The Wounded World

  *******

  The path was wide, and as they walked, Quin noticed that not a single blade of grass grew inside it. The line dividing the path from the grass was straight and clean, and remained so all the way to the hedge. When they reached the top of the hill, an astonishing and beautiful sight greeted them. The village was built into the opposite hill; its houses were made of mud and crafted into exquisite shapes. In addition, they were vibrant colours of all shades – reds, blues, yellows, and greens spotted the little town. All of the houses seemed to be of similar dimension, except for a few buildings down in the bottom of the valley. Quin guessed that they were probably community buildings – like the temple Meriym had mentioned earlier, and a town hall. Hopefully, one of the buildings was a hotel.

  Between the houses and along the roads, lights glittered – spheres set equidistant from each other. Their light spread out in a soft circle on the ground around them, giving the entire city a fairytale-like, ethereal feeling. It was the sort of place a person dreamed about going into, and would never want to leave. He wondered if the people in the town matched the fairytale atmosphere, or if they were instead the opposite – angry, irritable people.

  “I don’t know about you,” John said, gazing at the uniquely lovely city that spread out before them. “But this is one of the most gorgeous and strange villages I’ve ever seen. I mean, this world is so bleak – but those colours stand out like… like… neon signs! And it’s nearly dark!”

  “We should head down to the center of town, and ask for lodgings.” Quin set out down the steep path leading into the village. The path began to diverge as they walked down, but its tertiaries were smaller – the main path seemed to be heading directly into the center.

  As they drew near, they began to see people – sitting at cafés on the street, walking quietly between houses, and chatting casually in small groups. Each individual they passed turned to look at them – clearly they were strangers, unknown to the people of the village.

  The town square was a large open area paved with wide flat stones. A well sat in the middle, and people were in line to fill up their buckets.

  “Excuse me, sir,” John said, tapping a nearby gentleman on the shoulder. “We’re looking for lodgings. Could you direct us?”

  The gentleman turned around. Hair – almost fur – covered every inch of his face. His eyes were deep brown, and his eyebrows nearly covered them. Two ivory horns peeked out of the brush covering his head. John stepped back in surprise, but Quin reached forward and touched the man’s forehead with one finger.

  “K’amat ‘ala,” he intoned, and then bowed.

  The hairy gentleman raised one hand in the air and placed on Quin’s bald head, and repeated, “K’amat ‘ala. Welcome to our village.”

  “Thank you,” Quin replied, bowing again. “My friend does not know your customs.”

  “It is of no offense,” the man replied. “Many here do not – we work to learn each other’s.” He reached out, smiling, to shake John’s hand.

  John smiled, and clasped his hand firmly.

  “So,” the man said, turning back to Quin. “It is lodgings you seek. I think I can provide you with the assistance you need. Madam Barooth is the innkeeper in our small village and she has rooms to let. I will guide you there – it is not far.” Turning, he began to walk away, with Quin and John following.

  He didn’t lie. It wasn’t far. Thirty seconds later they stood in front of a building that appeared to be larger than the other houses.

  “Madam Barooth is the lady of this house and the five above it.”

  Quin glanced up the hill; five houses sat on a hill so steep that they appeared to be nearly set on top of each other. Then he noticed that the gentleman had stepped inside.

  The inside of the inn was warm and brown. There were potted plants, woven chairs, and colourful blankets and rugs.

  “Madam Barooth,” the man said, “these kind strangers seek lodging.”

  Madam Barooth was a tall woman, standing eye to eye with Quin. She wore a blue, light, cotton-like fabric that draped over her form softly but revealed nothing.

  “I have a vacant room,” she replied, turning her gaze onto John and Quin. “But only one.”

  “Fine,” Quin replied.

  “What have you to trade?”

  Slipping off the backpack, Quin reached in and pulled out an old book – the one he had taken from Oliphant’s place before they left. Madam Barooth’s eyes widened as she reached out to take the book. It was on plants and botany.

  Opening it, her eyes grew wide. She traced the stamp that said, “Path Temple,” on the inside of the cover.

  “This is a jewel,” she said, “far too valuable for my rooms. There is no way we can thank you for returning this volume to us – the rest of our collection is completely lost to the hand of that evil, foul Mr. Oliphant. But for this you shall receive lodging and dinner and anything else you require.”

  “Thank you,” Quin said. He glanced at John, who was starting to droop. His eyelids were heavy and it appeared to require great effort to keep them open. “I think we would like to start with a room.”

  “Of course,” Madam Barooth replied. She lifted a large key from the wall of keys behind her and gestured for them to follow her. She led them up four sets up stairs. “This is my best room – it has a beautiful view of the city, it is warmed by the rooms below, and it has a discreet side exit, should you need it for any reason.”

  Pushing open the door revealed a medium-sized room with two large beds, made with heavy blankets from the wool of a presumably large animal. The floors were carpeted with the same material, and a painting of a massive white bear hung on one wall. The window looked out onto the city below, with the spherical lights glistening under the cloudy sky.

  John stumbled into the room and fell onto one of the beds, muttering to himself.

  Quin smiled at Madam Barooth as she handed him the key. “Thank you,” he said. “We will let you know if we need anything.”

  “Your wish,” she said, “is mine to give.” Smiling, she backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.

  Quin locked it and then checked the “discreet side exit,” probably included as some sort of escape route for concerned patrons. It was nearly vertical – a quick slide but a difficult climb, and easy to defend. The door had a dead bolt, which he engaged. When he was certain the room was as safe as could be expected, he collapsed onto the second bed and was unconscious before he could count to two.