue our trip, how about you tell me why you keep stealing looks at me as if you’re expecting me to turn into a vicious beast, bent on subduing its inhabitants and taking the city for himself.”

“What a nice way to put it,” Varg said dryly. “Very well, since you’re such a keen observer, tell me what’s bothering you. Is it about what happened in Shroudharbor?”

“You can bet your furry coat that it is,” Claw admitted with a non-committal grunt. “I may not like merchants too much. But it’s not only that. I sensed from the very beginning that there’s something off about this place, even as we crossed the Aureate Sea. Something is buried deep underground.”

Varg felt his ears pricking in apprehension. “Do you think it’s the shard? They buried it under their city? Or under their sea of sand?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, puppy,” Claw said and scratched his beard for a moment. “You see, when I get this sense of foreboding, I rarely see everything clearly. It takes a better seer than me to untangle the secrets such dark powers come along with. But it makes sense that whatever darkness feeds into Coinvale is well hidden.”

“How so?” Varg asked, as his eyebrows knitted into a frown.

“The locals haven’t been affected by it. Not yet, at least. That means that it may be dormant or barely waking up.”

“Do you believe that our presence here might cause it to manifest?”

“That wouldn’t be so hard to believe, right? I mean, Toru already has those shards in his shoulder, and we have a vague idea about how they tend to call to each other and sense the presence of another shard.”

“So far, Toru hasn’t noticed anything.”

“The day is young,” Claw said, accompanying his words with a wise smile. “And we have yet to reach the Grand Market.”

“How do these people navigate these streets to get where they need to be before sundown?” Varg asked in frustration. “To be honest, I hadn’t expected this place to sprawl over such a vast expanse of land. It makes you wonder how come I haven’t heard of it before coming to this part of Eawirith.”

“Hence your earlier question,” Claw pointed out. “I have a feeling that the city is not as old as Scercendusa and other places on our old continent. They have the impetus of young people, don’t you think?”

“Yes, my friend, you said it well. That is the thing that intrigues me so much about this place. And their ambition to strive and succeed belongs to a young soul, regardless of how old some of the merchants here are.”

“It is another thing we need to find an answer for. But first, let’s find that bloody market square that’s supposed to be the heart of the city.”

Varg couldn’t agree more. They hurried along a winding street. Hopefully, Toru and Duril were having better luck in finding the collector of stories.

***

“Ah, my friend from the old world,” Misar Dagou welcomed him the moment he set his eyes on his new visitors. “What brings you back so quickly? Would you like another brochure? Depending on your interests, I can offer you the guide to the best inns in Coinvale, the best places to eat our signature pie that is named after our city--”

Duril wasn’t one to interrupt people when they talked, but this time, they had no time to waste on idle chatter. With an apologetic smile, he began speaking. “I would like to take you up on your offer to tell my stories to your son. You mentioned him to me earlier.”

“Of course, of course.” The wizened face lit up with joy. “I would take you to him now but I must tend to my stall until late in the afternoon when business begins to wind down. Here,” the merchant added and handed Duril a small patch of leather. “That is a sign for him to know that I sent you. And now, let me explain how you can reach his office.”

Toru remained silent while Misar Dagou explained the shortest way to the place that his son was in charge of, the place where all the stories happened. According to the old merchant, it was also there that the copies were made, as underneath the building something called an enchanted printer was located. Despite the danger made real by the presence of a dark shard in the city, Duril felt excited at the opportunity to discover such incredible things.

He thanked the merchant profusely and gave him the promise that they would return for more brochures. Then, he took Toru’s arm and whispered to him, “I think we’re on the right path.”

“Duril,” Toru asked as soon as they were out of the merchant’s earshot, “do you think they put some of their dark magic into the foods they’re selling here? Please, don’t laugh.”

Duril smiled. “It would be quite unfortunate if they did that. And don’t worry; given the nature of what we have just discovered, your concerns are not unfounded. If it helps any, I still have some of our old supplies in my bag. It’s nothing fancy, mind you, but if you’re feeling hungry, I’ll give them to you.”

“That’s all right. When I need to, I can go without food for a while,” Toru said with a serious look on his face. “It is only that all of these people seem kind to me. How could they do something as reckless as to use evil magic?”

“They may not be to blame. After all, we can't really tell that they’re aware of the evil that lurks among them. They only know that their tradeweaving has become stronger since the shard was found and brought here. Just by looking around us, we can’t even tell that there’s darkness and evil at work.”

“Claw senses something,” Toru said and scrunched up his nose. “I wish I could smell evil the way he does. He is better than all of us when it comes to his nose.”

“That is true, and I’m glad he’s with us. His finely honed senses surely come in handy.”

“Like your ability to talk to the trees has helped us so many times,” Toru reminded him. “And how Varg is so good with running a pack. But don’t tell him I said that. He’ll say I’m his puppy, and I don’t want to be compared to a dog. Ever.”

“I think there’s little for you to worry about as far as that is concerned,” Duril said with a small laugh. “Even while he’s teasing you, Varg never means it. He teases you because he loves you.”

“I know.” Toru grinned and looked self-assured for a change. “Let’s go see that collector of stories. And if he tries to use that evil shard while we’re there, I’ll show him.” He punched his fist into the air.

Duril felt obliged to drag Toru’s arm down. “Let’s not think of employing such methods just yet. Remember, all these people around us may very well be innocent. Even if they are using the dark power of the shard, they’re unaware of it. Until we find proof that the opposite is true. Then, we might have to consider using violence.”

“Might,” Toru said with a playful snort. “I will beat their love for the shard out of them.”

“I don’t know, Toru,” Duril joked. “They seem to me to be quite numerous. Even you might get tired going at it like that.”

“You’re right. I’ll just start with the collector of stories. I’ll make an example out of him if he’s bent on using dark magic. Then the others will know that it’s bad to do so.”

“It sounds like a plan to me. According to Misar Dagou, we won’t have to walk very far. We’ll soon know what’s going on.”

***

The office where the collector of stories lived and worked was a two-story house made of wood and stone. It was a beautiful building, but not too different from the many others they had seen on this street. Toru observed the wooden door reinforced with metal bars horizontally in three places and watched Duril as his friend took a step forward and knocked.

In the meantime, he tipped his head back and took a long look at the windows above. The shutters were wide open and the sound of people chattering lively could be heard. There seemed to be a few people working with the merchant’s son, and they were probably hard at work right now. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and Toru wondered how a shard of that magnitude, if it was even a tenth of what he had seen represented in the brochure, could act in broad daylight without leaving any traces of its darkness.

They would find out soon enough, he thought, as someone came to the door, opening it wide in front of them.

“Hello, strangers,” the young man appearing in the doorframe welcomed them kindly.

He was so tall that he had to lean forward to stick his head out and talk to them. He was also thin, like a beanstalk, and he wore dark clothes. His hands were black, too, and Toru stared at them with curiosity.

“It is only ink,” the young man said, quickly noticing where Toru was looking. He held up his hands and showed them the many stains on his palms and the inside of his fingers. “How may I be of help?”

“Misar Dagou told us we could find his son here,” Duril said and handed the young man the patch of leather he’d been carrying since leaving the brochure stand.

“That would be me. I’m Misar Sogou,” the young man said and extended one arm only to snatch it back. “Apologies, I shouldn’t offer to shake your hand when I’m this dirty. But, please, come inside. We’re always eager for new stories here.”

“How do you know we’re here about sharing our stories?” Toru asked.

Misar Sogou threw him a puzzled look. “That’s almost always the reason my father points visitors to my office.” He had dark hair and dark eyes, but his skin was fair. If it weren’t for his impressive height, he would have looked like a lad no older than sixteen or so. However, since he was supposed to be a renowned writer, Toru could only assume that he was older.

“We’re in the middle of something, so please, allow me to tell the others that they can take a break while we talk,” Misar Sogou said and stepped to the side, gesturing for them to come in.

He stepped away for a moment, and Toru and Duril could hear him shouting something at the people upstairs. His earlier thoughts of giving the collector of stories a proper correction so that others would take it as example for liking evil magic were gone from Toru’s mind. Like the vendor at the food stall filling his basket with delicious foods, and Misar Dagou at the brochure stall, and the many other people he had noticed, the young man seemed kind and not the usual type to get involved with dark forces beyond the comprehension of anyone alive.

The room they were in was longer than wide, and it had benches and desks along the walls, left and right. At the far end, a large window with its open shutters took up almost the entire wall, so much so that it almost seemed like a door. Beyond it lay a garden of some sort, housing what appeared to be the most astonishing plants Toru had ever seen. Their long stalks were crowned by numerous petals that ranged in color from the softest pink to the most intense blue, so dark that it almost seemed black.

“That is where we grow the plants for our pigments,” Misar Sogou explained, following his line of sight. “I know that this place is not always ready for receiving visitors, so please take a seat wherever you want.”

“I must confess to perpetrating a bit of a ruse,” Duril began as soon as he sat on a chair across from Misar Sogou, who sat behind a desk covered with papers. Toru chose to stand so that he could pay proper attention to everything that was going on. “We’re not here to tell you stories of ours, but to learn something from you. But first, please allow me to introduce ourselves. My name is Duril and I come from a place called Whitekeep. And this is Toru, my companion.”

Misar Sogou studied them keenly, but he didn’t appear surprised or disappointed by Duril’s admission that they weren’t there to sell their adventures as they remembered them for coin. “That is not a problem,” he said courteously. “What is it that you wish to learn from me?”

“Since we arrived here, we’ve learned of tradeweaving, and I must say that my curiosity is piqued,” Duril said. “Your father told me that you created five hundred copies of the same book. Such a thing may be commonplace here, in Coinvale, but where we come from, and everywhere else we’ve visited on our journey, this is an astonishing feat. I am a budding scholar, so you may easily imagine why I’m so interested in such things.”

Misar Sogou jumped to his feet so quickly, he took Toru by surprise. But it wasn’t some evil intent prompting the young man into action, but excitement.

“Then you must see our printer!” he said cheerfully. “It’s not exactly a common thing to have five hundred copies of one book sold,” he emphasized the last word, “but it sometimes goes right over my head that strangers to our city may still find tradeweaving such an incredible thing to have.”

“It’s magic,” Toru said in tone harsher than he intended.

Misar Sogou shook his head and grinned like a schoolkid who could barely wait to show off his new toys. “No, no, esteemed visitor, it’s not magic at all. It is an invention.”

“Invention?” Toru repeated the word.

Misar Sogou began gesticulating wildly. “Machines are wonderful. The mechanics that make them move may appear to the unaware as the work of magic, but they’re the opposite. But please, allow me to show you. And then, you will see what I mean.”

Toru traded a look with Duril, and at the barely discernible shrug of his friend’s shoulders, he followed his lead. Misar Sogou gestured for them to follow, and they were soon descending to the basement, where that machine called a printer was located, according to its owner.

The room below was lit by the same torches they had seen on the streets at night. They allowed them to see everything there as if it were day. The place was bare, save for a monstrous thing made of wood and metal located right in its center.

“This is the printer,” Misar Sogou said with pride. “And yes, you could say that this is where the magic happens, but since there’s no magic involved, that would be incorrect.”

***

Duril approached the printer with eager curiosity. He could tell that Toru didn’t share his enthusiasm at seeing such an incredible thing, but that was for the better, because he felt like he might fall prey to the enchanting nature of what Misar Sogou was presenting to them. Machines, inventions, brochures… how many new and wonderful things were to be discovered in Coinvale?

“My father and many of his age might still believe that there’s something mythical about tradeweaving,” Misar Sogou explained, “but the younger generation is of a different mind. Let me show you how this works.”

He got behind the printer, an intricate contraption with many metal arms and a large disk at its bottom. Duril observed everything with avid eyes. In the meantime, he could tell that Toru was sniffing the air while becoming more alert. If there was any trace of the shard in that room, or at least of its power, the young tigershifter would surely know.

Misar Sogou seemed completely oblivious to the inner thoughts of his visitors and appeared to be focused solely on his machinery.

“As you can see,” he explained, “I start pulling these levers so that the letters can fall and imprint themselves on the leather sheet. Let me feed it one.”

Somewhere underneath the machine, he must have had some leather sheets already prepared, and he took one and placed it on the large plate at the bottom.

“I will start by making a copy of my latest book for you to take with you and read on your travels,” Misar Sogou explained. “It has been quite popular over the last months, and I like to believe that you will enjoy it. It illustrates the adventures of a young man that discovers that he has the power to shift into an animal.”

“An animal?” Duril asked, startled.

“Yes, I know, in this corner of the world it may sound quite farfetched, because we don’t get many shapeshifters here. But I do know they exist, even if I rarely leave this building. It’s all about absorbing the knowledge of the world. And I do more than just absorb it. It is my strong belief that everything we learn, we must pass forward to others. It’s making the world move and become better, don’t you think?”

“You’re right,” Duril confirmed quickly as he wanted to get back to the strange book Misar Sogou had created. “Please, tell me more about your book.”

“All the travelers that arrive here are quickly ensnared by my father, who knows how much I love stories from faraway lands. So, I have put together this book from the bits and pieces many visitors have chosen to share. In case you change your mind about sharing some of your adventures with me, please let me know. I will pay top coin for them because the two of you seem like very interesting people to me.”

“Of course,” Duril said. “I am quite curious about the theme of your book. You say it is about a shapeshifter?”

Misar Sogou continued to pull the levers behind the machinery, and the arms were now falling at a steady pace, one letter at a time. At this point, Duril couldn’t see how that was significantly faster than writing by hand. Only that the letters were all even, without any of the natural hesitation of someone’s hand putting them down on the sheet.

The young man stepped out from behind the printer. “From now on, it will need no input from me until I have to feed it another sheet.” He trained his attention on Duril. “I will give you the short version of what happens in the book because I still want you to be able to enjoy it when you get around to reading it.”

“Please do so,” Duril encouraged him.

Misar Sogou’s eyes lit up. “The hero of this journey,” he began as the metal arms of his printer fell, pounding the leather sheet at a faster rhythm now, “is a tigershifter.”

A short grunt from Toru interrupted the storyteller for a moment.

Misar Sogou took that reaction as incredulity, so he hurried to explain. “A tigershifter is a creature made from fire and sand and everything that’s hot and burns. Or so the legend has it. I do believe that there is a better explanation for them, such as creatures of legends embracing the humans walking the face of Eawirith many millennia ago but, for the sake of the story, it is better to offer the presentation that is most likely to leave those learning about it absolutely breathless.”

Duril felt very close to that himself, but for different reasons. Were other people in the world aware of Toru’s legend, still in the making? Scercendusa was a place with tens of thousands of souls, and having bits of that story spread from there wasn’t impossible. At the same time, his hand itched to reach for the tome in his bag. A part of him wanted to take the thing out and put it under Misar Sogou’s nose to show him who knew the actual story.

There was, however, a chance that the young man was talking about something else. Therefore, he opted for acting cautiously instead of making rash decisions. “So, what’s the story of this tigershifter? What does he do?” He could only hope that Toru wouldn’t pounce at the opportunity – and at the poor collector of stories – upon hearing the slightest incongruity in the distorted story that must have reached this place.

“He is an incredible fighter.” A satisfied soft purr came from Toru. “Undefeatable. All powerful.” More agreement from the young tiger. “But he has a weakness, a soft spot in his heart.” A question mark in the form of a grunt from the same enraptured audience. “You are quite the avid listener, Mr. Toru,” Misar Sogou said, his face all a smile. “Should I make a second copy for you?”

“Duril will read it to me,” Toru said with a wave. “What is this soft spot you’re talking about?”

“I will get to it. That is part of the mystery included in the story. You see, the tigershifter doesn’t know of his soft spot.”

“Does your hero have a name?” Duril inquired politely.

“Tigris. An old name for a tiger,” Misar Sogou replied in kind. “Even the fact that he is named this way is essential to the story, because he represents the essence of all tigershifters. But that won’t be revealed until further in the story.”

“Please, go on.”

“Ah, you make me so eager to tell you the whole story. I will do my best not to spoil it for you. As I said, Tigris is unaware of the hole in his soul--”

“I thought it was just a bit of weakness, a soft spot,” Toru interrupted the storyteller.

“Yes, well, it will be revealed that it is much more than that,” Misar Sogou said. “That brings us to the first trial in our hero’s path. Because, you see, he ends up defeated and he doesn’t understand why.”

“Who defeats Tigris?” Toru growled so loudly that the hair on Misar Sogou’s head swirled upward only to land again in a messy heap. Duril didn’t think it would be considered too offensive a gesture given that the young man didn’t seem very keen on the hairbrush to begin with.

“A pack of wild dogs.”

Duril had to cover his mouth for a moment since he could feel its corners twitching.

Toru snorted in disbelief. “Your hero is very weak. A pack of wild dogs can’t have anything on a tiger.”

“You appear to know a lot about tigers,” Misar Sogou remarked. “I would love to hear everything about it. Have you ever met one?” Behind him, the printer seemed to have increased its rhythm, to the point that it was shaking and making quite a lot of noise. The collector of stories turned toward it. “Let me put the automatic feeder on to give it the new sheets. I tend to forget how loud things can get around here.”

“What about the story?” Toru growled again.

“I’ll continue right away, but we should go upstairs,” Misar Sogou said. “Your book will not be finished until tonight, and I should have led with that, now that I’m thinking more clearly. I apologize, I am far from being the most organized person.”

“How much will the book cost?” Duril inquired.

“A gift for you,” Misar Sogou said and then burst into laughter as he guided his visitors back up the stairs. “I know, my father would say that I have lost my mind. But I believe that great people are generous too, and I would like to become that one day. Also, the proceeds from what I’ve sold of it so far can surely cover the occasional gift I want to make to a mind as eager for knowledge as mine.”

“Thank you,” Duril said, not knowing what to think of a young man willing to give things away for free in a city where everyone was bent on making a profit.

“Where was I?” Misar Sogou asked once they were back in the room at ground level.

“At that incredible part where Tigris gets beaten by some mutts,” Toru said promptly.

“Yes, there. Let me continue,” Misar Sogou said with a small smile.

TBC

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