The Arkanist

Hardbottle

Hardbottle

The drinks flowed gold and cold that night.

Upon entering the Hardbottle, Jakn nearly dropped his jaw. In the corner of the massive wood inn, a girl sang on a small stage. The rest of the place was silent, listening to the young lady spin out notes like gold, the lights dimmed all round, except for the great braziers surrounding the stage, illuminating her petite figure.

She was gorgeous. Her hair tumbled down to her back like liquid silver and her face was fair as the moon, luminescent. Even from the distance that Jakn stood at, he could see her eyes glimmer blue and green, while she continued to sing smooth as silk, not a break in her voice, or a falter in the tune. As she swept across the small wood stage, mesmerizing the entire inn to silence, her silvery dress fluttered about her legs, shimmering blue then white. The dress was tight to her curving body at the torso, then fanned out, trimmed with a pink silk. Jakn was in love.

As he stood, petrified with both fear and wonder, his wide eyes caught hers. For that split second, it was if he was looking into bright morning sun, their brightness forcing him to look away. Jakn’s heart thundered against his chest as he felt his throat grow tight, searching for he eyes once again. Twice more they flicked from beneath from her fair eyelids, the light shimmering off them like the sunlight does across the sea. Jakn caught a faint smile kiss her soft lips, then hid back behind her dark lashes.

He walked closer to the stage, around large round tables and small square ones. As he moved closer, her voice grew sweeter, and her notes flowed from her mouth like silk. Jakn took a seat three rows back next to a quiet man with green robes and a cane. He watched the girl intently, as did Jakn, watching her every move like a hawk, eyes glued to her elegant body, and her silver hair. The music behind her stopped after she exaggerated her last note, and the lights dimmed. The gathered crowd roared with applause, Jakn utterly impressed. The man beside him did not clap.

As the clapping died down to mere drunken slaps, the girl reappeared on the stage, this time dressed in a blue gown, cold as ice, trimmed with white, hugging every inch of her hour-glass figure. She brought a small wood stool with her and sat on it before the silent, eager crowd. Behind her, a long grim tune rung out amongst the inn, shaking the foundations, then another. The music streamed forth grave and bleak and smooth as glass. Jakn knew it to be the tragedy, Iyra and Larian, a classic of Runir, dating back before the Anturans. It was a song of heartbreak and despair, death and corruption, and love.

Iyra was a maiden, wed to the King of Runir, Haerin, who forced such love upon her. Larian was a common farmer of the capital, who had met Iyra in an inn one night. There they fell in love, and began to meet each other in the woods every night, amongst the darkness of the forest. It was there they were caught one night by a guard, and when Haerin had word of this, he sentenced Larian to death. Iyra was heartbroken at her to-be husband. How could she marry the man who wanted to kill her love, she thought. So one night, she fled the castle and ran to their meeting place in the forest, amongst a grove of pale birch trees. It was there she found Larian, dead, his body red with blood mutilated. At the sight of seeing her lover dead, she gouged her eyes, so she didn’t have to look at his anymore, and laid her body over his, dying there after three nights of a cold winter. At the turn of spring though, the common folk had reported seeing a great birch high than any in the wood, wreathed in flowers of silver and blue and white. It was under those roots that Iyra and Larian lay, their love so great it formed a tree so large it touched the sky. As goes the story for no such tree has yet to be found.

When the song ended and the girl sung her last, faint note, filled with sadness and love, there was a silence. Nobody stirred, only stared at the beautiful girl seated on her stool, marveling at her utter brilliance. Then, came the wave of applause, roaring like a thousand lions, and hit her like a hurricane, smacking her into a stunned and joyous smile, her teeth glowing like pearls. She curtsied low, thanking the crowd, and retired backstage, leaving the inn buzzing with conversation. The man next to Jakn stood up and walked away.