Chapter 13
The king and queen were probably well into their parade through the streets of Canissa by now, but Araes was too exhausted to care.
Journeying from Algola was a harsher ride than expected.
Now, a warm bed, a heavily poured ale, and a hot meal were his top priority.
Tethys had been quiet as they packed the chariots and set down the western road, and by the time they’d arrived in the western city, her complexion was near ghostly.
Whether it be from the travel or something else, he wasn’t sure, but he was the only one who seemed to notice.
Procyon was so focused on hearing himself speak and planning their Harvest processional, he hadn’t seen his own wife slip into darkness.
Even the convoy staff turned their backs or avoided her gaze when she passed, terrified of confrontation with their goddess.
Not a damned soul seemed to care about their queen.
Not a soul but him.
He’d reached out his hand, offered a lifeline when he knew she was drowning, but she swatted it away with vicious claws and bared teeth. So, when the autumn king granted him leave for a few days, he didn’t protest. Tethys could spiral into her own depths if that’s what she pleased.
Even still, as he sat at the dusty bar full of cobwebs and drunks, it felt inherently wrong to be away from her. After so much time forced to spend every waking moment together, her absence was more than noticeable.
He shifted on the barstool, his woolen trousers scratching against his skin like sandpaper.
He’d changed from his typical Venian uniforms and wore a simple knitted crew neck and pants.
While dressing, he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d donned civilian clothes and, although far thicker than the uniformed tunic and overcoat, he felt naked.
Like a piece of himself remained upstairs, folded neatly atop the dresser.
Araes, searching for even the slightest distraction from his own thoughts, sipped his pint and watched a young couple in the corner chat. They shared a steaming bowl of stewed lamb and carrots, the same meal still untouched before him.
The couple, dressed in their traditional crimson and gold Harvest robes, leaned in and laughed over a shared, secret whisper.
The empty barstool beside him was suddenly lonely rather than peaceful in its vacancy.
It was just the exhaustion sending reminders of the life he’d never have.
Of the intimate secrets that’d remain unshared.
Another ale would flush those feelings down.
Araes swallowed a spoonful and rid his mind of the thoughts. He wouldn’t risk losing his appetite over it, not when this was the first day of leave he’d had in what...two years?
His last full day away from the unit was well before they’d shipped out to their current post along the border.
Araes had found himself at the bottom of too many empty pints and drunkenly stumbled his way into a barmaid’s bed.
He’d awoken the following morning, reeking of entangled bodies and stale ale with an incessant thrum in his head.
Today, although getting absolutely pissed was on the agenda, finding himself under a Canissaen barmaid was not.
“You’re a long way from home, soldier,” the barkeep mused, refilling his pint. “I’m assuming you’re with their highnesses.”
The skirts she wore were as ratty and stained as the dishrag tucked into her withering leather belt. Araes smiled politely at the woman as she placed the glass on the counter, her faded green eyes reflecting hearth-light from the brick mantle opposite them.
“I’m that obvious, huh?” he asked, sipping the foam from his glass.
“Well, I’ve served nearly every Canissaen for the last five years since buying the place, and you sit like you’ve got a pole up your ass,” she said, her dialect heavy on the tongue.
Araes grinned at the barkeep. Although her blunt nature was disarming, casual conversation like this warmed the chill of loneliness.
Even the lowest-born Venian aimed for polite and proper conversation.
The Canissaens were a different breed, to say the least.
“They beat slouching right out of us during training,” he replied.
“Well, that’s alright. Better for the back, I ‘spose. Just holler if you need anything else, although cook’s closing the kitchen soon to prep for dinner service,” she said. The barkeep nodded to a new patron a few stools down and left Araes to his ale.
“Just a pint, Elenna, thanks,” the patron said, nodding to the barkeep. Araes’s stomach soured as the man leaned across the counter, his scent lingering in the steam trails of stew. Manure and wheatgrass—he probably came straight from the fields.
Elenna placed a smudged glass beside him and cracked him a grin. Beneath the grime and grease, she was rather pretty. Straight brown hair, woven into a long plait over her right shoulder, and a full waist.
Maybe as a no-rank he’d have trailed her like a hound, tongue lapping and eager. She probably fought off plenty of soldiers running this place. Those days of casual, midnight meetings were long past. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed himself in those early years.
He was just so damned tired now. Tired from the war. From his demons. From, well, life.
As much as his body begged him to drag himself upstairs and collapse into bed, he wouldn’t waste the day away.
“Venian soldier, eh?” the man asked, bracing a bruised elbow on the bar top.
“Yes, sir. It seems everyone in this town knows it too,” Araes replied, inspecting the old man. He wasn’t quick to trust Canissaens, especially with the rebellion in full blaze.
“We don’t get many easterners these days, youngin’,” he said, sipping his ale. Foam caught in his full graying beard. “Why aren’t you with your queen?”
“She doesn’t require my services today, I suppose,” Araes said.
“Name’s Eadric. I own the farm just south of here.
” The man crossed his arms and rested them on his round belly.
“Look, if you’re wanting to kill some time, there’s a few trails along the outskirts of the Autumn King’s property.
Do you fish? Salmon season just started and the lake down that way is the best spot.
The Goldenheads go there to breed every year. ”
Araes tensed. He hadn’t picked up a lure since before Enyo left for training.
The brothers would always waste their weekends away beside the Eastern River, shit talking and boasting about who could catch more.
Hiking out to the lakefront, sitting beside its peaceful waters, might allow those dangerous memories he’d spent so long burying to resurface.
“Thank you, Eadric, but I’m content here for the night.”
“Yeah, yeah I know. Why would an old city folk like me offer such a thing to a Venian soldier like you? We’re loyal to our Patron around these parts. And by extension, loyal to yours as well,” Eadric said, draining his ale in one heavy gulp.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, sir. It’s just been…
a long few years.” Araes glanced at the tattoos peeking from his tunic sleeves.
Each inch of those thick black lines represented a Canissaen life he’d stolen.
They weren’t an honor, but a brand. A reminder of the blood spilled and the epidemic of pain he aided in spreading.
“Understood. The realms aren’t what they used to be. Something’s amiss here, us farm folk can feel it,” Eadric said, tapping a long, weathered index finger against his glass.
“What do you mean?” Araes asked, leaning across the counter. “Because of the rebellion?”
“Gods no. Those fools wouldn’t dare risk spewing their treasonous sludge around these parts.
No, our crops are dying. Livestock’s barren.
I fear there’s a blight upon us.” Eadric’s eyes darted around the room, as if ensuring the other patrons hadn’t heard him.
“These hills are ancient, soldier. Older than time itself. They’re warning us of something. ”
Even if these were simply the ramblings of an old man, Araes’s heart pumped a little faster.
The Canissaens weren’t a superstitious people, no, but they knew when to listen to the land.
During his time with the 15th, there’d been plenty of reports from the lesser Canissaen villages about slain livestock and poisoned crops, but he’d written them off as repercussions of the war.
Though now with flatland creatures reaching as far as Venia, Araes couldn’t shake the thought that what Eadric suggested was true.
“Warning of what?” he asked. Images of the death wielders flashed in his vision. Those dead limbs dragging over dried, rotten leaves. Their depthless black eyes bored holes into him as he and Tethys retreated. Even now, he could hear their teeth chatter.
“Don’t know, but whatever it is, I hope I’m not around to see it.”
The two men sank into their stools. Araes glanced at his stew, no longer hungry to finish it.
“Can we get a refill, Elenna?” Eadric asked. “I think we both need one.”
Araes chuckled and drained his remaining ale. “I might need a few.”
The hearth burned cold as they sat in silence.
Elenna topped the two men’s glasses off and returned to her seat behind the bar.
Araes watched as she picked up a small leather notebook and scribbled on its pages, her fingers stained with charcoal.
Sitting there, biting her bottom lip in sheer concentration, she looked so normal. So innocent.
Araes wasn’t na?ve about the morality of war. Enemies were never simply black and white. Of course there was evil in this world, he’d met it face to face too many times to count, but these patrons—this city– they just wanted to live. To be happy and healthy and fed. Just as the Venians did.
“Flatland creatures attacked our convoy on the journey here. They’d made it as far as the Venian border,” Araes said, glancing at the old man beside him.
Eadric straightened in his seat, candlelight highlighting the bags under his tired, withered eyes.
“Whatever the land’s trying to tell you, sir. I would listen intently.”
Eadric, grim and grey, nodded and tapped the counter before rising from the bar. “If it means anything, it was a long few years for us, too.”
The old man tossed him a half smile before swinging the bar door open and stepping into the midday light outside.
Of course, he knew the destruction of war spread further than just the front lines.
He saw it reflected in every glint of life taken from the enemies he’d slain.
He saw it in the scarred outposts and forests.
The war was bloody and brutal, stealing husbands from wives.
Fathers from children. Brothers from brothers. His throat dried.
Maybe Captain Theos was right. Maybe he was so irreparably broken, he did need time away. But keeping busy with eyes fixed forward was easier than turning around and facing what was left to rot in the past. The war stripped every shred of humanity from him.
Only skin, bone, and anger remained. These quiet moments left the floodgates open. His shields were swift to come down when that uniform came off.
Araes finished his pint and gestured for a refill. He’d drink himself into oblivion if it would get his head to shut the fuck up for a while.