Chapter Text
That really looked like a nice lad, the man thought.
A handsome face, clean as you could seldom see any among the wayfarers; a courteous and kind smile, and big, sweet, bright eyes. He carried a sword on his back, and he seemed muscular enough to use it, but who could blame him, during those times? Anyways, it wasn't his business. He was just the man selling sugared apples, and he handed one of them to the boy, receiving a couple of coins and a smile in exchange.
– Thank you very much – the young fellow had the manners to add as well. So funny, those short locks of brown hair that pointed towards everywhere in the air.
– Thanks to you – the seller answered, smiling back, jovially. He was about to wish him to “enjoy his time in town”, like he did to every costumer passing by, when he noticed, by chance and for the first time, the small figure next to him.
A dark cloak, a hood on her eyes and face. A tiny hand holding to the larger and stronger one of the boy. Not much to judge, but the man was a good man.
– Oh! – he exclaimed, a little surprised – Would your little sister like anything?
His kind expression wavered for one instant, while that clear gaze of his cooled off.
Had he offended him? Was that his daughter? Or maybe a very scrawny son?
Then the boy chuckled. He sounded a little embarrassed, a little stilted, but it still was a pleasant laughter.
– No, sir – he replied, a polite and slightly impertinent light in those pupils, which at the same time were a bit more serious and detached than before – She doesn't really do sweets. I'm the big brother that doesn't set a good example.
The man laughed, ready to hear very soon the beginning of some whimpering from the child, exactly like the ones that usually followed the excuses of a mother not willing to spend money – “We're in a hurry!”, the favorite above all, but also “He doesn't really want it” was quite popular.
That kid, anyways, didn't say a word.
And the boy winked.
– Very nice of you, though – he smiled, more genuine, merrier – Have a good day. Let's go, Priscilla.
– Have a good day too, lad!
But he had already managed very well to disappear into the crowd of the market, taking his quiet little sister with him.
An odd guy, maybe, but so well-mannered.
A maiden with rosy cheeks stepped forward to ask for sugared apples, and the weird couple vanished forever from the thoughts and memories of a human as ordinary as all the others.
It appeared like they had arrived in town in a particularly lively day, Raki thought, taking a bite of the snack he had bought himself. Recently, after years spent avoiding them, Isley seemed to have an odd preference for such places.
Priscilla's hand held tight in his, Raki's eyes calmly wandered on colorful activities that once would have made him a little more enthusiast – that once would have had exactly the same taste of that apple: pleasant, reassuring, vivid. A juggler performing in front of some children, for example. Stands filled with garish fruits and vegetables, then, laughter and chatter, nice statuettes for sale for who wanted to decorate their comfortable homes; shops selling clothes and merchants selling silk which passed by ignored by most, because nobody was actually rich enough to afford luxury. There were endless sounds, movements, smells, noises. Almost too many, after the deep silence of the woods.
In the past, Raki's feelings about it would have been reversed. Strange. Or maybe not, knowing what he knew.
“With this crowd and everything, Clare could be here without finding me”.
Was the opposite true as well? Yes, being realist. But he liked to think it wasn't – that an itch on his nape, a weight in his stomach, something would have warned his instinct to keep his eyes open. Anyways, he wasn't sensing anything like that, and he didn't feel like that was worth worrying too much about, not there, not that day.
Suddenly, a man walking in the opposite direction bumped into his shoulder, taking him by surprise, and making him drop his sugared apple, still just half-eaten.
The fruit rolled away in the dust, and disappeared among the feet of busy citizens in a rush, while Raki was turning to see who had hit him: a rubicund man who was laughing loudly and didn't stop to apologize. He and his friends seemed rather tipsy, although it was barely late afternoon.
“Is there perhaps a festival going on?”, Raki asked himself, but then he shrugged, patient, and he went to keep walking.
Priscilla, however, didn't move. He almost lost his grip on her little hand, which could have be problematic, in all that chaos.
He looked at her, a little amazed: her small black figure was oriented towards the group of rowdy fellows that, unaware, were leaving the main street among dirty jokes, thrusts and some reproaches from a couple of indignant women.
“Oh, my”.
– Hey – he called her, casually putting on a calm and reassuring smile on his face even before she raised her head to look at him from beneath the darkness of her hood, or so he could suppose – No bother. I'm fine.
Nothing but plain truth; but he would have said so even if he had had to lie. There were the troubles that a boy like him could have caused starting a scuffle, and then there were the troubles that she was able to provoke. That kind of dreadful, extreme troubles lacking any way to be fixed, and that not even Isley would have liked.
But there was a reason, if he trusted Raki enough to let him alone with Priscilla without even blinking: that benign influence that he exercised on her, that faked and firm bond, that serenity that he seemed to instill in her and that got the better of her once more, as it was evident when she nodded slightly and turned her back to the drunk company that was getting into a restaurant. Raki kept smiling, deeply relieved, and hurried to lead himself and her away from there.
He might have been used to sleep on the edge of a blade; he might have even had a plan to break it, in a not so far future.
But this didn't make it less sharp.
The sun was starting to approach the line of the horizon. They had kept walking together through ample squares and narrow alleys, always hand in hand, observing with detached glances stands and unknown faces. Now they were again on the main street, in the middle of a crowd that still struggled to dwindle, but a little quieter; maybe this was the only reason for that voice was able to reach his ear.
– Raki!
He stopped at once and turned, looking around above the people surrounding him – sometimes, having become so tall was something to feel lucky about. And eventually he saw him, there, on the right: Isley was on the higher of the three or four steps that seemed to lead to the entrance of a store, his slender and pale figure standing out against the dark rock of the buildings, in the first sunset blazes.
He didn't wave, nor he shout out anything more, but Raki headed towards him without hesitation, making his way through the human flow advancing in the other direction. He took more than he would have expected, especially because he didn't have any intention to loose Priscilla right in that moment, but in the end he caught up with the other young man, climbing on the steps as well to get out of that stream of shopping and games.
Isley had a quite relaxed expression, on that slightly hollowed face of his. But, by that day, Raki simply could not ignore that shade of unreachable, latent, deep mystery that never ceased to veil those ice-colored eyes. How the other humans could not perceive the century-old power laying in that handsome and fair wayfarer, the boy could not comprehend anymore; on the other hand, when he was a kid he had been skillfully deceived himself, so he didn't really have much room to criticize.
Anyways, he was happy to see him, to have found him. Which was an even more profound feeling.
– Glad you were coming this way right now – Isley greeted him, opening in a kind smile, almost too friendly – I think I'm just about to get your birthday present.
Raki frowned – he was born in the fall, and it was barely the beginning of summer, just to mention one of the oddities –, but Isley quickly gave him a short glance much more subtle and eloquent, beginning to turn to enter the shop.
Oh. Playing along. Of course.
Even the kernel of truth underneath acts and shams was weird, though: Isley willing to go and buy around wasn't something that happened every day, so Raki didn't have any problems in showing himself as curious and a little perplex while he followed him inside, together with Priscilla.
He discovered it was a quite dark space, but it smelled good – like iron, wood and steel. Not too difficult to understand why: in place of books or groceries, on the walls were lined swords, axes, daggers and bows. Raki opened his eyes wide, fascinated, not sure if should have been even more astounded or considered it as something he could have expected: if there was one single kind of store in which Isley didn't actually look out of place in his eyes, that for sure would have been an armory, but what exactly...?
– Ah, already back?
A mature and deep voice, yet jovial and merry. It suited well the brawny and bewhiskered man behind the counter.
– Yes, I had luck – Isley smiled, getting closer to him, with an apparently natural courtesy – My brother and sister were just out here.
– Oh, if that's not splendid! – the other congratulated out loud, with such spontaneity, it could have almost been moving – Greetings, lad. Are you enjoying your time in town?
– Sure – Raki answered, smiling back right away, trying to sound completely careless and lighthearted – There's so much to see and to do.
– I hope you'll like what I'm about to show as well, then – Isley replied, putting a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that seemed almost of real brotherly affection, and in a tone that could have appeared sincerely, kindly amused. Then he turned towards the man, a little more serious – May we?
– Of course – he nodded, all pleased and professional, going to move to get out from behind his desk – The day is almost over, isn't it?
– Ah... should we perhaps come back tomorrow morning? – Isley asked readily, in a calm and tranquil, yet perfect imitation of the worried politeness that every fine human would have showed – I don't want to cause too much...
– No, please! This way. No bother!
Isley, without wasting anything more than some thanks and a faint smile, gave Raki sign to follow them with his head, and he obeyed, heading past a series of shelves filled with arrows and throwing knives in display. Priscilla moved silently, always by his side.
He had almost expected Isley to be willing to procure him a new sword, maybe sharper and deadlier. It would have been rather awkward, since Raki would have found himself forced to refuse, either the thing was sentimental or not, but for sure it was the first hypothesis to come to mind, wasn't it? However, they had left the blades area to approach a back room. And when they entered it, at least the chances to guess wrong for a second time decreased until they almost got to zero: Raki found himself surrounded by armors, and for a moment he stopped, looking around with genuine wonder.
He spotted at once one very similar to Galk's: thick, heavy, imposing and massive; then he saw that it actually had a lot of twins, with slightly different helmets or shields or knee-pads, but all sharing the same majestic and a little intimidating appearance. Then there were simpler and lighter models, chain mails, gloves and leg pieces sold alone, in a thousand various materials and styles. Isley and the owner, though, seemed to have a quite precise destination, and Raki had to hurry in order not to be left behind.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a specific mannequin. Isley turned to the boy with an eloquent glance.
– What do you think?
What did he think? Pretty reductive question. Raki understood right away that, among all the models he had seen in that place, that was without any doubt what he could imagine himself wearing most easily.
The metal that was to cover shoulders, arms, chest and hips was dark and shiny, with a resistant aspect, but elegant and lean; the belly, as well as the empty spaces between the different pieces, were instead defended by a simple black chain mail. All the elements together created a very harmonious impression, but also suited for combat, as the armorer began to clarify just in that moment.
– It's perfect for who desires to be agile giving up less protection as possible – he explained, laying his hand on one shining plate – Your brother was telling me that this should be your style, am I correct? Personally, I do believe that you may afford something even heavier, for instance...
– No – Isley cut him off, with calm conviction – I'm more than sure that this will be enough. Right?
Raki hesitated, caught a little bit off guard. It wasn't like he truly didn't know what to reply – he couldn't do anything but blindly trust Isley's judgment in that matter, for reasons both of them knew well –, but that levity that the other was capable to fake was always so... disarming. More than seeing Clare reciting, sometimes much more than the truth of the events.
He couldn't help noticing that he, the human being, the person who should have felt home, reassured by that glimpse of normality, was the one being upset by it the most.
– Sure – he answered – It's... I really do love it, actually.
Isley addressed him with a less ample, but more serious smile. In some weird way, much warmer.
– I think you should try it on, then.
It was just a little big on him, but they knew he would have filled it quickly. That he had to fill it quickly.
Admiring himself in the mirror, it was much easier to feel enthusiasm. That truly was one gorgeous model, and it seemed designed just for him: he found just about perfect the way it fit his shoulders and his physique. It made him look more mature, readier to fight that secret war he couldn't avoid and that the world, perhaps, was never going to know. Stronger, more of a warrior.
But while the armorer was lavishing compliments on him and the metal was shimmering, beautiful and shiny, between awe and wonder one thought suddenly hit him – so obvious and important, he felt guilty for not having run upon it earlier.
– Isley – he called, turning to him, sincere concern coloring his face – I... I can't accept it. It must cost a fortune.
Seeing him so shaken, Isley had slightly raised his eyebrows. But he relaxed his expression as soon as he was done talking, while his grey irises filled up with that ironic, calm, uncompromising kindness of his.
– Don't worry – he answered, with the same kind of strange, faint and restrained affection in his voice – It's not a sacrifice, for me.
Raki frowned, not convinced, ready to insist.
– You're very lucky to have such a caring brother, lad – the owner intervened, affably – He's come here thinking about nothing but you, you know?
“I used to have a caring brother, in the past. Before...”.
Lucky was a peculiar, very limited word. But he drove away his memories quickly – how ungrateful could he be, getting bitter while hearing those words, finding their darkest side, instead of focusing on who was next to him in the present?
Isley came closer, and looked at him right in the eye. He didn't appear irritated, and much less angry, but Raki understood even before he spoke that any further discussion would have been no use.
– You need it and deserve it. I'm more than glad to buy it for you. One's birthday is a special occasion.
He was good at lying – the best, probably. He did it often, with everyone, even with Priscilla, and his experience rooted in a time so ancient, it seemed eternal. But, acts aside, Raki knew he was his exception, and that he could tell apart the truth from his falsehoods, knowing the heart concealed by that cloak.
And he truly was happy to believe him.