Imaginist

By David Corisis

While enjoying a peaceful life as a painter, Aromel is confronted by a dryad named Sage in search of her lost partner, Glade. A deadly corruption is spreading across the land of Holdach in Glade's absence and despite Aromel's insistence, Sage believes he is partially responsible. The only power capable of

• Language: English
• Publisher: David John Corisis Jr
• Release date: Dec 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9780578336251

Book preview

First paperback edition December 2021

ISBN: 9780578336244

Copyright © 2021 David J Corisis Jr.

All rights reserved.

D. Corisis

Imaginist

For my loving grandmother.

Thanks for always being my biggest fan.

And Marci. She’s a terrible editor,

but she was there for every page.

Chapter 1

Purple Horses

Indecision gnawed at Aromel’s stomach. The risk to his funds was great, but the reward could be far greater. He rolled a small bottle in his hand to watch royal amethyst shimmers slosh back and forth. Catching the sun overhead in purple radiance, the treasure was certain to cost a hefty sum.

I don’t think I see any of my customers as often as you, Aromel, Brianne said. The market was busy today with little room to spare between shoulders, but she could recognize this face in any crowd. Most of the town could; Aromel’s talents as an artist had become a staple of the community. Out of supplies already? You were here only last week.

He looked up, one of his paint-stained hands still grasping the glass bottle. Not out, just ill-equipped.

Brianne was an older woman with a heavy-set build and a head of dingy blonde hair curled at her shoulders. An absent tooth left a gaping hole from some misadventure in the last fifty years, but he had never found the courage to inquire as to what happened.

She raised an eyebrow at the tiny glass container. Purple isn’t an easy dye to find. It’s difficult to make and it doesn’t come cheap. I’m told it’s made from shellfish. Took me months to get a good deal.

It’s truer than any shade of purple I could mix from my paints, Aromel admitted. He grasped the color firmly and held it close with decision. Not to mention I’ve been given a very specific order; one of the local nobles’ daughters would like a painting of a horse.

A purple horse?

He smirked. But of course! You’ve never seen one?

The merchant laughed. Not since I was little and my imagination was still worth a damn! But who am I to argue with a young girl’s wishes? I assume you have the funds for such an item? Two silvers.

Once I finish this commission, I’ll have enough to buy all the purple I could ever need. Aromel smiled at the woman and noticed striking red sparkles on the sides of her head. Those are lovely earrings. Are they new?

Brianne absorbed his words with glee. Oh, aren’t you sweet! Fiddling with the trinkets, the merchant showed off the red crystalline droplets hanging from her earlobes. They look just like rubies, don’t they? You can hardly tell the difference! There was a merchant selling all kinds of fancy bits not too long ago. I knew I had to have them! Don’t they just draw the eye?

They might be enchanted! I swear you look twenty years younger!

A drawn-out silence passed between them among the chattering crowd.

The paint is still two silvers, Brianne reminded with a pleased smile.

You drive a hard bargain.

She watched Aromel dig into his coin purse and retrieve the payment. A weathered hand opened readily for reception.

Pleasure doing business! she said graciously, adding the coins to a bag at her side. Not sure if I should thank you or the noble! Your spending makes up a rather large portion of my income. Should you go out of business, I fear mine may crumble!

Aromel tucked the bottle safely away and turned to leave. Sounds like I may have a frequent buyer's discount in my future!

The merchant scoffed and waved her hand before focusing on other business.

He turned his sights toward a humble abode roughly half a mile through the town of Kurtha. It was a smaller village with no more than five hundred citizens filling its crowded dwellings. Aromel fell in love with it after setting out on his own with only a paintbrush and homemade paints to his name. The mountain range to the north claimed much of the responsibility for bidding him stay; it gave the town a sense of humility and security. Aromel was at peace in the shadow of the rocky Maglles.

More important to Aromel than anything was Kurtha’s silence. Most days, the loudest event one might hear would be church bells or over-excited children. A more nurturing environment for his creativity would be hard to find. Painting with too many distractions had never been something he could handle. Chaotic environments stifled his imagination. For its peaceful atmosphere, Kurtha was among the top of his counted blessings.

Most of Kurtha’s inhabitants currently filled the weekly market, leaving the rest of the city deserted and Aromel to approach his studio in relative solitude. It sat nestled in the outer half of town and acted not only as his place of work but also his home. A swaying sign read, Kurtha Artistry - Portraits and Landscapes. Approaching the building granted him an opportunity to inspect himself in a window.

His reflection brought the realization of a dire need for a bath. Aromel’s brown hair was in disarray and dusty from the early-summer air. A beard several days old scraggled across his jawline in patches. Assorted flecks of paint dotted his exposed skin. He thought some of them helped to bring out the blue of his eyes. A trip to the creek would have to be made a priority; customers didn’t take well to smelly artists.

Aromel waved the chilly thought from his mind. Better yet, after this commission, I’ll be able to afford warm baths at the inn.

Atmosphere saturated with the smell of paint greeted him in a comforting wave. It smelled of home. Many of his recent works hung on the walls. It was one of few advertising methods available aside from his pieces residing in homes or businesses. In the corner rested his tools of the trade: a stool, an easel, heaps of blank canvas with papers strewn around, bottles of paint, and an assortment of brushes stacked high on a bookshelf. Light filtered through two front windows making blank canvas shine bright.

Along the back wall waited another door leading to what he could claim as his only true personal space. It contained a single room furnished with a bed, a dresser, and a dining area. There was another door there leading to a back alley, though it didn’t see much use. His walls were no palace, but he had worked long and hard to afford them.

Aromel was nothing if not proud of the life he had built in Kurtha, and the fruits of his labor were finally starting to ripen. His art was gaining unbelievable popularity, his name even spreading to neighboring cities and villages. Almost every business in town displayed one of his works. Given the visitors and merchants using Kurtha as a halfway point, it was some of the best free advertising Aromel could hope for.

In a stroke of merciful fate, Kurtha sat in the path of a popular religious pilgrimage. Many of the devout took the opportunity to buy supplies and rest for a few days while passing through. Some would visit Aromel’s studio and commission a piece of art with a hefty down payment, agreeing to purchase the piece on their journey home as a memento of their spiritual experience.

He placed his bag on the floor and shook the weight of it from his shoulders. There was a long day and night of painting by candlelight ahead of him; the noble would be visiting in a matter of days with his daughter. Failure to deliver could mean the death of his blossoming reputation.

THUNK

A noise caught his attention. Something rustled in his backroom along with the sound of a drawer opening. He was not alone.

The hair on Aromel’s neck and arms prickled as he steeled his nerves. Whoever it was, he wasn’t about to let them tarnish what he had worked so hard to build. He opened his bag and found the hilt of a small knife. The blade glimmered upon removal from the sheathe. It was meant for cutting canvas, but it would be better than nothing. Aromel approached the door with light steps.

Handle and latch opened with a soft click. Noises could still be heard on the other side.

Someone is going through my dresser…

He would have to be quick with the door; it had a notorious squeak partway through its swing. Taking a deep breath, Aromel flung it open and lunged at the intruder, knife drawn in the name of protecting his possessions.

A tussled head of black hair spun to look at him with wide eyes. Aromel!

Neither he nor his belongings were in any danger. A sigh of relief deflated his lungs but did little to quiet his racing heart. Aromel sat on his bed to calm his nerves.

In front of him stood a young girl a mere ten years old. There was little fear in her eyes from the painter brandishing a knife. She looked at him in disbelief before nonchalantly returning to the contents of his dresser.

I hope you weren’t planning on stabbing me…

"Melody, you can’t break into people’s houses! Especially my house! Aromel stared at the knife in his hand. I could have seriously hurt you."

Melody stifled a snicker. Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you. She glanced up at him with a small grin. Aromel knew she wasn’t joking; she’d likely defended herself numerous times on similar intrusions.

Melody was one of the local street children populating Kurtha’s back alleys: an urchin, as they were more popularly known. The two of them had slowly gotten to know each other after Aromel gifted her a bit of bread one day. She took a liking to him after the charity, much like a stray dog hungry for more scraps.

After a few weeks of her intermittent company, Melody found her way under his skin. Aromel anticipated their encounters and did what he could to help her survive. This consisted of giving her food or shelter when needed. Not much was given in return, but it wasn’t a stretch to call the girl his best friend. Companions were difficult to come by when he spent most of his time indoors. Melody may not have been much for adult conversation, but Aromel found her happy-go-lucky attitude inspirational.

Like many of the other urchins, Melody had no home or parents to speak of. Several attempts to learn where she had come from and what put her in such a situation always ended with dodged questions. Most often, children in Melody’s position had escaped from slavery, either after being kidnapped or a tragedy leaving them as orphans. Others simply ran away and traveled with merchants until happening upon a town they liked. They were as common as stray cats and treated similarly.

Aromel watched her dig through his dresser while his pulse slowed. Her black hair was a tangled, matted mess and her body was thinner than usual. Times must have been rough since she last paid him a visit.

Would you relax? If I wanted to rob you, you wouldn’t have caught me, she chirped. We’ve known each other for over a year and you still don’t trust me…

"You can’t just break into my house, Melody. I work here. This is my livelihood, Aromel scolded. Urchins weren’t great for business, especially if people saw them coming and going through the back. How did you get in?"

Well I didn’t break in, if that’s what you’re thinking! Melody lowered her voice to a gentle matter-of-fact volume. I took the security bar off your back door…

Obviously, he sighed, eyeing the wooden bar on the floor. "I’m asking how."

Melody giggled, A barred door isn’t very safe if there’s enough room for a stick or knife to slip in! She ran her hands along its frame, pointing out the gap between the wall and the wooden door. How do you live with that? There’s no way it stays warm. I think your room might have more drafts than my shack. She continued to rummage around in his belongings.

Aromel sighed. It was pointless to argue. Urchins didn’t tend to answer to anyone and became hostile if confronted. He found befriending them more beneficial than reprimanding, at least in Melody’s case. He sat on his bed and watched her churn through his things.

What are you looking for?

I’m not stealing anything…

That’s not what I asked.

I just need some money, Melody said cheerfully.

Aromel coughed on laughter. Tell me how that wouldn’t be stealing?

It wouldn’t be stealing if I replaced it before you noticed! Melody rationalized. There’s going to be a catfight tonight and I want to put money on Lyon.

And who is Lyon?

He’s a stray I found a few days ago. He likes to follow me around, plus he keeps me warm at night while chasing the rats away. There’s a look in his eyes that says he would kill you for crossing his path. I can tell he’s going to win.

Aromel ran a hand through his hair. This girl wasn’t his problem, but sometimes he felt responsible for her. Somewhere along the way she had adopted the role of a younger sister.

Melody, why don’t you just use my money to buy some food?

Why eat for a night when I have a chance to eat for a week?

"Because there’s also a chance of losing my money and leaving you with no food at all."

She ignored him and closed the last of his drawers with a pout. You moved all of your stashes.

Yes, and with good reason, apparently.

Aww, come oooon! I only need a little! We have a good thing going between the two of us!

Aromel thought for a moment. It was true he and Melody shared a kind of symbiotic relationship; he helped her survive better than most urchins, and in return, she kept the other urchins away from him. On more than one occasion he knew he’d avoided being pickpocketed simply because of their friendship. He figured she must take what he gives her and shares it among the other urchins.

Come on, Aromel! Melody whined louder, The catfight is tonight!

You really need to learn some patience. As much of a handful as she could be, he did care for her. Begrudgingly he stood up and walked back into his studio to fetch the bag abandoned in his earlier haste. I can only spare a little, all right?

Melody squealed with excitement and ran to his side. Thank you, Aromel!

He took the last two of his remaining coins, each one a copper piece, and dropped them into her unwashed hands. Melody’s eyes sparkled a brilliant green as they clinked together in her palm. No doubt images of the piles of food she could buy with her winnings were running through her head.

I’ll pay you back! I swear! she cried, clenching the coins tightly. You won’t regret this!

Aromel wasn’t so sure. Have you ever seen one of these fights? Cats die there, you know.

She shook her head. This is my first one; I’ve always been late…  And when I have been able to make it, I wasn’t tall enough to see over everyone else. But I’ve done a lot of growing in the last year! Plus, I have my own entry now, so I’ll have to be at the front! She grinned proudly, hope alight on her face.

Well for both of our sakes, I hope Lyon wins… Tell him good luck for me. But be careful; my father always said if I gave an animal a name, it meant I was already too attached to it. Aromel put the empty coin purse away and fished out his new bottle of paint. The stool creaked when he sat at his easel.

The large canvas stared back, taunting him with the sections yet to be finished. He had a love-hate relationship with this part of his livelihood; so much work left ahead of him but still so much creativity to enjoy.

He glanced around the edge of the canvas. The girl remained standing with her eyes wandering around the room.

Not running off with your fortune?

Melody cast her eyes to her bare feet. It’s not until tonight… I don’t have anything to do until then…

You can stay here so long as you’re quiet, Aromel told her while grabbing a brush. I need to make progress on this painting.

Melody’s eyes brightened and she appeared by his side. She watched a few of his brushstrokes before letting her eyes wander again, falling on his newest bottle of paint. Her eyes widened. "Whoooaaaa… Purple?"

It sure is… Aromel responded as he continued to outline. Mentally, he was only half present at this point.

I thought it was only meant for rich people!

It is. He changed colors and began work on some trees. Between this little bottle of paint and my donation to your alley cat, my funds are tapped out. Except for my savings, but they’re in a bank in Sevli. I’ll be lucky to afford bread for dinner until I get paid.

Guilt fell over the urchin’s face. Oh… The extent of her friend’s generosity weighed on her heart. I-I didn’t know—

It’s fine! Aromel smiled at her and hardly paused painting. Once I finish this, I’ll have enough to treat us both to a great dinner. Maybe buy you some clothes not riddled with holes.

Melody giggled, They would just get stolen or ripped again. I would rather eat ‘til I had a belly ache.

A small stool was placed next to Aromel. Melody watched his brush strokes with the interest of a cat to a string.

I don’t think I could ever paint as well as you.

I thought you wanted to become a sorceress.

Melody fidgeted. "I do… But you can’t learn without a teacher, and nobody would teach an urchin. I’ve never even seen a sorceress."

Desire lingered on the child’s words. Such a magical title was given only to the elite. Skills in magic were saved for nobility who had the interest, talent, time, and funds to learn from a master. If such a route didn’t exist, one had to rely upon latent skill to make their way in the world of sorcery. They were few and far between and carried significant respect with their titles. Melody, unfortunately, did not fall into either of these categories. A part of him felt the girl only sought a place in the world where she could thrive and contribute.

Can’t say I know any magic, Aromel started, but I know a thing or two about art! Does painting interest you?

Melody replied softly, I don’t think I would be very good…

Anyone can paint if they practice. He tried to deliver a boost of confidence. Maybe I could teach you sometime.

Like an apprentice?? Ecstatic joy brought her voice to a higher pitch.

I suppose so… It would be nice to have someone clean my brushes and help with some of the commissions. There would be a lot of training involved, though.

I don’t care! She doubled down on her concentration and watched Aromel’s movements with more conviction. He figured she was more excited at the possibility of having a place to call home than the opportunity of learning to paint.

Maybe with Melody’s help I could afford to take her in and give her proper care and shelter, Aromel thought. It’s not a bad idea. There are worse fates for an urchin.

They sat in silence and listened to the sound of Aromel’s brushes. He could feel the rhythm consuming his mind. Wafting paint aromas dulled his senses. It was a familiar sensation, and a welcome one.

What are you painting?

Melody brought him out of his work, his pace suffering at the jolt back to reality. A noble’s daughter wants a portrait.

Of what?

A purple horse…lying in a forest grove… Aromel felt silly saying it aloud.

Melody’s lips sputtered in laughter. How stupid! There are no such things as purple horses! Not even an elf would believe in that, and they believe in a lot of crazy stuff. Did you know they think they can talk to trees?

You’re thinking of dryads, Aromel corrected her, elves aren’t real. And I know horses can’t be purple! Everybody knows. It’s what she wants, though. That’s the great thing about art; it doesn’t have to be real. You have the power to make it exist.

Melody was taken aback by his viewpoint. Art presented itself to her in an entirely new way. I never thought of it like that, she said, embarrassment brought her voice down.

Aromel scratched her head but regretted it after feeling her greasy hair. He wiped his hand for the good of the canvas. It’s fine, you’ll learn.

She remained observant. Aromel realized his words had a greater effect on the young girl than he intended. If he could help her to rise from the gutter, he was happy to do so. Despite her random questions, breaking into his house, and leaving him broke, Aromel was happy to have Melody as a friend.

The hours churned and the light outside began to fade. Aromel found himself in need of candlelight to continue the night’s work. The change in pace caused Melody to rise to her feet, wiping sleep from her eyes.

I should leave… I need to make sure Lyon eats before his big fight.

I think I saw a fat rat in the alley last night! Aromel offered. He was focused on lighting a few candles around his workspace from a smoldering hearth.

Rats are too scary… I’ve never had a nightmare about a mouse, though. She opened his front door. Wish me luck!

Don’t lose my money! he yelled back.

The door closed in response. He watched the dark outline of her head run past his window before disappearing.

Lonely silence filled the room. The darkness thickened, but Aromel brushed it off. He looked at the emerging figure of a horse in front of him and the way the golden candlelight glistened over the purple shades. Grabbing his brush and returning to work, Aromel wondered when he would see Melody again, as well as if it had been wise to entrust the remainder of his funds to a cat.

Chapter 2

Lyon of the Alley

Melody approached the decaying shack she called home. Her heart rate grew increasingly fast as the fight drew near. Wishful thinking told her Lyon would come through. He had to; Aromel had given her so much and was one of the few people in this world she didn’t resent. The last thing she wanted was to disappoint him, or worse, not be able to pay him back.

The outline of an abandoned shack stood against the twilight sky. It sat on the edge of town and fell further into ruin with each passing winter. Soon she and the other urchins who shared its roof would be forced to find a new hovel or run the risk of being buried under the debris should fate take a wrong turn after a heavy snowfall. Such difficulties felt eons away in the summer heat.

For now it offered protection from weather and disgruntled Kurtha citizens. It was also where she hoped to find Lyon curled in a pile of mangy fur on her bed. They hadn’t known each other long, but Melody found cats would befriend anyone willing to toss food their way. After gaining the necessary funds, she hoped he was ready to do his part.

Aromel’s two coins were clenched tight in her palm to keep her wealth hidden from those who might seek to take it. Living with the urchins didn’t mean she trusted them. The coins were held tighter upon entering the building. Floorboards creaked under her scrawny weight to announce her presence. The noise triggered a few children to rise from their beds and greet her.

Melody, abou’ time! one said as he clumsily got to his feet.

I told you I would be here, Cal, Melody stated. She recognized his drunken sway and realized he must have pilfered some cider from a local merchant. For a thirteen-year-old, he had a remarkable talent for consuming alcohol.

"Well ‘urry up. We were abou’…guuah…to leave witho’ ya, Call managed to communicate between belches. I’m ready to watch some cats die."

I’ll catch up.

She watched the few urchins leave, each muttering their expectations for the night. When they had all gone Melody made her way to the pile of dirty rags and potato sacks she called a bed. On top was curled the ball of love keeping her warm every night.

Lyon…! she whispered.

A small grey head rose from the pile of fabric and bared its fangs in a yawn before fervently licking a paw. Melody jumped onto the pile next to her pet and scratched its head. There was an odd sense of kinship with the animal. Sometimes she thought she saw a reflection of herself in its mannerisms.

The cat was grey in color and streaked with splotches of black. Two yellow eyes glowed at her while his tongue made wet slopping sounds. A crooked tail bent permanently at thirty degrees halfway down its length twitched suspiciously at her unusual demeanor. Melody ran a hand along the cat’s malnourished spine, causing him to arch his back before finally standing up to stretch on stilt-like legs.

Are you ready? she asked, rubbing the side of his face. One of his fangs was missing, but the other was sharp. We have to win tonight, Lyon…

The cat sat and stared at her. Melody supposed he would understand his role more when they got there. Lyon was invincible, ready, and itching to help better their lives. She grinned with confidence.

When you win this fight, I’m going to buy you a whole trout.

Promises made and a clear goal set, Melody gathered the animal into her arms and rushed off to join the others. The catfight would be in one of the darker alleys and secluded from much of the main village. It wasn’t difficult to know which alley based on the yelling.

An older urchin, Baid, raised his voice. Last call for bets!

The others quieted down. Among urchins, there was hardly ever a clear leader. Those running through Kurtha’s streets were no exception. However, if Melody’s group were to have one, she believed Baid would be a top contender.

The urchins stood around a circular ring made from cloth and sticks roughly five feet across. Candles and a fire lit their event like a strange cultist meeting. Inside the arena, three cats crouched with ears laid flat. Growls passed between one another in warning. A few more of the urchins took final looks at each of the felines and approached Baid to place their wagers.

Cal looked over the cat corral, judging them to his best advantage whenever his drunken double vision merged. Five copper pieces tha’ fat orange one beats the dirt out o’ these other pussies, he said to the boy next to him.

The boy raised an eyebrow at the boozy adolescent. Don’t bet me. If you have a wager, place it with Baid.

Cal looked at Baid still taking money and giving out torn pieces of paper. Oh, righ’… He gurgled in thought to remember why he was there. I’m not even sure I ‘ave three pieces… His attention quickly shifted to trying to keep his balance and he forgot about placing a bet.

Final call! Baid yelled. The cats were getting restless beside him. Their feral natures were beginning to shine.

Wait! I have one!

The urchins looked down the alley to witness Melody jogging toward them. A cat hung from the crooks of her elbows in a furry pendulum. Baid inspected her and the scrawny cat and found no issue. It was no concern of his whether or not he believed the cat capable of fighting; Lyon was Melody’s cat and urchins were free to make their own decisions.

Melody stopped at the ring to place Lyon inside its low walls. Immediately she turned toward Baid. Two copper pieces on Lyon.

His eyes widened in surprise but took her money regardless, handing her back a torn piece of paper with what she guessed had proof of her wager. Reading remained an elusive skill.

A girl in the group laughed. Where’d you find that thing, trapped under a wagon wheel? It looks like its fur is about to fall off!

Melody glared in the direction of the heckler: a girl about her age called Bug. Shut it. Lyon is going to win, Melody said matter-of-factly. She stepped up to the ring and wedged her shoulders between other spectators. Those other cats don’t stand a cha—

Seeing Lyon side by side with the other animals seeded worry in her gut. They easily doubled Lyon’s weight. Every second spent sizing up the competition made her heart sink lower. She suddenly felt very afraid for Lyon and hated watching him back into the wall. Lyon’s sharply pointed ears laid flat to his skull and his tail straightened into a thick puff of fur. He looked scrawny compared to the other alley cats. Melody was starting to regret her decision.

Cal belched loudly. Lyon is goin’ to die…

N-No he won’t! Melody whimpered. She felt trapped. She couldn’t get her money back if she withdrew her cat from the fight, and even if she were to grab him and run away, she still wouldn’t be able to repay Aromel. With so much riding on this fight, her confidence dwindled as Lyon shrank smaller into a hunched ball. The other cats were ready to strike or bolt. She hoped it was the latter.

Baid whistled into the night. Bets are closed. Let’s get this fight started.

He bent down and grabbed a box, shaking it back and forth in his hands before opening the top and dumping its contents into the center of the ring. Three disoriented mice tumbled onto the dirt and snatched the attention of each cat. Melody’s breath caught in her throat; terror gripped her from what she was about to witness. Responsibility left her unable to look away.

Every animal stood motionless, weighing their individual risks and rewards. They were starving and struggled daily for a decent meal but lunging after a mouse meant fighting for ownership.

One of the mice took the initiative to race for the barrier and scramble up the side. The nearest cat dared to reach a paw out in a cautionary attempt to catch it but failed to make contact. The rodent escaped and jumped from the wall, darting between the urchins’ legs before disappearing into the alley.

The cat to the right of Lyon, a flea-ridden calico, took the moment of confusion and lunged at the two remaining mice. Every cat was desperate for a meal and knew it was survival of the fittest in this arena. A large orange feline jumped to the center, ramming into the calico, and pinning a mouse under a set of razor claws.

The calico tumbled to the side and brought a hiss from Lyon when it came too close for comfort. Melody’s heart skipped a beat; the cats’ eyes locked and warning growls passed between them.

Hey get that one! Bug yelled, pointing at the fourth cat as it scrambled. It seized an opportunity to escape and followed in the mouse’s footsteps between the onlookers’ legs. In a flash it was gone into the night. Dammit… Bug sighed. There goes my chance at winning. Took me all day to catch it…

Keep your legs close together! Baid directed. "The last cat standing or left in the circle wins, and we came here for a fight. Don’t let them escape!"

Arrooowwlll!!

The urchins’ eyes all shot back to the arena when an ear-piercing yowl echoed around the alley. Half a mouse lay off to the side, the other still in one piece but motionless. The calico was inches away from the fiery tabby and a chorus of hisses were exchanged over the dead mouse. A gash ran over the calico’s right eye and seeped blood. Melody felt lightheaded with relief. Lyon had managed to escape any major confrontation so far. A spark of hope blossomed in her chest. If the other two cats fought each other into submission, Lyon could emerge victorious.

Ge’ in there, ya dumb puss! Cal roared drunkenly. He kicked at the barrier behind Lyon and startled him into jumping away. When he landed on the two other cats it looked like a pile of coiled springs had been released.

Cat limbs thrashed in a heap of dust and flying fur. Ear piercing screeches and yowls filled the air as the three animals traveled the circle in a mess of claws and fangs. It lasted a moment but it dragged on for a lifetime to Melody. She only wanted to save Lyon at this point. The money no longer mattered. Their motions were flying in flurries too fast to make sense of, but her eyes stung with tears. There was no chance of Lyon leaving the arena unscathed.

The rest of the urchins cheered around her. Aye, there we go!

Tha’s a proper pussy figh’!

Come on, Hunter! one cheered at their cat.

Melody was appalled. She should have known better than to put Lyon in this situation. He was her friend. Friends don’t ask friends to fight for money. These other cats had been captured or lured here against their wills, but Lyon had trusted her enough to share a bed at night. Splotches of blood littered the arena more by the passing second but still they fought, driven mad and defensive by hunger. A layer of dust filled the air in the ring, kicked up by their scramble.

She gasped when a cat scurried away from the fracas. Despair choked her throat when she saw it was the calico. It sat on the opposite side of the circle, licking a bloody paw with resent in its eyes. At Melody’s feet, the other two sat entwined and her fears worsened.

Lyon was bleeding from multiple places and found himself pinned by the orange tabby. Lyon’s front leg was in bad shape, the bottom half drenched in blood and colored a dark red. One of his eyes was shut tight with his hair matted in crimson. Large patches of fur were missing from his coat and soaked clods of dirt clung to each of his wounds. His breathing was sickeningly irregular.

Bared fangs wrapped around Lyon’s neck and a tear warmed a trail down Melody’s cheek. Although Lyon’s own fangs were on display, his growls were weak and raspy as if he were trying to breathe through flour.

I’m sorry, Lyon… Melody cried softly. She couldn’t take the pain and betrayal in his uninjured eye. His desire to live was fading like an old candle. I’m so sorry…

She felt powerless. The orange tabby terrified even her. She didn’t dare break them apart. Hope soared when the tabby’s jaws opened, releasing Lyon from its grip. It started toward the calico; he had seen it slink toward one of the mouse corpses.

Lyon remained on his side and made no attempt to get up. Melody’s heart broke. He had been invincible not even an hour before. Now watching him struggle to breathe, so helpless and shrunken, Melody felt at her heart’s end. She paid no attention to the other cats when one swiped at the other, nor to the laughs and cheers from those around her.

Lyon… Melody whimpered. The bend in his tail looked to have been broken again and pointed awkwardly at his stomach. She had to rescue him. It was the least she owed the cat after forcing him to look death in the face.

Excuse me, a voice said.

Sounds of hissing and cheers continued. The voice went unheard by the group. Melody alone processed the greeting and saw the dim outline of a figure approaching their huddle.

It’s trying to run away! a few of them called. The calico’s desperate efforts to escape left some of the urchin’s legs gouged with bloody scratches. They never failed to kick it back into the ring until finally it was backed into a wall by the tabby. The end was near.

Excuse me, the voice said louder this time, standing directly behind the group.

Piss off… Baid dismissed. It wasn’t worth taking his eyes off the fight.

Melody blinked a few times to clear the salt water from her eyes. A feminine figure stood tall and slender with a head of shoulder-length hair glowing a rich brown in the firelight. Splotches of fuzzy green covered her head and drew Melody’s eye.

There’s moss and twigs in her hair… she whispered softly.

The figure was clothed in pants and a tunic made of a fabric Melody did not recognize but resembled plant fibers. The woman opened her mouth to speak again. I’m looking for someone, and I have coin for any valid information.

The mention of money caught the attention of every urchin. They turned to look at her and ignored the calico taking the opportunity to scramble away. The tabby was left to munch triumphantly on both mice. A torn ear was the only injury incurred.

The woman continued. You are the local urchins, correct?

Baid stepped in. What’s it to ya?

Urchins often have the most intimate information regarding their city. I’m looking for a dryad named Glade; I have reason to believe he’s here in Kurtha.

I ain’t heard o’ no Glade, Cal said, but I would be willin’ to take that coin off your hands all the same. Maybe even earn ‘em a different way if you would like…

I doubt you could count the fingers on your own hand in your current state, child. She smiled calmly before turning away from them. I’ll be in town for a few days. Do let me know if you see him.

Before her figure disappeared from the light of the fire, she called back respectfully, Enjoy your night.

Her footsteps made hardly a sound as she departed.

Oi! My cat is the only one left! one of the urchins suddenly cheered.

The others were brought back to their original goal and saw for themselves the orange tabby was the only feline left in the ring.

Where’d tha’ real scrawny one go? Cal asked. I wanted to watch tha’ orange one go for the kill!

They looked around momentarily and found no sign of Lyon.

Must have crawled off to die… Baid determined, preparing to settle any bets. None of the urchins could hear the soft footfalls of Melody’s feet padding against the dirt as she ran, Lyon clutched in her arms.

The woman with moss in her hair had provided the perfect opportunity to steal Lyon away without protest or jeers from the other urchins. Of course, Lyon was struggling in her arms and clawing at her skin with whatever paws still functioned. She held him firm against her body. The pain and agony she knew he must be experiencing was more than any beloved pet should have to endure.

I’m sorry, Lyon, I’m sorry…

Melody flew through town, rushing him to the shack and the bed they had come to share. I’m going to make you better. I promise. I won’t let you die!

She burst into the empty building and was greeted by the sound of solitude. The shack was quiet save for her sobs and the wind whistling through the wooden structure as she tenderly placed Lyon on their bed. The kindness was repaid with another hiss and a new set of scratches before he lay on his side. Blood coated his fur and much of Melody’s arms. They stung with deep cuts but were nothing compared to the sorrow she felt in her heart. By this time, Lyon’s eyes had closed. Shallow breaths were the only indicator of his soul’s presence.

It’s going to be all right, Lyon… Melody promised, sitting next to her pet. Rough knees rested against her chin. I swear I won’t ever do anything like this again… It’s not worth any amount of money…

She remained by his side quietly crying out of guilt for her two friends she had let down, hardly pausing when the other urchins returned laughing and discussing one of the best catfights they could remember.

Chapter 3

Sage

Aromel sat at his table bouncing a leg nervously. Several days had passed and every waking hour was spent on the canvas. A piece of bread and some cheese rested in front of him although he didn’t feel up to eating. It wasn’t because every meal had been the same for the past few days, but rather he was anxiously awaiting the noble’s arrival. He had been told mid-day. The shadows were lengthening now and Aromel wondered if the noble’s daughter had changed her mind. Such a twist of fate would be disastrous given how financially thin he’d stretched himself.

His coin purse was empty and as it stood, he wouldn’t be able to afford a ride to Sevli to withdraw from his bank. Soon his cupboards would be as empty as his wallet. He prayed the noble and his daughter hadn’t changed their minds.

A polite knock at the door brought trepidatious relief. It swung open to reveal a tall, well-dressed man in his late forties with a young girl at his side. Two guards accompanied them as both protection and servants. Aromel guessed the girl was around Melody’s age but with a far better diet. A mess of blonde curls bounced in direct contrast to Melody’s jet-black mop. Cleanliness coated them in a pristine aura. It would be difficult to mistake them for anything other than wealth. The noble’s brown goatee boasted an expensive shave and the girl’s green dress likely cost more than Aromel’s taxes for the year.

Lord Tulfur, very nice to see you again, Aromel greeted. He extended his hand and the noble shook it. No effort was made to hide a gentle wiping gesture on the side of his trousers afterward.

I must say I’m glad you are still open, the lord said. I saw the closed sign in the window and I feared the worst. You did remember I would be coming today, yes?

Of course! I closed my shop so we would not be disturbed. Aromel felt it best not to remind the noble he was hours late for their meeting. He also thought it best not to tell him he had closed based on his normal store hours.

Where’s my painting? the girl asked excitedly.

It’s inside waiting for its new owner! Aromel waved them in and closed the door.

Little Gretchen has been bubbling with delight ever since I gifted this for her birthday. I’ve heard raving reviews of your work. Looking around your shop, I should say they were all well-founded! He stroked his facial hair while inspecting the art on display. Although your talent was something I surmised for myself when I first visited. Had I not, we surely wouldn’t be having this conversation now. It is no small feat to earn my approval so easily, but your art simply jumps from the canvas! Your works are exquisite, if I may say so.

Aromel was taken by surprise by the noble’s praise and floundered to find the right response. T-Thank you very much, sir. I hope you enjoy your daughter’s piece just as much.

Lord Tulfur chuckled, I appreciate that, my dear boy, but it is not my approval you should be after.

Can I see it now?? Gretchen bounced impatiently on her heels. It’s been more than a week since my birthday and I’m tired of waiting.

No more waiting then! Aromel directed them to the easel where his most recent work rested under a sheet. The artist unveiled it with pride in his chest.

Despite the odd color choice for the horse, Aromel felt it was one of his greatest works. A majestic purple horse lay in the middle of a forest grotto. A wall of tree trunks branched upwards into a vast canopy thick enough to turn day into twilight. The animal’s eyes dared someone of worth to come along and tame its wild nature.

Aromel grew excited watching them stare. Even the guards absorbed the piece with interest.

If you look closely, you’ll notice I painted this in such a way the atmosphere of the art changes based on the light cast upon it!

He turned it toward the direct light of the outside window and caused the grotto to be bathed in afternoon sun. Then, turning it away from the window to face a set of candles along a shelf, he showcased his work under an aura of dusk. The horse and grotto glowed in the illumination of an unseen campfire. Its eyes reflected beautifully and shimmered with the flames.

Aromel continued with welling pride. It’s due to specific shades of color and a certain style of brushstrokes. Depending on the light, the entire mood changes. He had become obsessed with this painting, but finally, his hard work was going to pay off; his tongue could almost taste the fire-roasted lamb he would eat tonight to celebrate.

The noble looked it over, all the while nodding and closely inspecting the fine detail. Very impressive, my boy. Clearly your reputation is not without a solid foundation! It is simply magnificent.

Thank you very much, Lord Tulfur! Aromel could feel himself beaming. This would be the start of the next level for his work. Soon his name would be known throughout the Tades region, and then perhaps the entire continent of Holdach. It was a far-flung idea, Aromel knew, but this work of art for the noble brought him one step closer toward painting for royalty. His head fogged with images of the king himself visiting his humble shop.

A purple horse is crazy, Aromel thought, but it’s perfect for being the step up to make me famous.

Lord Tulfur turned to his daughter. What do you think of it, Gretchen my dear?

She stood still, silently admiring the painting with her head cocked to one side. Her eyes stared intently without blinking. It’s pretty! But purple is a weird color for a horse, isn’t it?

Aromel’s confidence crumbled. He began to stammer, T-This is exactly what you—

The noble interrupted, "Daughter, you did request a purple horse if I recall…"

Well sure… Gretchen confirmed, clasping her hands behind her back. But I’m not sure I like purple now. And I can see why there are no real purple horses; they’re ugly! Brown would have been much better. Or white! White as pure snow!

The room was silent. The attending guards stared hard at Aromel, daring him to make a scene from obvious frustration. Of course, every person there agreed purple was a terrible color for a horse. Aromel also knew he had painted exactly what was ordered of him.

My Lord, I’m sure you understand this painting took a great deal of work, as well as money, to produce…

The noble ignored him. Gretchen, do you have any desire for this fine piece of art? Wouldn’t it look fabulous hanging above your bed? Perhaps in your playroom? Tulfur tried to reason with his daughter while waving his hand in front of the art. How many of your friends have paintings of purple horses??

Gretchen crossed her arms. I would get made fun of! I don’t want it.

Tulfur’s hand clenched and pulled away slowly. A frown drooped his cheeks while his daughter left to wander around the gallery, the once sought-after purple horse now long forgotten. He turned toward Aromel, his air of nobility faltering only slightly.

I’m afraid I must apologize for my daughter. She can be picky at times.

Aromel gulped. Dread piled onto his heart. This conversation could only end so well.

The noble continued. I regret to say I cannot purchase this fine piece from you.

What? Aromel asked, a dense pounding in his ears.

The responding chuckle reeked of apathy. My dear boy, you must understand; it is a beautiful work, to be certain, but I would never place it upon a wall in my home, nor would my wife ever allow such a thing. It was to be for Gretchen. If she has no want for it then why would I buy it to only have the thing sit in storage for the rest of its days? He waved his hands and shook his head. No no no, it makes far more sense for you to keep it and let another interested party give it a loving home.

Sir, Aromel began sternly but corrected himself when the noble raised an eyebrow. M-My Lord, as I said, this painting took a significant amount of time to complete and the supplies needed for it were not easy to come by. I was counting on the money from this purchase.

I understand completely. One cannot simply order another’s time and then neglect to pay them once the work is finished; such a thing is comparable to breaking one’s word.

Aromel felt a spark of hope. Perhaps nobility could be trusted.

Tulfur continued, You shall be paid, but I hope you understand it is only fair you are not paid in full. I am leaving empty-handed, of course…

The noble withdrew a pouch attached to a leather cord around his neck from under his tunic. A number of coins appeared in his fingers, and grabbing Aromel’s hand, the noble placed them into his palm. He patted the top of it as if to signify a job well done and wrap their transaction in an imaginary bow.

Brilliant work, my boy. Such a masterful purple horse has never been gazed upon before today. Unfortunately, I’m afraid it would now be wasted in my hands.

Aromel was at too much of a loss for words other than to say, Thank you, Lord Tulfur… You’re too kind…

The guards knew there was no need to be on alert; the painter was beaten.

Gretchen, it is time to go. Perhaps when you’re older and more set in your desires we will return with our business. She joined him at his side while he unlocked the door for himself and bid goodbye to Aromel. There is no doubt in my mind you shall sell it soon! And fear not; I will make sure to spread word of your magnificent talents and many-colored animals!

Bye, Painter! Gretchen bid before heading outside into the golden hour.

Their farewells were capped by the sound of his front door slamming shut. He stood stupefied next to the artwork he had been so proud of only moments before and reluctantly looked at the money in his palm: a total of three copper pieces. Less than three percent of the original price. The purple horse mocked him on the edge of his vision. The entire room of his paintings mocked him. Each coin carried more misfortune than the last.

The noble’s effortless dismissal of Aromel’s hard labor made his stomach burn. Part of him wanted to chase the noble down and demand he pay for what he ordered, although he knew such actions would not better the situation. In fact, it would likely land him in a jail cell if his anger were to get the better of him. The guards wouldn’t hesitate to silence his ruckus. It wasn’t worth losing his career over.

It was, however, worth getting drunk over. Aromel decided the local tavern would be his place of solace. With his meager payment safely stowed on his person and the doors locked, he headed toward Kurtha’s local tavern where other miserable men might share his desire for a foggy mind and escape from cruel reality.

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains to the north and Kurtha was becoming enveloped in an ever-darkening layer of dusk. Soon the streetlamps would be lit to help combat the threats of the night, but these were few and far between. It was best not to be out alone when it was dark; even in a group, misfortune could easily befall the unsuspecting citizen. Aromel knew this all too well and still deemed a generous mug of cider a necessary cure for his misfortune.

A five-minute walk later, he found himself entering Kurtha’s only tavern, The Sloppy Bandit. It did well to live up to the name. Hardened urine-soaked dirt and tracked horse manure made up the floor along with discarded bits of food tossed aside by the drunkards. Irregularly placed lanterns were hung around the interior to help light the different faces, food, and drink. Most of the light and warmth flowed from a massive fireplace at the far side of the room. Two barmaids scuttled about with alcohol, weaving through the dozen or so tables and their fewer customers.

An empty table along a wall and a good distance from the fire called his name. It was still warm outside and the drinks he intended to guzzle would only make him warmer. Raging flames wouldn’t help his mood. A barmaid was quick to approach.

Get ya anythin’? Her hair was drawn back in a tangled ponytail and grease stains covered her apron like spots on a newborn deer. Hands resting on her hips indicated a rush but the number of patrons didn’t warrant urgency.

Cider, please, Aromel grunted.

She gave a weak smile in return and left him to his thoughts of anger and resentment.

The sheer indecisiveness of the noble’s daughter stirred his emotions almost as much as the noble’s handling of the situation. Aromel knew he could hardly blame the girl for being choosy; even Melody was prone to similar indecisive behaviors. Lord Tulfur, on the other hand, had made a commitment to buy his work. The cost of the painting was a drop in the bucket for the noble but came to a tidy fortune for Aromel. Business-wise, he understood the noble’s reasons. From an ethical standpoint, however, he was positive buying the painting would have been the right thing for the noble to do.

May I join you? a toneless voice asked.

Aromel quickly realized he must have been staring off into space for some time. He took notice of the woman standing next to him only after she spoke.

He laughed, hardly glancing at her from the assumption she was selling nightly services. Sorry, afraid I can’t afford anything like that tonight. Normally he wouldn’t consider such a thing, but if tonight’s drinking had been in celebration rather than misery, he can’t say it wouldn’t have been in the cards.

The woman hummed in agreement. "Nor would I be selling any of the wares no doubt floating through your mind."

Her air of authority struck Aromel like a rock to the head. Her voice was confident and strong; she had a clear goal set and nothing short of death would stop her course. Aromel was surprised again when she circled the table to select a chair. She sat poised and proper with crossed legs.

If her authority had struck Aromel like a rock, her appearance ran him over like a horse and wagon. The woman’s hair hung to her shoulders in wispy strands clumped into thick locks. Its chestnut-brown