22.2: The Strong People of Myan

22.2

Hawthorne

By the time I wake, Iridea has already delivered the letters to the mailboy. I rub my eyes to release what sleep remains in their crevices and sit up to stretch. A soft breeze gushes through the window, replacing the pungent smells of the night with the mingle of everyday toils and fresh bread. My stomach growls, I’d give anything to have a hearty meal right now. Something steamed, piled with vegetables and seafood. How I miss Xeadafrian cuisine. With the private assurance that it’ll be fulfilled, I push my hunger to the back of my mind. After our interaction last night, Iridea seems safer to talk to, so I ask,

“What’s the plan for today?” 

Iridea raises her head, her hair falls into complicated tangles. She regards me without malice or disgust, but an intelligent gaze. This transition is less shocking than what she says next,

“We’re going to the Castle.” For a moment, I fear I misheard her. She proclaimed it so simply, without any flamboyance that should be associated with a visit to royalty - royalty! When I was young, my mom fed my imagination with stories about kingdoms, princes, and princesses. I dreamed of one day becoming a knight but Xeoda has soldiers, not knights, and the dream was tossed aside. Would things be different if I had been raised here?

“So, we can just walk in? They allow that?” I jump up and walk in circles around the room, my legs itching to move. Iridea follows my movements with heavy lids. She shakes her head,

“No, you have to get invited.” This stops me in my tracks.

“And are we?” I ask, filled with cautious hope. She gazes out the window to the street below.

“We’ll see.”

Questions begin to pile but she seems exhausted so I carry their weight on my own. Their incessant buzzing makes me anxious. I attempt to ward them off by placing my mind on other things; which bird is making that strange chime? Can I see anything through this crack in the floorboard? What about that one? That’s a weird stain. What did Iridea mean by ‘we’ll see’? Did she write a letter to the King? Do normal people do that?

The questions are back with an increase in their impatience. A grunt escapes my lips, the Star Elf’s eyes fly open. She lays there a moment before rolling off the bed. As soon as she shrugs on her disguise, Iridea leaps up.

“Let’s go,” she urges, stuffing the owner’s papers into concealed pockets. The Star Elf’s head drops, I can’t tell if she's nodding or if she fell back to sleep. Whatever it was, she flings her heel into the door before it can swing shut behind Iridea’s hustled form. Her chin grazes her chest like a rag doll but she lifts her head when I enter the doorframe.

“Sword.” Crud. I turn on my heel to retrieve the sword from its rest next to my bed. How could I have forgotten? Come to think of it, why hasn’t anyone taken it from us? If they changed the law regarding weapons in public, it didn’t reach Jemtong. This time, when I reach her loose form, sword in hand, she murmurs,

“Where are we going?” 

“To the Castle.” I grin. Again, her head does that drop and she lets the door close behind us. We reunite with Iridea at the stairs. Her nails dig crescent marks into the railing’s poor varnish, her foot hovers over the first step. I stop her before she can make a speedy descent.

“Hang on.” I look down at my patched clothing and muddy shoes. My stomach complains with another pitiful rumble. I’m pretty sure a quarter of the musty horse smell wafting through the window is actually from me. Besides the absolute mess I’m in, Iridea’s elaborate dress is soiled and stinks from the days we’ve travelled without bathing. Spots pattern across her face like tiny pebbles. Her hair wobbles on the line between shiny slick and oily ick. The Star Elf, forgive me, also doesn’t look her best. If you look past her torn and muddied skirt, which not many people would, her slippers are almost worn through. Clearly, they were not made for being chased through closely knit forests. Though Ms.Mais’ straw hat covers her hair and the symbol on her forehead, stray coils burst from the cap, unable to be contained. The Star Elf attempts to push them under the brim to no avail. In short, we look awful; a troop of homeless misfits. Not fearless fighters with a chance of defeating the cursed one.

“Can we eat first? And maybe find other clothes or at least a bath? If we’re going to the Castle shouldn’t we look more-” I gesture at our outfits when words slip out of my grasp- “appropriate?” Iridea pauses, her lips pursed together. The Star Elf stands beside me, her coat buttoned, her long arms stretching far past where the sleeves end. Iridea glances between the two of us and nods, but I can’t tell if she’s affirming my point or an unspoken idea.

“We can eat. As for our outfits, no. The King won’t see us as a threat and it’ll affirm his power. Royals like that.” The Star Elf’s eyebrows shoot up. Iridea whips around and skips down the stairs leading to the inn below. The Star Elf and I try to keep up with her pace, yet, somehow our long legs are no match for her determinism. By the time we get to the counter, Iridea has ordered food. Something about her uplifted chin makes me suspect she did this in a controlling manner, rather than a thoughtful one. Our meals, if you can call them that, arrive in no time: a plate of leaves and mashed potatoes. The guy next to me has a slab of beef laden with gravy. I look at my own plate with a dejected sigh. Even the Star Elf picks at her food with confusion. She turns to Iridea, who has demolished the leaves, and asks,

“Is this it..?” Without leaving a breath to pause, Iridea answers through shovelfuls,

“Yes. Eat quickly.” 

The inn’s door swings open with a resolute thud. A muscular man struts in with a gruff wallop to celebrate his entrance. His features blur into one, my focus is devoted to what lies limp over his shoulder; a wolf with its mouth drawn into a snarl. Clearly monstrous, clearly dead.

“Look what I’ve brought, boys!” He sings. The wolf’s tail bounces against the back of his calves as he thumps to the bar. A cheer follows his steps, people leap from their seats to get closer. I watch in awe as he shoves my neighbour aside and drops the creature onto the table. The bartender looks up at him without amusement.

“Will you get your wolf off my bar, Radek?” Radek meets him with a grin bordering on madness.

“Not a wolf,” He tisks. The room draws closer like an anticipatory inhalation. “A were-wolf.”

The silence breaks into cries of enthusiasm and shock. Some people flinch back, others bound forward to get closer to the slain beast. The Star Elf and I share an impressed glance while Iridea scoffs. This man, filled with muscle and grandeur, is all I hope to be; slaying werewolves and monsters for the betterment of the community. Radek twirls his arm above his head and bellows above the cheers of his audience,

“Drinks are on me tonight! I’m getting paid!” My voice joins the holler of the crowd. Excitement carries my thoughts into an energetic pulse. There are people like me! A whole community devoted to maintaining the safety of the people. There is hope for Zyrona, not only against werewolves, but against the Cursed One and his Deprecors. Surely, this group would stand against him. The strong people of Myan will lift us out of this constant fear in a swell of battle. My siblings won’t have to grow up in a fearful environment, as I did. The future for my family may be hopeful.

“This is disgusting. Let’s go.” Iridea hurls me out of unity with the crowd. She pushes through the bustle and slips out of the tavern without waiting for either the Star Elf or me. I stumble behind her, giddiness making my feet wobble. The Star Elf wriggles between people, holding the hat to her head.

We emerge into fresh air. The clamour of noise is replaced by a steady murmur of busy-bodies. A lazy donkey and a stern look push me into a rough wall, out of the flow of traffic. Iridea is obscured by the mass of people travelling through the street. All I can garner of her presence is a slight displacement in the crowd. I rush after her in a bundle of apologies, keeping the sword tight to my side. A new waft of smell hits me with every step; fruits, piss, bread. The Star Elf keeps up with my pace. We dodge around a mosying cart to arrive at Iridea’s colorful wings, hugged around her back, before she can vanish within the main street. I grab her shoulder to stop her. She flinches.

“What in the frozen sea was that? We could’ve used some of those people!” I hiss over the noise. Iridea swivels around,

“Not those people.”

“Why not?” the Star Elf asks, her pitch rising. Iridea looks between the two of us, her mouth opening and closing.

“Why not? Are you serious?” She crosses her arms. “Those people are murderers. Do you even know what werewolves are?”

“Yeah. Killers. They murdered my sister.” I bite my tongue to stop myself from shouting. For a second, Iridea drops her furious gaze.

“My condolences.” She takes a breath, “Werewolves are still people, they are just transformed, unwillingly, a few nights a month. They need to be treated, not exterminated.” 

“And Hyxver has a few silly nights a month and kills a couple hundred civilians.” Fleeting glances are thrown our way. “When werewolves are bitten, they are no longer people. That person is gone.” 

Iridea pauses, then sniffs. She grasps my wrist and leads me to a wall where a plastered poster has been hung on it, the glue still wet. With a sudden violent gesture, she rips it from the wall.

“Do you see this?” She cries, shoving the paper into my face, “They’re putting a bounty on ‘the heads of monsters and unusual beings’. Unusual beings? I’m an unusual being! Stellina’s an unusual being!” She thrusts a finger at herself and the Star Elf, her face red. Tears spill from her eyes. “We might be killed for your King’s racist agenda. Is that what you want?”

“N-no, of course not.”

“Well!” She crumples the poster and hurls it into a puddle. The paper sags, the ink melts. Now that she’s pointed it out, the posters are everywhere; between storefronts, at corners, stifling alleyways. This is…awful. Those people aren’t like me. They’re just killing anything they don’t understand for money. They may be simultaneously protecting the community while also destroying it. 

“Iridea, wait!” She disappears within the main street. I run after her, picking past people, paying more attention to her butterfly wings than my surroundings. In the trail of my chase, I hear topples and shouts. I fling apologies back to all of them, even if they weren’t my doing. A couple with intertwined hands blocks the final stretch to Iridea’s downcast head. I break between them and slow to a brisk walk at her side. 

“Iridea, I’m sorry. I didn’t see the posters.” She pitches around a turn in the road, “I don’t see you as a monster.”

“How very kind of you,” she mumbles.

“Iridea, I swear. I’m - can you please slow down - I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

“You did.” Her stormy speed falls. Her head remains bowed as she says, “I’m sorry about your sister.”

My throat clamps tight. We fall into silence, yet the world around us is alive with sound. Carts rattle, donkeys bray, salesmen call out their deals. Stellina reaches are side with a puff of breath. We turn another corner into the middle-class district. The sun pours onto cotton curtains from over the lip of the mountain enclosure. As we climb, the traffic dies down and the shops meld into houses. We spiral along lavish apartments with a panorama of the world below. I can see towns from here, even tiny people if I squint. We are giants in the clouds, ruling the insects in our basement.

“When did it happen?” Iridea asks, “Your sister? I remember she was at the welcoming party.”

“Oh, um, about a year ago now,” I reply. My fingers graze the rough texture of paintings in my pocket. The Star Elf keeps her grip on her hat to keep the wind from knocking it off. 

“And you’re sure she’s dead? Not just-”

“She’s dead.” My next swallow burns my throat, “I saw them attack her.”

“Oh.”

I don’t want to think about it.

The next bend brings us face to face with the immense gate of the castle. Between curling iron are manicured gardens and the regal mahogany doors to its interior. The castle is built from white and blue. A palace of sky. Two guards stand like statues at either side of the gate. Their armor is lined with silver and plumes explode from their helmets. But there is no grand assembly to welcome us. The castle doesn’t shimmer with the light of destiny as we approach. It is still. Silent. Like a dead zone, or ghost area. We stop.

“Are we sure we want to go here with that bounty in place?” 

“Unfortunately, we haven’t many options.”

In unison, we take a deep breath before approaching the gates.