Of Truth and Beasts

“Soráno is close,” she said. “We’ll make dock before another bell.”

He looked down to find her gazing toward the passing coastline, though her living eyes would never make it out in the dark. Wisps of brown hair danced across her olive-toned cheek below her eyes.

They were going back into the world again.

Wynn didn’t know what they would find in the port city of Soráno. She’d read a good deal on the Sumans, farther south, and knew something of the Lhoin’na to the east. But as she walked beside Shade through the streets, she couldn’t help noticing something startling about these people. That realization came only a breath before Chane’s shocked rasp.

“They all look like you.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Wynn had never been in this part of the world, never been farther south than Witeny. While growing up, she’d seen people in Calm Seatt with her complexion, hair, build—but very few.

Fine boned, though round cheeked, the people of Romagrae Commonwealth weren’t as tall as the Numans of Malourné, Faunier or Witeny, nor as dark-skinned as Sumans. Nearly everyone walking past wore strange pantaloons and cotton vestment wraps of white and soft colors. But they all had olive-toned skin with light brown hair and eyes, just like her.

Wynn was still a little daunted when she noticed Chane staring at every passerby. His open fascination began making her uncomfortable.

Soráno’s streets were clean, most of them cobbled in sandy-tan stones. Smaller, open-air markets appeared more common than in Numan cities, or at least Calm Seatt. She spotted three in sight along one wide main street. Everyone appeared to be either some kind of merchant or farmer with crops that grew well beyond the seasons up north. The number of items available was overwhelming.

Arrays of olives, dried dates, fish, and herb-laced cooking oils were abundant. Occasionally some scent reminded Wynn of what Domin il’Sänke or his quarters smelled like during his visit—spicy and exotic. She slowed briefly as they passed stacked bolts of fabrics with wild, earthy patterns common in the Suman nations farther south.

Suppertime was long past, so most vendors were closing up for the night. Chane was still staring at the inhabitants as he walked beside Wynn. It was getting annoying.

“So, this is where you are from,” he said. “These are your people.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wynn answered. “I’m a citizen of Malourné and a sage of Calm Seatt. That is my home, my people.”

“But ... how did you come to live there?”

Whenever asked, Wynn referred to herself as an orphan, stating that her parents had passed over. In truth, she knew no such thing, but they were certainly dead to her. Chane had never before asked for more than that.

“Domin Tilswith found me in a wooden box at the front gates,” she said finally. “There was no note and only a large purse of coins hidden beneath the blanket, enough to meet an infant’s needs for quite a while.”

Chane stopped walking. “But this must be the land from where you came.”

Wynn didn’t believe in ancestral memories or cultural links by blood. People were shaped by their experiences and environment—and by themselves. Any half-wit knew this. The vendors and patrons of the market street were just another crowd of strangers encountered along the way.

Chane kept studying her.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head quickly and looked away, watching the people. They all went about their lives beneath the strange street lanterns of colored glass, which bulged evenly like perfectly made pumpkins of pale yellows, oranges, cyans, and violets.

“And now?” he asked. “Do we find an inn or procure a wagon to leave immediately?”

Shade rumbled softly and closed on Wynn with a sharp huff.

“What’s wrong, girl?” Wynn asked.

She was about to reach down and touch Shade’s head when the dog darted off straight through a market stall’s remains.

“Shade! Come back,” Wynn called, and ran after the dog.

She heard Chane shout something from behind her, but she ignored him. She was too busy trying to keep Shade’s whipping tail in sight as it bobbed and weaved through the thinning crowd and the remains of closing stalls.

“Shade, this is no time for games! Come back here ... now!”

Shade slowed briefly, tauntingly, at a corner. Wynn almost caught up, but then Shade bolted off again, vanishing from sight.

“What is the matter with that beast?” Ore-Locks called, his voice farther behind than Chane’s.

Wynn ran on. Stalls and shops gave way to larger buildings and quieter streets. Nearly out of breath, she stumbled into an open area. The shore was in plain sight, and she guessed she might be south of the docks on the city’s outskirts.

There was Shade, sitting by the side of a dirt road.

Wynn caught up, panting too hard to scold Shade anymore. She grabbed the dog’s scruff, more to brace herself than anything else, and bent over with long, heaving breaths.

“Don’t ... do ... that,” she said, gasping. “What is wrong with you?”