Fairy Tale Lie (1)

For being such a hot place, the air chilled rapidly as the sun disappeared beyond towering dunes. It was a relief when the last of our party closed the door, shutting the night out behind us. Of the few sandy white-chalked buildings by the oasis, The Thirsty Traveler was by far the warmest and most welcoming. The hostess was a lively woman, instilling respect by both stature and smile. Her long braid thumped on her back in steady beats with her steps, reminding me of boots tramping the rhythms of song at a good feast. Dinner was ready when we arrived, and she served it with pleasant efficiency.

Her name was Kaira, and she invaded our table at the first opportunity.

"Your skin is lovely, my dear."

Did she greet all guests like that? This might be normal for desert people. Or perhaps nice skin was rare here, with the ever-present sun? "Thank you . . ."

"You must have traveled very far," Kaira said, hands flat on the table as she leaned in, her slanted lips rivaling the sparkle in her eyes.

"Quite far," I agreed, dipping my spoon into the soup, then blowing off some steam. There was an angry tummy to appease. The food tasted like sweet heaven with a sizzle of spices, possibly because of the long day and my travel-worn condition. The small piece of bread was fresh out of the oven, sugary with a hint of something more. As I looked up, I stared right into Kaira's dark eyes. "Do you run this place by yourself?" I asked, feeling rather polite.

She shifted her weight, popping a hip to put her hand on. "Oh no, I have help. Three pairs of excellent hands, my sister one of them. But after my late husband died . . ." she drew a deep breath. "Well, I am the sole owner now."

Kaira was not, by appearance, an old woman. She was in her late twenties or early thirties, if I had to guess. It would seem the desert claimed people at a young age too, as the frost did at home. Or maybe her husband had been old to begin with.

"I'm sorry," I said. Behind Kaira, another woman appeared, rushing about to please the remaining guests as the proprietress herself indulged her curiosity at our table.

"Thank you." Her smile was a sad one, bearing the heavy melancholy and silent strength only death could instill. "He left me this place—a good life." Kaira gazed down at the ring still resting on her finger. When she looked up again, her lips tilted, small dimples in her cheek. "Where do you come from?"

My spoon took another trip to the stew. Wouldn't do to let it go cold. With a mouth full of food, it would be impolite to talk.

Kaira yet again demonstrated our very different senses of personal space, her fingers finding one of my escaped locks trailing the table. "Your hair is like the sun. Such a fair color is a rare sight."

I swallowed. "Thank you."

Kaira let go. "And you—your beard could be the flames of Rashim." She leaned in further until Sir Sigve had to look away, his cheeks tinted red like his praised facial hairs. The local fashion was not what one would call modest, and he was her current target of interest. "You must come from far, far away."

On second thought, she was perhaps a little too curious.

"Well," he coughed. "We come from—"

"A land up north. Probably haven't heard of it, being so far off, and small, and unremarkable." I smiled for good measure.

"North." Her eyes absolutely sparkled, and I realized my mistake. "Oh, is it true you have four seasons?"

I laughed. "Indeed. Would you not tell her about it, Papa?"

Sir Sigve's eyes trailed down where they had no business being. "W—well, there is winter of course, you know, with snow and cold."

Kaira nodded eagerly. It was a boring description, though.

"And fall . . . is when the leaves fall off," Sir Sigve continued, clearly getting the hang of things and looking more comfortable.

Kaira leaned back in her chair, clearly losing interest.

"Spring is—"

"—when everything comes to life. From nothing, with a few mild days, the hills go green, and all kinds of flowers and animals appear in the forest. The birds return, and they wake you with song each morning. And what else . . . we have a spring feast, to celebrate fresh food and warmth. It is my favorite season," I said. Someone had to defend my poor kingdom.

"I would like to see that." Kaira sighed, eyes glazed. "We don't have seasons."

I almost pitied her, having the same sight outside her home every day, the whole year.

"There are trolls too," I said with a whisper, which earned a smile. "In the mountains. And the Hulder people live in the forest, though they try to sneak into human society. And if you encounter them in the woods, they'll seduce you. They have tails."

"Sol." Sir Sigve eyed me with that kind of frown, etching into his features.

"Yes, yes." I rolled my eyes. Sir Sigve was no fan of fairy tales, apparently. Maybe he would like them if Maya was the storyteller.

Our hostess blinked.

"It is part of our folklore," I explained to a rather bewildered looking Kaira. "But I always loved the fairy tales of beautiful princesses and brave lads the most."

"Say, what is your kingdom called?"

"Rimdalir." Sir Sigve sat up straighter, squaring his shoulders. I suppressed a sigh. What about the listening ears possibly lurking around? Stupid Sir Sigve.

And stupid me. Perhaps keeping 'Sol' had been too bold. I glanced at my companion. No. Even if I came up with a new name, Sir Sigve would have persisted with his 'lady' nonsense anyway, with no regard for the ramifications.

"I think I've heard that name before," Kaira said, lowering her gaze to the table. "Now how was it?" She leaned back, eyes far off and unfocused as she dug through her memories. "Rimdalir . . ."

"What about Hikari?" I asked, hoping I could nudge the conversation in a good direction. "Do you have any folklore? You must hear a lot of stories from those passing by?"

A knowing grin came to her face. Kaira leaned over the table again, her firm hands spread out flat against the surface. "Indeed, I do. Say, let's have a drink together. Finish your meal, let me take care of some chores, and I'll be back. I'll tell you some grand stories, my dear."

"I look forward to it." I returned the full extent of my concentration toward my soup-stew and now cold bread.

We ate the rest in silence. Perhaps we both felt the long day settle in. Especially Sir Sigve, with his old bones. He neared forty, poor man.

None too soon, two big mugs of brew were placed in front of us. While Sir Sigve grabbed his for a big swig, I sniffed mine. The drink emitted a fragrance of herbs, but it was dark like roasted nuts. I had a sip, and then one more. It was sweet, yet almost too spicy. If my poor taste buds hadn't already faced several burned experiences along our way, it would have been a problem. Sir Sigve was growing in redness—and not from the alcohol, although we would feel those effects in due time. Nothing like the mead back home, though.

Kaira sipped at her own drink, comfortably resting in our company. It was funny, with an assortment of fine guests, how she chose us. Then again, with our skin we stood out like the Northern star in the night sky.

"So," Kaira said. "Where should I begin . . . anything piquing your interest?"

My attention snapped back to the innkeeper. "I'm curious about . . . the ruins along Golden Road," I finally said.

"Ah, those." Kaira took a sip of her brew, nodding. "There are several, but one place in particular stands out. It's not exactly along the road, but this one is the most entrancing, in my opinion. Its story cuts to the very heart of Hikari, though I'm afraid I don't know all the details. This happened long before my time."

"That's okay. I can do without the boring facts. Old things and mysteries fascinate me."

"In that case, this should be the story for you." Kaira gazed at us both, folding her hands on the table. "From what I know, these ruins are ancient, from the origin of Hikari. You see, once upon a time this land was fragmented and fragile. War raged, and people were poor." Kaira's voice was low, but each word was precise and strong. "This region has always been stricken by desert. Only the coast, the occasional oasis, and Haya River grant a way to live. Naturally, people fought over water, livestock, and the few places suitable for farming. Small clans controlled these places, defending them from intruders, sometimes attacking themselves. Fiar is one such place. This is another."

Kaira cast a fond, warm gaze across the room, her lovely inn. Shaking her head, she took a good swig of her drink, the smile gone when the mug hit the table.

"To lose your home was a death sentence. In a land where everything was scarce, getting a hold of additional food and water could save your children in the next drought. These dire times at last came to an end. A catastrophe hit the land." Her eyes then narrowed.

"How much do you know about starvation?"