Bridging the Ancient ✓

Chapter 51

I hand over the appropriate amount of copper coins, dropping them in the hand of the old merchant, and take my bushel of apples. He frowns at me and tilts his head, scrutinizing every inch of my strained face, and turns his attention back to another customer searching through his selection of oranges. With no teeth and grey hair sticking out in all directions, he appears to belong to Ducoria rather than the somewhat fine-looking people of Lona.

Although just as dangerous, both people living in either city have a tendency to charge more for their wares to outsides rather than the familiar faces. Renit and I don't mind, we're too busy trying to figure how we're supposed to get back down the mountain. Since we're not allowed to go out the way we came, we must purchase two new horses and send guards for the others we left behind. They're the king's horses, if he discovers they're in the hands of a Ducoria slob then he'll throw a fit for the ages.

I hand over the bushel of apples to Renit and we continue on through the market. There's hardly anyone here at such an early hour but the merchants still keep a sharp eye out for anyone suspicious. We are the crowd they're looking for with our heavy satchels full of belongings and how quiet we have remained during our stay. Apparently, by now, they're used to witnessing the heads of strangers spiked on gates.

We've sold our armor off to someone in need, a man and a woman on their way to the fighting pits, and have managed to either sell or give away most of the weapons to trainers and students alike. Strange looks, suspicious whispers greeted us, but no one acted on whether we belonged here. And no one has recognized Renit to be who he is. I can be thankful for that; these people might see him as a target rather than an ally.

Once we're through the market, leaving behind arguing customers threatening to slice throats if the merchants don't cut down their prices by at least half, we search for stables. Considering that's where the horses will be, away from the buildings and in a barn or pasture, that is where we need to be looking.

But a familiar scent lingers in the air, one I've recognized all too well. I sniff the air and seconds later, Renit does the same. With furrowed brows, I look back and forth—wondering where that is coming from. Not only am I having trouble finding the correct direction but recognizing the source is just as difficult. I feel like I've known this scent, have mingled with this scent, hated it and loved it, and I've held it near and dear to my heart. But I've also feared it.

"What is that?" Renit asks. He stops in the middle of the street, centered around a fountain and bordered on tall stone buildings. The interior curtain of someone's second floor home billows from the morning breeze.

"I don't know," I mutter.

It's too familiar. I can feel it inside me, wakening, reminding me of what's there. My power. That's why the smell is so familiar. Somewhere nearby, a power identical to my own is being used. Renit could smell it because of the Grounding and I can smell it because that smell has suffocated me but also granted freedom when I needed it to.

"The power of ground," I breathe. I huff a laugh.

Before Renit can ask me questions, I'm already moving in the direction the smell is coming from. At least where I think it might be. The cool air of the morning mingles against my skin as I walk briskly towards a faint rumble and cracking of stone and dirt from the surface of the world we're standing on.

My heart nearly leaps into my throat as the ground rumbles beneath my feet, followed by someone hollering insults at another. Another rumble sounds, and a glass window painted with the design of a cupcake shakes when I walk past it.

Renit nearly has to jog to keep up with me but even if I haven't looked back at him, it's evident there's a weapon in his hand and a striking sense of determination in his eyes. It strikes me that once Renit is seriously preparing himself for an altercation, no one could escape his hurtling fury.