Sash

A shadow blotted out what little remained of the sunlight- a winged shape soared above her. She squinted, willing the shadow into focus. A bird. Vicious-looking, it was so black it was as if it absorbed all light it touched. Like a black hole. Like a void. She raised her arms in protection, awaiting the stinging pain of talons on her skin.

Verona crouched, keeping her head covered. She closed her eyes, ignoring the sticky blood she could feel in her hair, on her face, on her body… at last the bird hit her, knocking her painfully onto her side. She screamed as her skin tore under the force of the bird’s talons. With feet the size of her hands, it was even larger than the sea eagles that occasionally visited the pond to fish. It circled high above her, and dove to strike again.

Chainbreaker eternal…Eyrie…

Damn it. Sweating, Verona wiped the salty droplets from her forehead. She owed Corbin several days’ work, at least, for the amount she had imbibed so far this month. Drown it all away. The dreams. The guilt. The blood she could still feel staining whatever remained of her soul.

Verona’s head pounded, her empty stomach aching as it grumbled in protest. Corbin would be expecting her any minute, now. A burning soreness radiated down her back, warm enough that she might have thought she’d been burned by flame. Strange. She couldn’t recall having been in any fights last night, and the session had gone well. Especially with that pretty man with the equally-as-pretty lute there. Would he return tonight? Or perhaps during her shift? Although she could do without the hand kisses…

Never again, she told herself, lazily pulling on her only non-torn pair of trousers. She stumbled and tipped into the wall. She told herself this every day. No more late-night mead or ale, no more sessions until near-dawn. Her fishing lines had been bare more often than not this season, and she had trapping to do, but without Amona, the forest trails were far more frightening.

Traversing them alone was becoming less of an option by the day. Shifts at the tavern, at least, meant free meals. Proximity to other people. The Tavern was the only place she didn’t feel so utterly alone.

The streets were quiet in the early morning light, other than the occasional melodic bird song. Verona squinted against the sunlight as she walked to the Crow. At least it was warm out today. The late harvest celebration was near, which meant that the cold season– the season of the goddess Kithys– was near. Although Kithys brought death with her as the season turned, Verona had always preferred the sight of snow gleaming on the village streets, the utter stillness a good storm brought with it. She would have to chop logs for the fireplace soon. Without Amona to help carry the logs back, it would be harder than previous seasons.

Maybe Corbin will help, if I beg him enough. Or maybe Bryonn, the pretty man. She’d pluck his lute strings if he let her. Get ahold of yourself, Winspear.

The flicker of a shadow attracted her attention. She watched in silent wonder as a bird of prey soared overhead, its silhouette stark against the blue of the morning sky. Her chest tightened for a moment. It reminded her of that strange shadowed bird in her dream from last night. She pictured the bird plunging down at her, talons outstretched…

And realized that her hands were shaking.

Snap out of it. It’s just a hawk. Verona had always been fascinated with birds, especially hawks. They were brave. Bold. Everything she intended to become someday. Although in Rihlia, not all birds of prey were as they seemed. For a moment she hesitated, the tavern’s crow- dotted sign coming into view. Some hawks had two forms. And potent magic. Her father had always been very, very clear about his opinion of hawks.

He would have yelled at Verona just for watching one soar.

Hopefully it would be a quiet day, without any troublemakers. There were several regulars she hoped never to see when she worked a shift. Gropers, men who didn’t quite grasp the concept of bathing or soap…

The gropers were always the worst, and one of the main reasons why she carried a weapon everywhere she went. Corbin was more gracious than a man in his field should be. Especially to a drunkard like Verona.

The man was singing to himself, dishes and mugs clattering, as Verona walked into the door to The Soggy Crow. She watched him in silence until he noticed her and paused. She glanced behind to see if the bartender was looking at someone else so intently, but there was nothing but the heavy oak door.

“Good morning,” was all he said before crouching behind the bar. More dishes rattled, as Verona carried her scant belongings in and hung them on the copper hooks lining the front wall of the tavern. She approached the bar, and watched Corbin arrange the assorted silverware and dishes.

I should help, she thought, but her head was still pounding, and her empty belly made her dizzy.

“Do you need anything?” The raucous of dishes being moved stopped for a moment, and Corbin stood up suddenly. His eyes roved her from head to toe, and narrowed slightly.

“You don’t have anything better to wear to work?” His deep voice was gentle, despite the annoyance on his face.

“I…” Corbin knew damn well that Verona had no ‘better’ clothing to wear. He was lucky she even had these pants and tunic she’d bought at market over a year ago, now. With a heavy sigh, Corbin extricated a bundle of clothing from a drawer at the bar, and set it in front of her. She simply stared at the black dress and silver sash, dumbfounded.

“It’s yours,” Corbin mumbled, “You can go put it on in the back room. We’re opening in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” Stunned, Verona stared at the bundle before her. No one had given her new clothing for years.

Without another word, Verona took up the clothes- silk, maybe-? She fidgeted with the material as she walked to the back. Whatever it was, it was better than the scraps she had on at the moment. The sash felt warm in her hand, its material shining in the dim light of the tavern as she traced the intricate embroidery.

She changed quickly, tossing the moth-eaten tunic and slacks in the trash bin. She surveyed the decorations that hung on the wall in this room. What looked like an elk head and a boar head…typical tavern decor, as far as she knew. But…what was slightly unusual were the stone-encrusted shields in between the taxidermied game. Adjusting the straps of her dress, Verona moved closer, admiring her reflection in the metal of the shield.

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Corbin has good taste. I actually look….passable. She leaned forwards, trying to read the odd language etched into the jewels. How had she never noticed these before? The closer she got, the more she felt the urge to set a hand on the stones.

They must be worth a fortune, she thought, and reached to touch the shield.

“Verona!” Corbin’s voice boomed from the front bar, “Doors are opening now! Are you ready?” Hesitantly, she backed away from the shield and turned to set some tables.

Corbin smiled at her as she strolled into the front of the tavern. He tossed her an apron from across the bar, with an approving nod.

“I knew it would look nice on you, Winspear. I’d actually forgotten about it, until today. You can keep it, of course. Consider it your uniform from now on.” Verona smiled at him, tying the apron around her waist. Corbin threw a bar towel at her. “Go wipe some tables down, will you?”

Empty seats were the usual for the tavern, at least this early in the morning. The patrons would likely start to trickle in once the businesses around them were open.

“Wiping tables. It could be worse, Corbin could have banned me several times over by now,” Verona mumbled to herself. And things could have gone much worse, although a particularly stubborn stain on one of the larger tables in the back room had her arms sore by the time she got it cleaned.

She was massaging her aching muscles when the door opened and a cool gust of fresh air blew in.

Time to get to work.

I'll probably just stay until nightfall, she thought. Fish weren't biting, the market was slow this time of year. Maybe she could drink for free, later. Sing a little bit. A chair nearby scraped over the barroom floor, as someone took a seat. Verona smelled him before she saw him.

By the gods, why? Dammit.

"You're looking nice today, Verona." The sound of his voice made her cringe. She would have preferred a harbinger as a customer. Or the town butcher before changing out of his bloodied work clothes. Anyone but him. Rafferty. Verona had known him since she was a child, and he had never improved. He had been a bully all their lives. Though he was around her age, in his mid twenties, he looked many years older. Rafferty had been kicked out of the Crow numerous times for fighting. He was a known thief, stalking around the market. A no good, rotten pickpocket.

And a pervert.

Gods, he smelled. She resisted the temptation to throw a bar towel at him.

"What do you want?" Verona found herself asking, her tone bitter. She'd rather be doing anything than serving him.

"Well, if it isn't little Winspear. Working to pay off debts again?" His words were slurred- already drunk, then. At least Verona waited until late at night most of the time. She drank to stave off those dreams. To drown her guilt. She only drank to forget the slosh of blood as it splashed onto her boots, her mother's screams in the corner of her mind as those masked monsters....She hid her fisted hands in the folds of her apron.

"Verona," Cobin's voice interrupted her, "Please just take his order." With a dark glance at Rafferty, Corbin went back to work. Her chest tight, Verona focused her attention back onto Rafferty. What was his first name, again?

"Your order please." She would be as pleasant as she had to be. No more. No less. His squinty eyes zeroed in on her, and he reached an arm out to claw at the edge of her dress.

"New outfit, I see." His eyes hovered on her legs, bare under her clothing.

"What. Do. You. Want. To.Order." The outline of her dagger pressed into her thigh underneath the dress. If he tries anything, she reminded herself. I’ll just run him through. Corbin wouldn’t be thrilled about it, but the jerk certainly had it coming. She was surprised he’d survived this long.

Rafferty tilted his head at her and sneered.

"Fine, then." I'll just have some ale. And that gods-awful crow stew!" He yelled, as Verona bolted across the room to the bar.

"He's terrible to me," she spoke to Corbin in hurried, hushed tones. "Why is he still allowed here?"

“You broke my window after your horse died. Why are you still allowed here?” Verona’s upper lip curled at him. He had a point. Her eyes slid to the boarded up windows, before settling back onto Corbin. “Someone needs to pay the bills,” He mumbled, and slid a mug of ale in her direction. Verona bit her lip, grabbed the drink and dropped it unceremoniously onto Rafferty's table. His dark, mink-like eyes watched her every move.

Pig. Predator. He really did remind her of a weasel. Or a boar. Firmin. That was his name. Firmin Rafferty. It was fitting, really. So close to the word ‘vermin.’

"Your stew will be here soon, Firmin." she snapped, and jogged back to the bar. She could feel his eyes on her with every step.

She watched Corbin work for a moment, her heart fluttering in her chest. Rafferty was already half drunk, already getting handsy. It would only worsen the more he drank. A sudden surge of heat erupted at her waist, and she lowered her hand to the silver sash Corbin had gifted her. In the daylight streaming through the gaps between the boarded windows, the silver threads on the sash were glowing.

Probably a trick of the light. Corbin placed a steaming bowl onto the bar, and Verona caught a whiff of…venison? Rabbit? Was it ox?

Oh, no, mystery meat again. He didn't meet her horror-widened eyes, simply turned to fill another customer's drink. At least there was some business today, after all. She fidgeted with her apron and silver sash, and grabbed the bowl bare-handed.

“Gods!” She yelped.

Hissing, she juggled it, half-throwing it onto Rafferty’s table. Broth splashed along the sides of the dish and onto the wood below.

“Verona,” Corbin called to her, “What are you doing?” Verona glanced at him, cradling her aching hands. There was a thick dish towel on the bar. One he had clearly intended her to hold the bowl with. The man sighed heavily. “Come dip it into the basin. It’ll help with the burns, at least a little bit.”

A wheezing sound at the table behind her diverted her attention. Firmin. He was laughing at her. A different kind of heat burned through Verona, radiating from her waist, weaving its way into her chest, face, and arms, bidding her to unsheathe the concealed dagger.

A voice, a whisper urged her on. Chainbreaker…

That splitting pain in her head returned…Firmin’s laughter continued.

“Starmaker…” Another whisper, in the back of her mind, like the afterthought of her dreams.

Verona’s rage exploded, and she saw only flame.