Discordant Note | TBATE

Toren Daen

I carefully set down the chopped log, angling it so that way it formed a small pyramid with the others. A bit of dry kindling was loosely spread underneath, the tinder serving as a place to first light the fire.

Covertly looking around, I made sure nobody was paying too much attention to me. Then, with a flare of my mana, I flicked a single ember into the dry leaves and twigs. My spell expanded outwards slightly, the little ember embracing its new fuel. Slowly, the fire caught, licking at the larger logs.

I leaned back, satisfied with my work. I was wearing the 'hobo coat,' as Naereni had dubbed it, and dirtied my hair slightly to obscure its bright color. My strawberry-blonde locks stood out in the lifeless alleys of East Fiachra, after all.

I smiled at an older man who hobbled up, a pot full of water in his hands. I offered to take it from him, considering he looked to be barely holding on, but he waved me away. The man endured longer than I expected, and soon the pot was affixed on a thin metal rod, which let it hang over the fire.

Now all that was left was to wait for the water to boil and then the stew could be made. I spied out of the corner of my eye a few thick bones in Greahd's wagon, which would no doubt be used to make hearty bone broth. A few others chipped in miscellaneous herbs and ingredients, and soon enough a few people were rushing to set up another cooking pot. After all, there were more than enough ingredients for a single pot.

Wade lingered near the edge of the gathering, watching with a look I couldn't decipher. He was bundled up in a similar coat as me, though I thought he stood out despite the attempt at disguising himself as a hobo.

I meandered past a few men, who were unnervingly thin from starvation. But the gleam in their eyes as they prepared for this community pow-wow seemed to provide them with the strength a healthy body would. They were setting up short benches out of wood in a circle around the cookfires, using their scrawny arms to haul them about.

Greahd was listening to Naereni telling an animated story, the mousy brown-haired lady nodding along with a smile as the young woman regaled her with some feat. There was a slightly pinched look in the older woman's eyes, though.

"Oh, Naereni, you know you shouldn't be running about, messing with the Bloods," Greahd said. "It's only a matter of time before they try and find you here, girl. It's too dangerous for you. It told you that all the time when you were little."

Naereni sniffed, her upbeat air from her story simmering away. "The Bloods look down on us, Auntie. That's why you all don't get to eat all the time, and why we have to help. And besides, they haven't caught me yet. I'm fast and good at what I do."

Greahd sighed, going back to stirring a pot that was just beginning to boil. "Oh, you know what I mean, girl. They'll get you one day, and I don't want to be the one to see them carting in your–"

The woman choked off her words as she noticed me approaching. I winced, easily guessing what she was about to say.

Carting in your corpse , I finished for her in my head. Like Norgan's.

"Oh, Toren! It's good to see you again so soon!" she greeted, a mask of cheer wiping away her earlier annoyance. "Karsien's certainly introduced you to Naereni," she said, gesturing to the person who had brought me here in the first place.

"We know each other," I said with a smile. We had purposefully entered the gathering at different places to make it look like we were separate. "How've you been doing these past few days? Are you holding up in the snow?"

"Oh, it's nothing I haven't faced before," the woman said, dropping some sort of spice into the boiling brew. "As long as I've got some good, hot food, the chill will never get into my bones."

Greahd hefted a spoon, sampling a bit of the broth. It was a deep brown color, and the smell wafting off was rich and hearty. It smelt of vegetables and meat, and I suddenly remembered I hadn't had dinner yet.

The Naereni must've noticed the look in my eye. "Auntie's been making this stew for decades now, and it's only gotten better as time's worn on. You'll leave here with a full belly."

Greahd smiled demurely, waving off Naereni's compliments.

"Auntie?" I asked with a raised brow. "How long have you two known each other?" I asked.

"I raised the girl from when she was little," Greahd answered. "Picked her up off the streets. She's grown into a remarkable young woman, even if she lacks my common sense."

Naereni blushed. "I, uh… Tried to sneak into her home a decade ago. Only managed to get caught in the window. When she found me, she thought I was deserving of a good meal instead of a spanking. The rest is history."

"And I haven't looked back since," Greahd said proudly, tapping the ladle against the rim of her pot. A different cook was shuffling ingredients into the other cookpot, mixing them with precision for all.

The conversation continued in a light-hearted manner for some time as the stew settled, finally mixing to fruition. All around me, the hustle and bustle increased. Men and women were starting to talk and banter loudly, the raucous noise accompanied by the wafting smell of stew. A few of them pulled out what I recognized as makeshift drums and began to tap out a tune and sing, an upbeat song I didn't recognize.

Wade wandered over a second later, humming softly.

"Finally decided to join us?" Naereni asked, breaking off from sipping the stew to test its taste. "It's about time, Wade! Come on, try the stew! Most people have to wait in line, but I'm sure I can get you a bowl first."

The young striker latched onto Wade's arm, hauling him to the pot. He looked very very flummoxed by being dragged around by his crush, but he hid it well. I shot him a smirk and an exaggerated waggle of my eyebrows, which succeeded in making him flip me off.

Before Wade could be introduced to the soup, the short guild receptionist blocked their path. "You'll be waiting your turn, girl, just like the rest of them! I let you sample, not let your friends cut in line!"

Naereni gave a very close approximation to puppy eyes, but Greahd didn't waver. The little woman was as stern as any castle guard. Naereni was banished to the back of an already forming line, several of the patrons sending good-hearted jeers their way as they went to the back.

Only at the end did the black-haired striker release Wade's arm with a huff.

I had been smart, in my own humble opinion. I'd gotten into line just after the first couple of people had shuffled over. Soon enough, my turn to get a serving of stew came.

A stack of wooden bowls sat beside the pot, and Greahd dutifully scooped a portion of the piping hot stew into one, before handing it to me with a smile as warm as the food I now held.

I smiled back, then meandered to join the men who were singing in a line. I listened to the lyrics as they sang in tune with their hand drums. It was a small ballad about a pirate queen named Yorna who had ravaged the Vritra's Maw Sea generations ago. It told of amazing magical exploits, wrangling mana beasts on the high seas, and devious captures of wealthy Blooded ships. 

According to the lyrics, the pirate queen had come from humble origins, an unadorned from the city of Rosaere, and had managed to wrangle her way to the top with only her wits and skill.

It ended on a more somber note after a dedicated fleet sent by the highbloods of Aedelgard had cornered Yorna's ships. She fought a desperate last stand, every bit of her treasure sinking into the sea. I sipped my stew carefully lest the steaming liquid burn my tongue and thought about the story.

If it had any grain of truth to it at all, it was probably heavily embellished, but there was something fascinating about the story. A nonmage pirate queen, fighting against the structure and rising above? That was inspiring and must be even more so for all those here who were stuck at the bottom.

The tone of the gathering changed when a man stood up on his stool, declaring very loudly that everyone was to dance. While a few of the people around were hesitant, more and more took up the call as people went back to the drums.

And as I was nearby, I wasn't able to escape being drawn in. I stumbled over my feet as the percussive music rose in volume, people's laughing voices echoing around the fires. I hastily set down my stew, vowing I would come back to it later before I was suddenly pulled into the mash of people.

The people were doing some sort of folk dance I didn't recognize, but I got the movement down soon enough. I felt a wide smile spread across my face as I got into the rhythm, tapping my feet in time with the drums.

I ended up holding hands with two people on either side of me, marching in lockstep to the beat. A tall bearded man pulled me along on one side, while an older woman kept me in line from another. As the music built, I restrained the urge to laugh aloud, the free-spirited nature of this something I hadn't felt since I had arrived in this world.

Thump, thump, stomp. Thump, thump, stomp. Thump, thump, stomp.

We all slowly turned in a circle around the central firepit, kicking our legs out and away every now and then in a specific tune. I danced through one song, feeling a genuine smile stretch over my face as I whirled. I noticed Wade and Naereni holding hands as they, too, were spun about. I nodded to my friend, bouncing to the beat. He didn't seem to notice, too wrapped up in the eyes of his Naereni. The young striker was much the same, seeming to find something very interesting in those lashes of his.

But as we made a full rotation around the middle, I had to extricate myself.

I kicked up a bit of snow as I spun myself out of the group, going for my stew. As much as I enjoyed the dancing, my food was going to go cold, and the party would be waiting after I finished my food.

My thoughts were interrupted as Greahd saddled up near me, a familiar case in her arms. She had finished her rounds of distributing soup, apparently.

The older woman smiled as the men cheered in expectation, a couple of the drums quieting. With a shy smile, the woman unlatched the case, revealing her lute.

It was an old thing, and the varnish had worn away years ago. The edges had notable marks from where it had been held for hours. But despite all of this, it was clearly well cared for. The strings were changed regularly whenever they wore out. My mind started automatically piecing together different songs I could play, my fingers almost unconsciously cycling through some of the chords.

I could play the lute very well–or Toren could. Toren was a talented musician, able to repeat a rhythm after only hearing it once. As Greahd began to play a slower melody accompanied by her sweet voice, I was brought back to years past.

I remembered entering the Healer's Guild a long time ago, my violin's case firmly in my grip. I practiced in the early morning before my shifts, sitting cross-legged in a corner of the lobby and going over vibrato, trying to reliably create the pulsating rhythm I wanted.

If my fingers only shook when I told them to, they wouldn't waver when I held a surgeon's tools. The scalpel would not slip from my fingers.

On that particular day, Greahd had been working the front desk as usual. But what was very unusual about that day was that she had packed her own instrument. She removed herself from her chair and sat down across from me, hefting a worn lute in her hands. I remembered being very taken aback, descending from the fugue state I entered when practicing music.

But I needn't have worried. The older woman demonstrated a mirror of the technique I was attempting on her lute, and then helped me correct the angle of my wrist. And as the year continued, whenever I needed a bit of help, the woman always lent a helping hand.

My initial teacher for the violin was the old Daen steward, Arlen. But he had died years before, leaving my knowledge and expertise incomplete. Without Greahd's guidance, I wouldn't have been able to reach the mastery I had.

I drifted back to the present as Greahd finished her song, the final plucked note signaling the end. I smiled slightly, clapping along with the rest of the men who had left the dancing circle. I noticed Naereni and Wade together near the edge, their hands still clasped together after their dance.

Greahd turned to me, a look I couldn't decipher on her face. She held her lute in front of her, the well-worn wood reflective in the firelight. "Would you like to play a song, Toren?"

Those words ground my happier feelings to a halt. I looked at the lute, remembering how I had abandoned Named Blood Daen's old clarwood violin in the depths of my apartment. Was it still there, gathering dust? The priceless heirloom had been worth far more than gold, but I had left it behind out of simple understanding.

I couldn't make music. Not now; not with Norgan gone. Music, to me, was hope. And with my brother's death, I didn't have the fire I needed any longer. I couldn't do that. I didn't think I'd ever be able to play an instrument again.

I swallowed heavily, my eyes on the lute. The sounds around me fell away as I stared it down, trying to think of a way to voice my thoughts. The need to do so was taken from me, however.

Greahd's eyes widened in alarm, staring at something behind me. That caused me to snap back to reality. The fear in her face sparked a mirrored emotion in me. She opened her mouth to scream, but I was already whirling, mana pumping from my core.

A knife was hurtling toward my throat, descending in a downward stab. With my heightened reflexes and speed, however, I was able to whip my hand in the way to intercept.

The steel pierced my leather glove with ease, parting skin, flesh, and bone as it traveled. The point emerged from the other side, splashing me with my own hot blood.

Sharp pain lanced from my hand, causing me to cry out in surprising agony. The man who had stabbed me was grinning wildly, his greenish-yellow spotted skin sallow in the night sky. He was missing more than a few teeth. Too late, my mana barrier flickered into place as the flow of energy caught up. Gritting my teeth, I brought my unharmed fist in a blow toward the man's belly, but the pain made me sloppy.

My blow connected, sending the man tumbling away and clutching his gut. Unfortunately, the impact also ripped the knife from my palm, causing it to tear through my flesh on the way out.

Fiery pain pulsed in time with my heartbeat from the hole in my hand as it gushed blood, but I had more to worry about. Adrenaline building, I spun on my feet again, sensing the obvious bloodlust of another attacker as he barrelled past Greahd, throwing her to the ground in his haste. He hefted a knife as well, raising it high with a battle cry.

Though my wound was a constant source of pain, I powered through it as I sidestepped my second attacker, a large brute of a man with a pox-scarred face. Countering quickly, I snapped my leg up, nailing the man's arm with a crunch. He dropped his dagger with a scream, his elbow inverted at the joint.

My knuckles ended any further sound he could make when they collided with his jaw. He crumpled in a heap, out cold and missing a few teeth.

Naereni whizzed next to me an instant later, a small dagger of ice forming in her palm. She looked about warily, trying to see if there were any more attackers.

Instead, the eyes of the crowd were trained on us in fear, panic growing as they backed away muttering. My hand leaked blood, a steady drip drip drip staining the snow pink that seemed to echo for a mile. The pain was fading under my adrenaline, and I knew I must look wild as I scanned the people in front of me.

"So nice to see you here," I said to Naereni. "Strange coincidence, that is."

The girl ignored my quip once she realized nobody else was going to attack me, instead sparing a glance at my hand.

"Vritra's horns," she cursed. "Toren, your hand! You need to see a healer!"

I could see the snow through the hole in my palm, but I could already feel mana spiraling across to patch over the wound. Also, the knife had narrowly missed the bone. My healing factor would save me here.

"Don't worry about me," I said. "I've had worse. Check on Greahd. That thug threw her to the ground, but I didn't get a look at her after."

To prove my point, I withdrew a long roll of bandages from my dimension ring. After the number of times I'd nearly been disemboweled in the Clarwood Forest, I'd started carrying them around on principle.

I could see the conflict warring in Naereni's eyes, but eventually, her love for her foster mother wore out. She turned around, beelining for Greahd, who was still on the hard ground.

"Toren Daen!" a ragged voice called from behind me. The men and women who had gathered to dance, enjoy themselves, and rekindle the hope in their lives gasped in horror at whatever they saw behind me. "Come here! Let me bleed you!"

I turned around again, the bandages quickly forgotten. Ten feet away was the man who had stabbed a hole through my hand, standing on wobbly legs. He had reclaimed his knife.

I froze still, shock rolling over me. The man wasn't aiming his blade at me. No, in front of him was the young boy missing fingers I had spied earlier. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he looked at me. I heard his mother cry out in terror behind me, the calls of "My baby!" ringing in my ears.

The thug held his blade to the shivering child's throat, a mad grin on his face. The deadly sharp weapon hadn't drawn blood, but I could see the pressure. If he pressed a little more…

"Surrender yourself to me, Daen!" the man cried. "Or the kid gets it! Come on!"

I stood there, frozen stiff, my mind zipping through a thousand different ideas. Unfortunately, the man didn't give me time to think.

"Hands in the air, Daen!"

Haltingly, I complied, raising my bloodied hands above my head. The crackle of the fire behind me was all that could accompany my heart, which thumped loudly in my chest.

"One wrong move," the man said, flexing his grip on his dagger. "And I slide this knife right across this little boy's throat. Do you want that?"

"No," I said quickly, gesturing with my hands. "Just put the knife down. I'll come with–"

"Stop moving!" the hostage taker yelled, his voice raising in pitch. His greenish-yellow skin morphed as he screamed, taking on a horrifying tone. His hood had been up earlier when he ambushed me, but now that it was down I could see he had patchy brown hair. "No, no. Come here. I need to drive this knife into your heart, Daen! If you do…"

The man licked his lips.

I locked eyes with the child, trying to convey as much of my confidence as possible.

You're going to be fine, I tried to say to him as I inched forward. You'll be fine. I'm going to help.

"Faster!" The man said, causing me to shuffle forward. He wasn't giving me time to think of a plan. His eyes flicked to somebody behind me. "Stay still, woman! Move and I'll cut his throat!" he called, repeating his threat.

Naereni halted behind me.

"You're not going to do anything," I said calmly, drawing the insane blithehead's attention. "What do you think the Joans can do for you, for you to attack a mage?"

The man was clearly a nonmage, and in combat between a mage and an unad? I would always triumph. But I had to keep his focus on me.

"Quiet!" the man screamed, deranged in every sense of the word. "You don't get to speak!"

"Yes, I do," I said, my sense of calm returning in spades as a plan solidified. "What do you think taking a child hostage will do? Just cause me to give myself up? Would you let yourself die if threatened with a boy's life?"

I heard the mother whimpering behind me and truly didn't know the answer regarding myself. But this thug? My words made him hesitate, his grip loosening slightly on his knife as a strange expression crossed his face. Would I let him kill me, just because of a random boy? He didn't know.

Then the grunt banished whatever common sense he had, moving the knife from the boy's neck to point at me. "You can't trick me, mage! The Joans promised me! They did!"

But that brief distraction was all that was needed to turn the tide. The thug never saw Wade sneaking up behind him, even when the rock the sentry swung impacted the back of his skull.