“Let’s split up,” said Raden. “We’ll cover more ground that way.”
“Oli and I’ll take the fish markets,” replied Gama.
Kara stretched her back. “Alright, I’ll take the religious district.”
Raden nodded in agreement. “That leaves the restaurant sector and the residential districts. I’ll start at the Briny Seahag, it’s the most popular destination in Pyteria City. Let’s meet at noon, that’ll give us about three hours to search. We’ll meet up at the city center. Keep a low profile, we don’t want to bring any undue attention to ourselves.” Raden stared at Gama pointedly.
“What? I promise, Oli and I will keep it cool. Right, Oli?”
Oli looked up at Gama, and cocked her head to the side questioningly, as if she didn’t believe Gama either.
“If anything happens, rendezvous at the city center.” Raden put on his hood, hiding his face in shadow. “Let’s go.”
As Raden headed towards the Briny Seahag, he took in as much of his surroundings as he could. Most of what he saw was relatively harmless, people purchasing groceries, having streetside conversations, and generally going on about their normal business. He was walking in the shade of the buildings to keep as inconspicuous as possible when he accidentally bumped into an elderly couple, causing them to drop their belongings.
“My apologies,” Raden said as he bent down to pick up the fresh fruit.
“That’s quite alright, dear. No harm done,” answered the elderly woman cheerfully.
The elderly couple looked so familiar. Raden’s mind flashed back to the days after his escape from Carhay. Lulu had discovered him and Kimi washed up on the shore and had successfully guided them to the nearby village. Raden could barely walk at that point, his legs felt like rubber, and Kimi suddenly weighed him down like a ton of bricks. Slowly, they meandered into the middle of the village when Raden’s legs finally gave out. He collapsed to the ground, Kimi began to cry, and Lulu barked loudly for help. Soon, a handful of villagers came to their aid. Raden remembered being carried off by an elderly couple, their faces cast in shadow by the sun. He couldn’t hear what they were saying either, his hearing muffled, as if he was still trapped underwater by the rapid current of the river. But the warmth of their bodies made him feel as if everything was going to be all right.
“Thanks, son, for picking up our stuff. We’ll be on our way now.” Raden’s mind flashed back to the present.
“Oh, I’m sorry… here you go.” Raden handed the fruit back, and continued on his way to the Briny Seahag. I need to focus on the mission. Get a grip, Raden.
After their encounter with the Gokstads, the group headed west, backtracking the Gokstads’ journey. They followed their trail, and remnants of their campfires. Along the way, they had spoken to a number of people who had seen the Gokstads, as well as other groups of Vicedonian colonist armies moving through the Disputed Lands. The people did their best to stay out of the way of these roaming armies of now-mercenaries, but could still hear the chatter amongst them. Something strange was driving them away from the Vicedonian territories, and the word constantly on their lips was “Candidate.” They spoke their own native languages but “Candidate” popped up time and again. Villagers pointed west to the city of Pyteria as the best source for news. It was there that many of these roaming armies must’ve stopped for food and shelter. And on that suggestion the group now found themselves here.
Pyteria City was a decent sized city of about a hundred thousand people, broken into four districts. There was the fish market that sat upon the riverbanks where all trade occurred. Restaurant Alley was where the eateries, bars, and the unsavory characters that occupy every city dwelled. The religious district was where the city’s temples sat, varying in size and religious sect. Each of the various religions further divided themselves into smaller regions here. You would think a district devoted to prayer and refuge would be peaceful, but most of the violence that occurred in Pyteria City happened here. The last district was the residence quarters. Small, mud-built adobe homes sat upon rows and rows of neighborhoods, some smaller, some larger, but none out of the ordinary. It was high above the hills where the rich and distinguished residents stayed. Separated from the commoners, they observed the hustle and bustle of the city, perched high above with watchful eyes.
Gama entered the fish market, unsure of where to begin. He looked left and right, watching the traders yelling at each other, waving hands clenched with money and goods, signaling and bargaining for the best price. He saw fisherman pulling out the daily catch, the smell of salt pungent in the air. People busily rushed by him, bumping him this way and that, no small feat given Gama normally outweighed the average man by a hundred pounds.
“Where do we begin, Oli?”
Oli barked at a merchant sitting by the riverbed. His small fruit stand was pitiful. A handful of bananas, bruised and close to rotten, were the only items he had for sale. He seemed rather apathetic, too, not even attempting to grab people’s attention, just sitting there, head in his hands as if he had given up on life.
“Alright, Oli, as good a start as any I suppose.” Gama made his way over to the vendor, avoiding the other traders who were actually trying to make a living.
“Excuse me, sir, I’d like to buy a banana.”
The vendor didn’t respond.
“Umm, excuse me, sir, but I’d like to buy a banana.”
The vendor slowly raised his head, just enough to reveal his bright green eyes. “Well, you’re a fat one, I suppose even rotten bananas will do for you, huh hippo?”
Gama was taken back by the vendor’s insult. “Well, at least I’m not looking as pitiful as you, sitting here without any money, and with rotten fruit!” Gama retorted, incredulous at the sudden tone of this conversation.
“Well, you’re buying one aren’t you, hippo?”
Oli growled at the vendor. “Does your pint sized mutt want some fruit, too? I’m surprised you haven’t eaten him yet, hippo.”
“That’s it, let’s go, Oli. Let’s find someone else to talk to.”
As Gama walked away, the vendor called back. “Why are you here, soldier? Is it to find out about some rumors?”
Gama stopped in his tracks. How did he recognize him as a soldier, and more importantly, what information did he know?
“How’d you know that I was a soldier? I bear no weapons. Plus, my uniform is concealed underneath my robe.”
“So you are wearing a uniform, it’s just hidden?”
Gama buried his face in his left hand ashamedly. Good one Gama, so much for keeping a low profile.
The green-eyed merchant laughed derisively. “It’s okay, hippos aren’t the smartest animals out there.”
Gama was about to verbally unload on the old man, when the merchant interrupted.
“But as for bearing no weapons, that is a lie. The hilt of your short dagger is poking out of your left boot. Your sword is well hidden behind your back, covered by your hooded robe, but the sound of a hilt clattering against armor is one I know very well.”
“And how is it that you know the sound?”
“Because I once was part of the royal empire’s army, soldier.” And with that, the vendor crossed his arms across his chest, giving Gama the Renzai salute.
“A deserter? I should take you in.”
“You needn’t do that, the empire could care less about an old wrinkled up soldier like me. Besides, I think you have more pressing matters to attend to, don’t you?”
Gama scrutinized the old soldier thoroughly, his white beard and tufts of white hair under his hat revealing his old age. If he was a deserter, he must’ve run away many moons ago, but more importantly, he had information.
“Yes, I encountered a group of Gokstad colonists running eastward. They seemed to have been running from something. Rumors are swirling in these parts that the Vicedonians have claimed a Candidate. Do you know anything about this?”
The vendor laughed out loud, a deep, hearty l
augh before he started choking on his own spit. When he recovered, he began. “Yes, many Gokstads and other colonists have been coming through Pyteria City lately, all telling the same story about a man who was touched by God.”
“Touched by God? What do you mean?”
“Do you not know your history, boy? Did you fail that class in elementary school, hippo?”
Gama wasn’t a fan of history, so the vendor’s comments hit home. “Just tell me, old man.”
“Kids these days,” muttered the elderly man. “When a Candidate comes to power, he will be touched, somehow marked by God, the Creator, the One, or whatever you choose to call it.”
“Do you know where this man is? How can I find him?”
“Where he is? Hmm, now, that’s an interesting question.”
“Where? Tell me, grandpa!” demanded Gama.
“For the right price I will tell you. Now how many bushels of rotten bananas would you like?”
Gama rolled his eyes as he reached for his gold.
Chapter 15