Faith, Hope, and Charity

The Traveler

Special thanks to @summerssolitude for the beautiful cover! 

I clutch the old kitchen knife inside the pocket of my dress. I've handled it so much that it seems as if the wood is made to fit my hand. The pocket is made out of tough leather so that the blade doesn't cut through it, a leather stripe on my dress that announces to everyone that I am not to be challenged.

Not that they would anyway; they know the stories. The person who probably doesn't know them is the one I'm most afraid of. She's the Zho standing in the doorway, gazing over the rest of the tavern with those eyes that seem to be bigger than eggs. Her traveling cloak is pulled up over her head, the better to shade her tough skin from the harsh desert sun outside. It's a mottled green and has many stitches in it, as well as several mud stains. That's how my dress would look if Faith didn't clean it every week. The Zho is a female, I can tell because her tusks are shorter than I would imagine them on a male. Not that I've ever seen a Zho before, just heard stories about them in the market places. Supposedly they live far away, in a land of marshes and swamps; about as far away from here as possible.

What is she doing here?

I loosen my grip on the old kitchen knife and tell myself that it isn't any of my business; just another traveler passing through Nakhot city. I look over the staff that she is carrying before turning back to the counter. It's a light tan color and in a shape that looks like a dancer frozen during the middle of her movement. A wide hook caps the top like outstretched arms, the kind of shape you would expect at the end of a shepherd's crook.

Wonder if she bought it from a shepherd down on his luck.

I pick up the tankards that Scarak has filled with the spirits that bring all his customers to this filthy place. I carry them over to one of the tables in the corner, keenly aware that the Zho is tracking my movement. As I set the tankards down in front of the two horned guards who ordered the drinks, they lean away. It's a movement so small that one wouldn't notice it unless it's happened to them a thousand times. I can hear the boards creak as the Zho walks towards the bar. I state the amount that the guards owe and they each silently toss a small metal coin as close to the edge of the table as they can manage. I scoop up the coins and take them back to the bar.

"What is a Zho doing in the desert?" Scarak asks as he folds his arms across his vest.

"My journeys are none of your concern."

Her voice is like the sound of the cascading water that flows down the catacombs into the depths of the earth.

"Unless, of course, you can answer my questions."

"I know everything there is to know about Nakhot." In comparison, Scarak's voice is like a short plank of wood being rubbed by a piece of leather.

I put out my hand and Scarak puts out a hand without looking at me. That's fine by me, he's usually angry when he does. I drop the coins into his hand, which snaps shut. The lucre seems to draw his attention back to what really matters.

"What can I get for you?"

"I am unfamiliar with the diet of your people. Grains and vegetables are what my mothers taught me to eat."

Scarak nods in my direction and I walk towards the back room. I'm greeted by the smell of Hope's latest concoction like a warm embrace. She's standing next to the fireplace, stirring a pot of stew. Her hair is tied back with an off-white towel soaked with sweat. Her face is flushed and the sleeves of her dress are rolled up past her elbows. At the sound of the door shutting, she turns.

"What does he want now?"

"There's a customer that wants 'grains and vegetables'."

She makes a confused face, "Whoever heard of anyone who just wanted bread and vegetables?"