Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Barath was a large town that sat on the hill overlooking a fork in the Pressans River. The buildings were all built from red sandstone bricks and streets were paved with white limestone. A mixture of smells filled the air, from freshly caught fish cooking in a nearby home, to salt being packed onto a cart nearby by workers. Camenians bustled everywhere, carrying baskets of bread and produce and wearing tunics and togas.

Ashira had never seen a toga before. She was fascinated with the white elegance of the ladies wearing them. She thought they looked much more beautiful than simple tunics or robes.

She observed the town around her. The streets were about fifteen meters across. The buildings were red and pink and orange, decorated with white facades. Bridges spanned above their heads, connecting the second stories across the street and creating a secondary walkway. Vendors had set up booths on the street level and on the footpaths above.

Malimu led her through the jostling crowds. They took a small spiral stairway up to the second walkway and continued. Malimu checked behind him to see that see was still following.

At last they reached a door and Malimu pushed it open. The smell of alcohol and bodies hit them like a wall. Ashira stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, then plunged forward.

The rooms was small. She could see the stairs to her right that led to the first story. Circular tables with brown clothes were scattered around, patrons sitting at most. A small counter stood at the left side, with an innkeeper sitting behind. The bar itself was nowhere to be seen, and she realized it must have been downstairs.

Although she had only ever been to one other inn, and that for one brief night, it had not been like this. This place was packed with people; she could here them downstairs singing, shouting, and calling for more drinks.

“It is yet morning and they are all getting drunk,” Malimu said, shaking his head.

He wound his way through the tables to the counter, Ashira staying close behind. Some of the men, ale spilled all down their tunics and togas, were looking at her with lustful glares. They seemed to focus on her hair, which stood out in the room full of dark-haired heads.

She kept her head down as Malimu paid for the a single room. He leaned behind him and whispered to her.

“We'll keep you in my room for tonight, just to be safe.”

She nodded, not disappointed in the least.

They spent the afternoon exploring the city, looking at the wares of the various booths and pedlars. Ashira had been given money by her father to pay for rooms and food. Now she stood at a jeweler's, looking at an ornate necklace. She was sorely tempted, but luckily Malimu appeared and they moved on. She noticed him moving his hand to close the flap on his pack.

People stared at her as she passed. She knew it was her light hair, but she did not try to hide it. Indeed, she somewhat enjoyed the extra attention.

The citizens of Barath all had darker skin than her own, but not as dark as Malimu's. They were olive-skinned, with dark brown hair. The men and some of the women had larger noses than Ashira and unruly eyebrows. Some men wore tunics, others wore togas, and yet others went bare-chested with only a section of white cotton fabric wrapped around their thighs. The colors were all lighter, with whites, tans, and yellows being most common. Ashira stuck out in her dark brown tunic and green leggings. Her boots were also out of place, as most people here seemed to be wearing sandals or were barefoot.

Malimu did not look out of place. His complexion was darker, but his tan robes fit right in.

The day wore on and they retired back to the inn. When they got to the room, Malimu took a sheet and attached it to the ceiling with a simple spell. It created a partition, giving Ashira her own space to sleep.

“I have something to show you,” he said, sitting down on his small mattress. He took a glass bottle from his bag and held it up. It was full of a dark pulp. “This is skin dye made from black walnuts. It took some time to find it this afternoon, but it will be useful, I think.”

“You want to dye my skin?”

He nodded.

“You will fit in here better if you do. You will have to reapply it everyday. You'll also need this.” He pulled a small leather pouch and opened the drawstring. “It is indigo, for black hair dye. I have some ground henna here as well. I will prepare the henna paste now, and we will dye your hair tomorrow before we leave.”

Ashira wanted to protest, but saw the reasoning behind it. She had gotten more evil stares from the men in the inn when they had entered it that evening. She watched as he turned the ground henna into a green paste and put it into a bottle.

She loved her hair. Although it had made her different, it was also what made her unique. She had had many more compliments on her flowing blonde hair than on her music throughout her life.

Ashira began to undress for bed, taking off her shoes and placing her dagger beneath the mattress, but Malimu interrupted her.

“We need to bathe before bed,” he said.

“That would be wonderful,” she said. They had not bathed in the three days of travel.

“You must see the bath houses they have here in Camena. They are quite amazing.”

He led the way from the small room and down to the bottom floor. A sign pointed them down a long hallway that turned and followed along the back of the building. Ashira realized they were traveling the length of many buildings when she saw other people coming from doors along one side. They all headed in the same direction.

“I must warn you now; this is a communal bath. You will be with other ladies, and they will not be wearing anything,” Malimu said, looking sidelong at her to watch her reaction.

Ashira stopped, causing a woman behind her to run into her. She apologized profusely, and the lady dismissed it with a wave of her hand. Then she turned to Malimu, red-faced.

“What?!”

He shrugged.

“The people of Camena do not have much of a mind for modesty. In fact, during warmer months, most of the men will walk about without anything but a small girdle of cloth on their loins.”

“I can't do this,” she said, refusing to move.

“You are filthy and tired. Trust me, this will relax you greatly and clean every pore.”

“But I have no money to pay for it,” she said, fishing for an excuse.

He smiled, seeing through it.

“Bathhouses are built by the king's order, and are funded by the kingdom. We won't have to pay anything. Come and relax. Close your eyes if it helps.”

She followed reluctantly. They reached the end of the long hall, where the men and women split to go to their separate baths.

Ashira followed a woman, not quite sure what to do. She watched as the other approached stone cubbyholes carved into the wall. Ashira mimicked, undressing and placing her clothes into a cubbyhole. Avoiding looking up as much as she could manage, she grabbed a white towel from a pile on a counter near the door to the bath and entered.

An hour later, she and Malimu met each other in the hall behind the buildings, dressed back in their clothes. Somebody had taken her clothes and washed them, then dried them. They were fresh and clean.

“Well?” he asked her.

Ashira was at ease. She had felt the aches from walking for three days melt from her muscles. She nodded her approval and he smiled.

They made their way back to the room and turned in for the night.

The sun's rays beamed into the room, falling on her and causing her to wake. She stood and dressed in her travel tunic once more. She removed the sheet from the ceiling and found Malimu still sleeping on his mattress. Deciding not to wake him, she left the room to explore for a while.

The inside of the inn had stone walls, but the floor was covered with intricate red and brown carpet. After visiting the privy, she exited the hall and entered the main room of the upper floor. She looked around. Only a few patrons had awoken. They were enjoying mugs of coffee and toast. She made her way to the doorway that led to the upper walkways around the city.

Ashira noticed that the sun must have risen a few minutes before, when she had awoken. It sat on the east horizon, just visible over the distant plateau.

She looked around, suddenly wary. It felt as though somebody had been watching her.

“Ashira,” came Malimu's voice.

She turned and saw him beckoning for her to follow him back to the room. She apologized as they entered.

“Do not worry about it. However, we must apply the paint and dye before I depart,” he said, retrieving the pouch and bottle from his pack.

Ashira followed him downstairs and out a back door. They found themselves in a small garden. The early morning time meant nobody was yet outside enjoying the shade. Malimu instructed her to take her tunic off while he fetched a bucket of water and a looking glass. When he returned, he gave her a black cloth which she placed around her neck. She sat on the small patch of grass. He first applied the walnut pulp on her face, arms, and hands. He left it there and began working on her hair. He applied the henna as a thick paste, covering her hair all the way to the tips at the small of her back.

“We have to wait a couple hours for that henna to dry. Luckily, the sun will be above the hill soon and will aid the process,” he said. “In the meantime, so you aren't bored, I will play my drum. I will also go and ask the innkeeper if there is a minstrel staying here. We may be able to get a little entertainment.”

He left Ashira sitting on the grass, cross-legged. Twenty minutes later, he came back with a minstrel. Ashira noticed that the young man wore a tunic of bright red and blue, quite different from most of Barath's inhabitants. His dark hair was covered by a small, tight-fitting blue cap. He had the same Camenian complexion as everyone else, but something seemed different about him.

He introduced himself to Ashira, bowing slightly.

“I am Salam,” he said, looking into her eyes.

Malimu smiled at the name. It was very close to the Camenian word for 'minstrel'. He wondered if it was an alias.

Ashira returned the smile, though she was not certain he could see it through the black pulp that still covered her face.

“Will you be singing for us?” Ashira asked, trying not to move her lips much.

“I will. And, although my talent is limited with instruments, I will accompany myself on the mandolin,” he said, taking the instrument from his back, where it had been slung.

Ashira looked at Malimu with raised eyebrows. He understood her question.

“Salam here said he would be glad to entertain you as you attempt to dye your hair and skin for the upcoming play,” he said, smiling and winking at her. Salam did not notice the wink.

“Indeed. I think it is wonderful that you are so dedicated to your part as to go this far. I'm sure whatever production it is will be wonderful,” Salam said with genuineness. Ashira found that he liked his easy-going, yet confident attitude. She detected no guile in the young man, who looked to be about her age.

Salam struck a chord on the mandolin, hummed, then began to sing. He sang a piece from a play he had seen while at Aetheris just a few months before. The song, though written by a young amateur, had become a hit in the Aetheris. The melody and lyrics had remained true to the original, but many variations of style had been applied to it since the first performance. He now sang it as a love ballad.

Summer came and went away

and though I see you not,

I will

keep you in my memory

for you fill ev'ry thought

'til I'm

Longing for you to be near me

asking that you would stay here

beside me.

Time was when our fates had been

as earth is to the moon.

But now

choices made have led me on

'til lies are now my truth.

So I'm

Longing for you 'till you hear me

asking that you would stay here

beside me.

Longing for the love you bring me,

asking that you would stay here

beside me.

Ashira was entranced by his voice. It was pure and light. As he sang, he would look into her eyes. She knew that her face was red, even under the gunk that covered it.

Malimu waited for the last chord to die away on the mandolin before moving forward.

“Thank you for that,” Ashira said. “I would clap, but. . .”

“I understand,” Salam said, smiling.

Malimu took a cloth and began to wash the pulp from her skin.

“Would you like me to continue?” Salam asked him.

“If you would like, yes.”

Salam nodded, then tilted his head, a sudden idea coming to him.

“Why don't you join me, miss?” he asked Ashira.

Malimu had just finished removing the walnut from her face. She looked at Salam with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, I don't know about that,” she said, trying to stay calm and polite.

“I'm sure you have a lovely voice to match your lovely face,” he said, looking at her now that she was clean.

“Thank you for the compliment, but I have never actually sung before,” she admitted.

He was taken aback for a moment.

“But I thought you were in a play?” he said after a moment, his brow furrowed.

Malimu realized a moment before he said it what was on his mind. He quickly searched for a reason and came up with one just in time.

“She is playing a silent role,” he lied. “One that does not require talking or singing, only acting.”

“Ah.” Salam nodded. “To not be able to sing, you must be from somewhere outside Camena?” he inquired.

Ashira was not sure she liked Salam's prying, but saw no reason to hide that she was raised in Acustia.

“I was raised in a small village in the forest across the river,” she said, gesturing her one clean hand to the west.

“I see. So you play an instrument? Which one?” Salam was trying to make small talk. It was part of keeping a small audience involved and entertained.

“I play the flute,” she said, not elaborating.

“Would you like to play with me?” he asked her.

“I'm sorry, I'm a little stuck right now,” she said, pointing to her head. Malimu had cleaned all the walnut from her skin. She examined her arms and found that her skin now looked much like Salam's.

“You look like a Camenian,” Salam said, also looking at her skin. “It looks perfect.”

Ashira noticed that the color was a little blotchy in areas, but figured that nobody would look very closely at her anyway.

“We still have another hour until I can apply the indigo,” Malimu said. He sat next to Salam and pulled out his hand drum.

“Would you like to play with me, then?” Salam asked him, seeing his small instrument.

Malimu nodded.

“Yes. Let's actually cast a spell for Ashira, shall we?” he put forth.

Salam liked the idea, and they decided on a spell that would cause a scene to unfold on the looking glass near Ashira's feet. They had both scene a popular play from a few years ago, and they decided on a scene from that play.

Ashira picked up the glass and Malimu began, setting a slow rhythm. Although no magic would come from playing the mandolin, Salam played it anyway. He struck a few chords. Ashira's gaze focused on her own reflection. As Salam began to sing “ah”, the glass seemed to enlarge before her eyes. She felt herself engulfed, looking at the image as if she were witnessing it first-hand.

The music seemed to die away. She found herself in a large field, surrounded by tall grasses. There were no hills, only grass for miles around. The wind blew through it, creating a great rushing sound. Storm clouds to her right came speeding along. Beneath the clouds, on the field, she could see a line of men on horses approaching.

She looked left. Another line of men were marching, heading toward the first. Storm clouds also drifted above them.

She turned around and saw yet another line of men, these ones on foot, heading toward the same point as the other two. However, no clouds followed them.

The two mounted armies drew closer. Their shouts became louder. Thunder rolled across the open plains and lightning flashed across the sky. She knew the two were about to clash in front of her. The men behind her had stopped, waiting for the others to initiate with each other.

The screaming and shouting of the men was suddenly interrupted by the sound of metal clashing. The fight had begun.

She watched the armies fight. After a few minutes, she heard a deep, repetitive boom filling the air. She looked back and saw that the men now had drums of all sizes. Looking closer, she realized they were all dark skinned, like Malimu.

Suddenly the earth began to shake. A split appeared, dividing the two fighting armies away from each other.

The largest drumbeat yet sounded out over the field, and all the men and horses were knocked off their feet.

Ashira saw that the drummers had stopped, but still heard a beat coming from somewhere. Then she heard a mandolin, and finally a voice.

She was back in the garden, looking at her reflection in the glass.

Malimu and Salam ended the song and looked at her expectantly.

“That battle. What was it?” she asked.

The two men looked at each other, confused.

“Battle?” Malimu asked her. “The scene was not supposed to be a battle.”

“No,” Salam confirmed. “It was supposed to be a scene about the great uniting of the three nations on the Radunio Plateau.”

“There were three nations, yes, but they were not united,” she said.

Malimu considered her words.

“Perhaps what she saw was the great battle that took place before our nations' peace?” he suggested to Salam.

“It could be so. It is odd, though, that the scene we meant for her to see did not occur.”

Ashira was not entirely certain what they were talking about. She asked Malimu,, who shook his head in disappointment.

“I guess people just don't learn the history of this land anymore.”

He began to explain.

The three nations, Kadencia, Camena, and Acustia, once together formed the former nation of Amrahn. They lived peacefully, intermingling and having free intercourse with one another. However, when an ambassador form Chaelesta bearing a magical relic, the people began to contend. The relic granted prowess in musical abilities to all citizens of the nation. Some thought the relic should be housed at Sejungu, in Kadenica, as it would be protected in the middle of a vast desert. Others wanted it at Vitaela, in Acustia, surrounded by the impenetrable trees. The people of Camena thought it should be in their land, since it was the central most point among the three, and could sit atop a high plateau.

The lust for power consumed the leaders of the lands, causing them to go to war with one another. They met on the Radunio Plateau, the same one upon which the Camenians thought the relic should reside. They fought over ownership of the Relic of Music, many thousands dying on every side. That is, until the man who had brought the relic came to the battlefield. Holding it above his head, he chanted for an hour as the fighting wore on. When he finished, lightning crashed down on the relic, splitting it into three parts. The strike killed the ambassador, but the relic could now be given to each nation. The lightning caused the fighting to stop with its thunder shaking the very earth which they were fighting on. The generals investigated and found the three relics lying in the charred grass. Just like that, the battle was over.

Ashira listened, but was not certain that what she had seen quite matched up to the story Malimu had shared. However, she did not say anything, not wanting to quash their ideas.

Malimu stood and moved to her hair. He began to remove the henna from her hair. After he had scraped much of it off, he had her lean backwards and began to wash her hair in the water bucket.

Salam watched with interest, strumming simple tunes on his mandolin, but not singing.

Once the henna was out and he had wrung out her hair, he began to apply the indigo paste.

“We don't want it black, just dark enough to match Salam's hair,” Malimu told her. “We'll wait about thirty-five minutes, then rinse it out.”

He stood and picked up the bucket, taking it to replace the water. Ashira and Salam now sat alone together.

Salam did not seem to mind. He continued to play his mandolin, smiling up at a couple times. She tried to reply in kind, feeling a bit awkward.

“So, Salam,” she began. “Have you been a minstrel for long?” she asked, not quite sure what to say.

He smiled at her social skills and replied.

“I learned to play this about four years ago,” he explained. “I did not start to entertain until about a year ago. It's is not something I normally do, just a side hobby.”

“Oh. I thought minstrels were always minstrels. I've never heard of it being a hobby before.”

He shrugged.

“I have other. . . duties that take me away from enjoying life as much as I'd like,” he said with a half-smile. “But what about you?” he asked before she could inquire anything else.

“Me? I'm just from Acustia,” she said, a little too quickly. Salam picked up on it and knew there was something she was hiding.

“Well, yes. But what about you? Do you have any friends or family?”

She nodded, thinking of Arthoir and Clarris.

“Yes. My father lives on Ilora, just across the river a couple days,” she said. Salam was nodding, as if he knew exactly where Ilora was. “I was raised there. I have one best friend, Clarris. She plays the guitar.”

Salam gestured to his instrument.

“Similar things, aren't they?” he asked her.

“Yes. But the guitar has a bigger body and is more often played without those,” she said, gesturing to the pick in his hand.

Malimu returned with the water. He checked her hair.

“I'd say we still have another ten or so minutes. Why not one last song, Salam?”

Salam nodded. He began to sing, this time leaving the mandolin sitting next to him. This song was about a man who had been born into privilege, but did not want to be part of such a life. He ran away, leaving the people who he felt brought only restriction, and made it to a land far away. He lived life more simply, in a small cottage near a river, and found love in a farmer's daughter. However, when she died tragically, he was distraught. Deciding he had nowhere else to go, he returned to the place of his nativity and stepped into the role which he had been born into. But as much as he tried, he could not find joy in his duties, and was driven into a deep depression. Longing to be with his love, he committed suicide by jumping off a cliff and into the ocean.

Ashira listened to the song with great interest, loving the beauty of Salam's voice and the touching story. As he sang, he also acted, moving about the garden, gesturing and dancing.

She hardly noticed when Malimu started to remove the indigo from her hair. Salam finished and bowed and she clapped loudly.
“That was wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I loved the story. You're a wonderful singer and actor,” she complimented him.

He bowed again, allowing a grin to spread across his face.

“All done,” Malimu said. He helped Ashira to stand. She looked into the glass at her dark brown hair. It seemed strange to see her face with such dark locks surrounding it.

“That is an amazing color,” Salam said. “There is a hint of red running throughout, but it is still dark brown like my own. Beautiful. You did well, biwama,” he said, turning to Malimu and bowing slightly.

“Thank you, Salam,” Malimu said, emphasizing the name just enough for him to notice. Salam shot him a quick look, which Ashira did not notice. She was holding her long hair, examining it in the looking glass still.

“Do I look like a true Camenian?” she asked the two men.

They both nodded.

“Perfect,” Salam said. “Nobody would think you were anything else.”

“How long will it last?” She asked Malimu.

“The hair will be permanent until it grows out. The skin should last about three weeks, as long as you bathe only a few times a week.”

“That's great,” she said. She was confident she could find Maestro Mirari in Aetheris within that time frame.

Salam looked between them.

“Well, I guess I'm done here then?”

Malimu nodded and reached for his money purse.

“Oh, don't worry about payment. This was fun, and I learned some great things. Besides,” he looked at Ashira and smiled, “it is not very often that I have the privilege of performing for one so beautiful.”

Ashira was a little taken aback, but pleased. Now she bowed and muttered, “Thank you.”

“You two have a good day,” Salam said. He picked up his mandolin, smiled and waved, and headed to the door that led back to the inn.

It was nearly lunchtime, so Ashira and Malimu headed out onto the busy street and looked for a food vendor. They found one serving freshly baked bread, cheeses of various sorts, and salted meats. Malimu got a platter with four slices of bread, two slices of mild cheese, and a pile of shaved salami. Ashira, having never tried salami, decided to order the same. They sat at a small wrought iron table beneath a canopy. She watched as Malimu created a couple sandwiches out of the fixings on his plate and ate them. She mimicked him and found that she quite enjoyed the taste of the cheese with the meat.

After they had finished, they went back to their room and checked out. In the lobby, Malimu stood in front of Ashira and gave her instructions.

“I have asked around and discovered that a trade boat will be departing up the river at four this afternoon,” he told her. “I want you to gain passage on this boat if possible. It is called the 'Tidalwind' and is harbored at dock twelve. Follow the outside road of the town around the bend in the river until you reach the northern-most point. The dock should be there.”

He reached into his money purse and took out thirty-five pecuni. He handed her the money and held on to her hand for a moment. He spoke quickly and in a low voice.

“Be safe. Do not let your guard down. Do not forget about the dagger at your side. Do not reveal your lack of ability; that fact that everyone has magic keeps people from trying to commit crimes against one another. However, you are completely vulnerable. Do not draw attention to yourself. Do not be late for the boat.”

He let go of her hand and embraced her. His robes seemed to conceal her entirely.

“You are brave to have left your home so readily. Now do not be foolish as well.”

He let go and drew a step back. She looked into his eyes and saw them glistening at the corners.“I will be all right,” she said. “Thank you, Malimu, for everything. I would not have even made it out of the forest without you.” A thought occurred to her. “What if I do miss the boat?”

“Don't,” he said simply, not offering a plan 'B'.

“I must be off,” he said. He bowed to her, and she reciprocated. Then, with a swoosh of his robes, he left the inn and headed down the street.