A Tale of Crown and Country

Tavin

Tavin found the last few days surprisingly uneventful. It just went to show how much his standards had changed since leaving Revdellen. Before this quest he'd never really had an adventure, as Cathrinta would call it. And now in the past week he'd slept on the cold earth, worked for passage on a ship, and inadvertently saved a young Allriyan. Maybe he was more hero material than he'd originally thought. Tavin smiled to himself at the thought whilst he strolled through the busy market streets of Odeila.

    Now this was his sort of town. It reminded him of Revdellen in size and atmosphere, but there were twinges of difference that couldn't help but remind him he was anywhere but home. The roofs were sturdier than in Quaelsi but the walls were not as thick as at home. A dryness hung in the air instead of the sweet smell of rain, snow, and the forest that Tavin had realized was singular to his hometown. The town was more contained, more of a merchant's stop than a farmer's home. Beyond the town limits lay a scattering a fields more out of necessity than part of the town. It wasn't a seamless entry into Odeila: the town stuck up out of the highlands like a tree in an ice field.

    Odeila's streets were wider and busier. Cobblestones ran between buildings that were increasingly larger than one storey. There were two main squares that each bustled under the weight of the daily markets. Peddlars of every sort had come to sell their wares. People haggled in the shadows over prices and small children ran out from behind tables to convince shoppers of their products. There was a sense of life in the town, an energy that coursed through the stones in the streets. Despite the late hour that Tavin had entered the town, the markets were still open. Many merchants had returned home but a many few had remained to catch the attention of late night strollers and young ones who might want to buy a gift for their secret lover.

    Tavin had his choice of inn in the town, but when he checked his pockets for his ever depleting supply of coins, he was sorely disappointed. There was only one, sad-looking inn that could accommodate him. Despite the hairs that stood on end at his approach, Tavin knew he had to stay there or else try to find a comfortable slab of stone in the alleyways of the town. The inn didn't have a name; it stood almost on the outskirts of town in the middle of a neighbourhood characterized by its numerous shadows and broken windows. Distant shouts made Tavin's heart jump in his chest, and the more he walked towards the inn–his instructions coming from a small boy with black hair to his shoulders–the more he felt as if he would collapse from anticipated fear.

    This inn hadn't been his first choice. A quaint looking building off one of the main streets by the name of The Wairton Inn had caught his eye. With its freshly painted window frames and steady stream Odeilians coming and going from the first-floor bar–an apparent characteristic of inns in Allriya–it seemed perfectly safe. And Tavin could have afforded it, if only his journey ended here. He was painfully aware of the fact that his coins would run out by the time he reached Aldira, but that was future-Tavin's problem; he would have to find some means of making money while in Aldira for he had no idea how long he would be in the capital. And besides, he would need money to return home as well.

    The unnamed inn became his lodgings for the night. A greasy cloaked man hunched over for an unknown reason took his single coin and led him to a room for the night. He returned a few minutes later and deposited a cup of ale, a piece of bread, and an apple declaring it Tavin's dinner and breakfast. Tavin hurriedly thanked the man, suppressing the urge to cry. This journey was taking a toll on him; he had never been so far from home, so alone. He'd never had nobody to lean on, no one to remind him to keep going. He was sick and tired of the terrible food, the dry weather, and the days of walking and walking and walking.

    Tavin sat on the bed in a huff. He was too numb to register that it was unnecessarily hard and the blanket had odd stains in the corner. He was too numb to try and eat the hard piece of bread and the ale that tasted as if it had been watered down beyond recognition. Why was he doing this? He asked himself, placing his head in his hands. He had nothing to gain from this quest; except Atryada. Back in Revdellen he had convinced himself that upon completing this monstrous quest to Aldira and back she would finally be able to see him, finally be able to realize that he was as good as Fenwur. Sure he wasn't as strong, had never won a combat match at school, and was not confident in any way, but he was smart and willing to show her that he cared enough about her to take on this emotionally and physically draining task. Of course, she didn't know about the prophecy: no one did. No one except the people he had left behind in its pursuit.

    Tavin stood and ripped the bread from the plate. He hurled it at the wall where it bounced off harmlessly, solidifying the notion that it was not meant for human consumption after all. He wanted to scream at the four wooden walls of the terrible inn in Odeila. He was angry: angry at Nasta for abandoning him; angry at Atryada and Fenwur for representing everything he wanted to be; angry at Allriya for being so uncouth and uncivilized; angry at Grandfather for telling him about this stupid prophecy that didn't matter anyways; angry at the prophecy for existing and pulling him into its orbit; angry at himself for believing everything.

    He stood there, staring at the spot on the wall where the bread had hit it before falling harmlessly to the ground. Why had he thought he could change anything? Why had he thought the prophecy mattered to him? Tavin relaxed a little, noticing he had tensed up in his rage. He had never done that before, never gotten so angry. He was the quiet one, the one in the back who read rather than lived, who absorbed knowledge without common sense.

    Tavin looked closer at the wall and wondered if the tiny mark in the wood had been caused by the bread or not. He smiled as he thought about the wondrous powers of stale bread. He sat back down on the bed. Falling backwards, sprawling across the tiny slab of a bed, Tavin closed his eyes. As much as he was mad at the prophecy for doing all this to him, he still had that strange feeling that it was important. His gut reminded him that the prophecy wasn't just something Grandfather had told him, that it was about to happen. What exactly was still up for debate. Tavin groaned as he acknowledged that this wasn't for nothing, and that he had to keep going towards an unknown future, without a plan, and without a clue of what he was looking for.

    He replaced the bread on the plate and picked up the apple. Deeming it satisfactory for consumption, he threw into his bag with the other food he still had from Mrs. Surstan. He blew the small candle out that sat on the floor beside the bed, and crawled under the blanket, trying not to think about what it felt like.

    Tavin had never entirely believed in a higher power, but for the first time in a while Tavin prayed to Rukta, hoping she would hear him all the way in Allriya, to give him a sense of what to do next.