2.6 - The Doomed

 “There he is!” 

A hush settled over the crowd as Amadi dismounted his horse and pulled down his hood. 

“The wayfarer! He’s here!” 

He lashed the reins of his splotchy white and brown steed to a post near the town gates before heading towards the marketplace. 

“I heard he put an end to the Plateau war by himself! Drafted a peace treaty that both sides agreed to!” 

His body ached from nearly three weeks on the road, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay here long. Once again, word had traveled faster than Amadi could. 

“My cousin told me about him! He killed the captain of those marauders along the western coast! He was practically a child when he did it too!” 

Amadi approached a man standing mouth agape inside of a rickety booth, replete with various dried and salted meats. He placed a small pouch of coins onto the counter and pointed at a stack of biltong; small strips of dried game meat. 

“How much for a week’s worth?” he asked. 

The man shook off his astonishment before quickly bagging up two week’s worth of biltong and handing it over. 

“Free of charge for the wayfarer. It’s my honor.” 

Amadi sighed, and placed the meat in his backpack, then motioned to the pouch of coins still on the counter. 

“Take it. You deserve compensation for your work. Where can I find feed for my horse and a place to bathe?”  

The man bowed with hands clasped. “You are too kind. Thank you. Ibari has the best feed you’ll find in the Guardian Plains, he’s two blocks that way. Look for the orange and blue flags. As for a bathhouse, the only one we have is near the northern edge of town. Kishori runs it. Tell her Harsha sent you, she’ll make sure you have your privacy.” 

The townsfolk were no longer murmuring in the shadows about Amadi and had gathered into a loose cluster behind him. 

“Leave the man in peace you rabble!” Harsha barked, and waved a hand. “He is weary!” 

A slow whisper of questions continued to build at a panicked pace until the market air was filled with desperate shouts. Each person in their own way, thirsting for a moment with the wayfarer. Yet another town lost to the stories that bloomed in Amadi’s shadow. He knew not how they spread so thoroughly, and quickly. It was as if the very wind itself carried them from ear to ear. Hands stroked the edge of his cloak, and a man grasped his boot as gentle but firm as a baby clutches a finger. The cluster tightened and encircled him completely. A woman pressed her body against him and placed a hand on his cheek. 

“You can save us, can’t you?” she whispered. “You’re different.” 

Harsha feebly tried to dismantle the crowd, pulling and shoving to no avail. The mass of townsfolk grew tense, pushing and clawing at each other to get closer to the wayfarer. A man screamed as fingernails ripped across his neck. A child was lifted over the heads of those in front and placed on Amadi’s shoulders. A woman let out an exasperated shout and began jabbing at the rows between her and Amadi. The circle of bodies around him became a frenzy. His chest became tight as the mob pressed in closer and closer. A man in front of him began to gasp and struggle for breath as he was slowly being crushed. 

“Enough!” a voice pierced the air as loud and clear as thunder, but the throng wasn’t affected. A dozen shining silver spears plunged from the sky around Amadi, each one blasting outward with a force great enough to repel the masses. Amadi looked around at the circle of townsfolk, all lying prone like an open flower around him, and somehow none seemed harmed. One of the spears was barely a foot away from him. It was quivering in place, like the other eleven around it, creating a mesmerizing sound. He reached a hand out to grab it but found no purchase. His hand passed through it like smoke, causing a cloudy displacement before it regained its form. 

“There is no place for this behavior.” a woman stepped forward, towering above even the stands of the market. She was twice Amadi’s height and wore a tunic and cloak off of one shoulder that ran the length of her body. It was akin to blue, but the longer Amadi looked at it, the more it shifted and flickered with shades of yellow and colors that he couldn’t entirely comprehend. Her hair was a breathtaking labyrinth of purple and pale pink spirals, and her eyes were completely white like two pearls. She moved directly in front of Amadi with the assistance of a driftwood staff, dotted with holes and algae. 

“I apologize, traveler.” she reached out a hand and straightened Amadi’s cloak on his shoulders. “I am Kahina. This land is under my care.” 

The townsfolk hurried to their feet and bowed before her, a few muttering apologies before scurrying off in every direction. Kahina spun her staff once, and the spears vanished. 

“Thank you,” Amadi said, bowing his head. “Would I be right to assume that I am in the presence of a goddess?” 

“You would,” Kahina said with a smile. “The goddess of order, rainfall, and the sheltering of the meek. But between me and you, those titles don’t mean much to us anymore. Not after...well that isn’t important. Although...” 

She paused for a moment and stared deep into Amadi’s eyes. He felt his heart quicken and pressure deep in the center of his head. Just as quickly as it came on, it dissipated, and Kahina laughed to herself. 

“Well. That is quite fascinating. So you are what came of it all.” 

“What is it you speak of?” Amadi asked. 

“It is of little importance. I, unfortunately, have matters to attend to, but the townsfolk will leave you be from now on. I wish you the best of luck on your journey, my child.” 

Kahina turned and walked back towards the center of the marketplace. As she walked, her cloak splashed and curled upwards, leaving nothing behind. Her sway over the townsfolk was clearly significant, as not a single soul spoke out of turn or acted rash with Amadi for the rest of his time among them. They gracefully wished him farewell as he continued North. The coming summer harvest would mark his third year traveling. He was in search of something, but what it was he did not know. It was a lure of peace, pulling him northwards. He couldn’t remember when he had felt it first, but it had taken over his being. There was nothing left for him, outside of it. A dull, slow, fog had settled on the rest of the world, pierced only by a faint flame on the horizon to the north. It never came closer or grew more distant, only hovering there, out of reach, waiting. The stubborn insistence of it had melted away whatever existence he had lived before. Each town that praised him for his deeds, knew not that they praised a man who himself didn’t know if the tales were true. Amadi didn’t remember a Plateau War, or if he had any part in ending it. Fighting off coastal marauders single handed seemed a brave feat if anyone was capable of such a thing. Lives saved, wars ended, and all of it lost to him. He coveted the ones who told tales of him. Doubt was an unknown quantity to them. To him, it was everything. He was left to think on Kahina and her flock for the next three weeks of travel, seeing not so much as a wildmind in the flatlands he traversed. Then, on the dawn of the first day of the fourth week, as he passed beyond the boundaries of the Guardian Plains, a caravan came into view. A grim air followed them, weighing heavy even on their animal companions. The horses hung their heads low enough to nearly scrape the earth, and the sheep sported coats of patchy gray wool. The people looked just as damaged, with freshly bandaged wounds and muddied clothing. Voices reached Amadi’s ear as he nudged his steed a few feet off of the road, clearing the way for them to pass. 

“Hide the children.” An elderly woman rasped. “That there is the Beggar Kiln.” 

Amadi spotted her pushing a young boy inside of a covered wagon. 

“They say he’s burned entire villages to the ground for giving his horse the wrong feed.” A man in a torn brown robe said to another. 

“Beggar Kiln!” A woman shouted. She was leading the caravan and had stopped her lean black horse. “We want no trouble, only to be on our way. What offering will allow us that?” 

“I ask nothing of you,” Amadi responded. “It seems you’ve been through a year’s worth of battle or at least more than anyone should see.” 

“We are refugees of a town that fell beneath shields of one and spears of another, both of which we had nothing to do with. We are merely victims of geography.” The woman said. “I know not if the exchange of pleasantries is a tactic of yours to soften your victims before the kill, but we will not be so easily convinced to lower our guard.” 

“I am unfamiliar with the name Beggar Kiln or the atrocities you speak of, but if you are sure I am the subject, I would like to know unequivocally,” Amadi said, pulling his hood down. “I’m afraid I am the least capable of verifying my own identity.” 

He looked from one face to the next, awaiting a response, but none came. The caravan was silent with uncertainty. 

“I expected as much,” Amadi said to himself and pulled his hood up. It was a new name, a new life that may have been his. Perhaps the ugliest yet, but just as the others, it was based on nothing but a rumor. 

“Any man is capable of what they say you’ve done.” The caravan leader said. 

“Any man,” Amadi repeated. 

The elderly woman who hid the children stepped forward. 

“We are only asking that you do not do what you are capable of,” she said. 

“If I were to do all that I was allegedly capable of, I would die of old age before I was halfway through my tasks,” Amadi said. “Fear not, I am only a traveler like yourself. Looking for a place to rest.” 

The caravan leader spurred her horse forward, and the caravan lurched along behind her.

“Say what you will, just leave us be,” she called over her shoulder. “We are light sleepers these days, so nothing you try will be easy for you should you have a change of heart.” 

There was no god looking over these poor folk, and none to step in on Amadi’s behalf like Kahina had. The way it was is how it would stay. The Beggar Kiln continued north and pulled his hood tighter in an attempt to hide the frightened glances from his view. He could feel their eyes still on him for nearly an hour past, but eventually, they faded away into the south.

     Nearly another two weeks passed before Amadi saw anyone else. Behind him lay the two days worth of mountain trail he had ascended, and ahead of him, a small plateau before another sheer climb into the snowy peaks. Evergreens encircled a meadow where the grass grew short in the cold air, and only birds and hares stirred. Sitting in the center of the clearing was a woman with long ice-blue hair, and a thick fur robe fit for a queen. Amadi dismounted and slowly approached. 

“Hello there,” she said, smiling up at him. 

“Sorry to disturb you,” Amadi said. “You looked quite peaceful.” 

“It’s hard not to be here,” she said, sweeping her arm around her. As she did, a breeze shook the pines, scattering a few crossbills out from the branches. “Would you like to stay awhile? I don’t get much company.” 

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard tales of me, have you?” Amadi said. 

“I have,” she responded. Her tone and expression didn’t change. 

“Which version of me are you acquainted with? The Wayfarer? Hiltbreaker? The Beggar Kiln? The Prince of the Dunes? Ratslain?” Amadi paused for a moment to recall the half a dozen other titles that had been bestowed upon him. The woman slowly shook her head. 

“I know what I believe, not what I have been told by others to assume.” she stood and brushed dirt from her robe. “What would you like me to call you?” 

“Amadi will do just fine,” he said. “What shall I call you?” 

“Enitan,” she said. “There are a few cabins up the path from here. I can show you to them. One belongs to me, and another to a dear friend, but the third can be yours if you like, so long as you are willing to contribute.”

She led him up the rocky path until they were flanked by sheer cliffs on either side. The only sound he could hear was the sound of Enitan running her hand along the stone as they walked, and the crunch of snow beneath his boots. 

“Through here,” she said, and squeezed through a gap in the wall, disappearing from the path entirely. Amadi had to pull off his pack and hold it in front of him to squeeze through. On the other side was a glen surrounded by mountains and divided by a quickly flowing stream that emerged from the rock itself at the northern edge and dipped back into the mountain on the southern side. Vibrant green grass pushed up through the thin layer of snow on the ground, which was dotted with cones from the multitude of towering pine trees. Alongside the stream were three wooden cabins, beautifully maintained and covered in elaborate carvings. A figure wearing a maroon robe cinched at the waist with a thick rope was tending to a garden in front of one of the cabins, their sleeves rolled up and hands sunk deep in soil. 

“Amadi.” Enitan stepped between him and the glen. “If you stay here with us, you will die.” 

Amadi instinctively placed a hand on the dagger hanging from his belt. 

“Explain yourself.” 

Enitan took a step back from him in a gesture of peace and hung her head for a moment, searching for the right words.

“No one comes here except for us, and neither of us leaves the mountains. The whispers that surround you like buzzards over a corpse will dissipate into nothingness as people forget. They may be passed down, from parent to child here and there, but without your presence in the world, the stories will never be as prevalent as they are right now. Eventually, as they fade away, so will you. You have lived very long indeed, and as misguided or false the thousands of rumors you’ve heard may be, they have kept you alive.” 

The dull fog surrounding Amadi melted away and only the flame remained, but it now seemed incomprehensible to him. 

“What came first?” he said, dropping his pack to the ground. “If I cannot exist without them, how did I begin?” 

“They flourished around you, like bees to a flower.” Enitan stepped closer. “You are a special kind, but unfortunately, you were doomed from your beginning. Your creator did not bring you forth for you, but for themselves, and for others to see. That is what keeps you as you are, or however, they may see you. It was not a cruel creature, your creator. Simply a lost one.” 

Amadi looked past Enitan at the figure tending the garden. They cradled a handful of seeds, delicately placing them in the freshly unearthed dirt. A bright purple wind swirled around them, towering upward into a pillar, before spiraling outward and vanishing. They turned their head towards Amadi and smiled, enough so that their forehead wrinkled. A blue scale peeled off of it and floated gently down to the ground like a feather. 

“When I asked you what tales you’ve heard of me, you said you know what you believe. What is it that you believe about me?” Amadi asked. 

The woman smiled and turned towards the cabins. 

“That will take quite some time to explain. It isn’t quite as tangible as what you’re used to hearing.” 

“Then I think I’ll stay awhile, and listen,” Amadi said. “I would very much like to know what I was.”