The Golden Court

•quatre•

© Imani Quinones 2019

Caillus strode confidently across the wooden deck of the Crowned Raven. The blazing heat of the day bore heavily through the back of her leather jerkin. A sheen of sweat covered every inch of her sable skin. A few choice words tumbled from her full mouth as her obsidian eyes perused the expanse of the ship in search of the captain. They had reached the port of a large trade town in Quaith where they were meant to unload a few items and meet a diplomat from Wyalla that was to check the quality of the goods the crew had been transporting for the annual ball. Upon sight of the port, Captain Treus had slipped a tight smile across his broad cheeks and excused himself to personally inventory the goods stored in the belly of the impressive craft. Caillus had been slightly confused by his sudden interest in their cargo but dismissed it as a trait of his eccentricity that came with his age.

Hands settled confidently on her wide hips, Caillus awaited the return of their captain. The cesious sky was calm; its broad expanse enveloped the atmosphere and stretched on in a seemingly endless way that only tapered off at an edge far across the seas mischevious waves. White puffs of cloud spotted randomly across the expanse in an almost benevolent manner. The cheeriness of the day was not lost on any creature under its kind hand. Wistful breezes served to delude one from the scorching heat of the blazing crimson sun. Quaith was always a sight to behold around harvest season. This day was a perfect example. Small markets splayed about the port as different creatures weaved through the happy chaos of buying and selling. Shouts of bargaining were carried on the waves of the wind. The air made salty by the influence of the seas creeping borders. The beauty of the day made even the tightest of lips curl in contentment. Today was a day of rejoicing, of lazing about and letting the melody of nature sweep away the petulant worries of life. Anything could happen. Anything would happen.

A heavy hand fell onto Caillus's defined shoulder. With a speed that belied her size she turned and confronted the foolhardy sailor that dared to approach her. The ends of her coiled locks slid across her back in response to her sudden movement. Treus grinned down at her scowling features and entwined his meaty arms across his broad chest. Cailllus dropped her scowl of annoyance and shook her head with mirth at the childish behavior of her captain. The crows' feet perched beside his kind eyes deepened visibly as his grin broadened.

"Tha' cargo is safe. Tha' nasty storm could nay best my farst mate." The heavy Quaithen accent rolled across his thick tongue with ease. Some struggled to understand his garbled speech, but Caillus could always decipher the twisted syllables.

The fresh wound hidden beneath the off white linen cloth throbbed at its near mention. Her soul still heaved with exhaustion that came from using the rune that had quieted the storm at the powerful mix of her blood and the savage curves of the ancient magik that powered the rune. Clearing her throat, Caillus glanced towards the port as a carefully practiced mask of indifference slid into place across her unique features. Her full lips quivered with fatigue. Today would be long indeed.

Much later the Crowned Raven had unloaded a portion of its cargo to the appropriate merchants and, after collecting the diplomat sent from Wyalla, departed to their final destination. All three pale moons hung high in the sapphire sky. The air was still and a pleasant heat still clung to the bones of the small trade town. Insects could be heard whispering in nearby vegetation. The only noise coming from intelligent life could be heard all across town at the infamous Tawny Fox. The Tawny Fox being a decently sized pub infamous for its outgoing patrons and penchant for unsavory dealings. Tonight, Vientazul graced its stage. A group of traveling performers known for their exclusivity and prestige among performers, they entertained kings and queens, lords and ladies, and emporers alike. Among them were bards, acrobats, firebreathers (certainly not the real thing), jesters, and contortionists. No obvious beauty could be found among them yet they seemed to enchant all who were lucky enough to have a seat in their audience. One of the performers, a firebreather by the name of Zoza, was currently enchanting the crowd with his tricks when he suddenly ran out of the fuel he ingested in order to persuade flame to bend to his will. Throwing an apologetically charming smile at the crowd, he swiftly ducked from the stage. The audience only slightly deterred became awestruck once more as Dehina soared from the wooden beams of the high ceiling. Shimmering silks were clutched in her calloused hands as she soared with a grace that left onlookers slack jawed and gasping in wonder. Zoza had seen it all before and only paused momentarily to receive the wink she sent him from across the hall. She was only a momentary distraction and Zoza didn't have much time before he needed to finish his act.

With steely determination, he approached the bar and thumped loudly upon its wooden counter with his solid fist in order to gain the attention of the barkeep. The hefty man blubbered in surprise as he ran to the performer. Zoza was intimidating, to say the least. Broad and tall, he had a knack for making any soul around him feel minuscule in comparison. "Give me your strongest liquor." his hazel eyes swirled with impatience as he drummed his thick fingers against the counter in boredom. The barkeep's watery eyes flashed in panic. "Well sir", he began to speak as his eyes fell to the jagged blade shining menacingly at the man's hip," we've just gotten a new barrel today but we 'ave been quite short staffed as of late and I 'avent 'ad the time to see to it-" Zoza cut him off with a wave of his sun-kissed hand, "Where" he all but growled at the man's incompetence. The hefty barkeep winced at his tone and jabbed a meaty thumb to his right where a tall door that presumably led to the cellar stood. Zoza didn't spare the man a second glance as he yanked the heavy door open. A cool stillness wafted from the open space and the air held a slightly damp smell. Wrinkling his nose, Zoza walked inside cautiously. He couldn't help feeling like something was slightly off. Cautiously, he continued his journey into the unlit room. The only source of light came from the small window that allowed the shine from the moons to permeate the darkness. About five barrels stood together in a line along the side wall opposite many shelves that held different goods. Zoza strode to the nearest one, anxious to be rid of the sour feeling that had invaded his mind upon entry to the cellar. Placing his large scarred hands on either side of the barrel, he was momentarily surprised by its weight and dropped it back to the dusty ground. A small whimper snaked out from the confines of the barrel and Zoza stilled. Hands now shaking, he removed the circular lid. Immediately he dropped the wood to the ground as his face fell slack in horror. Inside of the barrel lay a woman with the palest of skin and the whitest hair that seemed to shimmer as the light cast from the moons revealed her pale features. Her golden eyes flashed open and she screamed.