After the Evening Bells

4

While in town, Kellah would try to run into Haman as frequently as possible. Mostly he worked in his father's store on the eastern end of the town, but given that one could walk Bajiran's entire walled perimeter in less than a quarter hour, Kellah never had to go far out of her way. She would make it a point to have whatever household errands she was running bring her nearby, and, if the house required some item they sold at the store, she would make sure to buy it there—even if it might be found elsewhere for less.

Any time she walked inside the store, she'd make a point to carry herself very properly. She loved to go in and pretend she hardly knew Haman save through her father. And when she spoke to him, requesting a bag of grain, or bottle of oil, or bolt of cloth, she would speak formally and it would be as if she were speaking in a secret language where every word had another, hidden meaning that only the two of them understood.

When she had no actual occasion to visit the store, she might take a circuitous route that happened to go nearby. There was always the chance she might see him outside, sweeping or bringing in goods from a wagon. Otherwise, she could just glimpse in through the window and see him fetching items for customers or climbing up and down the ladder to stock goods.

The day before the new moon, Kellah walked by the store, a basket of her father's candles strapped to her back to deliver to market, hoping to briefly see her beloved. Unfortunately, he wasn't outside and she had no reason to actually go in; from across the road she peered through the window.

He was wearing a cream-colored tunic—the same one he'd worn the last time she'd seen him—and his hair was tied back with a small piece of yarn. He was talking to a customer although Kellah couldn't see whom. She kept walking slowly past.

A wave of disorientation passed over her. From this new angle, she could see the person Haman was speaking to: Melandrah.

Kellah wasn't prone to jealousy. She liked when other girls admired her beloved. Melandrah was the exception. She was from one of the wealthy families in town—her grandfather was one of the Elders in Zabiz—and one could tell just by how she strutted in her fine dresses, that she looked down on those of humbler means. Kellah didn't have anything against the rich; Megah's family (whom she loved) had themselves grown wealthy during the war. Arrogance was Melandrah's problem, not wealth.

More than for any other reason though, Kellah hated Melandrah because she was beautiful. Melandrah's figure was perfectly proportioned, and she had enormous hazel eyes and perfectly straight, black hair that you could tell had been well cared for. Kellah still remembered that time she had been talking with Megah by the chestnut tree near their houses and she'd asked her who she thought the prettiest girl in town was.

"I don't know," Megah had said. And then, nonchalantly: "Melandrah is very beautiful, no?" Kellah couldn't contain the disappointment on her face. "Oh, of course you are very beautiful too," Megah added.

So when Kellah saw Melandrah in the store, she couldn't help but feel a constriction in her chest. She pretended to be reading one of the signs posted on the gate across the street from the store—despite that she couldn't read. Every so often, she would glance back through the store window. Melandrah had moved to a part of the store where Kellah could no longer see her face, but she could still see Haman, who suddenly burst out in visible laughter—laughter! Five, then ten seconds passed and he was still laughing. She tried to remember whether he'd ever laughed so heartily in her own presence and the only conclusion she could come to was that no, he had not.

She stormed off, walking briskly to the market where she needed to drop off her father's candles. When the market stand owner, a portly man a few years older than her father, greeted her and asked her how she was, Kellah replied, "Well," in a monotone that suggested she was anything but.

She was on her way home, near the town gates when she heard shouting coming from behind her. At first she was unsure what the voice was saying, but as it approached she began to make out the word. "Omega! Omega!" She turned and saw it was the soldier, Joram, from Amin's, jogging toward her with his plate armor clanging with each step.

"Wait," he said, now only a few steps behind. "Can I speak with you a moment?"

Usually she might allow herself to be entertained with what the Redcloak had to say, but today she wasn't in the mood. "I need to get home to prepare our evening meal. My father is waiting for me," she said, without looking at him.

"Very well. May I walk with you?"

"I'd prefer if you didn't, but do as you like."

"Did I wrong you?"

"My father tells me not to talk to you," she said. Not that this had ever stopped her from something in the past.

"Me specifically?"

"Your kind."

"Polite, strapping war heroes?" He paused for a response. She rolled her eyes. "A bad joke."

"Invaders. Occupiers," she said. She didn't care that he was a Redcloak. If he touched her she'd scream, bite him, tear his eyes out.

"Liberators? Protectors?" he countered.

"Delusional people."

"You don't believe all that. You know we're not that bad."

"You are an authority on what I believe?"

Just then there was another voice calling in their direction: "Captain!" It was another Redcloak running toward them. When he was closer he saluted Joram in the usual way, his right palm up. Kellah's anger subsided a little and, out of curiosity, she stayed to watch.

"What is it, soldier? I'm off duty," Joram said.

"There's been an incident, sir. At the garrison."

"Why are you telling me?"

"The Commander is away. Mouflon hunting west of town."

"So it's urgent?"

"Somewhat, sir."

"Okay, return to the camp. I'll be there soon," he said.

"You seem young to command," Kellah said once the other man had left.

"You didn't run off," he said and smiled.

Kellah didn't say anything.

"I am. Youngest captain west of the Inner Sea."

"Are you some great warrior, then?" she said, half mockingly.

He shook his head. "Stupid is more like it. And lucky. It's a long story. I'll tell it to you sometime."

"If you must." To this he bowed and went off in the direction the other soldier had gone. "Oh," she said as he was leaving, "my name isn't Omega. It's Kellah."