A Scoundrel's Song

5

Niico began to think having an ox pull the wagon would have proven marginally faster than the stout war horse. Another day had passed already and only now did the town of Siverra hove into view, clinging to the sides of the high, rocky hill before them. More trees covered the area than anywhere else along the journey, promising the landscape they would see beyond the mountains to the east.

As expected, Akafa's resolve to keep Herit from performing had washed away with the stain he had brought upon himself and Niico only felt a little guilty at that. The big Orususkan would never know that Niico had encouraged the assignation with the lovely lady, whose name Niico had stopped trying to remember, after filling Akafa's belly with the awful alcohol they drank in that village.

The boy had taken to the training as though born to it, learning several impressive sets of acrobatic skills that came with such ease, Niico almost thought the boy had secretly practiced similar moves long before. He couldn't remember seeing such a flexible boy, able to twist his body into positions that, were it anyone else, would probably crack spines and tear muscles. In this child, Niico could see visions of coffers filled with coin.

"You know, it's said that Siverra, more formally known as Siverra Canti Boulli was founded by the travelling monk, Boulli, some time before the last Upheaval." Sat beside Pel on the seat of the wagon, watching the horse's tail flicking at flies, Niico turned his head to the boy. "He had taken it upon himself to walk from one end of Karramon to the other to honour Tismit Kha, Patron of the Sun and Iri, our smallest moon."

"That must have taken him years and years to do!" Poking his head between Pel and Niico, the boy tried to take a better look at the coming town. "We've been travelling for days and we're still in Larissa. Aren't we?"

"We are! Larissa is big, but the continent, itself, is so very much bigger than a dozen Larissa's." He gave the boy a smile and swept his hand before them as though showing the size of the continent within the arc. "And, yes, it did take him years. But, if he had gone the right way, it would have taken a lot less time."

The boy scowled, looking back, through the rear of the wagon, past the silent Akafa, lost in his own thoughts. When he turned back, he leaned even further forward, looking to the west, where rolling sand dunes were still visible in the distance as the Sun began to lower to the north. He looked as though he were about to ask a serious question.

"Did his shoes last all the way? I've had to change my shoes twice since we left ..." The boy stopped as Akafa roused from his introspection, tapping the boy's leg. Herit lowered his eyes before thinking of something else. "Why would it have taken less time? Did he get lost?"

"Well, not lost, as such. Instead of taking the northern route, he chose the southern, but there's no way through the Strass Mountains to the south. At least, no way that isn't incredibly dangerous." Niico had never seen those mountains himself, but he had heard tell of their treacherousness. Few survived trying to cross to the west that way. "So, the monk Boulli turned right around, walked all the way back here and then thought, 'forget that!' and decided to honour Tismit Kha by staying in one place for the rest of his life."

"And that place is here!" Why that excited the boy, Niico would never understand. Children were a foreign country to him. A different world. "All that way and he stopped here! It must be a very special place?"

It was a bit of a dump, truth told. Wracked by the last Upheaval, parts of the town had fallen and other parts had risen, giving a towering cliff between both halves. Steps, carved into the face of that cliff, connected both parts, but, over the centuries, the townsfolk had almost become separate peoples entirely. Niico had visited more than a few times in his travels and, he had to admit, the more languid, friendly, Lower Siverra appealed to him more.