Chapter 56 Folami
Folami
In my infinite wisdom, I figured that because Samyr and Lishahl were so close geographically that there would be little difference between the two territories.
I could not have been more wrong.
Where Lishahl was flat and cold, the ground dry and barren, Samyr was hilly and full of rivers. Even the air felt warmer here, even though I was only a few hours on foot south of Imena, the capital of Lishahl.
Already, I favored Samyr to Lishahl. I tromped through the forest that separated the two territories and crossed one of the many artful arching bridges.
Each was heavily guarded by, to my surprise, armed Vessels.
I submitted myself to a quick blood prick and test to determine my affinity before my bag was thoroughly searched.
The guard—an older male who was gruff but not unkind—asked me to demonstrate how my communication stone worked and, once I’d proven it wasn’t a weapon, he let me through the border and into Samyr.
Just like that, I was granted access to what I was now sure was a utopia for Vessels.
I’d been here for a few weeks now, assimilating to life in one of the villages just outside the capital of Kiluo and had yet to meet a Mage.
It was as disconcerting as it was comforting. There was no fear of magical attacks, no fear of a Mage Force Bonding an unwilling Vessel; simply harmonious living for the Vessels that called Samyr home.
But weeks here had only shown me that aspect and nothing else of note or worth.
I’d communicated with Peytor via the stone that the Bondsmith imbued with some sort of rune that allowed us to talk to each other, but had little to report since.
He’d checked in every few days, telling me of the army in Lishahl and what trouble Itanya was getting into as well as Torin’s progress in Vespera.
I felt useless in comparison, and my uselessness only caused the hole in my soul where Itanya and Peytor were to fester and widen.
I miss my daughter—I miss my lover.
Samyr itself was gorgeous—flowering trees and exotic plants dotted the landscape, the buildings in the villages constructed of a wood so light it was almost white. Roofs were thatched with straw and carpenters added delicate trimmings to almost every open surface.
It was whimsical and calming, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of something dark and sinister hiding beneath the surface.
Maybe because of my own violent history or maybe because Samyr seemed too good to be true; either way, I was constantly on high alert.
But it seemed that my fears were going to be relatively unfounded.
I walked through the market of Himitsu, the village where I took refuge, listening for gossip and anything of note as I did every morning.
Originally, I feared that my ebony skin would stand out against the sea of white I expected to find, but I was pleased to note the melting pot of culture and skin tones that flooded the village—pale to dark and everything in between walked the streets.
What did make me stand out, however, was my clothing.
I’d always dressed in earth-colored pants and tunics, the dominant colors in the majority of Elyria.
That penchant backfired terribly in Samyr—everyone wore brightly colored garb, the women in tunic-like dresses spattered in floral patterns while the men wore long tunics and tight pants.
It was alarming and a shock to my system.
No matter how hard I tried, I could not grow accustomed to the exuberant colors worn here. This morning, however, I made an effort to blend in and, with much huffing and cursing on my part, I slipped into a loud red dress patterned with large white flowers.
Much to my surprise, the dress was a smooth silk that caressed my bare skin. Despite my abhorrence of dresses, the fabric was nonrestrictive, and I was able to move with ease.
Maybe Samyr really does have it all figured out.
I passed a stand selling all sorts of vibrant fruit I’d never seen before—what did a kiwi even taste like?
—when I heard the first whispered note of conversation as two women walked behind me.
I shifted my body slightly, my braids clinking with the movement, so I could watch their retreating forms. I heard the words “Kiluo,” “Vessel,” and “Vespera,” and knew that whatever was being said, I needed to know.
Maybe I will finally have something of note to report.
I paid the fruit seller for my kiwi with a quiet note of thanks before shuffling on my booted feet closer to the tea shop next door. Two women, one in her thirties the other much older, spoke in hushed tones as they knelt on their cushions, backs bent over steaming cups of herbal tea.
Ears trained on their conversation, I sank onto the cushion at a table close by before ordering a lightly steeped green tea.
I’d never had the drink before, but it seemed to be the most popular pick in Samyr—many restaurants and shops sold cups of it as well as the loose tea leaves.
The women were quiet for a moment, and I took the reprieve in their conversation to take a sip of my steaming tea. The waiter delivered it with a bow before retreating back inside the small shop.
It was a warm day, the sun heating the air comfortably, and I was reminded painfully of my home just outside of Alivar.
The changing of the seasons would bring about great celebrations for my people, and many of the eligible women would be married in a grand feast; men competed both magically and physically for the right to a woman’s hand, and it was quite a sight to behold.
My sisters have inevitably gone through that ceremony . . . I wonder if they have children of their own now?
I was the middle girl in a family of seven children—five girls and two boys.
There were two sisters older than me and two younger, with my brothers bookending my birthplace.
Most girls participated in the marriage ceremony after their first bleed—mine happened at the age of thirteen, but I was already long part of the Warlord’s army.
Instead of a happy and celebratory occasion, I was struck with the fear that now, when my Mage raped me, I could become pregnant.
In an effort to prevent that from happening, I’d sought out tonics created for the purpose of preventing pregnancy.
Due to their prolonged use, though, as well as a few teas I’d taken after I’d already fallen pregnant, I did irreparable damage to my womb.
Itanya was an unexpected but greatly loved gift.
The tea, while delicious, soured in my mouth as I drowned in memories. I set my cup on the table with shaky hands and was only pulled from my spiral when the women’s conversation behind me struck up again in earnest.
“They say he’s the most powerful Mage not just in Vespera, but in all of Elyria,” the younger woman said. She was beautiful with incredibly full breasts, milky white skin, and straight raven-black hair that fell to her waist.
The older woman grunted as she slurped her tea.
“And what of it? He’s still a Mage.” She spat the word like it was a dirty curse.
I couldn’t help but empathize with the woman.
The girl huffed. “Think of the opportunity this will present our family. Think of how we will climb so much closer to a place in Kiluo. We—I need to do this for our family.”
The older woman grunted again.
“I never liked that you put yourself up for sale like that.”
“It was either that or be pushed into one of the brothels.”
“And what would’ve been so bad about that?
You give pleasure to a few male Vessels in Kiluo.
You’re safe, you’re fed and taken care of.
There would have been no risk of Bonding or of accidentally producing a baby with the ability to manifest as a Mage.
You know what happens to those babies”—the old woman shuddered and the young woman’s shoulders slumped—“besides, sex work is what our family has done for generations. You’re telling me now you have something against it? ”
What do they do to Mages?
A sick feeling curdled in my gut as the women began to talk at length about the merits and pitfalls of sex work. I listened for a few minutes longer, but when nothing more of value was said, I paid for my half-drunk tea and made my way back to the small fairytale cottage at the edge of the village.
The whole way, I couldn’t shake the feeling of something more happening here—something that involved Mages and trading Vessels with Vespera.
Back in my little cottage on the outskirts of town, I rummaged hastily through my one ruck of supplies, searching for the communication stone.
“Where the fuck did I put it,” I growled as I hastily shoved aside an extra set of tunic and pants—clothing I no longer needed while staying in Samyr. “It has to be here somewhere.”
I was an incredibly organized person and would never misplace something as important as the communication stone—especially since it was my only connection to my daughter and lover. But it had been weeks since I’d used it last, and it was entirely possible that I put it somewhere other than my sack.
The beads in my braids clicked together angrily as I aggressively stuck my hand in my pack and rummaged around. Sweat grew along the nape of my neck, and my body flushed in frustration and embarrassment.
What if I lost it?
Just as the panicked thought started, my fingers closed around the smooth stone, and I pulled my hand from the bag with a triumphant grin.
“Aha ha! I knew you were hiding in there, you little fucker.”
I controlled my language when I was around my daughter, but when I was off on a mission, it was a whole other story.
Shoving my pack to the foot of the bed, I crawled up next to it, crossing my legs under my body as I sat.
Once comfortable, I brushed my braids back behind my shoulders and traced the outlines of the rune on the stone.
That motion would send a signal to the linked rune on Peytor’s stone, causing it to vibrate.
Hopefully he has it with him or within hearing distance.