Chapter 21 #3
As the city’s taverns called to her, promising temporary respite from her fears, she considered losing herself in the dark corner of one.
Among the myriad establishments, she found herself standing before a dilapidated inn, a stark contrast to the lively taverns nearby.
A weary woman stood outside, her eyes pleading with a group of disinterested young men.
Time had etched lines on her face, testament to the harshness of life.
With trembling hands, the woman clung to the arms of passersby, desperation tainting her voice.
“Please! Please help me find him. This ain’t like him—please,” she implored the guards. They only exchanged disbelieving glances, a silent chorus of skepticism that infuriated Alethea.
She approached slowly, tugging at her own sleeves and pretending like she wasn’t terrified of getting involved. “What’s wrong?”
The woman’s hand went to her chest as she turned to face her. So far, no one had recognized her for who she was, allowing her anonymity as she’d wandered the streets.
“Oh, bless you, miss. It’s my son, Omar. He’s missing. He was playing with his friends by the fountain and was supposed to come hours ago, but I ain’t seen him. He’s a good boy. I just can’t find him anywhere.”
Alethea knit her brows in concern, her worry deepening. “I’m... sure he’ll come home.”
The mother’s face tightened with desperation. “You don’t understand. He’s got the sugar sickness. It causes him to faint when he doesn’t eat right. He left his medicine at home. I’ve searched everywhere.”
With a quiet nod, she resolved to use her gift. “Show me,” she said, her voice steady.
The woman led her toward the sprawling courtyard, her steps quickened with hope.
A large fountain, adorned with a statue dedicated to the Dawn Mother, Anya, stood proudly in the center of the square.
People bustled about, unaware of the mother’s anguish.
Alethea bit her lip, scanning the horizon, and hesitated briefly before turning to the mother, her resolve firm.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Lara, miss.”
“Lara,” she murmured, her voice soft and soothing, trying to instill confidence in the worried mother. “I’m Alethea. And I’m going to help you find your son.”
She took Lara’s hands in her own. Closing her eyes, she let herself be consumed by the raw emotions emanating from Lara, immersing herself in the depths of the mother’s pain and concern to open up the connection that hung between them like a braid of golden threads.
These threads wove together in her mind, painting a vivid picture of Omar.
Behind her closed lids, Alethea’s eyes glowed with an otherworldly light. She saw him, his youthful face framed by tousled hair, eyes closed and skin paler than it ought to be. She quickly relayed what information she could glean.
“Your son is not far, but he is not well. He’s in the alley next to the baker’s, behind the bags of refuse. Go to him—quickly!”
The brilliant glow behind her closed eyes dimmed, the vivid visions of Omar’s surroundings fading away.
As the connection with Lara’s emotions subsided, Alethea’s consciousness returned to the bustling courtyard.
The strain of reaching into her well of magic, unraveling the threads of destiny, had taken a toll.
Her knees felt weak, and she steadied herself by clutching the edge of the fountain behind her.
The stone ledge provided a welcome support, and she sank down onto it, her head aching.
Lara’s face twisted in worry. She withdrew a small glass vial from her pocket before rushing across the courtyard in the direction Alethea had sent her.
Left alone, Alethea inhaled deeply, trying to steady her racing heart.
Her eyes darted around the courtyard, finding several pairs of eyes fixed on her.
Strangers, ordinary folk going about their daily lives, had halted their activities to witness the unusual scene between her and the distressed mother.
Amidst the curious onlookers, a sudden commotion erupted from across the courtyard. Alethea strained her eyes, attempting to peer over the heads of the other figures to discern the source.
“My son! She found him!” Lara’s voice echoed with relief and disbelief as she stepped out of the alleyway, followed by a city guard who looked equally astonished.
The boy, weak and nearly unconscious, was held securely in the guard’s arms. Lara rushed back to her, hands trembling as she took both of Alethea’s in her own, pressing grateful kisses upon them.
“You found him. He could have died! The gods are good. Thank you, miss. Thank you. May Anya’s golden light shine upon you! ”
Tears welled in Lara’s eyes, reflecting the sheer magnitude of her relief. The city guard, too, wore an expression of awe, as if he’d witnessed a miracle.
“Is it true?” A young man, perhaps a decade older than her, stepped forward. His hair was the color of pale sunlight, his cheeks flushed with an anxious urgency. “Can you find missing people?”
Alethea’s lips parted as he moved closer.
“My brother,” he continued, his voice edged with desperation. “He left for Rai’Sharr to join the Imperial Army. We haven’t heard from him in months.”
A hush fell over the crowd that had gathered as several souls waited for her answer. A pang of empathy tugged at Alethea’s heart.
“I... can try,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of her newfound purpose. “Tell me about him. What’s his name? Is there something distinctive about him? Anything that might help me recognize him?”
With eyes a mix of hope and fear, he began to share details about his brother.
His words painted a vivid picture of a young man with a determined spirit—someone who’d embarked on a journey with dreams and aspirations.
Alethea listened intently, absorbing every piece of information.
Deep within, the flicker of her powers stirred, a reminder of the responsibility that had found its way to her once again.
“Please,” he begged. “Tell me.”
Alethea gently touched his arm, her brow furrowing in concentration as she delved into the depths of her power. The atmosphere around them seemed to thicken with anticipation.
“He’s... in a shallow grave, beneath the unforgiving desert sand,” she murmured. Her own discomfort mirrored the anguish in her words, and she withdrew from him, the murmurs of the crowd swirling around them. “I’m so sorry.”
The man’s eyes brimmed with tears, his voice barely a whisper as he asked, “What happened to him?”
“He... was betrayed,” she replied, her voice steady despite the sorrow clinging to her words. “He tried to warn them, but they turned on him.”
“Who? Who turned on him?” the man demanded, his voice breaking with grief and anger.
“I... I don’t know,” Alethea admitted, her heart heavy with the burden. “I’m sorry.”
Amidst the sea of onlookers, someone shoved the grieving young man away, stepping into his place, their eyes filled with their own desperate hope.
The man before her, his weary eyes etched with desperation, was clearly burdened by the enormity of his concern.
His dark hair was streaked with gray, his pale blue eyes tired and bloodshot from countless sleepless nights.
“My wife is sick,” he rasped, his voice a fragile thread of hope.
“Nothing we’ve tried is making it better. Can you heal her?”
A deep sadness pulled at Alethea as she gently touched his shoulder. The air around her seemed to shimmer with ethereal energy when she spoke, her voice carrying a quiet assurance.
“I’m not a Healer,” she began softly. “But you can put away your pride and take her to the temple of Anya. Seek out the wisdom of Priestess Helena. She can heal your wife.”
A frenzy gripped the crowd then, an avalanche of faces and voices closing in on her from all directions.
The air crackled with urgency as people surged forward.
Alethea’s eyes glowed fiercely, drowning out the world around her.
A forceful grip on her arm threatened to unbalance her as strangers clamored for her attention.
The crowd bombarded Alethea with a torrent of questions, each one a plea for hope or a desperate search for answers. Some asked about missing loved ones, their voices trembling with fear and anguish, while others inquired about the fate of distant friends or relatives.
Heart-wrenching cries filled the air as parents begged for news of their lost children and spouses sought reassurance about partners gone astray.
Voices rose above the noise, questioning the fate of soldiers who’d never returned from distant battles, and the whereabouts of stolen treasures or hidden riches.
Each query carried with it a glimmer of hope, a flicker of belief that Alethea held the key to their deepest anxieties and darkest mysteries.
Fingers grasped and tugged at her, their urgency pulling at the very core of her being.
She saw none of them through the blinding light of her powers; the shimmering force that flared from her eyes.
The Weave surged through her, amplifying the tumultuous energy.
She had little control over what spewed out of her, the words tumbling into the crowd with every frantic question asked.
Each plea etched a new line of exhaustion on her face, bringing a weariness that seemed to seep into the very core of her being.
“Stop this at once.”
Quiet fell over the crowd as a familiar presence found her, strong hands holding her shoulders. But it wasn’t the voice she so desperately wanted—the one that would bring her comfort and reassurance.
“Alethea, you need to stop.”