UDITH LOOKED AT HIMSELF in the mirror, forced a smile and departed his single-roomed hut. The hut wasn't special at all. The roof was old dried hay. Dried because of the heat that persisted during the warmer hours of dawn. The walls were of wooden mudded walls and palm leaves.
Before continuing his stroll, he turned around and looked at the hut one last time. He'd built it from ground up and, if anything, he was proud of it too. Formerly, he was a castle dweller; always rich and bored and dependent. Now, he was none of that. And interestingly, it was his choice.
The hut often reminded him of the old days. The times when he resided in Euloft. Unfortunately, those days were over. He had to make himself anew. So, he went from setting his enslaved kind free from their slavelords to living and toiling amongst them in the fields.
Salick fell in beside him. "Lookin' nice in your new suit. Who are you dressing for? That human girl?"
Udith scoffed. "Not in a million years."
"New gig. Serving at six this evening sharp, aren't ya?" Salick glimpsed at him.
"Yes," he said. "Might be lucky enough to see the humanly faces behind all this cruelty." He turned around.
Salick frowned. "Then what?"
Udith stopped with his back turned, mulling. Then, he looked over his shoulder at Salick. "I …" he trailed off, "I don't know."
Salick averted his eyes. He heard it before it escaped Udith's lips. "Don't do anything stupid without me in there."
"I wouldn't dare," Udith smirked. "Aren't you coming with?"
"You think they'd let me," he scoffed, "a lowborn, trouble making, dirty Ulfon in that place."
"I thought I was the biggest lowborn-trouble-making-dirty Ulfon yet."
"You were," Salick said, "but not anymore. You've gotten … softer. You'd kiss the slavelord's shoe if he asks you to."
Udith furrowed his brows slightly, opened his mouth … but quickly relented, closing it shut. He figured he needn't comment. He edged away from Salick. "I'll see you around."
Salick frowned, looking at the hut. With hindsight, he knew days like these—especially evenings—always went south. Soon the sun would fall, the party would commence and the darkness would reign.
But Salick … he couldn't anything do anything about it. The ship had sailed. There was no stopping Udith. He had a calm air to him before he left. But when was the last time had Udith lost his cool for more than three trifling seconds?
For Udith, a lot could be done in three seconds.
Those highborn humans posed naught but danger to the lives of Ulfon men. Time and time again, disappoint was instilled. But it had to stop.
***
It was sun fall now. The dwellers of the hamlet in these flat lands closed up shop; turning over the signs on their market stalls, locked their doors, spoke their prayers and went to their hayed-stacked beds.
Sleep was the best way to avoid encountering a corrupted soul after all. Many believed such souls would leave them be if they went to bed earlier. It was a sentiment that snowballed into the existences of hundreds more. One such sentiment would be the wise words 'Those in slumber, do not sin, do not see, do not thirst, do not hunger.'.
Those in slumber could not sin for their bodies were inactive. Those in slumber could not see the lurking horrors that phased through their rooms and watched as they slept. Those in slumber could not thirst, nor greed over things such as wealth or lust. And those in sleep could not feel hunger. Therefore, a man who slept had 'no soul'.
These words were quite popular and the line was said to be from King Igor, the third. It meant that souls left vessels when the vessel was asleep. But this was just a hopeful notion—a myth that instilled more hope.
Some people, typically non-believers, took advantage of this.
***
A cloaked man walked on his toes toward a stall. There was a small cupboard at the stall that resembled a chest. The man attempted to open it but failed. There was a lock on it, for which the key was needed.
The man grinned. "Luckily, I have just the thing for you." He giggled softly, raising a hand.
He watched as his hand slowly waded. It became translucent. Almost transparent. A mindful cackle escaped the man's throat as he jammed the incorporeal hand into the cupboard. It phased right through.
He then yanked the hand out. Desperate. His fingers were clutched to a can. Slowly, his hand became normal again. Visible.
He had extraordinarily long, filthy fingernails. Grotesque. He used these fingernails to pry the can right open.
"Peas," he gasped, "o, I love 'em. Don't you love 'em too, Hope?"
He upended the can, and emptied the containments into his other hand. Finally, he squeezed the black beans into his mouth.
After the first can, he'd stolen the rest, eating them on the spot. After which, he had checked the stall for items. He managed to find a gold chain. Biting at the material, he turned around.
From the very moment he'd turned around, he paused. A figure lingered in front of him.
With the sun falling and darkness ushering in, he was unable to discern the figure's identity. In the darkness, it loomed. It wasn't tall. Perhaps a cursed child. A lost soul? The boy who he had followed here? Or perhaps it was the owner of the stall. Whoever or whatever it was, he couldn't make head or tail of it.
He retreated as the figure neared him. "Eh, I'm sorry if this is your stall. Thought it was mine. Y'know, trouble seein' in the dark." He laughed nervously.
The figure dashed toward him, clutched at his tattered cloak and slammed him into shelves.
"Take it easy," the man nervously raised both his trembling hands, "I'm an awfully elderly man. And by the looks of it, you're quite young."
"Where can I find a Shaman?" The figure asked.
The man looked down at the figure and grimaced. "A Shaman? Like an occultist? There ain't no Shamans here."
The figure leaned in, a ray of wavering golden light beaming onto his face. He had light hair, light eyes, light skin and … pointy-ears. Aran.
"Another … Ulfon," the man swallowed the saliva in his mouth, "here?"
Aran scowled. "Heavens, you reek."
"That's two in one day. I thought you people had gone extinct a long time ago," the man raised his brows.
"Yeah? Well, you thought naught but utter stupidity." He scoffed. "I'd spit upon you. But I don't want it mixing with your filth."
"Ulfon, mate, you ain't much better off. 'Cause a piss scent's been bothering me nozzle for long."
Aran scuffled with him. Then, rammed his body into the shelf again.
"Got some strength too," the man grinned. "What is it that you seek from me, youth?"
"I seek a Shaman."
"Like I said before—"
"That which you spoke ere is not what I wish to hear," Aran snapped curtly.
"Flowery English too," the man looked to his left, "are you seein' this, Hope?"
Aran's eyes began to glow. "Look, unwise geezer, I haven't the time for your levity. Give me what I want."
"They did say your kind is awfully boring," he frowned, "they'd be right. Fine," he sighed, "I'll help you out. But do you mind answering a question of mine first?"
Aran sighed stressfully. "What is it? Speak."
"Have you seen another boy around your age running about?" A sudden sternness besieged his countenance.
Recognition dawned upon Aran's face. He'd picked up two souls when he was near Chandrelle. This man was …
'Following me …'
Aran released him.
He dusted off his cloak.
Aran knitted his brows. "Why have you been following me?"
"Like I said before," he looked at him, "I'm an awfully old man. I ain't got friends and I want some."
"Why have you been following me!" Aran snapped.
The old man started toward him. "I haven't been following you. I've had my eyes on another soul since I was at the Innkeeper earlier today. I don't see that soul anymore. Instead, I see yours."
Aran started to retreat slowly. 'He's speaking of Aran … not me.'
"That face answers my question," the man continued to near him, "you're a two-in-one package. Two young souls in a single body."
Aran readied himself for an attack.
"Now, to answer your question frankly," he smirked, "you'd be able to find the very last Shaman we have in Aradona. I'm guessin' it's to sort out the very crisis you have going on within you."
'He must have a partner somewhere. I picked up two souls surreptitiously pursuing us. And what's this sudden coldness. And this sudden escalation of sith in him?'
Aran spun around and sprinted toward the bushes. 'I can't fight him here. At least not yet.'
The old man kept his stern look. A soul manifested next to him. It was in the form of a woman.
"Hope, capture them," he said sternly, "but take your time. They're going where we're going now after all."
Hope nodded and started in the direction Aran went.