In the Pursuit of Death| ONC 2024

7| A Smile, A Dagger

*

ERIS ENTERED the Crumbling City through a gap in the wall. There were twenty huts built atop the rubble, ten of which were dark. The others had fire flickering away in their windows, and curtains flapping in their doorways. Closest to the mount, one hut was red.

The existence of a witch explained the grove of apple trees growing in what used to be the city square, around the remains of a fountain. The trees were vibrant green, the apples ripe and the size of Eris's palms.

Windwalker trotted eagerly over to them.

"Just one," Eris called out. "Wouldn't want to be executed for theft."

The horse nodded before lifting its head and tearing an apple from the tree. Juice slicked its mouth as the horse ate, eyes closed contentedly.

After picking two apples for herself, and stowing them away in her pack, Eris and Windwalker walked the alleyways of the city, Eris remembering their curves and angles. They had been abuzz with life once, bar patrons ambling home, merchants in a hurry to sell their wares, thieves emptying pockets unawares, families and workers making room for noblemen and their fancy palanquins. She recalled the feeling of smoothed stone beneath her fingers, and the scent of cooking grease, sizzling meat, and sugared fruit.

She remembered tripping once, on the uneven cobblestone, her ill-fitting clothes making it all the harder to maintain her balance. Her father's hand had kept her steady.

The roads caused her no issue now, as she and Windwalker continued to walk. Finally, they came to a hut facing east. From the city, it'd be a half-day's walk to Akul's temple, but before that Eris wanted to rest.

Outside the hut, a firepit had been dug and lined with eroded brick. Eris squatted beside it and undid her pack. Out fell all her usual items - a scrap of petal-pink fabric, a tin of cleaning powder, a clay bowl. Her waterskin. The two apples she'd taken from the trees. Then out tumbled the items Amarna had insisted she take with her - a strip of dried beef, two potatoes spotted with rot, a piece of flint, a bundle of kindling. A satchel of oats for Windwalker.

Eris took the bowl, the oats, and another apple over to Windwalker. She poured what remained from her waterskin into the bowl, then sprinkled the ground with oats. She tossed the apple at the horse's hooves.

Running a hand through Windwalker's mane, she said, "Eat well. Then sleep. Tomorrow we head for the mount." The horse nudged Eris's arm before dunking its head and drinking. Eris returned to the firepit, laid the kindling, and struck the flint.

Without the wind to stymie her attempts, it didn't take long for the fire to light.

Eris relaxed on the ground, arms behind her, palms pressed into the stone and dirt. She glanced up at a sky with no stars. It had been a thousand years since she last saw them and generations had lived and died knowing only the dark.

In the silence, she closed her eyes and breathed deep the sweetness from the apple blossoms. Then, she smelled spice, warm and rich and earthen. Like cracked anise pods and oak smoke.

She opened her eyes.

A basket filled her vision and in it, laid six black and red flowers along its woven, reeded bottom. They shone sickly and beautifully in the fire light.

"Flower?"

Eris froze. The voice had come from above, but she knew it from memory.

She gazed at the woman offering her flowers. A sharp face, pointed chin and severe cheekbones. Dark eyes rimmed with gold. Tiny black braids trailed all the way down to her waist. Their ends frizzed ever so slightly.