The city of Vagren sat at a meeting place of many worlds. North and east were savannah, and the Eremes River ran from the city’s gates to a cove on the Boundless Sea. To the west lay rolling hills with only the occasional cliff to interrupt their gracefulness, and an occasional grove of thick cedars to add green to the dry grasses.
Against the steep incline of one such hill, the small, scattered village of Olston had grown into a town. With an economy based on the hill’s granite mine, the populace was a tough group that didn’t generally like outsiders. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, they seemed endlessly loyal to those they considered their family. Raya Ganner and her parents were thankful to be a part of the community, though Raya was the only one still contributing to it, as her parents health deteriorated with their age.
She encountered yet another group of refugees on one of her hunts, on the 18th. She’d been tracking a small herd of oryx a few hours out of Olston when she came upon them. The oryx had been heading for one of the ponds that she was familiar with, but suddenly changed their direction to avoid it. Without losing sight of the horned herbivores, she ascended the nearest slope, and stood beside a short winding sycamore. Five or six humans sat next to the water’s edge. One of them spotted her and started waving. She decided to make her venture down to them quick, so she could continue the hunt.
She slung her bow around her shoulder and sheathed one of the arrows she held in the leather quiver at her hip. She was wearing tan colours, but against the rising sun, she must have appeared near black on the hill top.
As she approached, she realized the whole group was likely one family. There was one man who was older than her own parents, nearly sixty if she guessed. Then there were two parents, mother and father. There was one boy who was probably close to Raya’s twenty years of age, and then two younger. One of them couldn’t have been older than ten.
“Good morning,” she called to them, as she approached. She held her hands out from her sides, empty. “I’m guessing you’re all from Elpan?”
“It’s so,” replied the middle-aged father. “We didn’t dare the Crimson Highway. We lost my mother-in-law, I’m afraid, to a way-fever.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Raya said. They had skin darker than hers, but not as dark as those from the Elder Coast or the Grey Sea. Raya was olive skinned, with long braided brown hair. The man kept talking before she could offer any aid.
“My father isn’t well,” the man said. Raya glanced toward the still pond’s edge; the boy her age was smiling at her. “Is there a town nearby? The last one we came upon was abandoned. Looted.”
“I’m from Olston,” Raya told them. “If you follow this valley, and turn left over the steep hill it leads to, you should see our fires. If you get lost, I’ll find you easily enough. I’ll be heading that way as soon as I’ve got a catch.”
“Thank you,” the refugee’s wife said. “Gods bless you!”
“There’s lot of refugees in Olston already,” Raya said. “Don’t expect everyone to be as friendly. But, you should be safe.”
“That’s all we can pray for,” the old man said, with a gravelly voice. He coughed.
Soon enough, they went on their way and Raya climbed the hill again. The oryx were climbing a nearby slope, grazing quietly with a whole forest of black horns jutting skyward. Raya didn’t hunt them, just followed them. They provided noise and movement cover for hunting smaller animals. She looked back over her shoulder and waved to the wayward family. The awkward boy waved back, but no one else noticed.
By mid-afternoon, she had caught four rabbits, a couple hedgehogs. She had almost turned back when she spotted a snake eagle overhead. She split off from the oryx group to follow it into a grove of cedars. It landed in the upper branches of a tree to watch the ground for its own prey. Raya quietly followed the slope of the land upward until she was as close as she dared before drawing back her bowstring. It was an excellent shot, cleanly killing the bird and rewarding her with a valuable trophy to return to town. The feathers would sell well, or would go toward her construction of more arrows, the claws would go to the town’s Sage, likely, and the meat to the market.
It was a long hike back to town. On the east side, the hills were covered in the shadows of their neighbour; to the west, the setting sun lit the sky up with a golden glow, trailing into purple and blue before the darkness creeping overhead dimmed it. She could hear the bugs starting to chirp, though most of Olston was still enjoying their evening meal when she arrived.
The guard on duty was Hemsten, a friendly enough man that was twice as wide as Raya, with a braid just as long. He grinned when he saw her. “Bring me anything?” he asked.
She tossed him a handful of cedar nuts, one at a time as she got closer and closer. He was lounging against the outside wall of their town, a waist high stone fence with the occasional torch. The town watch was important, especially as looters from Elpan numbered on par with refugees. “Family of survivors come this way?” she asked him, as she walked past.
Sten nodded, cracking open the first pine nut. “Certainly. Old Cavthur wanted to turn them away, but couldn’t because they had kids. The council will hear of it. You might want to steer clear of him.”
“Do I ever not?” Raya asked. Cavthur was a grumpy man who would have them use all their granite to build a bigger wall. Until the whole world and the sun was blocked outside.
She got home and hung her animal kills in the shed before washing up and going indoors. Of course, Novar was nowhere to be seen. He spent more time with his betrothed than anyone else. They’d been betrothed since Novar was Raya’s age, but no wedding was anywhere on the horizon.
“Is that you, dear?” came her father’s voice. “We’ve company.”
“Company?” Raya asked. She had already pulled off her bow and quiver, and walked into their living area with them both hanging under one arm. Their house had four rooms, a kitchen that doubled as their entry room; there were two bedrooms and a dining, living area. Most of the house had been afforded by her father’s job as a miner. The town demanded no taxes of its native inhabitants, though the council had decided a tax on immigrants would inspire them to get jobs.
Councilman Melik Kama turned to look up when Raya entered the room. He was a man almost as old as her parents, with his greying hair knotted behind his head and a short beard that was still dark. “Raya,” he greeted.
“Councilman,” Raya said, surprised. “What can we do for you?”
“I wanted to ask your parents what they thought first,” he said. “And they said it was up to you.”
Raya glanced at them. Her mother was tense, she could tell from the way she was sitting and the way her hands were folded together. Her father smiled and nodded. He was always the calmer one, while Raya’s mother turned to fretting. “What?” she asked.
Melik smiled. “The council would like to ask you a favour,” he said. “We will pay you, if you choose to negotiate a price. We want you to go to Vagren on our behalf.”
“What? Why?” Raya asked. She set her hunting gear down on the nearby shelf.
“Most of the council trusts you, and you’re one of the best hunters in the town,” he said. There were more than a thousand inhabitants of Olston, but Raya’s parents had a long and well-known history in the town. The Ganner family was still considered a strong part of the community. “The countryside is dangerous these days, but you go out and return without incident.”
“But what needs to be done in the city?” she asked.
“We need help, Raya,” Melik said. “We can’t feed all these refugees, and soon we won’t be able to house them either. The new family that came today… we gave them boarding with another family! Even though there were five of them. Not only that, but the larger that Olston grows, the more of a target we paint for bandits.”
“So you want me to go get help?” Raya asked.
Melik nodded. “You don’t have to. You can say no. In fact, I insist you take a few days to think about it.”
“You don’t have to,” her mother repeated, quietly.
Raya had a lot to think about as she fell asleep that night. Her bed was uncomfortable, and, with a head full of ponderings, she was still awake when Novar returned in the middle of the night. He smelled disgusting, like sweat and a lot of other unpleasant things, and he didn’t make any attempt to be quiet. He fell asleep on the cot just outside of the bedroom—they had once shared the room, but now had a cot outside and in. As he frequently didn’t come home some nights, they had a first-come, first-serve rule. Raya couldn’t count the number of times she had come home from a late hunt to hear her brother and his betrothed in the room, so she was thankful that he came in, stank, and just went to sleep.
Then she remembered the council’s request—a forty mile journey to the bustling, chaotic city across bandit-roamed lands. In Vagren, the Old Court ruled with a relentless greed. The Houses would stop at nothing to cross one another for more power and wealth. There was no throne. It had been burned down years ago. She didn’t fall asleep for hours.