Raiders of Uecketev Part 7

Year 22840

Month of Nevemme

Feaerre

Durkquire Marks (age 18)

Raiders of Uecketev pt. 7

Was it real?

What Durkquire saw pushed the boundaries he knew about nauxen and riders. They almost appeared to behave like searral, the canine-like animals that people took as pets. People patted at their necks, stroked at their face and even led them with modified forms of reins. The nauxen walked between buildings, people, and market tents. Their large tails narrowly missed hitting signs and corners. Just watching made him anxious.

The ship turned, cutting off his view of Feaerre. Men shouted out commands and threw anchoring ropes off the port and starboard bow. Frumar’s ship was secured within minutes and the gang plank down.

Pierre pulled gently at Durkquire’s elbow. “Let’s go see the market. I’ve heard that they have quite exotic selections in Verra.”

He followed with his pack slung over his shoulder, the single strap diagonally across his chest. Part of him felt his business with Frumar wasn’t over, like he owed him more than the labor. Durkquire glanced back at Frumar before walking down the gang plank.

The captain pointed at different crates and large cargo bins while spouting off directions to his men. He caught sight of Durkquire standing near the gang plank. His face did not waver from confidence. Frumar gave a slight nod and a subtle wave. It was an informal ‘goodbye,’ but also what Durkquire needed.

He released a deep breath, feeling ready to take this next step towards his goal. His steps echoed as he left Frumar’s ship and joined Pierre on the dock.

“I believe we should start with the wares that will benefit our traveling here.” Pierre noted.

Durkquire was only half listening. He was absorbing the environment.

A shadow passed and moved behind, near smaller crates that had been dropped upon the dock by the ship’s small crane system. Durkquire glanced at the person who had passed behind them. It was Bien.

Bien hoisted a pack strap over his head and rested it upon his shoulder. “Well. Are we standing here all day, or going in?”

Pierre turned to Bien with surprise. “Has Frumar asked you to accompany us?”

Bien nodded. His face was straight, almost miserable looking.

“I owe that man many times over for this.” Pierre clapped a hand on Bien’s shoulder.

Durkquire could see the cringe that momentarily filled Bien’s face. He thought about how Frumar and Bien were in a thick discussion shortly before arriving at Feaerre’s port.

Did Bien ask to come with us? Durkquire wondered. Or did Frumar ask him to?

“I’ll take the lead then.” Bien walked out in front. “You said you are looking for wares that make being here easier? I know a place.” He still sounded upset.

It was hard to gage his mood when the only expressions Bien seemed to express around him were negative. Pierre was unaffected by the less than optimistic response.

“Ah, yes. I’m looking for a good walking stick. I can already tell my knee is going to have a fit with those hills." Pierre pointed up roughly at the city.

Durkquire kept in step with Pierre and stared ahead, past Bien, at Feaerre. He took in the city’s details.

Tall perching towers with two to four posts were dotted throughout the port city. He hadn’t noticed what they were at first glance because they were black. In many places they looked to be part of towering buildings.

This city was nothing like Solesstriane. Feaerre had buildings of various heights with large windows. The reflective glass spanned across more than half of each building. He wondered if allowing the light inside the building was to make up for the lack of color in the city.

His eyes drifted to a cluster of nauxen. They curled up beside each other within a massive ring of boulders, like some kind of nest. A few people walked in and out of the singular large cattle gate. They pulled barrels filled to the brim with something silver. He could only assume it was fish. The nauxen were being cared for like a stable would tend to horses.

“How do they live with them?” Durkquire asked.

He rubbed at his left arm where Serrath’s fire naux had bitten, the day Uecketev was attacked. It was healed now, but a phantom-like pain ached within his arm when he thought of it.

“I’m assuming you mean the nauxen?” Bien spoke but didn’t look back. “It’s a complicated thing. The first bond was hard fought and kept. Bonds are created with the mother first before the breeders can take the eggs. Each rider receives their egg within the first month when a breeder takes it.” Bien paused as though he were trying to think of a simpler way to explain it. “Riders care for the egg until it hatches and they can form their own bond.”

“The mothers let you take them?” Durkquire felt that taking a hatchling before it was officially born would upset the nauxen mother.

“It’s important to keep the bonds going after a nauxen has been trained, grown and sent out for breeding. Traits and behavior are passed to the hatchlings this way.” Bien slowed and looked back at Durkquire. “Without a bond the nauxen go feral.”

“Do they become like other nauxen?” Durkquire asked.

“No. What’s worse, the traits pass to the offspring. If they are trained to kill people, like in times of war, their offspring will hunt people as well."

“Doesn’t sound like a good thing.” Pierre hummed.

Bien shook his head. “No, it’s not.” Something about feral nauxen bothered Bien. His mannerisms became stiff and uncomfortable with the topic.

“Have you worked with nauxen?” He inquired further.

Bien gave him a short glance. The grumpy expression held resentment. “No.” His response was far shorter than Durkquire was hoping for.

At the same time, Bien’s response came as a surprise to Durkquire. I thought all Verrans worked with nauxen.

They reached the end of the dock. The city of Feaerre began as market tents and temporary structures. The colors didn’t do much for the lack in the city behind. Dull orange and yellow were the most common color in the market.

Durkquire felt his chest seize as he followed Bien and Pierre into a large crowd. He felt his shoulders brushing against those who passed by. He gripped tightly to his pack and double checked that all the pockets were closed. He couldn’t shake the feeling that thieves were commonplace here.

They rounded the corner of a temporary structure. The walls of it were made of rough textured wood and light stone shingles. The wall was abnormally dark for wood. Glancing down the length, Durkquire noticed the scratched scrawling and the lighter wood beneath. This wood had been intentionally burned.

He could smell it now as Bien guided them up alongside it. It heightened his anxiety to inhale the scent. He could feel the coarse wall with just a look. Moving his fingers, he rubbed the strap of his pack between them. It was a distraction to calm himself. The scarring memories threatened to paralyze him there. He was there again for a moment. Stuck in the shadow of a burnt structure where his chest ached and bled, and his heart held a wound too difficult to heal.

This was all so different than the atmosphere of Solesstriane. A cozy city of tree-lined streets and bright colors.

Bien guided them through the market, but Pierre kept stopping to take in the various wares.

Durkquire looked at the different stands as they passed. Items ranged from hand woven ponchos, rugs, cook ware, and jewelry, to armored clothing, specialty crafted weapons and nauxen eggs.

He took a longer glance at the eggs and noted the price of one was more than his family had ever earned in a year.

The eggs were strangely colored. Hues of purple, green, blue, and brown tinted the rough textured eggs. Their shapes were mostly spherical with a few ovals.

The roads began to slope upwards the deeper in they walked. Vehicles could be heard up ahead. Sunlight glinted off their sheen builds. Even their colors were dark and bland.

Durkquire stopped as Pierre took a liking to a particular stand. Several hand-crafted walking staves and canes were proudly displayed in glass cases.

The woods were marbled and exotic. He had never seen such a blend of rich reds, bright yellowed whites and ashen grays with dark brown veins.

“I may have a hard time picking one out. This is just what I was looking for Bien, thank you.” Pierre clapped a hand upon Bien’s shoulder, and again, Bien cringed.

A shove hit Durkquire from behind and then the weight upon his back became light, too light. His pack strap slid out from his fingers. It had been cut.

Before he had time to react. His pack was gone.

Durkquire turned and scanned the people. Nobody nearby had his pack. A few stared back at him. They clearly had not seen what had literally slipped through his fingers.

“Thief.” He voiced his realization and looked frustratingly over to Pierre and Bien.

Bien was gone.

“Bien?” Durkquire called out and searched the people again.

This time his eyes caught sight of Bien running through the crowds.

Did he just steal my stuff?

“What’s going on? Where did Bien go?” Pierre asked, turning from the selection before him.

Durkquire wanted to chase after Bien but that would leave Pierre alone.

Pierre must have noticed his eagerness for the next words he spoke, “Go. Find him. I’ll wait here.”

Durkquire’s body rushed with adrenaline and he took off. He reached out ahead of himself and pushed people aside. Bien was almost out of sight. He couldn’t lose him. Faster. He sprinted.

Bien turned a corner, now out of view.

I can’t catch him like this. Durkquire slowed as a group of people blocked his way.

Think! He shouted internally at himself. If I could get above them all. That was it. He thought of the weaves he would be drawing from.

Lifting a hand to his chest he called out the weave, “Gaiza Skret Jez.”

Wind burst upwards beneath him. He felt its condensed force push upwards against his feet. Finding his balance took him a few seconds and he had drawn more than enough attention to himself. He now stood in the air above the crowded street.

Time to catch Bien.

Durkquire sprinted forward.

Running on air held the strangest sensation. Each step didn’t connect with anything solid, yet his body propelled forward as though he were running on the ground. The draw upon his well was higher than he would have liked, and was a continuous draw. He couldn’t keep this up for very long.

Durkquire ran upwards and over the structures. He stared down at the ground and spotted Bien.

There was someone else running ahead of him. That person looked smaller, no, thinner than any man he knew. He rushed towards them.

Is Bien working with them?

The air followed him. It lifted under his body and pushed at his back with his desire to move forward. He was able to cut corners that Bien and the stranger could not. Durkquire was catching up.

His gut twisted.

Too much. He realized.

This weave was drawing too much from him. He was going to drop. His shadow passed over another building with a rounded roof as he willed himself down. Bien wasn’t far now. Both him and the fleeing stranger was within sight. He wanted to push a little longer. To catch Bien.

I can’t. Durkquire cut the weave off from his inner well.

He fell.

The ground was now just under twenty feet below. Falling towards the street, he reached out for the only thing he could to break his fall. An awning.

The small awning creaked under his weight and snapped. His grip was lost upon it as he fell the last ten feet to the street. He braced himself and felt the solid ground underfoot. Pushing his momentum forward, he rolled.

Gasps sounded from several people.

He didn’t waste time. Running again, Durkquire followed Bien down an alley. The space between the buildings was narrow. He would be able to reach both just by lifting his arms.

Bien slowed and shouted to the person he had chased.

“Give it back! Trust me, you don’t want to be involved here.” Bien took deep breaths and stepped towards the person slowly with a hand out.

Durkquire then spotted his pack in the hand of the stranger. Bien hadn’t stolen it at all. He had gone after the thief.

The thief wore some sort of scarf that covered their head and face, all except a small slit for their eyes to see. The clothes were loose and dull in color, like everything else here. Still, through the loose wear, Durkquire could tell this person was small.

The thief looked down to the pack in hand. There was a moment of hesitation before they bolted at the wall and leapt. Bounding off the alley walls, the thief rose and disappeared atop the roof.

Bien groaned. He sounded tired and made no indication in acknowledging Durkquire.

Durkquire realized that Bien either didn’t know he was there, or didn’t care that Durkquire was standing at the alley entrance. Bien then leapt up at the walls and in the same manner as the thief, vanished out of sight above.

It took him a moment to break out of his stupor.

Can I do that? He stared at the walls.

He rested a hand upon the stone. It had some texture to it, rough like sand, but solid. His shoes would be able to grip it easily enough.

His inner well was spent. No wind would aid him here. He backed up against one wall. Taking a deep breath, he leapt and pushed off.

He felt his heart rate picking up the higher he got. If he fell now, he would get hurt.

These buildings stood over thirty feet. No amount of bracing and shifting his momentum would deter injury.

He kept pushing, touching the wall with his fingers and kicking off the moment his foot hit. His thighs were tiring and the roof top was nearing. Judging the remaining distance as he leapt out again, he had three jumps left to make.

He counted them. One. Two. His foot slipped.

Air caught in his chest. His arms shook as they held him wedged between the walls. He lifted his slipped foot and braced for his final leap. Durkquire twisted to face the building’s roof top.

He jumped.

Durkquire saw above the roof for a moment before the edge slipped away above him.

Reach! Come on!

He swung his hands up and caught the edge.

His body slammed against the hard stone. It threatened the stability of his grip. Cold sweat was building under his hands. He had one shot.

Durkquire grunted and shouted out as he pulled himself upwards. His arms shook with the effort. The tips of his fingers dug into the small rim and pulled at his fingernails.

Just a little more!

His head was above the edge. He desperately held to the building and kicked his feet against the wall to aid his arms. It was enough. His shoulders rose above the edge and he tipped forward onto the roof. The slap of his hand sounded as he shifted his grip from the edge to the roof. Next, he swung a leg up and over and then secured himself by rolling away from the edge.

His chest heaved from the effort, adrenaline and anxiety. He stared at the sky for a moment longer.

How did they do that so easily?

Durkquire turned his head to the left.

Bien had caught the thief and held him pinned to the ground not far away.

He sat up and approached them.

“That was not as easy as you made it look.” Durkquire noted to Bien.

Bien’s head jerked towards him. He was genuinely surprised to see Durkquire standing there.

“Maybe I misjudged you.” Bien’s head nodded slightly. “Here.” He pried Durkquire’s pack from the thief’s grip. “I believe this is yours.”

Durkquire took it and looked over the cut strap. It wouldn’t be hard to mend. Crouching down, he balanced on his toes and let his pack rest on the rooftop. He placed the cut ends in one hand and lifted the other to weave. His inner well wasn’t as restored as he would have liked, but it would be enough for this.

“Saisette.”

The draw pulled from his inner well. A small stab hit at his gut. He hid the pain and kept a concentrated face as the fibers began to wriggle and reach out for each other. The strap reconnected within seconds.

Bien shifted, turning to face Durkquire while sitting directly on the lower back of the thief. There was some struggle beneath his weight and Durkquire thought he heard a feminine voice grunt from the shift.

“You’re proficient at weaving?” Bien asked.

Durkquire wasn’t sure how to answer that question. He was good at weaving, but what he knew was limited to the knowledge of those who had lived in Uecketev.

“I’m good enough at it.”

The response was enough. Bien’s face gave off a satisfied look.

“Now, what to do with you?” Bien turned back to the thief. “What do you think, Durkquire?”

The question left itself to open interpretation. They could just let the thief go. Durkquire wasn’t a killer, he would only kill in self-defense. If they took this thief, what would they do with them? Was there a control force that handled criminals in Verra? If so, they didn’t seem to care about the raiders.

Bien pulled out a small knife. This changed his interpretation of the question. Did Bien want Durkquire to choose if the thief should live or die? He looked down at the thief’s wide eyes. They were a bright blue. The skin was dark, but light enough that he could see a few freckles across the nose bridge.

The gaze from those eyes were pleading. There was fear present.

What do I say?

He had never been in this kind of position before. Personally, he would like to let him go, but then someone else would become victim to thievery. He looked up to Bien who was patiently waiting for his response. Durkquire thought about what he knew of Bien. Frumar had taken him in. Would he do so for a thief?

Durkquire stood and walked over to the side of Bien and the thief. He sat down where he could fully see their face. “What’s your name?”

Those bright blue eyes narrowed. Whoever this person was, he didn’t trust easily.

The response came out in a wheeze, “Jade.”

It was feminine.

This thief, was a young woman.

Bien peered down at Jade and pulled her face covering off. Her features were feminine. This revelation changed Bien’s attitude. He got off her quickly, and instead held her wrists against her back.

She stayed on her stomach, laying upon the roof. Her back rose as she took a deep breath. She had been struggling with Bien sitting atop her.

Durkquire asked his next question, “Why did you steal my pack?”

Jade smirked, “Thought an ethrean would have something good.” Her voice was hardened with a heavy accent.

Durkquire reached up with one hand and rubbed over the headband at the tip of his ear. It hadn’t fooled Jade. His hand dropped back down to his lap.

“Well?” Bien nudged his head at Jade. “I’ll take a bet that you want to let her go.” He pulled and forced Jade to sit up. “She caused us a lot of trouble. She owes us.”

“You’re right about what I’d like to do. However, would Frumar take her?” Durkquire looked from Jade to Bien.

Bien’s lips pressed tightly and his brow scrunched. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He grunted and stood, yanking Jade with him. “Let’s get back to Pierre.”

“Is she coming with us?” Durkquire pointed at Jade.

“I told you. She owes us.” Bien gave a half-hearted smile at her and shifted his grip from her wrists to her upper arm.

Jade pulled and resisted Bien, but it didn’t last long when Bien brought his knife within her view.

“How are we getting down from here with her in tow?” It was an honest question.

Durkquire’s inner well was nearly depleted, and there wasn’t any roof access that he could recognize.

Bien shook his head, irritated and pulled Jade up to the edge of the roof where they had all climbed up.

“Just watch and learn.” Bien put away his knife and swung his arm under Jade’s knees. “Vadia Vearve.”

A small flash of light bled out from Bien. With Jade in his arms and a satisfactory smile upon his face, Bien stepped off the ledge.

Durkquire stood, took his pack and rushed to the edge. He peered over to see the small tendrils of light reaching out to the walls on either side. They moved like an insect’s legs. It carried them to the bottom with controlled speed.

Bien set Jade down and held her arm again. He looked up, expecting Durkquire to imitate the weave.

He doesn’t know I’m worn out.

Durkquire sat and draped his legs over the edge. Thankfully the walls were close enough that if he stretched, he could carefully climb down.

It took Durkquire nearly five minutes to reach the bottom, but he did it without slipping.

“You’re inner well couldn’t handle that?” Bien had a slight tone of mockery to his words.

“I used it up earlier.” He answered Bien’s curiosity, but kept his tone even and calm. “I’ll follow you back to the stand. Pierre said he would wait there for us.”

Bien didn’t say anything more. He turned and pulled Jade with them as they made their way back through the streets to Pierre.

Durkquire watched Jade as they walked. She still had most of her head wrapped in thin fabric. The edge was worn down. Glancing over her clothes, he noticed the same thing. Her pants were fitted but worn down. The color was faded. Her shoes were pulling at the seams and held together with what looked like added glue. The nicest article of clothing she had was a burnt red vest over top of a lightweight sage green shirt. The long sleeves were tucked into hand wrappings that covered half her hands.

Durkquire took in her mannerisms now. She remained quiet, didn’t fight, and kept her gaze to the ground. Jade had put up a good chase. She would have gotten away if Bien hadn't been there. But now that she had been caught, that fire in her eyes was gone.

Jade. I wonder what your story is.