The Chronicles of Krarshe: The Hearts of Men, Volume 1

Krarshe awoke, blinded by the sun that had crept in through his window. He stretched slightly before the pain in his ribs gave him a sharp reminder of the previous day’s beating. He wasn’t sure what time it was exactly, but the light that shone into his room made it clear that it must have been close to midday. Sleep had been hard to attain, but he had decided to make the most of it when he finally fell asleep. School could wait.

He tried to slide carefully to the edge of his bed, but still incurred the wrath of his injuries. He stood up and walked over to a pail of water that had been left for him, cupped his hands and scooped some out. It was lukewarm, but that was fine. Closing his eyes, he lowered his face into his cupped hands. He winced as his right eye breached the surface of the water but held there for a few seconds, his wound stinging while his face was submerged. He lowered his hands and tried to blink away the water. Even blinking hurt.

As he breathed deeply, he realized he was still in pretty bad shape. The innkeeper had called in a doctor to look Krarshe over after the fight, a form of thanks for stepping in to protect his staff. Krarshe had some serious bruising on the right side of his face, where he had been blindsided by the adventurer’s fist, but there was no permanent damage to his eye. The few cracked ribs had luckily not punctured anything internally. To his own embarrassment, the crack he heard and pain in his hand when he punched the adventurer was apparently his own knuckles breaking. Evidently, this body was pretty fragile, something he’d have to keep in mind in the future.

With the diagnosis, the doctor wrapped some bandages around his torso, which Krarshe found did little to help, as well as setting the bones in his fingers. The doctor said his eye would heal on its own, and the rest would just take time and care. Valerie and the innkeeper seemed relieved by the diagnosis; Na’kika seemed too enthralled with tending to him to have much of a reaction, but she seemed happy. To Krarshe, it just meant he’d be hindered for the foreseeable future.

After clothing himself carefully, he made his way down to the dining hall. Krarshe didn’t realize how much his torso was involved with walking until now, each step sending a jolt of pain through his ribs. The stairs were even worse. By the time he reached the bottom, he was bracing the wall as though it was the only thing keeping him upright.

When he reached the last few steps, he saw Na’kika tending to a customer. Once she saw him, she immediately placed her tray down on the customer’s table and rushed over to help him down the last few steps. It didn’t help much with the pain, but he appreciated the gesture. He just wondered if it was okay for her to abandon her customer. As the customer looked back and watched the catfolk and elf cling to each other, Krarshe could see his displeasure at being abandoned by his waitress mid-order.

Na’kika helped Krarshe over to the nearest table and helped him sit down. As he got situated, Krarshe noticed that Valerie had stepped in to help Na’kika’s customer. She met Krarshe’s gaze and just smiled. After he was set in a bearable position, Na’kika gestured her common request.

“Anything soft is good. Maybe if they have a soup of some sort. I’m not sure I could chew much right now,” Krarshe answered. Curses, even talking hurts. Is that doctor sure my eye’s okay?

Na’kika nodded and hurried into the kitchen.

“If you think she was doting before, you’ve not met a devoted catfolk,” said Valerie, stopping at his table after taking the other customer’s order.

“I just hope she doesn’t forget to do her job. I wouldn’t want her to get into any trouble because of me.”

Valerie smirked. “I fully expect it. I’ll just make sure to help. But, try not to spend too much extra time in the dining hall flirting with her, okay?”

Krarshe leered at Valerie, unamused at her jab. “I won’t.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure. Whatever you say,” she said with a dismissive wave, still smirking as she returned to the kitchen.

Maddener accursed, what is she talking about? Krarshe pondered. Where did that idea even come from?

Not a few seconds after Valerie disappeared into the kitchen, Na’kika came out with a bowl and spoon and set it down on the table in front of Krarshe. This was significantly faster than he had expected.

“Thanks, Na’kika,” Krarshe said.

Na’kika smiled. As Krarshe picked up his spoon, he noticed she hadn’t moved. She was just standing there, fingers interlaced behind her back, her white-tipped orange tail twitched and waved around excitedly behind her.

“Umm...” Krarshe started, looking around awkwardly. “Is... Is there something you need from me?”

Na’kika just shook her head no. She still continued to stand there, watching him eat.

“I-I’m fine, Na’kika. I can manage this on my own.”

No change.

“If I need something, I’ll let you know.”

There was no reaction from the catfolk. She just watched him, almost with anticipation.

This act was starting to unnerve Krarshe. He looked toward the kitchen and saw Valerie watching, her hand up to her mouth to stifle a giggle. So THIS is what she meant... He tried to subtly gesture a question to Valerie, trying to figure out what he’s supposed to do. She responded by rubbing the top of her own head with her hand and then pointing to Na’kika.

Krarshe felt a nervous lump form in his throat. This seemed very strange to him, and far too bold. He shakily reached up and pet Na’kika’s head. As he did, she lowered her head slightly to meet his hand. “Thank you very much,” Krarshe said, still finding the whole ritual very unnatural for him, but she seemed even happier than before, her tail was flailing more vigorously. As he took his hand away, she caught it and rubbed her cheek against the back of his hand, purring.

Krarshe’s pulse was racing. This was way more intimate than he was comfortable with. He looked toward Valerie. She was turning away slightly, her whole body curling up as she tried to contain her laughter. He was certain he heard a few snorts escape as she did it.

I hope this isn’t going to be a normal occurrence... he thought, looking back at Na’kika. Finally, she released his hand and took a step back. With a smile big enough to reveal her fanged teeth, she bowed deeply and returned to the kitchen. If it is, I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle this. He returned to his steamy soup as he quietly contemplated what to do about this overly affectionate catfolk.

Krarshe stopped to catch his breath on Stormbridge, looking out over the Silver River as the late-Sirnus sun glinted off its surface. His right eye still stung slightly, and the pain in his ribs were made worse by all the walking he had done that day. Every apothecary he could find in the city was sold out of healing potions and salves, the ongoing war making such things very scarce; he wondered how the adventurers were managing without them. The church in Castle Ward, the one that served the vast majority of the city, was demanding a large sum of gold for healing miracles from their clerics.

Krarshe had just about given up on receiving any healing when he heard someone mention the small chapel outside the gates of Stormbridge, in Ironpole. With nothing to lose, he had headed toward the small subdistrict. He had never been to Ironpole, but knew it was where most of the farming agriculture for Remonnet took place. The fact that they had a chapel was news to him. Now, he just hoped it wasn’t false information, after having nearly killed himself walking all over the city.

As he was about to continue his trek, he saw a horse-drawn cart coming from Feyfaire. Judging by the look of the man, it was likely he was a farmer and his cart looked as though he had just finished his delivery. Krarshe didn’t wait and waved down the man.

“There somethin’ I can do fer ya?” the man asked, bringing his cart to a stop. “Bless ya, lad. What happ’ned ta yer eye?”

Krarshe hadn’t gotten to look at it at this point, but apparently it was out of place enough to garner a reaction. “Oh, it’s a long story... I was just wondering, are you from Ironpole?”

“That I am.”

“Is there a chapel there?”

“That there is,” the weary-eyed, tanned man said with a smile. “Ya headin’ there fer healin’?”

Krarshe smiled sheepishly. “I was hoping to, yes.” He must have looked pretty rough for this man to guess his intent.

“Care fer a ride then? I can bring ya.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine. I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense! Ya look tired. ‘sides, I’d like the comp’ny. Ol’ Marie here’s nice ‘n’ all, but she ain’t much fer conversation, ya know?” the farmer said, smiling.

Krarshe couldn’t help but chuckle. He remembered his days of travelling, and the long, one-sided conversations he had held with his horse. “All too well. Then, I appreciate your generosity,” Krarshe said, pulling himself up onto the cart. He winced as he did it, and sat down gently.

“Ooh, ya okay there, lad?”

Krarshe relaxed into the seat. “Yeah. Let’s just say it’s not just my eye,” he replied, holding up his broken hand and rubbing his cracked ribs tenderly.

“If ya don’t mind me askin’, what happ’ned?”

“Guess I’ve got time for that long story.”

The two smiled as the farmer snapped the reins, driving the horse onward. Krarshe recounted the tale of his gallantry and frailty as he watched the city pass by. The cart made the trip much faster, though he had to be careful of his ribs with each bump in the road.

After the story concluded, the man said, “Lad, that was the right thing ta do.” He placed his calloused hand on Krarshe’s shoulder. “I hope ya get yer healin’, Teva willin’.”

“Teva?” Krarshe had heard the word multiple times, but still wasn’t sure what it meant.

The farmer turned fully to Krarshe, dumbfounded. “Ya goin’ ta the chapel, but don’t know the name of the goddess it’s fer? Lad...” he said, shaking his head, disbelieving.

Krarshe looked off to the side of the road, realizing how audacious this must have seemed. The gate was just ahead of them, much less busy than the merchant’s entrance in Feyfaire. “I’m sorry, I’m actually not from around here.”

“Don’t ya worry, lad. I’m sure Teva’ll forgive ya. She IS the goddess of fergiveness, after all.”

“Goddess of forgiveness?”

The farmer nodded, once more watching the road in front of him. “And of justice and agriculture. We in Ironpole hold her in highest regard of the whole pantheon, ya know? Chief deity fer all of Remonnet, since the previous queen.”

Krarshe felt like he insulted not only this kind farmer, but everyone in Remonnet. He shrunk back in his seat as they passed under the large stone gateway. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“Lad, there be nothin’ wrong with not knowin’ somethin’.” He turned to Krarshe with a smile, the sun bathing him in light as they passed through the gate. “It’s how we learn. A whole lifetime of not knowin’ is how ya become wise.”

Krarshe just smiled. He looked off into the distance and his eyes widened. The fields of Ironpole were vast, covering every inch to either side of the road. He had seen farmlands before in his travel, but the perfectly symmetric rows upon rows of crops were still something marvelous to see.

The rest of the journey was more subdued. The farmer told Krarshe how a few of the fields in parts of Ironpole flooded every year, so the land was naturally fertile. In other parts, however, they used fish scraps to fertilize their fields, benefitting from the strong fishing industry in Remonnet. He went on and on about all the crops they raised, and how it was the best in all of Armia because of this fertilization. Listening to him explain every little detail about how they managed the fields, Krarshe knew this man was a lifelong farmer, and proud of it.

Finally, they approached a clearing in the fields, with a small building positioned right next to the road. “Well, lad. Ya were great comp’ny, but here’s where we part ways.” He brought the cart to a stop in front of the chapel.

“Thank you so much for the ride. Now that I know how far it was, I’m not sure I would have been able to make it here at all, let alone before the sun went down.”

“Ya’re very welcome. If ya see me again, don’t be ’fraid ta say hello.”

Krarshe climbed down carefully. “Of course. Oh, and for your trouble,” he said, as he pulled out his coin pouch.

The man held up a hand. “No, no. I won’t be takin’ any payment. ’round here, we like ta help those ‘n need. Ya just take care of yerself.” He paused for a second. “Use it ta buy that sweet girl somethin’,” he said with a wink.

Not this again... “You’re too kind. I’ll remember your kindness and pay you back somehow. My name is Krarshe,” Krarshe said with a nod, unable to bow in his current state.

“Name’s Alban. Be well, Karsh. May Teva bless ya.” He cracked the reins once more, and the cart started with a jolt. Krarshe stood there for a minute and watched as Alban and his cart bounced down the uneven dirt road. It seemed as though the road got more rough past this point. Rubbing his ribs tenderly, he thanked whatever deity it was who spared him.

Now at his destination, Krarshe turned to look at the chapel. Compared to the church in Castle Ward, it was barely distinguishable from a woodsman’s shack. It was small, with a simple, weather-worn wooden door for an entrance. The windows were small, and lacked any of the colors or decorative features that the other church had. If Alban hadn’t brought him there, Krarshe would have assumed this was just used for storage by the surrounding farmers.

As he approached the door, he could see a small metal ring with seven barbs stemming from it. He recognized it from the Castle Ward church, as well as other churches he’d seen during his travels. While it was usually much larger and affixed to the top of the churches, this smaller one affixed to the door marked this building as a place of worship for followers of the pantheon. Despite what Alban had said, there was nothing distinguishing it as having Teva as its chief deity.

Krarshe gave a sharp knock on the old wooden door with his uninjured left hand and waited for a minute. He stood outside, watching the sun slowly lowering in the sky. One of the twin moons was leading just ahead of the sun, signalling the final half-cycle before the harvest season. How strange time is, he mused, thinking about how he had started this new life nearly a cycle and a half ago, at the start of Sirnus. He’d had so many different experiences these past hundred or so days that it dwarfed his years as a travelling merchant in his mind.

Krarshe snapped out of his reverie, realizing he’d probably been mulling this over for too long waiting for a response. He tried the handle of the door, which swung open with a creak. I can just apologize later. He stepped into the quiet room, trying to not break the silence. There was no one around. Just rows upon rows of benches. Backed benches. Why doesn’t the classroom have BACKED benches? In the front of the room, at the end of the center aisle, stood a wooden pedestal. There was a pair of red curtains which hung along the front wall, bordering either side of a large, wooden version of the symbol signifying the pantheon. The whole room was very simple. And clean. Surprisingly clean, in fact, considering how dusty the road was.

Krarshe cleared his throat, causing a small twinge of pain in his ribs. “Excuse me. Is anyone here?”

“Ah! Just a moment,” called an unseen voice. A moment later, a man stepped out from behind the red curtain on the left, startling Krarshe. He had assumed it was just decoration hung on the wall, but apparently it served as a door. “How my I help you?” the middle-aged man asked gently. His voice was soft and gentle, a perfect match for his features.

“I’m looking for the head priest,” Krarshe said. After a short pause, he added, “To request healing.”

The priest raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess you could call me the head priest, being the only cleric serving here,” he said with a smile. “I thought healing might be what you sought.” He tapped his cheek, just below his right eye. The black eye was apparently Krarshe’s most distinguished feature that day.

“How much will it be?”

“We don’t charge for healing. I would never think of taking money for the generosity of our most holy, Teva. If you desire to give back, though, we do take donations to help maintain our meager chapel,” he explained, gesturing to a small copper collection dish on the floor next to the entrance.

Krarshe was shocked by this response. He had figured it would be cheaper, but not free. This was a significant difference from the church in Castle Ward.

“I can’t, however, guarantee healing.”

This was another shock. Krarshe wasn’t sure he understood.

His confusion must have been written on his face, as the priest added, “It depends on how Teva judges you. Clerical blessings and miracles are a gift from the gods and goddesses. As such, it depends on them.”

“How will I know how they’ll judge?”

“No one can know for certain. Though, clerics are often trained to understand how each god will view an act.”

Krarshe still didn’t understand. This was completely different from magic. The idea of a spell not working because some being deemed it unworthy was completely illogical to him.

“Perhaps it’s best to explain how you got injured. I cannot speak for other gods or goddesses, but I do understand a bit of how Teva thinks, and I can guess at how she would judge you.” The priest’s voice was calm, unperturbed by needing to repeatedly explain. Krarshe couldn’t see any hint of dismissiveness, only eagerness to help.

“I... got injured... in a bar fight...” Each word out of his mouth made Krarshe sound undeserving of healing.

The priest stared at Krarshe for a moment. “I... I’m sorry, but I don’t think you would be judged favorably. Teva is the goddess of justice, so I believe she’d wish for you to learn a lesson from your injuries.”

“Would it change anything if it was for a good cause?” Krarshe was hoping he could get any kind of healing at this point.

“Such as?”

“Well...” Krarshe proceeded to explain the events of the night prior. How he had hurt himself trying to protect someone. How the offenders had beat him. Hopefully, it would be viewed as justice.

At the end of the tale, the priest said, “That certainly is a different circumstance. However, I suspect Teva would still expect you to live with the decision you made, as you still harmed another.” Krarshe could feel his hope dissipating. “Although, she is also the goddess of forgiveness. Perhaps she would give you some small gift.” The priest smiled. “For a good deed.”

“Then, I leave it in Teva’s hands.”

“Very well. Please kneel before me.”

Krarshe knelt down in front of the priest, easing himself down with the back of a bench.

“O your holiness, Teva, our goddess of Justice and Forgiveness, I beseech thee.” The priest held out his hand before Krarshe’s forehead. “Take this man, and search his soul. Grant him your judgment, your gift, if thou judge him worthy of your blessing.” Krarshe could feel a warmth envelop him. The dim room seemed brighter too. “May you aid him in healing, if you deem him deserving, if you deem him just, if you deem him worthy of forgiveness...”

Krarshe closed his eyes and listened to the priest’s prayer, laced with a strange soothing he hadn’t experienced before. The priest’s voice began to soften, almost sounding distant. Before he realized it, he found himself devoid of any sensation; not the pain he was experiencing, not the sounds of the priest’s voice, not even the heat from the fading season. It was complete serenity.

So you’re the one he picked? From this expanse of serenity, a thought came to Krarshe, and he was certain it wasn’t his own. I guess I can see why.

Umm... What’s going on here? Krarshe thought.

It’s fine, don’t worry. Hmm... I guess I can at least help a little bit. Not too much though, or you won’t learn anything from your recklessness.

Am I seriously having a conversation with the voice in my head? In all his years, this was a first for Krarshe. He couldn’t understand what this intrusive voice was. Perhaps he had gone insane.

Oops, time’s up. We’ll be able to talk more later when you two meet. Oh, and when he gives you that amulet, make sure you don’t lose it, okay?

Krarshe felt his senses, and pain, return to him. A sudden feeling of warmth and tingling engulfing his body. The sharp pain of his injuries began to lessen, though he wasn’t sure if the warmth was just distracting him.

After an unknowable amount of time, the priest placed his hand on Krarshe’s shoulder. “How do you feel?”

Krarshe opened his eyes. How long had he been kneeling there? It felt like an eternity. And what was that voice in his head? “Umm...”

“Seems she didn’t judge you worthy of healing, I’m afraid,” the priest said with a pitiful smile, tapping his cheekbone again.

Krarshe stood up. The pain in his ribs remained, but the sharpness was dulled. He moved the fingers in his right hand carefully. It still hurt, but less than it did earlier. “Actually, the pain seems better. Still hurts, but unquestionably better than when I first arrived,” Krarshe said with a smile.

“Hmm. Perhaps she didn’t want you to forget this lesson, but sympathized with your plight.”

Krarshe froze for a second before nodding. The priest’s assessment aligned awfully closely to what that voice in his head said. Frighteningly so. Still, Krarshe decided it was probably best to not mention the strange dialogue he had with some nameless voice, and tried to dismiss his concern and confusion about the whole thing. “I appreciate her judgment.” Healing quickly works fine for me. Certainly better than recuperating for a whole cycle.

The priest smiled. “I am overjoyed for your blessing. May Teva continue to be kind and understanding. Praise be to Teva.” He pressed his palms together over his bowed head solemnly.

Krarshe mimicked the gesture of prayer. “Thank you,” he said.

“Again, I’m just a servant for our holiness, Teva. May you take care, young man.”

As Krarshe turned to leave, he stopped. I must be going crazy, but I guess it’s better to err on the side of caution. “Do you... have an amulet to give me?”

The priest, who had begun to return to the room behind the curtain, stopped and turned back to Krarshe. “Pardon?”

“Oh, no. Sorry. I’m just not familiar with the customs of the church of Teva. I apologize.” The priest bowed a goodbye again as Krarshe turned to leave once more. Well, I feel like a fool, falling for my own fantasy. Krarshe shook his head, disappointed in himself. As he made his way out the door, he dropped a couple copper Roses in the donation pan.