Kestrel had found his luck with these cuffed boots. They fit him so well they might just have been a better fit to his feet than the academy loafers he'd worn until today. Traversing the slick cobble road felt almost endearing. He strode with the wind in his back, his eyes set on the cathedral in the distance. As he walked the street, the town seemed to slowly but surely wake up. Sounds of clinking metal from inside houses, people tying the laces of their boots by doorways, hushed voices from alleyways. Some people, mostly large men, passed him by heading towards the direction of the Brimming Cup. Hedgelen was hungry.
The cobble road snaked into a path leading up to the cathedral. Its large frame was intricately chiseled with iron-framed windows, pillars, and arches of stone. A set of tall double doors, iron-enforced and of dark oak was positioned symmetrically in the middle of it. All the way at the very top sat nestled a large sigil of the Sacred Light--a diagonal cross overlapping a thin circle, and a gem of glass burrowed in the middle that shimmered as Kestrel approached. Near the top of the stairs were two identical statues opposite each other, marking the entryway. The statues were knights, holding two fantastic swords that crossed each other above. A dark-robed monk was wiping the surface of one of the statues with a large towel.
"May the Sacred Light bathe you in its eternal radiance," said the monk in a relaxed tone, almost as if out of habit. He smiled warmly, then returned to his work.
"Excuse me..." began Kestrel, and the monk returned to meet Kestrel.
"Yes?" answered the monk, his voice low and calm.
"I'm looking for someone. A woman with long blonde hair. Have you seen her?"
"She came here not long ago, and I have not yet seen her leave. You shall find her in the graveyard," said the monk, pointing toward a grassy path trailing past the cathedral.
Kestrel clasped his hand and bowed slightly, as is customary when speaking to a man of the Light, before following the path. It took him past the cathedral, and when he turned the corner, he was greeted by an expansive field of gravestones jutting out of the earth.
The graveyard was larger than the entire cathedral, divided by iron fencing into different sections, each characterized by small outcrops, making the area varied in elevation. Some of the gravestones were toppled over like felled trees, and in some parts, brown earth was piled up on top of the green grass. Though the area felt slightly overgrown with weeds and such, the whole graveyard was brimming with white and blue orchids. It was as if someone mourning had, with brush and oil, painted the whole scene into existence. The pale morning light still hung somberly over the land, and Kestrel felt something stir within him.
Across the fields of gravestones and orchids in the distance stood a gleaming man. It was far, but he seemed to be armored heavily in orthodox knight-plate. He stood still near a tall, sleek gravestone, longsword hoisted into the ground, hands covering the pommel. The knight hadn't moved once, as if there was nothing but emptiness underneath that glinting steel armor.
Kestrel's gaze trailed further along the fencing, along the graves, and along the orchids until he saw a figure dressed in black, whose long blonde hair waved in the breeze. He made his way past many carved names and years, up loose stone stairs, and through patches of overgrown grass before reaching Eyleen, her back turned to Kestrel. She looked over a shoddy stone, large brimmed hat in her one hand, her hair swaying freely. The stone was engraved with only a name. 'Marquis'.
There was something weighing down on Kestrel. Something he couldn't explain. Something that made him feel like everything was too large to bear.
"I should have shot him sooner," said Eyleen, her voice flat.
Kestrel didn't find the words to reply.
"No, I should've put a knife in his head when he asked. That way I wouldn't have alerted that thing." Eyleen toughened the grip on her hat before letting out a sigh. Her tensed shoulders seemed to relax. "I'm sorry, Kestrel. That it turned out the way it did."
"I heard that you cared for me before Hedgelen's men came to our aid," said Kestrel. "I should be thanking you."
"I messed up. It was too close of a call," said Eyleen. "I don't know what I was thinking. I panicked."
"You saved me," said Kestrel, almost pleading.
"You saved you," said Eyleen. Quiet followed, but Eyleen continued. "That magic shield you used. If it hadn't been for that, I'd..."
"You shot the monster. It got distracted and left me alone," said Kestrel in a logical manner.
"I'm saying that... I'm trying to tell you that I was thinking of leaving you behind. For a moment, you were 'my' distraction."
"But you didn't."
"I almost did."
"I wouldn't have blamed you," said Kestrel, his voice breaking slightly. "I was scared. I'm sure you were too. It's not your fault."
"You're too nice for your own good, you know that right?" said Eyleen as she turned her head to look at Kestrel. Her eyelids were smudged black, streaking slightly onto her dry cheeks like soot. "Acting like that, you'll be taken advantage of in no time."
"By you?" asked Kestrel.
That seemed to rattle Eyleen. "What, no, I'm not like those-"
Kestrel couldn't help but laugh. A laugh that erupted from somewhere deep inside him.
Eyleen scoffed. "This is no laughing matter."
Kestrel could see her cheek tugging at the corner of her mouth, even though she tried to mask it.
"I think I'll be fine," said Kestrel. "I'd like to tell you something."
"Sure, what is it?" said Eyleen, a distant smile still lingering.
"The reason I came here. I'd like to tell you why I came to the Swarth," said Kestrel, looking nervously into the grass below.
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious," said Eyleen.
"I'm searching for my family," began Kestrel. "I was born in the Swarth. I grew up in Highcastle. I went to study at the Academy at an early age, and, one day, I heard the news of the curse over the Swarth. How man fell to the undead. At the time, I didn't know what to feel. I wasn't close with my parents. Or, well, that's a lie. I mean, I was close, but we, how to say..."
"You weren't fond of each other?" commented Eyleen.
"Yes. Well, I wasn't quite fond of them, at least. They weren't very nice to me. But after a while, something in me changed. I'm the heir of my bloodline. The first-born; the only-born. It felt 'wrong' to just, I don't know, pretend like nothing happened? Either way, I felt I had to find out. I poured over Academy newsletters on international affairs. Mind you, the Academy has some of the most extensive networks of information in all of Midland. Yet, there was nothing that I could use to trace back to what may have possibly happened to my family. At one point, news stopped flowing out of the Swarth. Only recruitment missives asking people to join the fight against the curse were collected by the farescribes."
"...and eventually, your patience ran out," continued Eyleen.
"I suppose so," said Kestrel, before mustering up courage in his chest. "I was going to ask you: would you be willing to help me search for my family? I have no allies here, and I'm weak. I'll be needing help. I've realized now, after the previous ordeal, that I cannot do this alone. Please."
Eyleen looked off into the distance. Rays of blinding sunlight started spilling over the land as the sun climbed over the golden horizon.
"I have some things I gotta do, I..." said Eyleen, trailing off into silence. "I'll think about it."
"Okay, that's fine with me," said Kestrel. "Let's go eat something. The innkeeper was making breakfast when I left."
"Let's do that. I bet you're hungry," said Eyleen, putting on her wide brimmed hat as she turned away from Marquis' grave.
"I bet you're hungry too! Don't play it all cool," said Kestrel, and Eyleen laughed for the first time since Kestrel had met her. It was a discreet laugh.
"Come on, let's go," said Eyleen, strolling through the graveyard, and Kestrel walked by her side.
* * *
Morning in The Days of Blossom, Mistfall, Year of the Song
The Brimming Inn was bustling. Warm scents permeated the dining hall along with the sounds of clinking cutlery and conversation. Kestrel sat opposite of Eyleen, who was calmly spreading butter over bread. Kestrel scooped up another large spoonful of his well-seasoned hash, landing it in his mouth and letting the savory fried flavor dance on his tongue. He grabbed a piece of his bread and paired it with some cheese, licking his fingers as he chowed down. He took a sip of his sweetale--he wasn't the biggest fan of fermented beverages, but everything seemed to taste awfully good this morning.
Eyleen pointed to her eyes, looking at Kestrel who met her gaze. "Can you see?"
"Whaf?" said Kestrel, still chewing on meat and potatoes.
"Like, can you see without your glasses?" asked Eyleen.
"I can see okay. Distant things are a little bit blurry maybe," said Kestrel.
"How many fingers am I holding up," asked Eyleen, holding up three fingers.
Kestrel frowned, half-amused. "Oh, I don't know, seven?"
"Funny guy," said Eyleen, an entertained puff escaping her lips. "Well, either way, you probably won't get your hand on any glasses for a while."
"They don't have them here?" asked Kestrel, scraping up the last bit of food from his bowl.
"Not for those who go out to fight the curse. They break easily," said Eyleen, tearing a small piece of bread with her hands and putting it gently into her mouth.
"What if you can't see without glasses then?" asked Kestrel.
"I don't know. Why would someone who can't see without glasses go to the Swarth anyway?"
Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the presence of a broad-shouldered man, who pulled up a chair and sat down by their table. He was dressed in ordinary clothes, and his weathered face spoke of a long story steeped in hardships, his prominent brow casting a thin shadow over his deep-set dark eyes.
"Nice to meet you," began the man. "My name is Richard. I'm the commander in charge over this operation. I'll be the one to brief you on what happens now that you've joined our ranks."
"You're the Richard? The one who saved us?" asked Kestrel, his hands gripping the table.
"The one and only," said Richard with a grin drawn on his lips. "What is your name, boy?"
It's okay. You don't need to hide your identity. "Kestrel."
"Kestrel, huh?" mused the commander. "Like the prince. Interesting."
"The prince?" remarked Eyleen, giving Kestrel a questioning glance.
"I'll be honest. I wouldn't typically expect a lot from a freshling and woman, but the fact you two survived and the others didn't--that's proof enough for me that you're both going to be extremely valuable assets for the cause in these trying times," said Richard, putting his hands firmly on the table as he rose. "I'll be wanting to discuss what you saw that night. You're the second convoy to be attacked. It's just that the last group didn't have any survivors. Or well, they weren't exactly dead. Mutated into abominations. Attacked us when we found the wreck. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."
Kestrel's eyes went wide recalling the memories, and solemnly he nodded. Eyleen stared in silence.
"Well, let's discuss more of that later. After you've finished up here, meet me by the garrison. It's right by the armory. Just follow the signs leading to the northwestern gate. I'll get you both up to speed on how the current situation looks like, and what your roles will be. Well then, be seeing you shortly."
Richard brushed himself off and left as briskly as any busy man would.
"If even the people from Hedgelen didn't know about that monster, I suppose there really was no cure in the end," said Kestrel staring into his empty plate.
"It doesn't matter now," said Eyleen. "Let's put it behind us."
"Yeah. You're right," said Kestrel, looking up with a reinvigorated expression.
"He called you a freshling," said Eyleen with a smirk, a hint of sarcasm tinging her tone of voice.
Kestrel sighed. "I suppose he's not wrong."
"How old are you anyway? I never asked," said Eyleen.
"I'm old enough... I'm eighteen," said Kestrel crossing his arms.
"Well you look the part," said Eyleen as she inspected Kestrel.
"Yeah, well, how old are you then?" retorted Kestrel.
"Wouldn't you like to know," said Eyleen as she stood up, her plate of food long since devoured. "Let's go for a walk, freshling."
"Hey! Don't call me that!"