Gywera had always been a relatively sedentary village, weighed down with enormous anchors for lifetimes on the same spot in the ocean.
Their future and very way of life was about to change forever.
Nuna, still sunbaking by the waterside, grinned when she heard her grandson arrive back. “You’ve returned. All is well, I hope?”
Paku leant down and held his nuna’s hands within his own. He looked deep into her glassy eyes then down to the luck laurel that she had crafted him, realising that somehow it had worked. The trinket had helped lift his wrist to vote for Bya-Iam’s motion.
“Yes, nuna. All will be well from now on. All will be well.”
Interlude - Downhill
Dyr sat at the edge of the dock of compact stone and wood with his legs dangling out over the water of Crown Bay. Dyr was Anai and, as such, being of short stature meant he could hold his dirty bare feet over the sloshing waves without getting himself wet.
Rea and Ixo were rising over the horizon as dusk set in, bringing with them the high tides and a stream of huge trading vessels, colourful merchant ships, sailboats, and fisherman back into the harbour.
Most were vessels heading between Dawnhill and the kingdom of Caldaea, carrying foods, wine, spices, and all sorts of craftsmen wares.
The ships would be out to sea by the morning when the moons left the sky. They took the ocean with them, and the many ships currently docked.
Dyr drew in a deep breath of the salty ocean air, scratching at the slashed crescent tattoo on his forearm. Dusk was the only free time he ever had; he relished each moment of it.
Grey gulls squawked overhead. Drops of water trickled from the barnacle-infested wooden posts of the dock after each wave.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The fiery star that had illuminated Dawnhill’s nights for some time was lit up like a ruby with a long, streaking tail.
Dyr heard footsteps approaching. He jumped up with haste, fearing it to be his master or a guard out to cause trouble. He turned to see another of his kind in a tattered dark cloak.
“Nathin,” Dyr said, recognising his companion and greeting him with a firm handshake.
Nathin’s tattoo had been burned off, leaving a ragged scar of melted flesh on his forearm which he did not try to hide. The Anai stood as tall as Dyr at around four-foot. He met Dyr’s handshake with a smile of rotten teeth.
“Evening, lad.”
“How goes business today?” Dyr asked.
Nathin scoffed, opening his cloak to reveal several coin purses hidden within. “I’d say it was average. Too many rich wankers hide their purses around their necks nowadays. Makes it harder for us smallfolk to pinch.”
Dyr laughed. “One of many setbacks of being Anai.”
Nathin gestured behind him towards Beggar’s Way. “Shall we? Those sailors’ll be flooding the taverns and whorehouses. Could probably pinch a few coins before the next guard duty comes along.”
Dyr agreed. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Good. And I’m supposed to be meeting Mell outside the Crab Claw.”
“Let’s head there then. I need every mark I can get at the moment.”
Dyr looked back up at the ruby star with a cheeky grin, praying to which ever god would hear him that it was a sign of the riches they would take on that night.
The pair of Anai headed into town. Dawnhill was the most populated city in Alyria, meaning there were lots of people to rob.
Dyr’s bare feet pitter-pattered on the stone road beneath him as he tried to keep up with Nathin’s determined strides.
In a shadowy alleyway off the main thoroughfare, Dyr thought he saw Ol’ Beau lying amongst some waterlogged hay.
“Beau!” Dyr called out, jogging over to the motionless old drunk. The homeless Valkhor owed him two marks for ale. But upon reaching his makeshift home in the gutter, he realised Beau had been dead for some time.
Beau’s skin was beginning to grow tight and bloat. Rats and roaches had infested his clothes and were burrowing into the rotting flesh.
The smell was atrocious, like shit and piss and old fish mixed into one.
No one had bothered to remove his corpse.
Damn. There go my two marks.
Dyr gave a quick nod as a sign of respect for the old Valkhor before leaving, wondering what had killed him. The cool nights? Beaten by some thugs or guards? Hunger, perhaps? Or maybe his drinking finally caught up with him.
The Crab Claw was a popular bar near the docks, the exterior wooden panelling painted red like the shell of a crab. Drunken patrons of all sorts crowded the street outside, but Nathin quickly spotted his brother, Mell, leaning against the outside smoking a pipe.
Mell had a long beard and crossed eyes. Dyr had never felt all that easy around him, but the Anai was quite talented at picking pockets and had gained a reputation as someone to avoid, lest you want to lose your gold.
Nathin patted his brother’s shoulder. “Ready for a night of hard work?”
Mell puffed smoke into Nathin’s face with a laugh. “S’only hard if yer bad at it.”
“You’ve met Dyr before, aye?”
Mell eyed Dyr with a squint and a frown- out of spite or a lack of vision, Dyr was unsure of. He took in another puff of his old pipe. “Aye.”
“He’ll be joining us. The lad’s getting good at it and needs the marks.”
“Aye,” Mell repeated.
“So, where we headed?” Dyr asked the brothers.
“May as well stay by the Bay, this time of night. What’s the saying in Dawnhill? ‘Shit flows downhill?’” Nathin sneered.
Mell chuckled with a scratchy cough. Dyr nodded in agreement; it would be risky attempting to pick pockets in the richer parts
