Chapter Eight

As he left Azlak Temps behind, carrying the Sword of Tertius at his side, he ventured off and out from Acera with a feeling of certain refreshment. Although the way for which he stole the sword was far from impressive and was rather comical at that, in the end, he still had the Sword of Tertius to show for his trouble.

The large, burly man would most likely return to find all of his fruit bruised, ruined, or otherwise parted with, leaving the knight with a mess to sort out. Meanwhile, Azlak Temps would likely continue trying to auction off the sword, a feat that would no doubt require a considerable amount of time to do. Once that finally happened, he would further inspect the damaged sword case and find out the truth.

All of that was well and good, and Copé had more than enough time to make for certain he was up and away from the district before that time arrived. After this, Copé would be welcomed back to the warm sanctity of The Red Flux with open arms.

The best part about it was that there was nothing Azlak Temps could do about it. He had no such claim to such an important item, which meant he would be tried for stealing the sword himself. If the item wasn’t stolen, it still wouldn’t have mattered. The knights were next to useless, which meant that, at most, they would be on the look out for someone fitting Secrat Copé’s description in the lower districts (the upper districts would likely ignore it, whereas any neighboring city would certainly ignore it). Even if they could, hypothetically, chase him down through the Unprotected Wilderness, they’d find themselves at wits end. The knights were mostly untrained in combat, and their oh so precious Aeonian’s were tethered to their respective cities.

With that, Secrat Copé stepped forward into the Unprotected Wilderness – a free man.

There were no gate separating the two, which was unlike many of the other cities. There was a large gate that surrounded Hardan and made accidental entry into the Wilderness next to impossible. The gate was always open to visitors, as far as Secrat knew, but it always reminded Secrat of the walls of a great big prison. Italina had a much nicer, prettier one. Things were always very scenic and gaudily embroidered when it came to things in Italina. Like Hardan’s, neither gates were locked or even closed for most hours of the day. They were a precaution more than anything else. If there was ever a reason to keep others out of their city, they had the means to do so. For now though, they only kept them locked at night to keep wildlife from finding their way in. What that meant for Secrat or any other thief was that if you were a thief and wished to steal things at night, you should also expect having to stay there for the rest of the night. This was one of the main reasons that The Red Flux mostly stole from places like Acera and Urgway, in spite of the fact Italina had much more expensive, lucrative items. Because, while Hardan and Italina had stronger ties on security and had certain things that further discouraged stealing, Acera didn’t even have a gate.

Acera had a sign though. It was a pathetic sign, given the amount of paranoia and fear instilled in people regarding the treacherous and ‘evil’ places beyond the veil. A sign that read: “Unprotected Wilderness – Children Beware!” in bright red lettering. From there, the dark green cobblestone path, riddled with dirt and hoof prints ended, and the path leading to the wilderness began.

The Unprotected Wilderness had induced a lot of fear over the years. It had been centuries ago since the term was first coin, an important step in a much larger propaganda. Some of what was said was true, but most of it wasn’t. Most people believed it, however. Most of the civilians inside Acera hadn’t ever even stepped far into it, let alone travel far enough to make it to Italina or Urgway. There were a lot of stories and folktales that went into propping up these hyperbolic superstitions.

The Carvers were one of the most famous stories that made the rounds throughout Maharris. Allegedly, the group was a bunch of murderers that would slice your teeth from out your gums and make a necklace, if only for the satisfaction they would get from the look on your face. There were other things they would do as well, like scalping and making ornaments out of human bone. Whether any of it was true or not, Secrat Copé had a healthy dose of skepticism. The fact was, Secrat had taken a life or two in his time. Thus, it wasn’t difficult for him to imagine that there would be a person or two who would take it a step further. However, in his time in The Red Flux, which saw him constantly on the move within the Unprotected Wilderness, he had never heard more than hushed whispers about such a group. At any rate, none of it was worth living a life in fear for. The Unprotected Wilderness was a big place and if Secrat could last as long as he did without penalty, he had to assume coming into The Carvers’ way was about as likely as being trampled at the town square of some major district – you can’t control these things, you can only live and hope for the best.

Wildlife was a terrifying subject for them as well. There were a lot of tales about enormous creatures, of small, ugly rat-like creatures that would steal from you, of mermaids with sharp teeth swimming around the ponds, and other made up nonsense. Secrat wasn’t for certain exactly how such stories came to be told, but none of them were true. He assumed most of them were simply a way to scare the children, to make them too afraid to venture out into the unknown. What no one counted on, however, was how stupid the adults would be that they would end up believing them too.

Knights were high esteemed in Acera, as was the case in most of the major cities. This wasn’t to say that they were all respected. Urgway, for instance, had its own share of corruption and misuse of power. In Acera, they were both high esteemed and well respected. This was in itself another example of manipulation and propaganda. Knights were revered. Everyone loved them and thought they were these modern day heroes. The actual knights evidently didn’t have the heart to tell anyone the truth. Either that, or their own egos made them buy into it as well. If Copé had to guess, he would assume that the latter was true. The knights only had a couple of jobs they had to deal with. They portrayed a formidable window dressing to surround the King. They represented a certain ‘image’ and were required to fit that image. This was to make everybody feel safe and to make everyone think it took a hero to travel to Italina, or some other small errand. It didn’t, of course. Their other job was to live a normal everyday life among the civilians. They would help them with their troubles and would, sometimes, perhaps, stop thieves and small crimes that may have occurred, but, as said, those were far and in between.

Their biggest activity was that of a donkey or a pigeon. They would head back in forth and navigate between the five major cities. This was usually because they carried certain messages, like from the king of one city for the king of the other, or because they had to deliver certain goods. This was often. For each city’s survival, they all had to work together with each other in certain ways. The knights also did a lot of hunting and scavenging up supplies like fruit and berries.

Some of that could be done in the city grounds. Agriculture in Acera wasn’t bad. It wasn’t nearly as efficient or as bodacious as Jalint’s, but it wasn’t bad.

The Amisoic Sea was also nearby enough to allow them to fish from within the confines of their precious Aeonian.

For now, Copé really didn’t have it in him to migrate to where he needed to be. The Red Flux’s campsite was currently located someplace in between Acera and Italina. That wasn’t too bad, and it would have been as little as a few hours journey if he chose to do that. But then, it wouldn’t be that simple, would it? He would be exhausted and would still have to plead his case to Father Toucan Veras when he arrived. His body felt so rundown and fatigued that he longed for rest rather than a trip so soon after the last one.

The Sidian Inn was out of the question. The chance of Azlak Temps stumbling in for any reason at all didn’t feel worth the hassle, plus there was a slim chance knights may be looking for him. One other option was to head deeper into the city and into another district. Alas, the deeper into the city you went, the more expensive room and board became, and Secrat’s pouch of coins was seeming lighter these days.

Instead, as The Thief made his leave from Acera, he kept to the paths leading to Italina – an approach he hadn’t taken on his journey from the Whispey Deserts. This was for a reason. There were clouds in the sky which suggested a high likelihood for rain. This made sleeping beneath a tree seem discouraging, unfortunately he didn’t have a whole lot of other options to choose from. There were pop-up shops scattered through the Unprotected Wilderness. These small carriages specialized in specialty items that weren’t as common in the main city. As they could be found simply by following the paths between cities, most of their merchandise was legal. One wouldn’t want to press their luck and have one of the knights finding any illegal poisons or weaponry stowed away someplace, even if the knights were largely unskilled morons. For now, his plan was to continue down the pathways until finding a nice enough looking shop and bargaining with them for a night’s stay in the back of their carriage.

The Thief walked along the dirt trail for some time until making a detour at a small creek. The creek was shallow, only about five feet deep, and only about three quarters of that was filled with water, but it expanded for as far as Secrat’s eyes could see. He knew that by most chances, the creek would eventually connect to the Amisoic Sea, an ocean that surrounded all of Maharris.

The wound on Secrat’s arm had started throbbing, likely aggravated by his hasty decision to throw a wheelbarrow and himself at Azlak Temps. Secrat dropped to one knee beside the creek. A small came came to his knees beneath the sharp rocks, which caused him to eventually shift to his bottom instead. The water in his hands felt cold. Unfortunately, however, it was far from clean enough to drink. He could see the dirt and muck from the creek’s underbelly. It could have been worse, however. For now, he was merely grateful to find a river bank that’s water he could see through. The water felt soothing to his tired limbs and that was enough to make him lower his own discretion.

He removed the bandages from around his wound and beheld the gash he had received, courtesy of one Christique. It still had a long ways to go as far as healing was concerned. Before leaving the Whispey Desert, he had sought out medical aid from a less than reputable source – a beat up shack with a man who wasn’t brave enough to call himself a doctor. The man had sewn the wound shut and provided proper bandages, as opposed to the old piece of clothing Secrat had went with in a pinch. Secrat sighed. It wasn’t the worst wound he had received from a woman he had just had sex with, but it was the first time one had actively tried to kill him.

He discarded his clothing, throwing it off and onto the ground ground beside the creek. His sheath taken off and the sword resting down beside his leggings. Secrat dipped into the water. He did so gradually, without a splash. The water may have been filthy, but he was happy to say it didn’t smell bad. It didn’t smell like much of anything, aside from the smell of mud and a faint swampy smell that wasn’t abundant. The squishy mud beneath his feet and between his toes didn’t bother him either. All of it felt like something he could deal with. He had dealt with far worse, after all.

He turned his body around and rested his back against one side of the creek, the side opposite where his clothes were. The water was only up to about a foot beneath his neck.

A second sigh escaped him.

2.

A little deeper into the Unprotected Wilderness, Secrat noticed something he hadn’t ever noticed before. This largely could have been chalked up to Copé being unobservant. It wasn’t often he was in a predicament such as the one he was in – not able to return back to The Red Flux and too poor to pay for a proper stay at an inn. Even still, it was a little bit obscured as well. Something that could easily be missed at first glance if one didn’t know what they were looking for. Maybe it was because he only just now needed it that he noticed it all.

There was a wooden cabin. By all accounts, it was abandoned, and rightfully so. The wood looked old and decrepit, like it had been sitting there for centuries and centuries and was on the brink of once more becoming one again with nature. It hadn’t, at least that was what Copé assumed. It was a log cabin, and that alone was enough to make it at least slightly blend in with the wilderness, but it was the way that vines and trees seemed to wrap themselves around it that really added to the camouflage. That, and the dark green most that almost engulfed it to its entirety. Secrat looked at everything with a certain skepticism, like it wasn’t there and that he was just imagining it. However, that couldn’t be the case. He had left the desert, the only place hot enough to give way to such hallucinations.

He walked toward it. There was a knife in his hands, as there almost always was. As much as he expected it to be abandoned and long since ignored, one couldn’t be so sure. It certainly wasn’t the least bit maintained, although looks could be deceiving. At the very least, the wooden cabin looked like a terrific area to shack up in until after rain and until morning came around once again.

The grass beneath his feet thickened and raised in height – nearly reaching his knees. From afar, it looked as though the tall grass continued all the way up to the cabin’s porch. It certainly wasn’t much of a looker, but it was shelter from the rain. As he continued to walk through, he heard the snapping of several twigs beneath his feet. The sound was enough to startle him some. It caught him off guard, that was all. He wasn’t exactly certain why. Maybe it was because part of him expected something to go wrong at any second, as it always seemed to lately.

He tried to reassure himself that things were fine and it was all in his head, but he never got the chance to. Instead, the ground beneath him fell in. An awful thud came as he sank deep into the hole and down to the floor below. The snapping twigs broke his fall, at least a little bit, but the ground was hard and unforgiving. He laid there for some time. He didn’t move. He didn’t make any strides or offer any reaction beyond a guttural grunt. He didn’t try to get up, at least not yet. The hole was deep and his body ached upon impact. The wind being knocked out of him was the least of his problems. That alone had been enough to make it feel like he had, at last, killed over and died, but his whole ached as well.

All he could do at the moment was look at the sky beyond the hole.

The hole was spacious and deep. Secrat wouldn’t be able to reach the surface without doing some proper climbing. It was at least eight feet, which might be part of the reason why he was so leery to return to his feet. He didn’t feel badly injured. He felt pain, of course. A lot of it, in fact. But he didn’t feel like anything was broken.

The sun was almost completely covered by the clouds now and the sky was beginning to darken.