Into the City (Tales of Ain)

It went by many names, and each people claimed they were the first to name the great City, and all believed their distant claim to its vast and sprawling territory. My people called it Ain, an ancient word of my language vaguely comparable to the common tongue´s word for plate. This was only my first visit but I could already sense this was a place of immense importance, something about the look of it, the noise, the smells appealed to a nostalgia that I did not know I could feel, especially for a place I had never seen before. I looked over at Cinta, and by his peculiar expression guessed he was experiencing the same disconcerting feeling. We were only on the outer ring of the City, as far as non combatants were allowed, miles from the heart of Ain. Most of the city was a uniform chalk white hue, although now that they were amongst the buildings, they seemed far filthier than they had from miles away. I thought back to how the City had seemed to glow in the rain, a circular beacon of beauty. Lost in awe, I was startled to feel long cold fingers softly laid on my shoulders. I looked up at a Garvan, thin, his green skin looked unwashed and a sickly smell clung to his tattered robes. Luckily we had a large Garvan population back home, and I knew how to deal with them somewhat effectively, I avoided eye contact and ignored his attempts to talk to me. Cinta quickly stepped in beside me as I outstretched my hand for him to hold on to. Garvans were relatively ugly creatures, or seemed so to me, their ancestors had been mineborne and lived in the darkness for centuries before a branch of them had dared the sunlight. This also meant that they were almost completely blind, but had a keen sense of smell and hearing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Garvan´s saliva dripping from his green mouth with every word as he continued his desperate sputtering in Kindra, the native Garvan language, which was nothing but horrible gurgling noises to my ears. Eventually the Garvan gave up and stopped matching my now brisk walking up the crowded street.

”Coqondr!” he called after us, a word I did know, as I had naturally learnt only the worst of curses in most languages.

Cinta looked up at me and let out a giggle that only a child that is immensely relieved can produce. I tried to smile reassuringly and suppressed my own giggle of relief. Now I had to concentrate, the elders back home had given me directions on how to get to the square, and as I wove through the packed alleys and stoneways I heard an uproar which could only be coming from the square. I quickened my pace, and felt Cinta struggling to keep up the pace as his shoulders sagged and he let himself be impulsed partly by my own inertia. As we entered the square I immediately was blocked by a wall of turned backs, sweaty and putrid smelling bodies arching their necks to get a good look of the events in the small stage in the center of the square. It was a high emissary of the King of Muine, whose side of the city we were currently in. Trumpets boomed announcing the emissary´s imminent speech, and I quickly grabbed Cinta´s hand, and started to push and weave our way closer to the center. We received an abundant amount of kicks, shoves and curses, but by the time the high emissary´s (many) titles had been recited, we were only a few rows away from him.

“Your King Fiornal of the Kingdom of Muine with its capital in this great city of Esquelar (the name of Ain in Drion, the language common among the Muine noblemen) has finally sensed his rightful and long awaited successor has come about!”, this was met with excited chatter, which the emissary patiently waited out before continuing, “he is in this very square,“ again, excited chatter, the emissary was evidently beginning to enjoy the theatricality of his announcement. I quickly pushed forward with Cinta close behind me, still attached to my hand. I wanted to make sure I got a good look at this future king before he was scooped up and surely not to be seen for years. Maybe even get a good spit on him, that would be a good story for the grandkids. As I turned my gaze back to the emissary, a strange look came over him, as if he was listening, and as if what he heard surprised him, then his gaze darted down, directly at me, but without seeming to see me. He was searching, almost frantically, his eyes darting about on his pale and miserly face. Then just as abruptly as his search had begun, it ended, he turned his back to my side of the crowd, and whispered to the captain of the guard, then turned around and pointed at what I could only assume was somebody behind or in front of me.

He couldn’t have pointed at me, I was sure. I held on to this thought as it was slowly stripped away from me with every step the city guard took towards me, and until they were directly in front of me. I felt myself lose my footing and let go of Cinta´s hand to brace myself from the floor as I toppled backwards. The pristine steel helm of the captain of the guard caught the sun as he reached down with a gloved hand, and grabbed Cinta, as I looked on stupidly. Cinta looked at me desperately, for help, for a solution, but i sat there, dumbfounded, frozen in place. I watched the guard of Ain took my brother away, as realization kicked in and Cinta struggled against the visor grip of the guard. I was still sitting, my mind racing as the high emissary announced the long awaited finding of the eighty second Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Muine.