Nimara rode at a lazy pace, the first prince's letter detailing further instructions held limply in one hand. She was to find a human and guard them until his arrival.
A human?! Nimara had scoffed. What is so important that that snooty prince would have me baby sit a measly human? His letter had only offered the name of a village, a brief description of the woman, and that she was to watch from the shadows, remaining unseen. It didn't offer any specification of when he would come for the human. How annoying.
Day had finally broke, giving a better view to the mountainous scenery around her and it wasn't long before she had found a road used for travel. A little while later she finally came upon some other travels. A pair of humans, a woman and a male, walked on heavy feet, bulging packs that dwarfed their size strapped to their backs.
The prince had told her in his message to stay out of sight, but she was going to need directions. The portal had led to the middle of the wilderness, no village in sight.
She rode up from behind them coming to a stop after blocking their path. When they caught sight of her their eyes bulged out for a moment, to which Nimara shot them a cold look. Her lip curled up slightly at the side. Never seen a fae before?
"Humans." Her voice was steely and commanding.
Both pairs of eyes nervously darted around, looking for anyone else that strange green woman could be talking to.
"Which way to the village of Imore?"
The man clapped his mouth open and closed and the woman took a hesitant step back.
Nimara rolled her eyes at their unspoken prejudice. She'd heard that humans were typically wary of anything or anyone that looked different from them. It was even rumored that there had once been similar races who also occupied the mortal lands, but they had killed them all.
Her green complexion and hair hair color, as well as her long pointed ears were otherworldly to the man and woman. She donned a glamour and the pair stared in shock as her skin muted becoming a washed out cream with green undertones and her ears shrunk into the likeness of rounded human ones. "I asked you a question. Which. Way. To. Imore?"
The man's eyes rolled about like a dumb ass and the woman swallowed audibly. "Ju-just due west. About a c-couple days' ride." She finally stuttered and meekly pointed into the direction Nimara had come from.
"Damn it." Nimara cursed and the humans flinched. She looked down at them again before offering a toothy smile. "Thank you." There was no gratitude in her words. Guiding the horse into a turn she held up a hand letting the letter burn away as her poison soaked the paper. The humans gasped at the display, their eyes widening in fear.
Nimara chuckled as she rode back the way she had come. Frightening the humans had been very entertaining.
The sun was high, searing the world that lay beneath it. And some ugly, plucked bird was flying in lazy circles letting out exasperated gurgling caws. If birds could spit it'd have been raining beneath it.
Nimara let out another yawn, mouth wide with lips pulled back over teeth, stretching out arms, taking over the space above her. A horsey, lazy kind of yawn.
The bird and its wet rasping squawks had been trailing her for some time now but she could not find it in herself to be annoyed with its dramatics. There was camaraderie in its whiny call.
Woe is me, cried the malting bird.
Woe is me, Nimara conceded.
She had suffered the greatest humiliation that an agent of shadow could. She had been caught. She had never been caught. It was her pride, her most favored bragging chip. An envied fact in the community of her craft. Her image, that had been so carefully constructed, was now doomed to take a hit.
Even more annoying, it had been the Imperial Court that caught her. The court was heavily guarded and the Imperial family were among the most powerful of fae. Not many would enter their capital, no matter the coin provided for the job. All those who had tried before her never returned, only whispers of their executions and quiet conversations of horror and battery. The underworld had become familiar with tales from behind closed doors within the ruling court.
She had bragged that she alone could do it, careless words said to some drunkard in the dregs of a shitty rathole. And word travels, like it always does and soon enough, there she was taking the job, another contract, another little piece to add to her persona. Too good to go back on a boast.
The prince had so easily subdued her too. She rolled her eyes and groaned at the memory. She had a curved blade ready to hollow out his throat in his sleep. Dropped it to the ground on command as his own cool blade pressed firmly into the flesh of her own neck. She'd been had–sold out or set up, perhaps both– and the guards had dragged her into a rank dungeon reeking of death. She'd felt certain that her time in this cycle had come to its end.
One day came and went and then another and it had already been too long and Nimara knew that she would not die but would serve. A collar, no doubt, would be placed around her neck and she would do tricks for royals with smarmy attitudes. She could play the jester when it pleased her, but she was not pleased and the situation was shit.
And sure enough she had been given an interrogation that felt more like an interview. Then that gray asshole had tapped explosives into the layers of her skin and the prince had patted her head, sent her on the way to do his bidding with the promise that if she performed well she would be free. Nimara knew the tale, old as time. There wouldn't be freedom. As long as she behaved under the threat of having her face blown off, there would be pats on the head and new jobs to complete. The interest of her crimes building faster than she could ever pay off the debt. Nimara had made a mistake.
She was defeated, and worse still, humiliated.
Woe is me, indeed.
The smells of herbs and fruit, sweet and fruity, warm and wafting, traveled into Nimara and her stomach let out an angry rumble. She had not eaten in days and her mouth began to salivate. Hunger was an acceptable distraction from her depressing thoughts.
A quick search produced two young boys all smiles and laughs, sticky treats speared on sticks in hand.
"Where did you get those, tiny men?" Nimara rode near, an imposing cloaked figure obscured in a harsh shadow cast over her.
The first boy, slender, freckled and snub, found insult on being called a 'tiny man' in such a tone, and glared up at her. The mid-day sun lighting up his round eyes cast shades of brown in red, the tiny child doing his best to look ferocious, more mature and older than he was.
The second one, chubby with that good natured air of a lovable teddy bear, kindly pointed into the distance, earning a venomous side glance from his friend. "We bouaa- dem fwom da cart ofer der." His cheeks were stuffed and he spoke around half chewed desert. Syrup smeared across his mouth and dripped down little sausage hands double fisting sticks of roasted fruits.
Nimara let out a chuckle. The young of most creatures were endearing. Puppies, kittens, foal, bleating kids and lambs. They were weak, and dumb, and cute, and sounded funny enough that it made them pitiful and their company pleasant. Pity that bloomed into an almost malicious adoration. Some so cute you just wished to crush them.
"Thank you." She said in a softened tone to the chubby boy and then turned to the freckled one, still glaring like an angry kitten. She pulled in low out of the flare of the sun and better into view of the child. "You look like a kid who knows things."
His hardened glare went a little prideful. "I know things!" The boy's gremlin-like features and his shabby manner of dress portrayed a kid who knew of alleys and shady awnings over back doors.
"Secret things?" Nimara asked, her glamour waving in front of the children. They were still too young to be fully affected by it and she watched as their eyes danced in an effort to discern her features.
The boy nodded his upturned nose poking at the sky.
Nimara reached into the folds of her tunic then brought forth her hand pinching her middle and ring finger against her thumb. In their crease a tiny green bud sprouted and writhed, growing and bulging before splitting into a cone shaped pale blossom. Petals twirled into points wisping and curling forward.
"Woah." The chubby one breathed.
The other one scowled in an effort to quell the desire to also react like a child in wonder. It was magical afterall.
The petals died off and the inner organs of the flower swelled into a pod brimming with seeds. The green of chlorophyll faded as it dried, taken by the rapid succession of time forced upon the flower.
In a flash all that remained was a crisp and shriveled pod rattling with dried seeds. Nimara held them out to the boy. "Take these, somewhere dark and secret. They are worth good money."
The boy took the seeds from the woman, gingerly so as not to crush their encasing.
"You have helped me today. Should I travel back through here and you help me again, I will have more seeds for you."
He nodded and understood the meanings in her words. The seeds were to be sold in the black market and this woman was offering employment. He was indeed a boy who knew of cold and hunger and coins and secrets. And he knew what to do with the seeds.
Namira straightened herself, noticing how the boy still looked at her with his tough expression. She frowned. Sure he was a kid who undoubtedly lived a runts life, but the world was cruel and he'd only get so far with his nasty little attitude until someone wicked and strong cut his throat and left him in the ditch. The boy would have to learn of this if he wished to survive.
"What is your name?" The question sang from her lips, tangible and charged.
"Titus." He was too full of himself, and the name returned its tune to Nimara, a snooty little melody of whistles to match the snooty little human.
"I look forward to meeting you again, Titus." With that she spurred the horse forward leaving the two boys behind, humming the song of his soul, committing it to her memory.
Titus shiver, arms dusting with prickled skin, as the woman rode away whistling the strange tune.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Fat strawberries and pitted dates stuffed with ground almonds, sweet mint and basil, turned on skewers situated over sizzling coals. Roasting and Juicy. The vendor took one from the flame and brushed it with amber syrup that smelt of pine and earthy spices. It was a treat that promised it'd be full of flavor.
"Here ya are, mutant." The vendor was a leathery man with the beginnings of a hunchback. His speech was rough and had the accent of isolated populations, unrefined and of the back woods. He handed her the fruit skewer.
"Thank you human." She tossed forward a silver coin and the vendor caught it with sticky fingers.
"I ain't never seen no coin like this." He held it to the light.
"It is silver." She reassured lest he thought she was trying to rip him off.
He weighed it in his hand, bouncing it from one side of his palm to the other. Nibbled it. "Where did a mutant like you get a pretty silver coin like this anyways?"
The old human had been calling her a mutant the moment she approached his cart of treats. She thought to snarl at the man, mutant being an obvious insult, but her desire to acquire one of his delicious creations persuaded her not to.
Now that she had it in her reach she took a large bite from the strawberry. It was steaming hot but not scalding. The flesh of the berry folded and crushed between her teeth, softened to perfection. The syrup was honeyed with the tang of bitter pine, moistening ground almonds with rolled pockets of mint and basil leaves.
Nimara smiled in satisfaction. "This is a wonderful food." She ignored his question. The man did not ask again and tucked the silver in his pants. A chunk of silver worth sixty of his skewers was nothing to ask twice about.
"What are these mutants you speak of?" She finally asked after wolfing down another strawberry and a date.
The man gestured towards her hand and held out one of his own. "Yer hands. Ya only got eight fingers. Only mutants got weird numbers a' fingers."
She looked from her eight fingered hands to the man's ten fingered ones. "You have ten fingers. That's disgusting." Ten fingers was two fingers too many in Nimaras mind. The addition was disturbing and watching his extra finger move in synchronicity with the others made her want to gag. She hadn't noticed the obscene amount of fingers on the other humans she had met, but she also had not been counting.
The man barked out laughter. "I think you are the gross outlier in this situation, mutant." His words were not kind yet his overall behavior remained mildly jovial. He rocked back and forth on his heels crossing his arms over his chest. "Though I've never seen one of ya's with two perfectly matching hands. Looks like you lucked out, they look almost normal." He squinted at her then turned his lips down and seemed to nod in approval. "Yer actually perty for one of them mutants."
Nimara grimaced, and surmised that these mutants he spoke of must have hands clawish and fleshy with tubular growths of unevenly numbered fingers. She wondered if their bodies were equally grotesque by the way the man said mutant, heavy with judgment and distaste. Perhaps they also had bulging and gnarled limbs and faces formed of knots and sores. They were nasty thoughts.
.
"Grandfather." A low and polite greeting reverberated behind Nimara.
In a smooth and unnatural motion she spun towards the voice. Her remaining strawberry flung from the skewer.
She had not felt the human approach and assumed a defensive stance, legs slightly spread. There was a subtle, almost lazy relaxing of her posture. Arrogant and deceptive. She was a viper in the moments its head stupidly bobs back before a strike.
The man was middle aged and square. Muscles tightly packed into an average sized boxy figure. Formal robes draped over loose pants, his attire gave definition to a warrior's physique. Unlike the dark haired open faces of the people of this land, his hair was a brassy blond. Bright eyes stared down a thin nose, looking between the vendor and the fae.
A staff loosely stood at his side, a single thin branch grown through golden rings with a smooth metallic orb knotted upon its top. "There is a traveling caravan in Imore today. You may get better business a little ways down the road." He addressed the vendor, tone level, speaking a forceful suggestion. It spoke of the violence to come. The body language of the mutant and the man too charged to promise anything else.
The vendor nodded as a franticness overtook him. He grabbed the handles of his cart, burning fires still lit, skewers still turning, and hauled it away from the two. Nimara's eyes remained on the newcomer while he watched the vendor disappear around the bend.
As soon as the vendor was out of sight, he took a step back and began to walk a steady circle around Nimara. "I can see you are not of this world, creature. You do not belong here."
Nimara glanced at the fallen strawberry, its sweet filling spilling from its body like a swatted and splattered bug. Her eyes snapped up to the man, a viscous scowl contorting her pretty face.
Mutant. Creature. The insult rang repeatedly in her head.
My strawberry!
"Who are you to look down on me, human?" She hissed.
His parade was slow, each step perfectly aligned with the next. Nimara turned with him, careful to keep him in front of her. "I am a warrior of light. A divine servant of the great god Eeno. And He has made it my mission to cleanse His lands of filth." He spoke like a cultist, devout and brainwashed.
"I had heard humans were obsessed with their gods." She hadn't thought it would annoy her so much though. The gods of men were not looked upon with much care by many from the higher realms. The fae, vypnyr, and wyrr had all served their creators–the animals and the plants. Most gods demanded that their creators serve them instead. It was perverse and pathetic. And yet human after human submitted to their petty wants and woes. Stories of gods using and slaughtering their own followers had been themes in fae texts and scrolls that contained information on humans.
"The Great Eeno is no mere god!" The priest drew back his staff then, pulling in in a high arc above his head. "He is the only god. The true God." He brought the staff down towards Nimara. Power crackled down the length of its, weaving into wood and ringing on metal, tangible and sizzling
Her legs tight and coiled, with years of vigorous training sprang loose as she jumped, flying up and back, landing in the safety of the branches of a tall tree.
The cobble of the old road exploded from the impact of his blow, Nimara having stood there milliseconds before.
Her horse let out a screeching whinny and fled into the forest.
"All others are monsters parading as false prophets beneath Him!" He peeled the staff from the rubble of a small crater, steady gazed, easily finding Nimara above him crouched in the branches.
Damn there goes my ride. Nimara watched as the last traces of her horse disappeared into the greenery. Tsk!
"Face your fate, abomination!" The priest was gritting through a clenched jaw, face becoming red and veiny with irritation. His fist clenched his staff and he pointed it at her with waspish flare.
As far as Nimara knew the humans were not the most powerful of beings but the essence in which the priest had flooded his staff with was a mild cause for concern. The Imperial Court had been tasked with watching over the humans countless centuries ago. It was their job to make sure human weapons and intentions could not harm beings of the higher realms and upset the balance. Forgotten contracts of separation and non-interference had bled through time, and now here was this human. A man able to stealthily approach the fae, talking of exterminating those from other worlds and controlling volatile energy. Wielding a weapon that could have easily crushed her skull.
What the hell are those imperial bastards doing!? The whole reason they had gained control of the fae courts was because they had promised to look over and guide the overly sentient entitled flesh and bones of midworld. Nimara felt pangs of anger bounce aground her ribcage, hot knives. Did they not even bother to send even one overseer?
She took a deep breath. This wasn't Nimara's problem though. It was something for that slimy prince and his misogynist family to deal with. For now she had to find the human and babysit while thinking of how to take back her freedom and soften the blow of her failure.
Nimara stood from her crouch and eyed down the fuming man with his charged staff. "Fortunately for you, my fate lies elsewhere. You're not my problem to solve."
In a rapid blur she fled, streaking into the distance to search for her runaway steed.