Chapter 9 - Amelia

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Despite Izthark's proclamation of guardianship, the rest of our journey into Ire left me questioning his benefits. It was a quiet journey with no more attacks from the Night Blood, nor were there bandits or raids from any army; yet it was his own behavior that was disconcerting.

Numerenai are a holy order, a guild sanctioned by all bloods and nations, and possibly the one truly neutral party to exist in Dyson.

Yet his holiness carried a casualness about him that bordered on the socially ignorant. Every man watched him enviously or disdainfully while every woman watched him dreamily, all for the same reason as his attention was entirely on the ladies. He did no work to assist the caravan. His time was among the opposite sex regardless of whether their husband was watching. His flirtations were so laxidaical I began to wonder if he was truly a Numerenai, but his nightly watches proved otherwise.

During the day he put a hood over his short hair, covered his eyes with a thin cloth, and stayed mostly to shade. During the night he revealed his white hair and eyes and walked freely. This odd behavior, even for a Sleepless One, with his skin-deep illusion of interest and disinterest both, and assortment of weapons left an air of mystery that some might think worth penetrating to heal.

For my part I just appreciated having the attention kept away if only he could not bring unwanted attention himself. Nearing the end of our time in the caravan, I caught him working in the shade. He wore the cloth over his eyes as before and the hood over his head, but it seemed to not hinder him and he tarried on as if he could see despite it. He had a set of tiny pots before him along with vials of liquids and some kind of powder in a sack. Some children, including Senec sat nearby being nosy kids. He answered their questions and let them see, but as soon as one reached out to touch it, he lashed out quick as a snake. He took the child's hand, lifted him into the air dangling from one arm, and threw the kid out of the moving cart onto the ground. The rest of the children jumped, startled, and ran crying.

I leaned down and helped the first kid up. He was bruised and crying and startled, but otherwise fine. "Run along to your mother." I told him. Turning to Izthark, I said, "You didn't have to be that rough."

"I wasn't rough enough." He replied. "I told them to leave it be. When life cannot teach, then death will be the final tutor!"

Looking at the ingredients before him, I could not perceive the danger. I merely saw powder, liquid, and oils. "What is it you are making?"

"Water fire."

"How?" I wondered. "Water puts out fire."

"Usually," He agreed. "But this is different. Night Blood cannot easily run from it and it is not quenched in rain or rivers." Izthark sat down, now alone, and continued his work. He had a couple pots already finished and plugged up on a sling, and more were in the works.

"Then the best thing would be to set the boundary long before they even come close, rather than allow them near to test the boundary in dangerous reach. They are children."

"Hm." He hummed without comment.

I left him to his work and continued on with assisting the caravan. The Night Blood attack had damaged enough of the carts to slow our progress, but we continued on steadily into Ire.

The mountains quickly rose as snow-tipped spikes, and between them the lush green valleys that weeved as snakes. Rain fell and little rivers formed from the mountains, deep enough for the children to splash in but not too deep, and fresh enough for drinking. The water was cold and clear as glass. The grass was soft as feathers and small herds of animals eyed as. I smiled. It was good to return.

The grass turned to farmland where by we have to find a path through to keep from damaging to produce. Every unit from one side to the other of the path between the mountains was squared off into its purpose, whether it be growing trees or cutting them into lumber, growing wheat or grinding it.

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