Setting Out

"Ahh-hah. That's a good one. You pick up girls with that?" Morn held her sides from laughing so hard. It had taken her a full minute to stop, during which Kir's moms looked over, but instead of coming to help they just smiled, winked, and went to their wagon to toss in the backpacks they'd brought with them.

"Why is that funny?" Kir asked.

"You're joking, right?" Morn asked. "A demon and an angel would never... It would be like an ice cube trying to dilly with an explosion," she giggled at her own cleverness. "No, seriously, what angel would unfreeze enough to let a demon between her legs, and what demon would even be attracted to her?" she chortled. None of what she asked was in any form of seriousness.

Kir gave her a straight answer anyway. "My father is Maledict, Duke of Heresy, and my mother is Aeleas, Daughter of Heaven."

All humor in Morn's face drained. "You're yanking my wings, right kid? Because if you got Duke blood in ya... that means you're, like, a big deal, right?"

It was then that Kir realized his lack of discretion might get him in trouble, but it was too late for him to try to backpedal. "Not really," he blinked rapidly, his tail swishing in his discomfort. "Not like my dad was ever in my life..."

"Well that's just common fare amongst our kind," Morn said. "My mam was the demon side of me. Popped me out, gave me a name, then dropped me off on my da. Bastard decided he had to raise me in secret, got real resentful about it. I ran off to the circus as soon as I got a bit of magic with my wings and never looked back." She flared her wings a little as she spoke, showing off.

"So wait... if you've been with the circus, does that mean they let you into town?" he asked.

"Of course it does! People don't mind a bit of demon blood as long as you're entertaining enough. They always have a bit of fun watching me play the angel in the acts. I'd say I'm pretty accurate too, got the self-righteousness nailed down just right," she reached up and mimed a halo.

"When we found out there was a demonkin in town, I even got to do proper stories! Hell raids, revenge tales, histories from the Heavenswar... Never saw you in the stands, but those stories were the most fun, and far more popular than we expected."

Kir was beginning to suspect Morn may have, indirectly, had something to do with his getting stabbed at the age of twelve. He wasn't ready to unpack the notion that he could be accepted if he was performative enough to entertain, so instead he changed the subject.

"Do, um, angels really have those? Floating haloes that is." He asked.

"Well, from what I learned on the road, most of them wear circlets. The floaties are for when they got a spell to cast and need the mana, takes special magic to make but stores a bunch of power. They only wear those when they're showing off." Morn was very expressive with her body and wings as she spoke, and her body language conveyed to Kir that angels were haughty showoffs.

"I wish I could put a bird's nest in the real thing... Ooh, that's a great idea for the show..." She shook her head and returned to the subject at hand. "The worst is angelkin though. People like you and me but on the other side get a little heaven blood and it goes right to their heads. Think they're all divine kings or some shit."

Kir eventually ran through his time with Morn, as she was called away to help pack the circus' wagons.

It took only a single flap of her wings to bear her off the ground, and he wondered if it was some instinctive use of magic or some difference in the laws of physics that made her able to do that. The ratio of wingspan to size and weight for himself didn't match up with his sense of what should be possible, and he hadn't even bothered to check if he had hollow bones or the like...

"So... how was she?" Darlae's question broke Kir out of his brooding thoughts.

"I wasn't doing what you're thinking," Kir responded flatly. "Plus, she said she's been with the caravan since she was my age. That means she must be, like, forty or something."

"Eh, give it time. You've got a whole trip ahead of you 'til we get to Norneau." She punched him lightly in the arm. "Now help us figure out this canvas thing. Brigit's about to resort to magic and I'd rather not have to patch holes."

Kir helped them bend install and then bend the rods into place, before removing them, applying the canvas, and replacing them. With a decent roof over their wagon, the only things left to do were loading up extra food, taking on some cargo that would be more convenient if they held onto it, and waiting for the caravan to depart.

When the time, at last, came to go, Kir had enough time to make friends with the raptors, who he learned were named Lulu and Eda.

The caravan set off with fanfare from its own band, and their illusionist sent up magical fireworks that burst into fantastic shapes and animals made of fire. Some of the performers walked beside the wagons as they began to move, somersaulting and twirling as they showed off all the way to the eastward gate before loading up with final flourishes.

Darlbridge was decently sized as far as frontier towns went, and it seemed as though all of the nearly one-thousand residents had come to bid farewell to the year's greatest entertainment.

Kir was starting to feel good about the trip when he noticed that two wagons over was a very familiar head of blonde hair.

"Hey, uh, mom... is the caravan just going to Norneau or will there be other stops?" he asked Brigit.

"Hm? Of course there are other stops. It's almost eight-hundred great measures to Norneau, so there will be plenty of villages on the way. Why do you ask?"

Kir lowered his voice, "Because the guy who stabbed me is going too," he tilted his head, indicating toward Lugh with his horns.

"Oh, Hirda Thyestes' boy. I heard something about him getting a bit of magic and going to Norneau. Don't worry, he's too old for the Academy. Might be out to become an arcane knight though. You'll probably never see him, so don't worry about it."

"I'm more worried that he'll try something on the trip and I'll have to... stop him..." Kir said.

"Whatever happens, don't kill him. The caravan's nervous enough as is about monsters and bandits and..." she trailed off, and Kir didn't have to guess what she wasn't saying.

He remembered a saying that a mother had said to her child, unaware that he was above the parlor where Brigit conducted her business.

To most people, one demonblood was bad news, two were trouble, and three were a conspiracy. It was the sort of thinking that more often than not led to violence.

This time, however, Kir was determined not to become a victim without a fight.