Bacorium Legacy (82 page)

The tears came, running down her cheeks. She did not stop to cry. She kept going, her feet kicking off the ground and pushing her forward. She ran until the woods stopped, and she reached the first town the Acarian had spoke of. She continued to run, leaving the town behind. She ran, the sun starting to rise by the time she had reached another town. She didn't stop there, either. She kept running, following the road south. She ran until her feet bled and her heart was pounding painfully against her ribcage, and then she kept running.

Finally, she tripped on a rock and fell, stumbling over a small hill and collapsing in the dirt by the side of the road. She tried to get back up, but her body was too tired to rise at this point. The tears started to flow now, the grief and pain of her entire life being destroyed in a single afternoon flowing forth.

She cried herself to sleep.

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“Are you alright, dear?”

Those were the first words Emila heard as she drifted back from her disturbed slumber. So soft and gentle, she initially thought them to be her mother's. For a single fleeting moment, she dared to believe that it was her mother waking her, and the awful events lingering in the corners of her mind were nothing but an awful nightmare. She could not allow herself to feel that hope, because she knew it was not true. Her feet still ached from the long night of running.

She opened her eyes to the midday sun above her. Sitting at her side in the ditch she'd fallen in was a small elderly woman, staring at her with confused, but worried eyes.

“I-I'm fine,” Emila managed to say. It was hard to speak, she found, as her throat pained from thirst.

She took a better look at the old woman at her side. She was dressed in travel clothes, worn and muddied from what must have been months of travel. She carried a large backpack covered all over in overstuffed pouched and bottles that dangled and made little clinking sounds against each other with every small movement - it looked far too heavy for someone as small and frail as her to carry.

“Are you by yourself out here?” the old woman asked. “You don't look dressed for travel...”

She looked truly concerned, Emila thought. But the Acarian who had freed her had warned her not to trust anyone.

“No, I uh-”

“There was an attack yesterday on the town of Sulin,” the old woman said. “We were actually on our way there when another merchant warned us, so we're skipping it over. Acarians, he said it was. Nasty folk. Thought they'd been wiped out fifteen or so years ago. In any case, what I mean to say is that it's not safe for a young lady like yourself to be out on your own.”

“Um...” Emila didn't know what to say.

“We were just about to stop for lunch, when my husband spotted you here,” she continued. “At the very least, why don't you join us and tell us what happened? I can't, in good conscience, move on without some assurance as to why you spent the night in a ditch.”

The old woman smiled, and it was the same sort of sweet, caring smile that Melissa used to give. Suddenly, Emila found tears welling up in her eyes, and it took a monumental effort not to start sobbing right then and there. Her throat tight, Emila agreed to the old woman's request.

Immediately, it was clear something awful had happened to her, and the old woman said, “Oh you poor thing. Come here.” She drew Emila into a warm embrace, and the younger girl had not the heart to refuse it.

The old woman, who introduced herself as Marie, helped Emila up out of the ditch and up the hill, showing surprising strength for someone her age. Once back on the road, they found the previously mentioned husband waiting. His name was Harold, and he was just as kind to Emila as his wife.

They all sat together and had lunch. The two of them were travelling merchants, and had been since they had married in their early twenties. They had travelled all across Bacoria, passing through each of the lands at least once in their long lives. They were currently on their way to T'Saw, the capital city of Sono, where they meant to sell the last of their spices and use the money they had saved to buy a nice home in the city to retire in.

Eventually, the conversation turned to Sulin. They had stopped there a few times before, and had meant to yesterday, before they got word of the attack.

Marie did not fail to notice the expression on Emila's face when Sulin was mentioned.

“It was your home, wasn't it?”

Blinking through tears, Emila nodded.

Marie frowned in sympathy, and placed her hand on Emila's shoulder. “I'm so sorry, my dear.”

And that was it. Unable to take any more, Emila buried her face in her hands and broke down crying. Everything came rushing back - the slaughter in the streets, the death of her mother and father and sister, the man who had nearly attacked her in the woods...

“You don't have anywhere to go, do you?” Harold asked her.

Her sobs were the only answer.

The two of old merchants exchanged a look. They had already made up their mind.

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“Well, here we are,” said Marie. “The city of T'Saw. The greatest city in Bacoria, I would say, and I've seen most all of them.”

Emila was agape as they passed through the front gate and emerged into the open stone-carved streets of Sono's capital. There were so many people, it absolutely dwarfed Sulin, or any of the small towns they had stayed in on their way through Sono. The buildings were tall, carved right into the mountain, and painted in the bright colours of Sono. And in the distance, at the highest point of the city, stood the magnificent Ivory Palace.

Harold seemed less impressed. He leaned against the city wall, short of breath from the long steps up from the Markira Field.

“I already have a reservation set up at a nice inn,” Marie told Emila. “
The Tipsy Troglodyte
. Odd name, but the man who owns it is honest and the rooms are comfy. We can go right there and drop off our things. And then, we'll take you sight-seeing! How does that sound?”
 

“Fantastic,” Emila said with a bright smile. “Could we go to the palace? I've heard stories of how amazing it is there.”

“They won't actually let us go inside, but we can certainly go up to the entrance.” Marie turned to say something to her husband, and her smile dropped a bit. “Harold? Are you alright?”

“F-fine,” he said, his breaths thin and short. “Just need to rest a moment...”

But Marie could see something was wrong. “Emila. Help me with him. We have to get him to the inn quickly.”

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“There's nothing that can be done,” the healer said to them as he rose from Harold's bedside. “If it was an injury, I could heal it in seconds. If it was an illness, the apothecary could brew a remedy. It's just old age. Once it catches up with you, there's no way to stop it.”

Marie's eyes grew wide in disbelief. “No... That can't be... He was so strong just a few months ago.”

Harold slept now, tucked warmly in a bed at the inn. Emila stood behind Marie, watching all this with a frown. At her side stood the stocky innkeeper Trent, who had carried Harold up to his room for them.

“At his age, he should not have been travelling so much,” the healer told Marie. “Didn't you say your last trip lasted a year and a half? It's amazing he lasted as long as he did.”

“We just wanted to get that last bit for the retirement...” Marie said, her voice falling. “He can't die now, we just made it here...”

Emila stepped closer to Marie and put her hands on her shoulders.

“I'm sorry,” the healer told her. “The best you can do now is keep him comfortable and happy. He'll last a few days more, at least.”

“Yes, we'll do that,” Trent said. “The two of you have been good to me over the years. Anything you need, just say it.”

“I have to go now,” the healer said. “I have other appointments. The girl has healing training, right? If any other symptoms come up, she can take care of them.” And with that, he moved past them and left. Emila did not glare at him, or say anything, though she wanted to. Had this been in Sulin, and her father had been summoned, he would have stayed and comforted Marie.

Still, he was right about one thing. There was nothing that could be done. There was no cure for time. Once someone was dying of age, no healing magick could stop it. Not even the lost magick her father had taught her would save Harold.

Trent excused himself, telling them to call for him if they needed anything. And then Marie and Emila went to Harold's bedside, where they would remain.

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“You're an amazing girl, Emila,” Harold said to her, his voice quiet and tired. “You deserved better than what fate gave you. Well - I suppose you're still young. All the opportunity in the world. Me, on the other hand...”

He coughed, and Marie's hand tightened on his, like she was trying to hold him in this world. Emila sat beside her, tears on her cheeks, listening to what would probably be his last words to her.

“Don't give up, okay? No matter how hard things get for you, hold onto the hope that things can get better. We've been through a lot of rough spots, and we always pulled through. And you're stronger than we are, in your own way. So promise me you'll never give up.”

“I won't,” she said immediately. That's all he was asking? She would have given them the world. These two kind folk took her in, and asked her for nothing in return but a promise not to give up? Then she never would, so long as she lived.

“Good to know,” he said with a smile. “Emila, you're like the daughter we never had. We often spoke of settling down one day and having children of our own. In the early days. As the years went by, we had those talks less, until they stopped entirely. It was always a regret of mine. But travelling with you let me live out that life, a little bit. So thank you for that.”

He coughed for a moment, and then said to his wife, “Marie, could you do something for me? The package - the one we were to sell here for that retirement money - could you open it and give it to Emila?”

“Harold - are you sure?”

He nodded. “We're not going to need it, are we? I want her to have it.”

Marie rose from her seat and went to their backpacks. She overturned Harold's, spilling a hundred bottles of spice out onto the floor.

“Emila, you can do whatever you want with this,” he said. “Keep it for yourself, or sell it and live comfortably. It's up to you. But right now, I have a request. I want you to use it for me right here.”

A bit confused, Emila turned as Marie returned to them. She rose up from her seat, and accepted a heavy object, wrapped up in crumpled paper. She turned away from them as she unwrapped it, and when she had finished, her eyes grew wide and she drew in a breath. In her hands Emila held a solid gold lute.

“I know you don't like to sing, Emila,” Harold said. “I know it's a selfish thing I ask. But please. I want to hear your voice as I pass. I want the last sounds my ears hear to be something beautiful.”

Emila hesitated. Her mother had taught both her and Eva to sing from a young age, but only Emila had had any talent at it. She could play a lute well enough - but the only songs she knew were those her mother had taught her.

While her time with Harold and Marie had softened the pain of losing her family, it had not erased it. Lingering always just under the surface, sometimes all it took was a single word, in a harmless context, to shatter every defence she had and bring forth those emotions. A mention of sweet rolls, or of the type of perfume Melissa had used, and suddenly Emila was right back there, staring at that massive bloodstain where Zinoro's sword had gone through her mother's neck.

But to sing one of her mother's songs - was she capable of such a thing?

She knew she had to try, one way or the other. Even if she broke down into tears halfway through, she still had to do it. It was all she could do to give back to the kindly couple who had, quite possibly, saved her life.

“All right...” she said, turning back around to face them. “I'll sing-”

She froze. Marie was out of her seat, kneeling at the bedside, clutching Harold's shirt and sobbing silently into it.

The bed was empty.

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A week passed.

Emila passed through the crowded streets of T'Saw, on her way back to the inn where Marie waited for her. She felt invisible among all the people - no one spared her even a second glance. When she had first arrived at T'Saw, she had felt like it could be a second home for her. Now, she didn't know if she believed that anymore. Her hope, her optimism, her enthusiasm - they had died along with Harold. His death had been a cold reminder of what the world was for her now - a bucket of cold water through the dream she had been wandering through.

Marie was taking it so much worse. She had lost her husband, her companion for more than six decades. She had hardly left the inn room since his passing - it was all Emila could do just to get her to eat.

Emila passed a commotion in the streets. Some man - a worker for a shoe store, it seemed - had been discovered to be a mundane. The owner had beaten him and thrown him out of the store, and now citizens passing were kicking and spitting at the poor man. All because he was unable to weave magick.

Emila would have stopped to help the man, and heal his wounds, but she knew she would become a target the same if she did. There was nothing she could do to stop them, or to help the man. Emila did not hate the mundanes, as so many in Bacoria did - her parents had taught her better. But as the public saw them to be some sort of enemy, anyone who helped or gave them quarter was an enemy as well. Emila could not bring angry folks throwing stones to the inn.

She passed the scene in silence, doing her best to shut out the sounds of the cries of the man in pain. It was a reminder that even though she had it rough, things could still be worse. She had to be thankful for what she did have.

Emila made it back to the inn, passing through the front entrance. At the counter, Trent nodded to her as she passed, and she made her way upstairs, and to her room.