Hunger Read online

she woke hungry. She remembered a dream of eating, a nightmare rather. She was hungry in her dream as well, but nothing she ate ever sated her. Confused, she got up and went to the bakery for some bread. Passing the butcher, she paused, seeing cuts of meat in his shop, drawing a small moan of hunger that no one else heard. She picked up a few pieces of steak and went to the baker. She wondered idly what mister Felswen would come up with for lunch.

  The romance of the situation was not lost on her as she left the baker and headed back to her room. She sat and had breakfast, eating everything she had bought. She looked over her belongings. She had a simple bag, a strange cloth made of what looked like wire, a rusted skinning knife greasy and black with use, two pairs of underwear, two shirts, two skirts, a wrapped card paper box, tied neatly with a black bow, and a pouch containing nine or ten more coins. She had given two to the innkeeper, one to the baker, and one to the butcher. She was running out of money. Soon she would need some more if she were to stay here.

  There was also the matter of a small black cloth folded into a square in her pouch. It struck her as odd, but she hadn’t yet needed a handkerchief for anything, so she let it be.

  Just then, Felswen knocked lightly on the door. Startled and slightly frightened, she shuffled her things back into her bag hurriedly, then attended the door. He stood there, a basket over one arm, clean and friendly in a pair of slacks and a nice shirt. She blushed at him, butterflies in her stomach. She looked at her clothes and compared them to his. She took her purse from the bag.

  “Do you know where I could purchase some more decent clothes, mister Felswen?”

  “Certainly, how much money do you have? We can talk to the tailor over on the other street,” he said as she emptied the contents into her hand to show him. He staggered backwards, eyes wide. She thought there might have been a bug or mite in her palm and shook it out instinctively, tossing the coins into the hallway. Felswen bent over rapidly to pick them up, almost knocking his head against her chest as she did the same. He paused and she looked him in the eyes, both of them on their knees. She swallowed back a moment of shyness, wanting to be close to him. She leaned towards him, her lips seeking, as he leaned forward on his hands, but at the last moment, Felswen came to his senses, shaking his head. Psamathe was rather confused as well. She tried to clear her mind but she kept seeing his kind eyes every time she closed hers.

  “These are¡K ah¡K these coins are very rare. These are worth a thousand gold coins each. Very special,” he was stuttering again, nervous at what had happened and with the coins. He hoped he hadn’t made her loose one. He suddenly realized that she didn’t have the slightest idea how much they were worth, he’d seen her give two to the innkeeper.

  “Oh dear. Psamathe, how many of these have you spent?”

  “Oh, about four, I think.” He twitched again. He had only ever seen one of these coins in his life. They were reserved for use by wealthy merchants and kings.

  “We need to make this right. We’ll go exchange one of these for¡K well, come to think of it, we might not have enough money in the bank to trade you for gold¡K”

  “Oh, that’s alright, I have nine more,” she said, impressed that he was so noble. She didn’t really care about the coins, she just wanted to spend the day with him. So that’s what they did.

  Psamathe wasn’t sure why she liked Felswen at first. She assumed it was just because he was an attractive young male. He was a vision to her, and when he spoke she felt compelled to listen. Then, around dessert, she started to think it was his charm. He had a way of smiling playfully that she couldn’t resist. After they had lay in the grass for a while, having finished their meal, she wondered if maybe it was something else. Just being around him made her feel better. She couldn’t help the fact that when she looked at him, behind the caring eyes, underneath his witty humor, there was something that made her feel whole. She was rather shaken by it all, but at the same time, she was comforted by him enough not to care.

  They spent the entire afternoon on the hill next to the town. They held hands at the end, as dusk grew close, and they watched the sun set. They eventually left the hill and he took her to his small home next to the church of Iain. He had been trying to understand her, to find out what it was that was inside her. He wanted to help her.

  Felswen held her as she fell asleep in his bed, her head on his lap as he stroked her shiny and smooth hair. He was beginning to think that he might care for her more than he ought to. He slipped out from underneath her and allowed her to sleep on his bed as he took out some extra blankets from his chest. He laid them out on the floor, preparing to sleep himself.

  Looking up only briefly, he glanced at his small and unassuming bookshelf. Something caught his eye, one of his books. At first he thought it was a book of proverbs he owned. He wondered at it for a moment then found the real thing that had grabbed his attention. He lifted a small paper book from the shelf, a brochure really. He had been looking for places to worship a few years back. The pamphlet was from a holy city.

  It was from Duronon, Skystone, a city on the way to Athon, the ancient and mysterious capital of the Old Empire.

  “I have to go to check some things out,” he told her. He was riding ahead, but he would be back along the path before she even reached Skystone. Duronon was not far into the area.

  “But why? Why must you go ahead of me? Why can’t I just go with you?”

  “I feel that Iain has given you a path. I cannot interfere with that. I can, however, try to help. I’m sorry, my dear Psamathe. I will not be long in Skystone. Perhaps I will even accompany you to Athon City once I catch up to you again. You won’t be alone. I will return for you. I care about you.”

  Her heart swelled. She beamed when he told her his feelings. Perhaps it was acceptance she was looking for. “I will walk then, and follow on that road then, Felswen.”

  “Farewell then,” he said, mounting his horse. He had a small pack of belongings and a mace with him, as much for show as for use. He’d met highwaymen before, but his thoughts were far from his own danger.

  She smiled up at him, her long hair glistening in the light, her youthful and clean features radiant in the dawn light. She thought about her words carefully. “I love you, Felswen. Please go safely.”

  Slightly shocked, he bent down and kissed her forehead. “And I you. I will see you soon.”

  With that, he took flight, pausing only to hear news that there had been an animal slaughtered last night, while he slept. He raced at as fast a pace as he could manage over the miles he would have to cover. He was genuinely worried for once, and considering his faith, it was a rare occasion. He rode on, thinking of how to put it to the Holy Men of Duronon that she was not what she seemed. They would look upon her soul and see only violence and anger. They would surely have her hung is she tried to pass their city. He needed to beat her there and make sure the path was safe. He had to protect her.

  The sun rose, red as blood.

  Young and vibrant, Psamathe reveled in the sun, her coppery skin glistening as she wandered along the dusty path. Her lonely bag of meager possessions slung over one shoulder was only enough weight to warrant a very slight list in her back, causing fellow travelers who passed by to take notice of her slender and lithe form. Her light clothes clung to her but allowed her to soak up the warm light of the afternoon. She walked along, chin high, greeting men and women as she passed, blissfully unaware of the men’s desires and the women’s envy.

  Such was her unwitting skill at attracting attention that she had soon developed a modest gathering behind her, talking and jesting, mostly pretending they had other business along her path. Curious eyes watched as she strode north, past the city limits of Old Thaeox, one of the most ancient cities in all the Realm.

  She had been walking the road for a week, since Lightsday. She ticked off the days with scratches in the dirt where she stayed, adding one every camp. She skirted the Silverglades as much as she could, trying to avoid too many people, but
always in a haze of joy. She remembered him riding away, remembered him stroking her hair, waking her with a gentle kiss. She remembered the wholeness she felt when she was with him.

  As little as she wanted to admit it, it was starting to slip. She had stayed near a town the last night, and the townsfolk had been rather curt with her about her bathing in the stream. They were angry because that night, some of their livestock had been brutally slain, and she was the only newcomer to blame. She averted their prying and implications by telling them of her voyage to the Holy City of Duronon.

  She expected Felswen to have returned by now. She hoped he would return soon, she was missing him terribly, and she was beginning to feel more and more hungry, something she didn’t remember when she was with him.

  She did think a lot about him. She gradually came to realize that there was someone that he reminder her of. Someone important. Someone she missed. Someone she loved very much and taken away from her. She just couldn’t think of whom.

  Meanwhile, Felswen wasn’t faring as well as he had hoped. First they asked him why he had come. Then they questioned his motives. Then they questioned his faith. They didn’t stop there. They questioned his identity, trying to determine