Page 41 of The Ballad of a Bard

W hen they set out in the morning, she hadn’t expected two days of gruelling travel. West had previously told her that it would take two days on foot to reach Belledon, but she’d been completely exhausted after the first day. So much so, that she’d stumbled into the bed and fallen into the deepest, blackest sleep that she’d ever had in her entire life.

No dreams, no nightmares, nothing.

The third morning came far faster than she’d thought and she wasn’t prepared for the early call of West gently shaking her back to life. But she simply waved him off with a mumbled ‘thanks’ and washed up before changing into a fresh set of clothes as he paid their bill and they headed out once more. According to the Saint, Belledon was only two hours away if they were setting a fast pace.

So when they came across the town nearly an hour and a half later, Crimson supposed they must have flown on swift wings.

The houses were in a state of disrepair, but less so than when they’d first stepped foot off of the ship. Belledon at least seemed to hold an air of refinement, or wealth. If it could even be called that. But in comparison to the port of Valkrigge or the small towns that they’d marched through, it seemed to house those who bore a few more crowns to their name, in their pockets. The streets were nothing but dirt and mulch, with the occasional stone tossed into the muddy mix.

The houses were held on wooden beams, replicating the spindly legs of a spider that crawled through shadows unseen. It was as if the crooked hovels couldn’t be trusted to remain upright on their own, as if the citizens of the city were terrified that they would sink into the earth and never be seen again. The doors were all lopsided and her boots sloshed brown water with every step that she took, further and further into the city.

People milled about with baskets of fruits that had seen better days, with flowers that were near alamort and clothes that were hanging off their shoulders. There were a couple of fine looking shoppes along the center row of the city, with patrons that could only have been afforded their wealth through illegal ways.

“Where are we headed?” Crimson muttered to her companion, who was dressed in a sapphire cloak with no fancy trimming along it, not any symbol of where they were from.

West glanced towards her, seemingly unbothered by the state of the area around them. She supposed it made sense, when he was an immortal Saint who’d been around since the dawn of time, maybe even long before.

“When people come in from long trips, travelling or weary adventures, where do they often hear first?”

“An inn?”

At least, that’s where she would go first. To fall into a somewhat comfortable bed and sleep .

“Most people would try to locate the nearest tavern.” He pointed and she followed his line of sight. “It might not be pretty, but I guarantee that we’ll hear gossip there. Especially if a certain red-headed Saint had been spotted in this shit-hole.”

“You think that people will be talking about him?” She questioned, shivering as an old man wobbled towards them on weary legs.

West tossed a single crown at him, sending him scrambling to find it before he could get any closer. “If an easily recognizable Saint strolled into town and you’d seen them, wouldn’t you tell everyone you know about it?”

Crimson didn’t have to think about her answer for too long. Barely a second passed before she said, “No.”

He lifted a dark brow. “No?”

“No.” She repeated. “Why would I do that? Saints have just as much of a right to privacy as any other, ordinary folk. They don’t deserve to be crowded and swarmed for something as tiny as immortality.”

“Tiny as immortality?” West asked with a hint of glib glee. “If immortality is considered that small, that inconsequential to you, I’m curious to know what would spark your curiosity, Heartstrings.”

She scowled, “Don’t call me that.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Fine. Answer my question and I’ll put a pause, a brief one, on that delightful nickname.”

They wove around a couple of buildings, avoiding the narrow alleyways that were the target for thieves and unlucky saps who wandered into them. He guided her around the inn with a hanging sign that was barely legible, as well as past the butcher shop with a cleaver in the filthy window.

Crimson stuck her tongue out, but swiftly spoke. “I don’t have anything in my head that could truly be considered magnificent, massive.” She reconsidered. “Unless one of the six Saints of Hisaith can stop death in its tracks. I suppose that would be quite impressive.”

He shook his head. “No, Crimson. Unfortunately none of us have that much power, nor do I ever expect any of us to gain it.”

She looked at him. “Can you gain more power?”

He nodded. “There are certain… methods , that we can partake in to allow us more power. More magic and strength. Obviously nothing would come from more immortality, but there is still much to be gained. Even for us.”

They continued to walk past the puddles of mud, avoiding the deep pits that collected more than just water.

“What kind of things?”

“Our powers could increase, for one. If we took a seed of another’s, then we could ideally take a kernel of theirs. But there’s only one way to gain another Saint’s powers, to add to your own and it’s barbaric, forbidde-” West stopped dead in his tracks, dragging a hand over his mouth as his navy eyes widened.

“Forbidden?” She finished for him.

“Oh Saints be damned.” He murmured.

“You look as if you’ve just put something together.” Crimson paused beside him, heart racing sidling as his eyes began to move. Not in the way of someone searching for something, but one in the middle of sorting out the puzzle pieces and placing them in their correct slots.

“I did.” He inhaled sharply and flipped around to her. “How much do you know about Saints and our mythology? Our lore?”

She shrugged, tucking her hands into the crook of her armpits to retain whatever warmth could be sought out there. Valkrigge was far colder than Tazali, even in the middle of winter. “Not much. Just the bare surface of the book I found and then whatever you or Muse has told me.”

West looked out of place, dishevelled as he ran a hand through his umber hair. “I know why Altivar is looking for your father.”

“You do?”

“The only way to gain more power, something that Altivar needs to feel as important as his mother, as any Saint, is to eat a Saint’s heart.”

Crimson’s mouth felt dry, extraordinarily dry. “What?”

West swallowed thickly, sighing deeply before he responded with a bone curdling, blood chilling answer. “He’s going to eat Heartache’s heart.”

“I- I’m going to need a better explanation.” She stuttered, unsure if she’d heard him correctly.

Yes, Saints were different from humans, but to eat another’s heart? It seemed… cannibalistic, even for the long-lived immortals.

“Your father is not only the oldest Saint out of all of us, but the one who blessed us all with long life and magic. He was there long before us and most likely will be there far after we turn to dust, if we even do. But he has the most amount of magic, the strongest emotions to control. I knew that Altivar’s motives were nothing but bad, but this is something else entirely.” West explained, shock coating his face like a thin layer of misting rain. “We need to find him even faster now, before the Prince gets his hands on him.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing we’re here.” Crimson said hoarsely. Her voice didn’t seem to work, didn’t seem to follow her internal commands as she swallowed and pushed the door to the tavern open.

He followed her in, steps as silent as a black panther. “Split up. We have a better chance of finding him if we each take a side and try to gain as much information as possible.” He nudged her towards the left and took the right, crossing over her path as they separated.

Two hours passed.

They weren’t fast either, they weren’t quick ones that went by in the blink of an eye. No, they were slow and dragging and she almost fell asleep with her head in a bowl of roasted chicken soup that West insisted she get. The bread had gone hard about half an hour ago, but she didn’t trust the slightly grey outer layer so it didn’t matter. West didn’t seem to be having much more luck either, chatting softly with a merchant who’d seen better days. A long scar ran across his nose, fresh by the scarlet scab that covered the length of it.

Crimson had spoken to three people so far, regarding her father. One swore they’d seen the Saint hop on top of the roof and perform a miraculous act. She’d believe that the day that Cobalt sprouted wings and lept from the glittering domes of the castle. The second made it seem as if she held a massive secret, drawing Crimson in until the woman said that there was no such Saint named Heartache, and how a greedy man only wanted to rise to fame and fortune. She claimed that it was all a persona, a fake identity to help his name grow far and wide.

The third ended up being a young boy, only asking if she’d spare a coin for some food. By the way that she could see his ribs poking through his mahogany skin, Crimson handed him the remainder of her soup and he scampered off.

But then a female with bright blonde hair took up the seat across from her and crossed her arms in front of her form. Crimson immediately perked up, straightening her spine until it hit the back of the woven chair. She laced her fingers together, propping them atop her legs as she waited for the woman to speak.

“I hear you’re looking for Connor.” She whispered, sneaking a peek to her left and right. “I know where you can find him.”

For a moment, Crimson almost didn’t register what the woman had said. But then a figment of her past kicked the back of her brain, launching the memory forward.

Connor.

That had been the mortal name that the Saint had chosen for himself when the immortals came down to play on Hisaith. The name that he’d given her mother and that had started everything.

“Where?”

A bit too hasty, but the woman didn’t seem to notice.

“Not here. He can’t let certain people know where he is.” She rose, brushing off the chartreuse skirt and ushering for Crimson to follow.

A warning bell chimed in her heart, ringing ferociously. It shivered across her bones and vibrated the entire muscle. But they’d received no leads on him so far.

“Can’t you bring him in here?” She whispered, trying to catch West’s attention, but he was too focused on speaking with the merchant before him. They seemed to be locked in conversation, with no hope of dragging him out to follow.

“Do you want to find him or not?” The woman hissed. “He’s bound for a ship to Trealth within the next hour. It’s now or never.”

Crimson spared one last look towards her companion before standing up and exiting the tavern.