"TALES OF SHADOWS, TALES OF BEASTS, UNRAVEL AS THE SHADOW SPEAKS"
Aeraji; the continent of magic, the mother of legends, old and new. A place where gods and heroes, monsters and witches are very much real. Despite hailing from foreign grounds Arden...
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THE PEOPLE OF SOLJIER BELIEVED in Raksha.
Not in the Gods in Edriya's stories, the Gods of Central States, not the animal spirits of the Setka. Or the twin deities of Parseh and the Great Mother of Nature of the Jeaunu. Not even in the Saints of the Redveko Isles or the single God of Trevolen - or any other religion of the lands not on Aerajin ground.
Centuries ago all the nations of Aeraji used to worship same Gods that, according to Edriya, were birthed by the Great Fire born by the collision of Chaos and Order. Until they decided that those stories didn't suit their needs - even if they'd already been worshiping them for millenias.
Arden simply thought that all of it was stupid, worshipping a being that saw you as no more than an insect in their immortal lives. The belief that it was that being who decided your fate - that was of course, if they did exist.
Arden despised everything that tried to control her.
The newest addition to the leather cord around her neck was painted a soft periwinkle blue, the figure painted on it with thin inky lines from the waist and up, a crown of golden locks - as if spun from sunlight the stories said - spreading around her like a halo. A pair of fair hands were raised in front of her bosom, slender thumbs, index and little fingers delicately touching. This was Raksha.
Truthfully she expected something else; the people of this town seemed anything but religious - not that she'd had any problem with that.
Sighing, she tied the cord around her neck, hiding the extensive part of it underneath her tunic - she had changed before but her face was only hastily scrabbed of any makeup, a few dark smudges remaining around her eyes. Even now they felt a tiny bit tender and she raised a fist to softly pat the sensitive areas with the back of a finger. The skin on her hands was cold, a relief against the burning sensation.
She was about to get up when a tan hand tossed a piece of cloth at her head.
Edriya's dark eyes scrutinized her red, sensitive ones. "Put it on and leave it there," she instructed, the scarves waving in a plethora of colour - teal, scarlet, magenta, amber - in a way that against the light she looked like an exotic bird. A tall, lithe bird.
When she stayed put the older woman rolled her eyes. "There's no poison on it luv," her thick accent washed over the empty space.
Arden frowned but gingerly placed the soaked cloth on one eye. "Thanks,"she mubled.
The wan made no indication that she heard her but Arden knew that she had. The space outside of the caravans was cold and empty; it was only she and Edriya that were out at this hour. Everybody else dreamed a drunk, dleamless sleep by then after another night of the fortune-teller's stories.
