18. OLIRA
18
OLIRA
Olira fixed her hood, making sure it kept her face hidden, before she walked through the open doors of the Chamber of Twelve.
The Chamber, a modest, circular building overlooking the town square, was made of weathered stone and sturdy wood. Its thatched roof rose gently, and the round windows along the walls welcomed the last rays of the evening sun inside. The Underlings had already lit torches around the entrance, expecting the meeting to last until after sunset and ensuring there was enough light outside.
Olira stepped through the arched doorway into the main area, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The central circular room was alive with the hum of conversation. The entire town must have been in attendance, filling the space between the twelve statues representing each Rider and their dragons. The statues were arranged in a large circle, with a smaller, hand drawn Prayer Ring in front of each one. Olira felt a pang of guilt as she glanced at Alunwea’s simple but beautiful statue. She hadn’t been to the Chamber of Twelve for nearly a year. She had drawn a Prayer Ring devoted to Alunwea in her room, and she held her own rituals in private. She didn’t remember the last time she attended to a Long Ritual, or a Sending led by the town Pyre.
She added Pyre Aldric as another figure to avoid tonight.
She crossed her arms as she stood along the wall and scanned the gathered faces. Elderly townsfolk occupied the simple wooden stools placed around the room. All the straw-filled cushions were in use, providing a bit of comfort to those seated on the cold stone floor. Most people, however, sat cross-legged on the floor or stood along the edges, forming a dense ring of bodies around the central space.
Olira wondered if coming here really was a good idea, considering the number of people she didn’t want to talk to. But the size of the crowd eased her worries, as she could easily go unnoticed if she was careful enough.
She spotted Master Tholthus in exactly where she expected him to be, right near the centre with the Bailiff and the Agha. Sitting on a stool with his arms crossed, he was focused on Bailiff Zerla’s speech.
“… but with the ongoing unrest, his resources are divided,” Zerla finished, and his words evoked a loud protest from the townspeople.
Master Tholthus’s scowl deepened, though he didn’t offer any protests. Zerla raised his voice, trying to maintain order as he continued with his explanation: “As I’ve said, I have notified Lord Rhuagh—”
“Lord Rhuagh doesn’t give a shit about us!” a young man called out from the edge of the crowd. “We need to fend for ourselves!”
Olira spotted Jygan near the man who spoke. He was the second person he wanted to avoid tonight. Jygan stood isolated between the statues of Kyrus and Kahil, his arms crossed, his face set in a grim expression. Jygan’s isolation wasn’t by choice or by character flaw; it was his occupation. Being the town’s tanner came with the odour. Despite bathing every day and using scented oils and incenses he bought from Olira, Jygan had a persistent smell that deterred townspeople from standing near him. Jygan didn’t take offense. The smell never bothered Olira. Jygan was the kindest, most easy-going person in town, and yet when he spotted Olira across the crowd and offered an uncertain smile, Olira gave a curt nod and looked away.
In the centre, the argument continued, people claiming Lord Rhuagh only cared for his city and failed to even keep the roads safe. As the townspeople raised their concerns and discussed the riots all over Chinderia, Olira fidgeted with her hood, feeling Jygan’s gaze on her.
Things had been awkward between them since Jygan returned empty-handed from The Wicked Mirror . The bags of supplies Olira had stashed near the inn and left behind were gone. Stolen. Jygan had apologized, looking genuinely sorry, though it wasn’t his fault. And Olira wasn’t angry at him, neither did she blame him. She was just upset, and she didn’t want Jygan to feel sorry for her. It didn’t change the fact that her root cellar was still empty and she had one too many mouths to feed.
“Lord Rhuagh’s men don’t even patrol the roads past Attlecana Grove anymore!” Master Tholthus raised his voice over everyone else’s. His words elicited more complaints from the townspeople.
“As I said, his resources are tied…” the Bailiff yelled to be heard.
Olira shuffled along the edge of the crowd, still scanning the faces. She found Mistress Aeliana sitting on one of the stools near Zaon’s statue. Like she expected, the old woman sat isolated too, but unlike Jygan, she did so out of choice and character flaw. Olira started making her way there.
“As soon as the riots in Kilrer settles…” Bailiff assured the crowd.
“Riots won’t settle until justice is served in Brinescar!” Grollen, the town’s baker, yelled, raising his fist in the air. He was bold enough to wear black and gold, clearly not fearing the Bailiff’s wrath. He didn’t need to, as he had a large group of people sitting close to him in an unspoken show of support. Besides, no judgement against any person could be made by another person inside the Chamber of the Twelve. This was the Twelve Riders’ sacred home, and anyone could speak their mind without fear of repercussion.
“There is no injustice in Brinescar!” Bailiff said, his face red.
Olira creeped past Zaon’s statue and sat right next to Mistress Aeliana’s stool. The old woman, watching the discussion with boredom, didn’t spare her a glance.
“How do you not call what happened injustice?” Grollen shouted.
“The King exposed their heinous plans! Do you not fear Darkhome?”
“All lies! There is no proof!”
“Enough!” the Agha finally spoke.
Despite the Bailiff being Lord Rhuagh’s official in town, the Oxreach’s recognised leader was the Agha. The title was mostly used in Northern Chinderia towns and was given to the family who owned the most land. The Agha consulted with the Bailiff but made their own decisions.
“This isn’t Brinescar,” the Agha said. “We have our own concerns, like the safety of our roads and the crimes committed near our town. Someone murdered an inn full of people.”
“An inn full of traitors!” Grollen objected, though he kept his voice in a respectful tone.
Mistress Aeliana scoffed. Olira glanced at her, thinking a clever way to start the conversation. Mistress Aeliana, who blatantly ignored everyone around her, didn’t make it easy. Most of the townspeople muttered their satisfaction with the Agha’s decision to start patrols themselves, though more than a few seemed concerned. Master Grollen was amongst the people who was openly displeased.
“Agha, we need to do more than simply patrol the roads.”
“What do you suggest, Grollen? We march to Brinescar with our pitchforks and your rolling pin?”
“Are we not any better than a mere purebred?” Grollen said, and Olira’s heart skipped a beat. This was her opening.
“Are you comparing yourself to a rabid animal?” Bailiff spat. “He’s a broken thing.”
“It’s pretty scary, isn’t it?” Olira whispered, leaning towards Mistress Aeliana. “All that talk about a rabid purebred.”
Aeliana levelled her with a hard gaze. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her mouth pressed into a thin, stern line. Olira hardly kept herself from biting her lip or looking away. She tried to smile, but her attempts at sociability couldn’t melt the suspicion from Aeliana’s face.
Olira was about to conclude this was a stupid plan, when Aeliana returned her gaze back to the argument at the centre. “Disturbing indeed,” she muttered, leaning slightly towards Olira. She huffed disapprovingly as she shook her head. “And Leonis has no one but himself to blame.”
She hadn’t raised her voice, neither had she lowered it sensibly. One of the men who flocked around Grollen glanced at Aeliana, and almost immediately looked away.
“Oh?” Olira said. She kept her eyes at the centre, though she hardly followed the argument. “What do you mean?”
“Rumours say Leonis spoilt that thing,” Aeliana said. “Pampered him. Even gave him a private room and women to sleep with.”
Olira made a noise that she hoped matched Aeliana’s contempt. She worded her next question carefully, trying not to sound too eager or odd. “So it is possible? Purebreds being disobedient? Dangerous?”
“Of course it’s possible. They break, just like any tool.”
“How can you tell?”
“Tell what?”
“When a purebred is… you know… broken?”
Olira blushed under Aeliana’s suspicious stare. “They behave oddly,” Aeliana said slowly.
“Aren’t they always odd? I mean, I’ve heard they’re odd. How do you know when they’re odder?” She grimaced. Aeliana kept staring at her like she was seeing through her.
“Why suddenly interested in purebreds?”
Olira shrugged and nodded towards the centre, though they had long moved on from the topic of the King’s mad purebred. “It’s just all that talk about disobedient purebreds making me nervous.” She didn’t have to sell the nervous bit. “And you’re the only one in town who knows a lot about purebreds.”
“Because I keep two,” Aeliana said, drawing Olira’s gaze to the far corner of the room, to the man who stood apart from everyone else. Mistress Aeliana’s purebred house slave stood perfectly still, his head down, his hands clasped in front of him. She must have left her other purebred at home.
“And I will continue to keep them,” the old woman said through gritted teeth, “despite your father spending years shaming me for participating in slavery.”
Olira blushed again, fumbling with her skirt. Her fingers trembled slightly, and she could feel the full weight of Aeliana’s grudge. Aeliana was one of the few people in Oxreach who kept slaves, and the only one who kept purebreds. Majority of the town shared Vakko Aryanna’s dislike for the Domestic Assets Trade Union and the slave trade, and for years, Vakko had tried to convince Aeliana to see his ways. But the old woman was stubborn. She rejected the town’s opinion of her and sat in her expensive manor at the town square alone, in the company of her two purebreds, not even bothering to hide them.
Olira didn’t think she could squeeze more information from Aeliana, not without revealing her concerns about the slave in her barn. She prepared to leave. Agha Fenric was now concluding the meeting, asking for volunteers to come join patrols. She glanced at Jygan, expecting the tanner to be amongst the volunteers, but he had already left.
“I would be most concerned about fiends,” Aeliana muttered reluctantly.
“Fiends?”
“Purebreds don’t have rhoas , as everyone knows, which makes them perfect hosts for fiends.”
Olira glanced at Pyre Aldric. “Umm, fiends are locked away in Darkhome. They don’t—”
“I would check for any fiendish influences,” Aeliana continued. “Fiends can’t enter a Praying Ring when a believer is in it. It’s always safe to check that.”
The memory of the slave's face as he strangled Torren sent shivers down Olira's spine. And that eerie stillness every time she walked into the stall to change his bandages or bring him food. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough. “Do you really think that’s possible?”
“I would check that,” Aeliana repeated sternly. “And if that’s not the case, then I would check their discipline. That’s how you understand if they’re broken or not.”
“How do we…” Olira glanced at Aeliana’s purebred, who stood motionless by the wall. The man in her barn often stood still like that, too. She didn’t see any difference.
“Check for any display of emotion,” Aeliana continued. “There are many ways to do that, depending on what your stomach can handle. I prefer giving them pointless, tedious tasks. You know, tasks that would annoy or frustrate any normal person. And I would watch for a reaction. Boredom. Annoyance. Resentment. Any emotion. And then I would make them talk.”
“I thought they don’t talk a lot.”
“Not unless you make them. I would listen for any opinions. Any thoughts, beliefs, preferences. Desires.”
“How do I get him to reveal those?”
Aeliana smirked. “You must be clever with words, which you clearly aren’t. Now tell me, how did Vakko, Aryanna’s daughter, end up with a purebred?”
Olira glanced at the nearest people, which made Aeliana chuckle. “Thank you for the conversation, Mistress Aeliana,” Olira said as she stood. “Have a good evening.”
“If you’re looking to sell, don’t bring him to me. I have no desire for a broken purebred.”
Olira didn’t reply. She had made the mistake of looking towards the centre as she stood, and her eyes just met with Master Tholthus’s. She looked away instantly and started making her way towards the door. Agha Fenric had just concluded the meeting, so everyone began to rise. The room was filled with the murmur of voices as some people moved towards the door and others gravitated to the Agha. Olira kept her hood down, trying to blend into the crowd. She sidestepped an older man who was lingering to talk to his neighbour and nearly stumbled over a stool. Someone grabbed her elbow to steady her.
“Thank you,” Olira said, then paused when she recognized who it was. She had done a terrible job at avoiding all three people she didn’t want to be seen by: Jygan, Master Tholthus, and now Varelya.
Varelya pulled her hand back and studied Olira with a tight-lipped frown. She blinked slowly and sighed. “How is he?”
Olira crossed her arms. If Varelya was so curious, she should have come and checked on the slave.
Varelya sighed again, shaking her head. “I’m assuming you are changing his bandages and applying poultice regularly, so the infection should have cleared by now. Is it starting to look swollen and stiff?”
Olira nodded slowly. She had noticed the stiffness and wasn’t sure what to do with it.
“Get him to move the leg. Slow and gentle at first.” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “You’ll have to let him out of that stall. Fresh air. Clean environment. Warmth.”
“I keep the stall clean, and he has plenty of blankets.”
Varelya rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Let him move,” she muttered before walking away.
Olira glanced back at the centre, expecting to see Master Tholthus making his way towards her, but people blocked her view. She hoped they blocked his view of her as well. She pushed through the last knot of people, almost knocking a table with items dedicated to Ara, the Goddess of Nature. She steadied the table, then hurried out the door.
The cool evening air hit her face like a splash of water. She sighed in relief, the tension of the meeting slowly dissipating, and her thoughts already drifting to ways she can use the information Aeliana shared to test whether the purebred was normal or not. As she turned to leave, she nearly collided with Master Tholthus.
“Mistress Olira,” Master Tholthus greeted her politely.
Olira’s heart sank. “Oh, Master Tholthus. I… didn’t see you there.”
He gave a slight nod, but didn’t speak, giving her a chance to talk first. Olira shifted uncomfortably, glancing around as the townsfolk walked past them, heading home. The darkness of the night settled in, the only illumination coming from the torches and lanterns lit outside the Chamber of Twelve.
“I know I missed your deadline to make a payment,” Olira squirmed. She hated feeling the heat of her embarrassment rising to her cheeks. “I just encountered some problems collecting payment from someone else.”
“I feel your pain, Mistress Olira, when it comes to dealing with people who are excessively late in making payments.”
Olira wished the ground would swallow her. “I have every intention of paying you. I’m just waiting for something.” Waiting for the purebred to hurry up and heal, without attacking any more of my family members, she thought furiously in her head. “I’ll have more than enough to cover what I owe you,” she added.
Tholthus simply watched her, his silence pressing her to continue.
“I know you have been very patient with me, Master Tholthus. I—”
“How long?” Tholthus’s expression remained neutral, his eyes steady on her.
“Four months.” Olira nearly shrunk as she said the words. Four months was barely enough to ensure the slave’s full recovery, and it gave her just enough time to go sell him. She didn’t dare look at Tholthus’s expression. She bit her lip, her frustration bubbling up despite her efforts to stay composed. “I know it’s not ideal and I really appreciate your patience. I’m not trying to avoid paying you, Master Tholthus. It’s just… things don’t seem to go as planned.”
Tholthus remained silent, his polite demeanour unchanged, which only made Olira more uncomfortable. The townsfolk continued to pass by, some glancing curiously at the pair.
“So, four more months?” she asked, her voice almost pleading.
Tholthus finally nodded. “I know things haven’t been fair to you and your brothers since your parents’ accident. I felt a duty to help you, out of respect for the friendship I had with your father. But every time I give you a hand, I seem to lose an arm.”
Olira crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Her eyes darted after the last of the attendees heading back to their homes.
“Maybe this isn’t the type of help you and your siblings need?”
Olira’s skin prickled with unease. “What does that mean?”
“I will have to apply another interest to this extension, and I expect a full payment in four months. Good night, Mistress Olira.”
Olira muttered a dull reply as she watched the old man walk away. The discomfort still gnawed at her. Despite the extension she had just secured, allowing her more time, she was far from feeling relieved. Her family’s future depended on the purebred, and she loathed the sense of helplessness it brought.