Pateras tasked Aardriyah with visiting the docks to see if his latest order of ink and parchment had arrived yet. In light of her one day off, she decided to make the most of the opportunity to soak in the sun. Her father had been running a small library of sorts while also being the local chronicler and archivist. He was proud of the history of the nation of islands, always rattling on about how important it was to keep a solid record of everything happening in an around the islands while respecting the lessons provided by history.
Aardriyah appreciated his passion for writing and his innate ability to recall dates, details and otherwise meaningless facts perfectly. However, she found the history of Veros so dull and boring. She wished he'd spend more time focussing on some of the more exciting cities within the New Realm, places that she'd one day hope to visit. As far as Aardriyah was concerned, Veros was small minded, small spirited and backwards. While she earned her appreciation of books and love of writing from her father, she'd much rather spend her time learning about the air lands of the Yayok Tribe and their six foot white owls. Or the stories of the Olurun peoples and their impressive shrines and tombs to the dead, constructed in massive pyramid shapes erected from the earth. All Veros had to offer was bitter resentment for what they had lost. They always made claims of having magnificent architecture of giant marble pillars and arenas for entertainment. Apparently, they used to have incredible festivals and displays of cultural wealth unlike anywhere else on the realm as they were skilled storytellers, singers and musicians. However, all Veros had to show for it now were history books and towns full of small minded, resentful and bigoted people.
Making her way towards the one small bedroom in the house, Aardriyah decided she didn't feel like dressing the way she should - the way any Verosian woman should. Almost every item in her wardrobe was white or a varying shade of blue, besides one cloak. Chastion, of all people, had bought it for her after a visit to one of the earth kingdoms. It was a brilliant deep emerald, adorned with gold trim and worked perfectly with the cold breeze still traversing the land outside.
Pateras raised an eyebrow when he saw her wearing the cloak, perhaps because he knew it was from Chastion and one of the only things she kept from him. More likely it was because he didn't approve, knowing too well that Aardriyah would get more stares and snide remarks wearing such a colour in the middle of town. He didn't say a word before she quietly slipped out of the small white domed house.
The walk into the centre of the town didn't take long, Aardriyah passed the time by continuing to read her book as she walked, paying no attention to the few passers-by who gawked at her. Firstly, they gawked at her fire hair, then her cloak; she looked anything but water blessed or raised. The town was a splattering of domed houses, built into the cliffsides of the mountainous land. Steep and curved roads, sometimes no more than one person wide, weaved in and out of the houses and shop fronts. The wealthiest of the Verosian's enjoyed the best sunset on the island atop the peak of the main mountain. They often filled large holes on the boundary of their land with water, spilling over the edge creating a seeming endless body of water merging with the sea beyond. It was perfect for sitting in during Suns Inhalation afternoons with a goblet of the best Verosian wine.
Aardriyah's mother lived in one of these largely domed houses atop the peak. While it seemed overkill for one woman to have five bedrooms, she always seemed to be hosting guests to keep up appearances. Aardriyah reasoned that perhaps she found use for all the bedrooms. Moving down the main road, Aardriyah held her breath from the stench of donkey poo now lining the streets. The local shop owners took advantage of the native creatures as they helped carry heavy goods up through the steep streets and often assisted with hauling carts and carriages of the few people with enough money to afford them.
The dock was at the very bottom of the island. The only way to reach it was down a winding sharp road covered in the coarsest black sand. After several turns back and forth and steady footwork, Aardriyah finally reached the bottom. As she tried to catch her breath from the steep descent, she was overwhelmed by the now pungent aroma of dead fish which had replaced the smell of donkey poo. The intense, Verosian stench was just one more thing she loved about this tiny island nation.
YOU ARE READING
The Unblessed Child
FantasyThere are two types of people in The New Realm: those who are blessed by the gods of the four elements and those who aren't even worthy of their family name. They are unwanted, unloved and are simply known as The Unblessed. Eighteen year old Aardriy...
