Warrior of Carcia

Chapter 7

Isafaldor led Taylan endlessly through charred and blackened streets, darting in and out of collapsed structures. People's homes – now destroyed. Occasionally wailing would start up, full of sorrow and anguish – a mother crying over a dead child – and then it would cut off, abruptly. Taylan tried not to think of what that meant. A long streak of white hair, tied in the Shadowlander style, gleamed in the distance - in shocking contrast to their black surroundings. Isafaldor thrust Taylan behind a half-collapsed wall. "Stay still" Isafaldor whispered at his ear, his lips made barely any sound "Shadowlanders have better hearing – but worse eyesight. I doubt he would have seen us – still –" Isafaldor crouched to the ground and spat into the ash, then swirled two fingers into it. Making a black paste, he brought a coated hand to Taylan's face. Taylan turned his head back – as far as it could go, which wasn't very far with the wall behind him. "I'm not putting your spit on my face" Taylan protested, although it was by far the least horrific thing to happen today.

Isafaldor gave him an unimpressed look "You're not putting it on your face. I am." Isafaldor gripped Taylan's scalp forcefully and painted his cheeks, nose and neck before pulling away to examine his work. Then, reaching into his travel bag he pulled out a dark brown strip of fabric and handed it to Taylan "tie this around your forehead. Better to keep the blessing hidden for now." Taylan tied the procured cloth in place with a tight knot, it wrapped around in a strip just thick enough to hide the mark completely. When Taylan rearranged his hair over it, it was barely noticeable, almost the same colour as the strands of his hair and completely covered besides. Isafaldor repeated the process on himself, powdering his white hair with dry ash for good measure. "I still want to join the army, despite my blessing. The academy holds no interest for me" said Taylan. It was a bad time to bring up the subject, but a better time looked increasingly unlikely.

Isafaldor sighed "You were a fine scholar when we still had lessons together. But yes, your interest always lay in battles and tactics and the dance of weapons. I always hoped you would be blessed by the warrior." Isafaldor almost looked upset. "You would have to hide your blessing in the army and the punishment if discovered -" he paused "it could be as harsh as death. To go against the explicit will of the Gods warrants one of Carcia's harshest punishments. The blessed are supposed to register and perform only the roles pertaining to their God – Warriors go to the Army, Scholars to the Academy, Healers to the Sanctuary and so on. With what happened in Brooke, however, I doubt your blessing has been registered."

Taylan nodded undaunted "Perhaps joining the army is the Scholar's will. After all, a gift of telepathy or foresight or whatever she has chosen to bestow on me could be useful on the battlefield." He was clutching at pig hairs, trying to convince himself a bad idea was a good one.

Isafaldor raised a single eyebrow but otherwise didn't contradict Taylan "Who among us can predict the will of the Gods? We will have to see how your blessing manifests itself." He scratched his head "Meeting up with the army recruiters in Kant appears to be our best option anyway, the army are likely best equipped for this situation, or at least will have more information." Isafaldor looked past the wall, scanning the horizon "All clear. Let us keep moving."

The streets widened and Taylan could see that central Kant was less damaged. Amongst the small homes of the poor - packed closely together and made of cheap wood – the raider's fires had raced from home to home. But here damages were minor. Aesthetic rather than structural. The rich kept their houses while his had burnt and his family along with it. Taylan swallowed a wash of bitterness. They navigated the narrower side streets of Kant until they reached the location of the army tent. What remained of it was a heap of charred tent fabric, the King's insignia burnt straight through. Everyone was either escaped, or dead.