Dreamer: The Eighth Key book 1

A Hard Road Ahead

"Ah! You got wine all over my new dress, boy! What in the name of the Goddess's good graces are you doing, child!? Pay attention! Do I really need to speak to your Haun over this? Not even an ounce of manners!" A displeased, husky female voice snapped. Her accusatory tone brought Diraimeir entirely out of the daydream he just had. After a second of staring stupidly at the chunky elder warrior, he jolted. Diraimeir corrected the pitcher in his arms as quickly as possible, having spilled most of its contents in her lap already.

              "I am so sorry! I didn't mean to!" He stammered as he grabbed a napkin from the feasting table she was seated at and began to try to soak up some of the liquid frantically.

Shoot… Diraimeir had momentarily forgotten where he was. Now he remembered. Not more than a week ago, the ice nymph had come of age. In the Illitarian Nymph culture, that meant that he must leave his family and take on a trade or skill. It just so happened that he already had talent; he could sometimes see things, though he could hardly control it. Such a trait allowed him to be placed under the roof of nobility. This was where he was in life; learning, training, and serving under his new Haun.

Illitar were a race of nymphs that were native to the high north of Sharn, in the nation now known as Cidraedell. They were the Goddess's first and most beloved creation. They were thin, beautiful creatures that could pass through the very ice itself if they so chose.

He'd always been told the Goddess demanded this be a way of life for her blessed children so that all skills could be honed and fostered. In his case, what better place to do that when they had the means to ensure a good education. Almost all the city's top scholars or seats of power were filled from the fruits of this method. Most of them were men. Not because of being better than their female counterparts but because they were much rarer and held much more magical potential.

 As a result, women were not considered the fairer gender in Illitarian society. Simply put, they were built stronger and tended to be more headstrong. Often, this led to Illitarian women becoming the primary breadwinners. They became hunters or enlisted to prove mettle, whereas men were smaller and more apt to scholarly works. This was not always the case, of course. It was just a general observation. So here Diraimeir was, beginning life anew as an apprentice under the most excellent scholar in the city of Illustrae. Maybe even all of Cidraedell itself.

If he was truthful, Diraimeir could not say he'd miss the life he had just left particularly. Being of more humble beginnings in such a small, icy nation was not easy. Diraimeir had been the first male to be born into his household for more than a decade though he was one of many children. So many that he did not know all their names nor their passions. He only knew those he had to care for since he had been old enough to walk. It was also unclear if he was related to all of them in any fashion as well. He certainly did not look like any of them. The lower houses often held more than one family under a single figurehead anyways, so that idea was entirely possible. As far as the nymph knew, there had been seven minor families joined in together under his old Haun.

Living in the lower streets at least awarded much more freedom than that of those on the high roads. The roads themselves were wider and full of life, which made chores much more bearable. Public walks and gardens of snowy brilliance could be seen at every corner, housing plenty of the few hardy flowers that bloomed blue in the northernmost reaches of the world. Diraimeir could go where he pleased back then. He was often seen sitting and tending to the buds idly when his tasks were completed for the day. Mostly though, that was when he wanted to get out of duty and chores. He was a little bit of a troublemaker in that aspect.

There was indeed something special about Diraimeir. His new house's Haun could already see it. Possibly thrice as old as Diraimeir himself though by looks that seemed a bit of a stretch. Chet was a tall man with long hair braided over his left shoulder and had a triangular face.  He was a full two feet taller than Diraimeir was, too. Long, thin lips curled themselves into an awkwardly knowing smile just as polished and delicate fingers beckoned the boy forward. "Tell me, Diraimeir. What did you see while you wasted the best of the wine from my stores?" He cooed, though unlike the rest of Chet, his sandpaper-like voice was not so pleasant. "It is not so often that our pupils show signs of Sight so early after coming into our care." The way Chet put it made Diraimeir increasingly uncomfortable.  Under the man's gaze, Diraimeir shrunk back.

He noticed Chet's eyes narrow. "I said, come here." The direct order was one the young Illitar could not disobey. This was simply not his place to do so. Especially when the dining hall was filled with other essential people known the city over. Disrespect could cast his Haun in an ill light. Haun Chet let out a hand, prompting Diraimeir to lay his own within his larger palm. "I will just see for myself. Don't dawdle. It's not going to hurt."

"Yes, my lord." The boy begrudgingly did as he was told, keeping his gaze squarely on the floor. Haun Chet let out a soft, barely audible snicker as his fingers encircled and dug into Diraimeir's flesh. This wasn't done with the intent of harming the skin there, but to lock his palm into place. All of the imagery that had crept upon Diraimeir etched into Chet's mind; worry sped its way across his brow. Luckily, it was only shared between the two of them. After a long moment of silence, Chet gasped, startling Diraimeir. His Haun forced himself to let go before he even had a chance to see the ending of the vision. No. That's not what Diraimeir thought he would call it at all. Chet's entire demeanor changed, alarming the boy even more. The upmost concern and seriousness replaced Chet's mirth. Their eyes met, and it felt like his Haun was boring deep into his soul.

 "What's with that look?" Diraimeir snapped his hand back before it could have a chance of being taken up again. Not impressed?

"You… Have you dreamed anything else like that before?" Chet demanded, leaning in over him in a way that made panic swell up in boy's chest.

Diraimeir reeled back. Why was he suddenly being so aggressive? "No. I don't even know what I saw. I -"

"That's enough. I know you don't, but you will soon. Go and pack your things straight away. I'm sorry, my boy, you cannot stay here with us any longer. This memory needs to be read by someone more skilled than I. Everything will be arranged for you. Be ready to leave by night's fall. Meet me down in the stables as soon as you are done collecting your belongings. Go." Chet let Diraimeir go hastily and shooed him away to do as he was told. Diraimeir made a face at him.

"Pack? But why? I don't understand!" Diraimeir protested and stood his ground, which happened to block Chet from moving to go anywhere.

"Just do as I say. All will be explained to you in time. This is not up for debate. Diraimeir. You are going because I wish it so."

Chet pushed past Diraimeir easily enough, rushing quickly away. He pushed Diraimeir into the wall in his wake. Not another word was uttered to the poor boy. It seemed like Chet was fine with leaving him in a daze, which left the boy with an ill taste in his mouth. There was little else he could do.

 Diraimeir was absolutely stunned. It took several long minutes and the stares of the dignitaries still sitting around the prepared feast for Diraimeir to do as he was told, though he was sluggish. He felt like he was an unwanted outcast forced out into the snow. Diraimeir's very frame shook with each step he managed to take. Where was he supposed to go anyways? Not to mention, there was not much point in packing when he'd only been here in Illustrae's best-known temples for a few days at the most. It's not like he had many possessions. Maybe just a change of outfit for certain special occasions and a small handful of personal items that he could easily fit into a pocket.

Diraimeir nearly missed the room he shared with two other boys. He was too busy scolding himself to pay much attention to his surroundings. Why did he have to spill all that wine? He should not have let himself see anything at all! And now he's gone and done it! There had to have been some way to prevent that sort of thing from happening again, right? Maybe he should apologize for it. Would that allow him to stay?

Somehow, Diraimeir doubted any of that was going to help. He sighed, discouragingly, digging out the old knapsack he had brought with him out of its hiding place under his bed. It was quickly stuffed with what little he had, tossed over a shoulder, and lugged away to the place he was to meet Chet. Dragging his feet as he went, Diraimeir cursed under his breath.

What met Diraimeir was nothing short of amazing. He had forgotten that he thought he had made some sort of dire mistake in an instant. Diraimeir had gotten the wrong impression from the get-go, though he still was unaware of it. People were running about the stables, causing quite the stir under Chet's direction. A mare and a small cart loaded with goods, for the sole purpose of long-distance travel, waited. Everything was already prepared in the short time it took of Diraimeir to complete the order he was given without sparing any expense either.

Diraimeir caught his Haun's eye soon enough as he looked down from the steps that lead from the back of the manor to Chet's personal stables. "Come, come my boy! I have a gift for you." He called, literally pulling Diraimeir along after him to the side of a small but hardy looking silvery grey mare currently being outfitted for the road. "This is Ch'nuino. She will bear you to Shale and beyond. First, though, to meet an old friend of mine who will take you to the Library of Cree. I have already called him. He will find you on the road, so do try not to be frightened by him. Then you will go together to meet with one of Cree's scholars who should be able to tell you what you need to know about what you have seen. You must keep that vision a secret until you meet one of the Council of Stars. Do you understand? You will know them by a silver crest they wear on their robes. It is of a single star, holding a crescent moon at its center." He waited for Diraimeir to nod before he continued. "I apologize for my haste earlier, but I cannot help you much more than this." He patted Diraimeir on the shoulder one last time, though Diraimeir did not want to go. "We will have to put some trust in the scholars of Cree. Best be on your way."

Daybreak offered chilly temperatures and light dusty snow. The best sort of weather for an Illitar to travel in freely. It meant that Diraimeir did not have to be weighed down by the thick cloak Haun Chet bestowed upon him not more than twenty minutes prior. He'd just passed under Illustrae's massive ice sculpted gates, and now he was slowly coming down the mountain's steep roadway. He sighed, casting one last glance at the only home he ever knew.

*

 The trip was slow going thus far, but he would have to say that it was well worth the splendid view of seemingly never-ending snowfields spanning out from beyond the mountain. Or distant patch after patch of hardy frosted evergreens kissed and capped in white. That earthy smell of fresh tundra kicked up by Ch'nuino's canter had intoxicating qualities to it when mixed with that of the pine. He would miss this smell in due time; he was quite sure.

It took nearly a full three hours for Ch'nuino to tug the wagon and its cargo down into the gently rolling hills before the base of the mountain. He grumbled to the mare, lamenting the life he thought he was going to have once his training was done, and his position in the city was settled. What good were those little visions he had until now, anyway? It's not that he had them often or anything. And only once did they ever bear any fruit till now. Maybe he had embarrassed Chet beyond repair, and this was his Haun's way of getting even.

"I always wanted to be someone who did some good for the city. Now, look at me, Ch'nuino. We are a fine pair. I don't suspect you have any clue where to go, do you." He knew she could not answer him, but still. His heart sank. The abandonment he was feeling hit him like a stone to the gut. "What have I done to be shunned like this? It was only a little bit of wine…"

 It was even colder here than up in the city. Harsh, bitter winds whipped up the flurries in the air with reckless abandon. Only the occasional pocket of forestry worked to quell them. Visibility became an issue as the terrain started to dip towards the coast. Diraimeir found it better under these conditions to walk with Ch'nuino's reigns in hand, making the trip come to a crawl. He smoothed his hand along her side. "Hang in there, girl."

They could not stop entirely anyways. Where could he go for shelter? The snow-rounded hills offered no hole nor tree hollow for Diraimeir to make camp until the weather improved. Even if it did improve, there was no telling how long the reprieve would last. Diraimeir had heard many times from travelers visiting the market how awful this leg of the way from Illustrae was. He had always thought there was a little bit of exaggeration going on. Still, he was sorry to discover that it had all been relevantly true. Uhg. How long is this going to take? Chet said the port wasn't that far. Its already been a few days! Onward the nymph and the mare trudged with the winds at their faces.

Even more time slipped away before Diraimeir spotted any sign of civilization. The landscape had flattened out by now, offering tundra shrubs and vast stretches of thick woodlands that protected from the wind too. It was the first time since leaving the city that Diraimeir could feel the faintest bit of warmth coming from the sun. That wasn't that bad, he thought. He could still see his breath on the air. Diraimeir did find it rather refreshing to be able to look around himself without bitterness nipping at his face. Though he was a child of ice and enjoyed the cold, the bite of the wind was too much. Even an Illitar's skin could chap painfully with its ferocity.

The roadways were easier to point out now that the snow had stopped falling altogether. Thank the Goddess for that. The people of Illustrae had them meticulously marked with dark-colored fences running only a few feet in length. Nothing at all was built between patches of open land and forest. Only a few had been broken by age. The rest seemed to have been repaired or replaced recently, and some banners hung down in the middle of the path's entrances as each widened. Mostly in the places where the road branched off in other directions as markers. Some were more traveled than others judging by the way the mud mixed in with the remaining snow. Diraimeir slowed his pace yet again, taking a deep breath of the air. The crisp smell of icy salt hit him. He was so close to the sea; he could taste it on the air. More specifically, the ferry that would usher him across the frozen bay and onto Cidraedell's mainland should be at the end of the road he was on. Diraimeir patted the mare softly as he rounded a dense grove. The small port finally came into view, and so too did the bay he always desired to see. He heard many stories about it when he was younger. "Easy, girl." He muttered with all the care a loving friend might.

The port was little more than a handful of buildings, docks, and a shipyard. It was not a large place nor a place very many people gathered. To be honest, only five ships of any real merit were docked there. The rest of the marina kept a handful of rowboats. Often, they were used close to shore for a select number of small-scale fishing operations. A smaller dock off to the left of the actual port served for the ferry-way. He could not be sure that this venue was even considered part of it. Diraimeir thought it looked out of place among the older looking installments. Then again, the ferry took people across the bay rather than out to sea like the other ships. It was newer too. By the boy's recollection, it had only been in the last ten years that it had been built. Before that, there had not been a need for a ferry. Its placement was intentional. This way, it ensured that the vessel did not cross paths with merchant ships. Or really, any other industry that was keeping the port in business. It must have still been out on the water.

Coming down into the tiny village, which served as a refuge for the few that traveled or worked the docks, proved just as challenging. Its tiny streets gave the place the illusion of being much larger than it was. Diraimeir caught on to that as soon as he passed a short line of shrubs fencing the outer reaches of it. Ramshackle buildings bent over the narrow road as though years of dealing with the wind had permanently altered the way they had been built. The sounds of creaking warped wooden beams seemed to confirm his theory. What few people he did manage to come upon pushed around them in a fast, uncivilized manner. Very unbecoming of any place worthy of being called a port.

Diraimeir's companion and cart took up the entire road. Not only was he under the impression that the port was unpleasant, but he also gathered that people expected this road never to be used by visitors in general. Those he passed shot him dirty looks. "Oy! Keep movin'!" He heard some ruffian shout in his direction, snickering. "This ain't no place for you, kid. You're disturbing the peace."

He wanted nothing more than to get away from this awful, cramped place. There were only two options to consider. Wait in the tavern and become the object of distinct, though quiet, disdain, or wait for the ferry on the dock to be buffeted by wind or sea spray till the ship arrived.

 His eyes sought out the tavern first—what a grubby place. I wouldn't trust anything around here would be clean or filling. But then again… I could relax a little bit, right? He thought. Diraimeir walked up to the front of the building just in time to see a drunkard being tossed out into the snow by a woman, presumably a barmaid by her dress. She glared at the boy, daring him to get closer while she was still brooding. It was difficult, but Diraimeir made the wise choice of the latter. Something told him that his coin wouldn't be any good here.

Perfect. This must have been his lucky day. Diraimeir was hungry and tired. His clothes were soaked by now though it was not because of his traveling. After he hurried away from the tavern, he happened to catch a bucket of dirty old water right in the face. Diraimeir couldn't be sure it was done on purpose, but he had the feeling he was to be made a fool of. His eyes narrowed, connecting his gaze with a ratty child grinning from him on the porch of one of the homes.

"Oops. Sorry, mister." The child said mischievously before popping back inside. Diraimeir didn't even get the chance to get a single word out as the kid slammed the door behind him.

By the time Diraimeir was able to push and prod himself and his belongings down onto the Warf, a ship could be seen coming to dock. He assumed this was the ferry, a good guess only because of its whereabouts in the bay.  The nymph let out a soft, relieved sigh. "Thank the Goddess. If I have to stay here much longer, I think we are going to have problems." He told the horse he was leading. The sun was already beginning to drop past the horizon, and though he was becoming grumpy, he really did not want to have to spend the night here. "I'd probably get mugged." And this night was only getting better, wasn't it? Before he could board, he was stopped by the Ferryman.

 "Hold it, kid. Let's see the coin first. Two passages for you and that beast. That will be 350 silver pieces."

"350? My Haun said it would only be around 200!"

"Take it or leave it. You can pay and go across the bay, or you can stay here and rot for all I care. What will it be?" The man crossed his arms.

Diraimeir scratched his head a bit in frustration. This was extortion at its finest. "… Fine. I need to get across anyways." The boy counted out the coin, handing over the majority of what Chet had given him for the entire trip. It sure put a damper on things. What was he going to do about provisions when what he had ran out? With his fare paid, he started to pull Ch'nuino and the cart aboard.

"Woah! That was for you and the horse. Not the cart. It's too heavy, and we don't have room for it. You are not bringing it aboard. Besides, it's not safe for a cart that big.  For all I know, it could roll its way right off into the bay. The sides of the ship could never contain it if the waves get bad. My ferry is too flat. You are lucky I am allowing the animal on as it is."

"What am I supposed to do? Everything I have to my name is on the wagon! Can't you make an exception?"

              "Sorry. No can do. You have about fifteen minutes before we depart. Figure it out yourself."

              Diraimeir could not for the life of him figure out why the people of this port were so disenchanting. Either way, he dumped the cart, loading what he could from his luggage onto Ch'nuino. The fickle things he was supposed to carry were abandoned in the process, deemed useless since he had not yet needed them. Or maybe Chet had just overdone it from the start. Still, that was an easy enough task. Diraimeir was at least thankful that he wasn't given a reason to leave the mare behind in that awful port, though he was told that she had to stay above deck. He decided to ride at her side, coaxing Ch'nuino to follow him around one of the masts and in between roped down stacks of crates to stay out of the wind. As the dark fell, he'd have her move to lay closer to the center before settling to snuggle against her side. Diraimeir stroked her mane softly to keep her calm as he hummed, at least until she got used to the gentle rock of the waves of the open water.

Thankfully, this too was a short trip. It was the most awful experience Diraimeir ever had to deal with in his life. The handful of other people that boarded with him ransacked what he was forced to leave behind. How could people be so rude? He hadn't even turned his back yet! To top it all off, he had to hear them brag about it the entire trip.