Beneath the gleaming upper reaches of Eldris dwelt sorrow in shadows. A maze of sewers fed into filth ridden canals dark and deadly with wretched things. Those canals stretch beneath the city and emptied into Chasity Bay, burping waste water and refuse that filled the air with a noxious stench.
In those polluted places where steel and stone gave way to beach-locked cesspools the most desperate of the Eldris Ariasmen built ramshackle hovels, and those that could count themselves most fortunate lived in the areas between the contaminated outlets on the city's outskirts. The fumes were less, as were the hungry things hateful of the light, lurking near enough at night to terrorize the unwary, their screams unanswered in the dark.
In the early morning, long before daylight could heat the sewerage to its most pungent state on that western end of the metropolis, one family awoke nearly content to start their day. Their home was sturdy enough, a modest construction of mud and mismatched wood around the steel roots of the levels above. It would be late evening that sunlight shone through its paneless windows, but the reflection of light on the not too distant waves glimmered merrily on the walls within.
A toddler girl in a patchwork dress giggled happily with her mother and attentive older brother at a piecemeal table, the youngsters making a meal of stale bread and gruel while the emaciated woman watched fondly. The boy chattered with his much younger sibling and encouraged her to speak, lovingly correcting her mistakes. He looked up as a downtrodden man, his father, entered from a room hidden by a moth-eaten curtain, dressed in his very best work rags, and embraced his mother.
"The panty's empty, Marcius," she sighed, leaning heavily, wearily, against his chest. She clutched his hand feebly. The boy focused on his sister, unwilling to acknowledge his mother's declining state.
"Today will be better, Vervel, I swear it," Marcius claimed, his face tight. The boy glanced from mother to father and back to his sister, a look too full of worry for a child quickly masked behind smiles for his sister.
"Papa, could I come with you today?" he asked, sitting up straight, "I can work too, I won't be a bother."
Vervel hid her face in Marcius' shoulder, but a stifled sniffle still reached the scrawny child.
"I suppose nine years is a decent age..." the man half-mumbled, "yes, I think that'll do, but best you mind me and never stray, Morticus."
"Morti!" the little girl cheered.
"Yes papa!" the boy exclaimed with a hop to his feet.
"Wash up best you can, we go soon."
The boy dashed from the rickety bench to scrubbed hands, arms, and face in a deep basin of not quite clean water. Shaking dry, he hugged his mother and kissed his sister on the cheek.
"Bye Ari!" he called cheerfully, "Be good for mama! Bye mama!"
His parents said their farewells and the pair were off and made their way into the better lit and more safely traveled roadways of the undercity. Like all seeking work on the upper levels they were funneled through guarded checkpoints. The press of haggard and rough people caused Morticus to cling anxiously to his father's side, and Marcius hugged the boy tight around the shoulders and guided him along. Occasionally the guards ahead would grab someone from the crowd, unseen to Morticus but the violence echoed easily to his young ears. Still Marcius comforted the boy, though tightness took his features and tension met the boy's fearful grasp.
They managed with some difficulty to remain in the central mass of the throng to find their way safely through and eventually reached the third level above their own that ran even with the main road into Eldris. Rather than descend with the terrain, the roads from the east stretched the width of the city atop the dense platform under an open sky from east to west. Natural light and the blue sky filtered down as best it may, and on the level boomed the bulk of Eldris' commerce on various thoroughfares. And so there the most desperate sought either wages or what mercy they could hope to find.
Bustling streets filled with shops and vendors met Morticus, new sights and sounds a plenty that threatened to overwhelm him, but awestruck interest won his heart instead.
"The name's Marcius, Marcius Tinneas," his father told the driver of a supply cart, the boy at his hip but peering all around at wares unlike any he could dream to possess, "you can ask 'round, I'm a good worker, good with my hands and-"
"Bah! Away with you, I've got no work for your sorry kind, go on!" the driver growled with a dismissive wave. The pauper cast his eyes down and asked obsequious the man's pardon.
"Come along, son," Marcius bade quietly, shaky hand waving him to keep stride as they wove through the traffic of horse-drawn vehicles and magic-powered trolleys, manure and paper trash underfoot. Morticus followed him along the dirty streets, the impoverished child's stomach growling loudly, that morning's small meal and yesterday's single helping of soup little balm for the gnawing hunger of the growing boy.
He eyed the many shops they passed as they ambled along and was met with disgusted looks from the modest and wealthier merchants alike, though the contemptuous looks seemed to pass over all the poor that filled the streets.
After some time they reached the massive market square, the most open area of the lower levels, and above them Morticus could see the running rail lines of passenger trains winding through the city, and between the towering buildings and above Eldris flitted airships of all sorts. Head craned, he fumbled along as Marcius moved from one merchant to the next, begging grocers and the like for work on their farms, fields, or even in the dangerous warehouses and shipyards.
"Please, good sir," Marcius insisted of a rotund and red faced glutton of a man, "my boy and I will happily take on any work you got, I grew up tending crops. I'll take less wages than you pay your other workers, and be happy for it, if you'll just let me work."
"Begone, putrid filth!" the man spat, "You've brought the sewer stench with you, I can't sell a thing with you stinking up my stall! The lot of you beggars, all the same. Good for first pay and then off to drug yourselves up and leave me with no hands to rely on. The answer is 'no,' so be off with you!"
They met near the same time and again as they made their way to the center of the square. There they found open air stalls under bannered scaffolding, a fountain of fabulous design set in the center of it all. Morticus longed to look closer at the mermaids and serpents captured in bronze upon and within the waterworks, but Marcius was relentless in his mission. Soon enough they came across a burly sort of man with leather works, armor, and weapons unlike any other Morticus had yet seen, sturdy things that boast no glamor yet were beautiful still.
"What about him, papa?" Morticus asked, pointing. Marcius glanced at the fellow and shook his head as he moved passed to the next stall.
"He's from Ragnaheim, and will have no use for us here or at home."
Marcius stood patient as that next merchant conducted business with a customer while Morticus lingered at the Ragnakind's stall and admired his wares.
"A skinny little waif, aren't ya boy?" the man asked, examining him with some concern, "don't ya ever eat?"
"Yessir," the timid youth squeaked with his small voice, "each night and most mornings we do, papa sees to it!"
"Usually just at night then?" the man grumbled with a frown as he leaned on his elbows across the counter between folded mail and a rack of daggers and knives, "this empire proves more shameful in its decline each year I make the trek through and back again."
Morticus eyed a fine blade and bits of armor over the man's shoulder, eyes twinkling.
"Lotsa people are poor, sir, there's just no work. And papa says what work there is the rich won't let people like us have. Ya gotta pay to get some jobs, to learn to do them, and we don't got the money."
"Aye, I've heard that apprenticeships have fallen out of practice in Ariasholm, for all the sense that makes." the big merchant scoffed, "So the emperor just lets people starve in the streets now? Why not give you land to tend, there is ALWAYS work to be done keep up with the needs of the many. This is no way to rule a people, living in dirty slums begging to live."
"I want to run a shop of my own one day," Morticus piped cheerfully, "papa says I'm good with numbers and mama taught me reading real well!"
A customer interjected a moment then to purchase a sword, and Morticus' eyes gleamed at the sight of gold.
"A rare thing, a boy like you with some learning."
"Mama and papa say that one day I'll get out of the stench streets and make something worthwhile of myself, that's why they teach me!"
"Morticus!" the boy's father shouted from further along, "come now, son, don't pester the good man, we've gotta keep looking."
The pair hurried on, Morticus waving as he went.
*******
The merchant inclined his head toward the boy and raised his hand to fare him well, yet wore a frown.
"A sad sight, eh?" clucked a hooded peddler as she hobbled up to the Ragnakind, a wizened old crone bent over a cane, her face hidden behind a veil, "a boy like that ought to run and play in the woods, not wander streets hunting scraps. What say you, Bondus?"
"Aye, it's deplorable," he agreed with the hunched woman covered in a near mound of colorful shawls and cheap gaudy jewelry that dangled from her neck, ears, and was sewn even into the fabric of her clothing in beaded patterns. She was a strange yet oddly charming woman he had become acquainted with over the last few years; he found it difficult to ignore her when she spoke.
"That family ought to find a way out of the city, so many should, I say," she claimed, nodding as she gestured animatedly, "shameful to wallow so, that man must know they can never hope to thrive in such a way."
Customers drew her away a moment before she burdened Bondus with an all too familiar monologue. The energetic hag traded her many potions and tonics to well appeased costumers that sang the praises of her wares, assuring the woman they would gladly return for her modestly priced wares but were quick to flee before she could trap them with her rantings. Less familiar browsers found themselves caught helplessly by her gossip and guile, and Bondus wondered how much of her stock was sold simply as a means to buy their freedom. He laughed musing over just that as he watched a fair-faced youth attempt several times to politely disengage her and meet failure at every turn.
"How fairs the wife, then?" she asked while pocketing freshly won coin, "Any luck?"
"Nay," Bondus grimaced, "not a bit. Though your other tonics work absolute wonders, we've still no child."
"A shame, that," she lamented with a sigh, hobbling over to pat his arm with a gloved hand, "it's a bother to make a good fertility potion that'll work well, every woman has different needs. A good man deserves a child to be proud of, a legacy. One like that upbeat little lad! A shame his father is such a wretch!"
"Hmph," was Bondus' only response as he turned from her odd touch. Something about those gloves aggravated his skin from the odd tingle they left for moments after. He returned in silence to his work, but the boy, not nearly an uncommon sight on those street, continued to occupy his mind.
*******
The father and son exited the square and went from shop to shop on their quest. Along the way, Morticus noticed a crier shouting to a small group gathered round and beyond them to passerby.
"Too long have we watched the wealthy fatten their purses on our labors! Too long have we suffered in squalor, forbidden from claiming empty, unused land outside the cities, costly beyond anything we could hope to even earn in our lifetimes, property of the empire for no better reason than to have it! How many must die hungry and homeless? How many must slave away, indentured by debts forced upon us to simply LIVE?"
The speaker balanced atop a crate, a middle-aged and balding man with tired eyes. He wore some sort of sigil upon his breast, the mark of one movement or another. Morticus could see that many of the city guard moved nearer, and Marcius shook his head and pulled the boy along by his arm.
"Our youths are imprisoned for crimes committed out of necessity, or are held on false charges altogether, sent as slaves to labor camps! Why must we struggle for our earliest years while the families and children of those who stand so high upon our backs live pampered, untested in comfort unearned? Our causes are mocked as the beggar cries of lazy cretins looking for handouts while the lazy FILTH that condemn us sit fat and happy on the profits of the work they rely on US to do! They say we should educate ourselves, rise above the waste we're in, that it's our own fault! Well I'm a learned man, I paid my way after years of saving in squalor, and I say to you THE WAY IS SHUT to all who aren't already living on high!"
The city watch was upon him then, and even Marcius could not help look on.
"So," a wicked looking official started, sneering hatefully, "you think those above you, your BETTERS, are filth then? The mayor? The governor? Dare I say you think our blessed EMPEROR that?"
The crier sputtered a moment in response and attempted to flee while Morticus watched, his small chest tight with horror as the man was seized and slammed into the ground.
"Treasonous dog!" the guard growled through clenched teeth, spraying the crushed man with spittle. The emblems on his shoulder and collar marked him as a captain of the guard, an assuredly cruel man among soldiers renowned for their harsh methods. The crier's pained accusations of abuse and corruption fell on deaf ears as the watchers quietly dispersed. The hard faced crowd, Marcius and Morticus among them, numbly moved on.
Many hours passed after with no success in the hunt for labor and wages, and Marcius was getting desperate. The dizziness of hunger only made their efforts more trying, and Morticus began to ache from walking. As they wandered, nearly aimless, they turned down an alley between thoroughfares, a platform ceiling overhead casting a deep shade. Many of shops let out into the covered way, and there were found trash crates of old food, much of it spoiled and rotten. Some shops had fresh shipments ready to replace the refuse, stacked neatly by the doors.
Marcius sighed heavily and looked to the ground with shame. After a moment of searching he retrieved discarded canvas sacks and turned to his son, sorrowful and reluctant.
"We must hurry, my son," the sallow eyed man bade handing a bag to the boy, and Morticus nodded glumly. They filled the sack with what little they could find that previous beggars left behind. The boy picked through cabbage and carrots, breaking off the rot to salvage what he may, as his father did. After a while, the boy noticed that his father was behaving oddly, that he glanced about from door to door and around the alley in a frightful manner. He was all too near an open crate outside a butcher's shop.
"Father?" Morticus whispered fearfully.
"Keep an eye out boy," Marcius answered nervously with a hard swallow, sweating, "be ready to run!"
The frail fellow gave one last look about and snatched a beef round from the top of the crate. In one motion he slid the meat into his sack and motioned for Morticus to join him as he made a brisk pace back the way they came, back down the tunnel toward the lighted ways beyond. The boy frightfully followed, shaking with anxiety and hunger in equal parts, but they only made it a few yard before an angry shout rose up behind them.
"Stop! Thieves!" yelled an enraged butcher as he stormed from his store, cleaver in hand and apron bloody. Morticus froze, heart pounding in his throat, the sack nearly slipping from his hand.
"RUN!" Marcius screamed, and the two made a mad dash that proved futile at alley's end where guards awaited, as if awaiting. Three brutes grabbed them roughly and ripped the bags from their hands. One was the same captain from before, flecks of blood still on his uniform and where he missed when wiping his face.
Gloved hands wrapped around Morticus' bone-thin arms to squeeze and torque his joints so hard he expected them to snap as he whimpered and wailed with pain. The butcher caught up to the group and pointed to Marius and the sack retrieved from him.
"That one, the adult, he snatched meat from me and stuffed it in that garbage sack, a choice round!"
The guard produced the stolen property and grinned wickedly as he handed it to the butcher and waved him away, the hateful man grumbling as he wiped filth from the meat. Morticus trembled, afraid to move or speak.
"A couple of thieves, are you?" the captain spat with an evil laugh, "there's always room at the stockade!"
"No!" shouted Marcius, "Please, send the boy to his mother, it was only me, spare the b-"
A heavy punch silenced the weak man, his bleary eyes unfocused as blood poured from his mouth. Morticus sobbed and called to him.
"Shut the brat up," ordered the captain disgustedly, and a backhand from his captor sent the boy spinning to collapse against the wall. The captain looked thoughtful then and smiled a hideous, toothy smile filled with rot.
"Say, boy, where IS your ma? I got no time for a brat like you, tell us where you live and we'll get you there, on my honor."
Morticus hastily described where their hovel was as the guards sneered and the Captain laughed that horrible laugh again then mentioned for his associates to drag the two along to join more members of the watch. To the two who heard the directions from Morticus, he gestured near.
"Gather the woman and child, the whole family can rot together."
"No!" cried Marcius and his son together, and for the outburst both received swift abuse, unseen by the same blind eyes that passed on those miserable streets.
*******
"From what blasted abyss comes this savagery?!" shouted Bondus at one of a pair sneering guardsmen on that side of the arched gateway, his eyes wild with disbelief. He lead his ox-drawn carriage of packed up wares, on the return trip home, and on his way through the eastern gates discovered the boy from before, bruised and bloody, crouched pitifully at the feet of his father bent in a stockade, a shackle around his small ankle. Against his chest cried a toddler girl, and beside the man a woman hung limply, unconscious or dead he knew not.
"Shush Ari, please," Morticus soothed the girl while he fought back his own tears. He recognized the man from before and hid his face in shame.
"Go about your business, foreigner," growled one of the two soldiers; he menaced with a tap of his pike against the ground and placed a hand on the sword at his hip, "they're thieves caught in the act, you've no say in the justice here. Go now or join them."
Bondus snarled and sputtered as he tried to find the words to reply through his rage, but a gnarled and heavily ringed hand touched his wrist. The potion hag was with him, though he did not notice her before, and he found a strange comfort in her presence.
"What of the children?" she croaked at the guard, who spat and chuckled coldly, "Surely that boy doesn't need chains!"
"Bah, who cares about the brats, they can stay or scurry off, I bet he can slip his foot out easy enough. Orders only mention the parents anyway."
"Please..." Marcius started in a pained choke. A swift kick to the gut from the nearest of the vicious villains cut him short, save for retching gasps.
"Nothing from you, DOG!"
"The only animals here are you COWARDS!" roared Bondus, driving forward with rage, but again the hag intervened with just a touch.
"Peace, fool!" she snapped before readdressing the guards, "What about the parents then?"
"Marcius Tinneas and Vervel Tinneas will spend one week in the stocks for the crime of commercial theft and conspiracy to theft. After, the dog will be off to the iron mines and his bitch... well we'll see if she lives that long. Not the first time one or both have been caught in people's trash! I doubt the fool will ever see the light of day again!"
The cruel man's laugh was mean and filled with devious joy, his arms crossed in a challenge to the angry Ragnakind. Morticus watched the exchange as he cowered closer to his father and noticed that Bondus seemed not at all afraid, in fact it seemed a great effort just to hold his tongue, his fists balled and jaw clenched, boots grinding in place as if he were prepared to pounce. The hag hooked his arm and dragged him hobbling back with uncanny speed.
"Stay and keep calm," she hissed, "I'll go retrieve some sisters from the Order of Aine to collect the babes and hopefully the woman as well. I fear that is their only hope."
The man faced away from Morticus then, but the concern in his voice was still clear.
"Will they be safe?"
"Certainly, but life in the Order is not one most would ask for. It's a life spent in piety and selfless servitude. They tend to the needy, preach holy nonsense, and toil wherever they are needed, often at the discretion of the empire. Well, ONLY at the discretion of the empire, but they're always a force of good."
"That sounds like SLAVERY!" cried Bondus in disbelief.
"It is voluntary, or so the claim goes. I've never heard of someone once joined to the Order ever leaving. Then again, I've never heard ANYTHING of anyone after they've joined. Once they put those veils on it's like they cease to exist."
Bondus could only shake his head in disgust. Morticus, rubbing Ari's back, watched as the old woman hurried off. The boy moved toward his mother and was threatened by the approach of a guard. Bondus stomped forward a couple steps, teeth bared, and the guard shook his head and stopped, spitting on the ground near the child. Marcius writhed and started to find his feet again and Morticus buried his face in his mother's hair.
"Mama!" he cried, gently jostling her, but the woman was stiff and unresponsive, eyes dull slits, unblinking.
Ver...vel?" coughed Marcius, barely able to turn her way.
"She's dead!" the little waif wailed, and behind him the Ragnakind nearly buckled hearing the heart shattering cry. He moved to check the woman and comfort the boy, but the more talkative of the two guards snapped at him to halt.
"The little fool is mistaken, she yet lives. Interfering with prisoners in the stockade is a crime here, barbarian."
"He lies, there's no breath in her!" the boy screeched, and his sister began her screaming anew. A low and pitiful moan escaped Marcius then.
"Be SILENT!" screamed the nearer guard as he slung his arm in a backhand strike aimed at the children. Morticus winced and hunched over Ari, but Bondus was there in an instant to catch his hand in a crushing vice, eyes insane and spitttle spraying through gnashing teeth.
"I will rot in a dungeon for all my years for what I'll do to you if you lay one FINGER on these babes, you SWINE!" the fierce merchant growled as he pulled the man to meet him face to face, the heat of his rage hot on his breath. The sadist twisted free and leapt back to fumble with his sword, his partner beside him with pike leveled.
"You dare..." he sputtered fearfully.
"Enough!" came a shrill command from the returned old woman, a five person group of plainly robed and veiled men and women in procession behind her. The guard unexpectedly blanched in the face of her ire.
The Order of Aine swept in with rags and water, cleaning the prisoners and their wounds while quietly comforting the children. A woman took Ari into her arms and another helped Morticus slip the shackle then lead him back from where his parents hung. The boy could not hear what was said, but the others exchanged words with the guard and Marcius, who nodded emphatically, and then he was suddenly being lead away. He pulled back and called for his father, cried for his mother.
"Wait!" Bondus called, and Morticus saw that even he seemed surprised, but bold conviction took the man, "The boy..."
He turned to Marcius and knelt before the broken man, a murderous look spared for the guards should they dare intervene.
"Allow me to take him on as an apprentice. He'll live a good life and learn a good trade, I can swear that to you."
Tears welled in Marcius' eyes and he nodded, seeming to have lost his voice altogether.
"The mother... if she is gone, I'll take the girl as well, if you wish it. I have wife and a home somewhere they could both thrive."
Again the husk of a man nodded, but a wheezing voice stopped him cold.
"Ari," Vervel moaned, her voice chilling and grotesque, the hag comforting her with a stroke of her hair and a shackled hand held softly, "no, not my baby too, please... leave her... to me..."
Her head flopped weirdly and she fell silent once more. Morticus shuddered in frightened disbelief. The old woman shook her head and rubbed Vervel's slumped shoulder. She offered water that the boy did not see her sip, but vanished still from the ladle.
"We must honor her will," a veiled member of the Order stated coldly, and Bondus could only accept it with a nod. They brought Morticus whimpering to say his farewells; the boy hugged his father desperately but shied from his motionless mother. He kissed and hugged his sister sweetly.
"I promise Ari, I'll come back and find you."
A veiled man guided him to Bondus' side and he watched as they departed, Ari reaching for him until they disappeared around a corner along the city wall. The boy struggled to steel himself against the pain, a firm and kind hand on his shoulder. The merchant, eyes glistening, pursed his lips and mentioned for the boy to take a place on his carriage.
"Come now, little one," he urged softly, "the road ahead is long, but we'll walk it together."
They rode off under the hateful gaze of the posted guards and rolled on in silence as the sun set. Morticus hunched miserably, his young heart heavier than it he ever knew it could be.
"Mama..." he muttered, ashamed that he was too fearful to say goodbye.
"I'm sorry lad, I wish there was more I could have done."
"It's my fault," the boy hoarsely choked out, suddenly crying.
"What's that? YOUR fault? Spirits no! Not in any way could that have been-"
"They asked me where they were and I told them!" the boy shrieked, balling, "They tricked me! They took mama and Ari away and it was my fault!"
"No!" Bondus insisted, "No boy, not a chance was any of this your fault! This empire has gone ROTTEN, none of that was justice, none of that was right! This will be the last I ever trade in Ariasholm, I sell my wares across this land and then buy the cheap and fancy things that catch the eyes of ladies back home, but no more. No people should be treated as you are!"
The bruised and sniffling boy pulled his knees to chest and said nothing.
"What's your name, son? I can't keep calling you boy. Mine's Bondus."
"Morticus," was all the small boy squeaked out. The merchant nodded, rubbed a hand kindly across the boy's shoulders for a moment and then only silence as they rode along.
*******
Over the next several weeks Morticus grew less despondent as his wounds healed, though only enough to watch the changing landscape with a tint of curiosity over his morose outlook. Minstrels and bards in taverns distracted him on evenings he and Bondus settled in for the night in towns, and the older man captured his interest with talk of wild Ragnaheim under starlit skies when they camped instead. He ate more than ever before in his whole life, more than he knew he COULD eat. The boy had never been further than the farm lands surrounding Eldris, had never seen or even known the great variety of trees and flowers that grew along the roadways, the rising and fall of the land, the way rivers and streams cut through and carved the land. The came open one such healthy stream and Bondus pulled the wagon off the road and grinned conspicuously at the lad.
"Seems we've spent a good deal of what I sent aside for chow on the trip back, and glad I am to see you gaining a bit of weight. Today, we save a bit of silver and catch our own meal for once."
The man produced a pair of fishing rods and handed one to the youth.
"I…" Morticus began shyly, "I've never fished, sir."
"Damn fine time to learn!" the merchant laughed, "Don't you worry lad, we'll make a day of it!"
And learn he did! Morticus displayed a natural talent for the art, and by sunset the pair we're reclining beside empty bowls of fish bone, bread crumbs, and apple cores. However, despite the fun of the day, the boy's dour demeanor seemed to return tenfold.
"What is it, Morticus? What's on that bright young mind of yours?"
He said nothing for a moment, and the question seemed to only deepen his sadness.
"Thank you, sir, for everything. I'm having happier days than ever before. Happier than I think my mama or papa have ever had, than Ari will ever have… I feel like I shouldn't, it feels wrong."
Bondus slowly nodded with a look of grim comprehension.
"That guilt, survivor's guilt… it's hard to say you're wrong for feeling it, because it's true. You are thriving, and will continue to thrive if I have any say, while others suffer where you once suffered beside them. But that is not your fault. Should you wallow in misery forever? Would they WANT that? Or would they want you to rise above everything you've ever been? One day you'll have the ability to bring your sister up from the struggles she's sure to face, but at least she's safe for now. When you see her next YOU can teach HER how to fish, tell her the stories you hear and tales of your own. Make them happy tales, my boy. There's no shame in that."
Morticus' eyes were wide and teary then, his chest tight with conflicting emotions. Bondus drew him close to hug him as he cried once more, and when he was done the boy seemed lighter. The days after he smiled easier, seemed brighter. His keen attentiveness brought a near endless stream of questions, and Bondus struggled to keep up with them all as they neared the end of their journey, crossed the best patrolled and most narrow stretch of the borderlands then entered into Ragnaheim. It was another few days of riding until they finally arrived at the home of Bondus, a few miles north of the trade hub Vasmare, capital of the Angil Province. In the great distance many miles to the northeast the edges the Weyawood Forest could be seen, trees taller even than many of the building of Eldris! The kingdom of Ragnaheim seemed more ALIVE than the empty and monopolized stretches of worked fields in Ariasholm. There seemed to be more birds, more wonderful critters scampering in the distance. Nothing in all his life had ever seemed so magical as just the lamplit roads in that kingdom he heard his whole life was the land of barbarians. Even the night was alive with mystical things that brought a lightness to his heart when ever before the night brought terror.
They entered a walled town and found their way to a multistory home surrounded by tall stone bricks, and the very idea of living in so comparatively grand a home, modest by Ragnakind standards but finer than most anything the vastly destitute population of Ariasholm could hope to own, made Morticus sway dizzily. He was ushered in stunned silence into the brick and lumber building and a lovely buxom lady met them in a kitchen lit by crystals that glowed with mystical light, a kind woman who embraced the boy and immediately took to doting on him.
"What a fine young apprentice!" she called him as they settled in, "Your room is all prepared, Bondus sent a message ahead to let me know you'd be coming! Oh it'll be wonderful to have a little lad about! You MUST tell me how this came to be, Bondus, you were so very vague about it all in the letter!"
"Well, Lorraine, it's a tough tale…"
She was all a flutter until he did just that, the boy's eyes downcast as the stark retelling of that day brought him lower than he felt in weeks. Lorraine visibly weakened at the story and had the boy wrapped in a trembling embrace, rocking him lovingly.
"Never again will you suffer like that, you poor darling! You are safe here, this home is your home now. Things are different in this place, we all take care of one another, are good to each other. I hope you can trust that, and if it takes time to feel at home that's okay. We're here for you, on our lives we're here for you!"
It was a great relief to find such a warm welcome, and after a wonderful dinner and a fireside chat he was put to bed in his own room, nicer in itself than the whole of his home in Eldris and nearly as big! For the first time ever, Morticus felt a true sense of comfort and security. He slept soundly that night, the first of a great many nights to come.