5. Seek Amoraketh
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It’s been a transformative evening, all told.

Dawn is near. Outside this tent the black sky slowly fades into blue, and I can no longer see an army of shadowy Norgardians moving about on the other side. We say our farewells to the witch Sigrun, Arcadius fetches her pack and slings it over her shoulder, but as we’re about to head out, the old woman holds up a hand to stop us.

“Two things,” she says. “A warning, and a suggestion.”

Arcadius nods at her. “Okay.”

Sigrun points at Arcadius’s hand, at the finger wearing the ring she crafted. “I’ve transformed your body with my magic, but the effort amounts to brute force. You’re physically changed, but only because I have taken you like clay and reshaped you. If that ring comes off your finger, you’ll go right back to the way you were.”

Arcadius winces, as if she were anticipating that but it stings anyway, and nods again. “I understand.”

But Sigrun has more to say, it seems. “The body I have crafted for you is that of a girl’s, in all ways but one. You will not be able to bear children, I’m afraid. That part was beyond my ability.”

The bag falls off Arcadius's shoulder. Her eyes well up as her entire form sways like a tree ready to topple over. She reaches up to grasp her own head. "But you said!" explodes Arcadius's voice, and the anger and pain I hear in it twists my gut. Then she tightens up, and clenches her eyes as she steadies herself.

"Forgive me. This has been an emotional night. This ring is still a blessing. I fear I raised my hopes too high."

Sigrun gives Arcadius a sad smile, reaches out to pat her on the cheek. “I know, child. But some hope remains.”

Arcadius's gaze remains on the floor until Sigrun's words reach her. Her expression lights up, and she looks at Sigrun expectantly to continue.

“The arts of magic we practice today are mere leftovers from another age. True transmutation was once possible, in the place where all mortal magic originated.”

Arcadius’s eyes widen. I get the feeling she knows what Sigrun is talking about. She presses her lips together, swallows, and nods.

“Amoraketh,” she says, barely above a whisper.

Sigrun gives Arcadius a crooked grin, pleased that no further explanation is required. “Aye. Seek Amoraketh. Don’t lose that ring. And remember the tasks I gave you.”

“Learn. Teach. Be an example,” says Arcadius.

Sigrun’s grin softens into a maternal smile. “Good girl.”

She opens her arms, and Arcadius steps into them for a parting embrace. When I see her getting teary-eyed again, she turns her face away to hide it in Sigrun’s furry mantle. The old woman pats her on the back soothingly, rocks her from side to side for a few long moments, then steps away with her hands on Arcadius’s shoulders.

“Now go, Prince-Who-Was-Not,” says Sigrun, smirking. “Go and conquer the world all over again. On your terms, this time.”

I’m still not ready for how pretty Arcadius’s laugh is.

* * * *

We experience that odd rushing sensation on our way out of Sigrun’s tent again, like we’re stepping through a hurricane for a split second before landing back on solid ground. I’m ready for it this time, but I’m not ready to turn around and see empty space where the tent once stood. And more than that, there is no sign that a tent was ever there. The grass is undisturbed, there aren’t even holes in the ground where the stakes and torches were. I saw quite a bit of magic last night, I even had some done to me, but still, it’s a bit of a shock.

It’s morning, but the sun hasn’t come up over the horizon just yet. Right now it’s just a glow over the dark silhouette of the mountains, the world below painted in twilight blue-gray. I hear the far off melody of birds calling to each other, see one taking flight from a nearby treetop. There must have been a brief shower while we were away, because the ground is soft under my boots, and the air feels clean and pure, rich with the fragrance of grasses and trees and wildflowers.

Now that we're alone, Arcadius looks down at her body as if seeing it for the first time. It's like she's entranced by it, a peaceful expression as her focus fades inward. Then she crouches down and hugs her legs, pressing her face between her knees. Her entire body begins to twitch with soft breaths.

I lay my hand on her shoulder. Her face turns up, with wide eyes, as if she forgot my presence. There's a vulnerable look in her eyes, sparkling tears at their corners. It's such a sad, pretty sight, that I forget what I was about to say.

Arcadius wipes her eyes with her sleeve, then stands back up with a weak smile. "Sorry, I didn't tell you. I was too scared you would find me disgusting. I don't think my heart could have taken it."

Her gaze meets mine, and her smile grows in confidence. A familiar goofy grin returns to her face, far more beautiful than I remember it. "Nice to meet you. I'm Arcadia."

I’m hurt she would think I’d find her disgusting, but now isn’t the time for a nuanced discussion of sex and persona and what not. I smirk and squeeze her shoulder.

“Well met, Arcadia,” I say. “I’m Rekka. A traveling sellsword from across the sea. Would you happen to be headed for the city? We could walk together, if you like.”

That earns me a tired giggle. “I’d appreciate the company very much, Rekka the Sellsword,” she says.

* * * *

The streets of Ecea, as usual, are lively and bustling with people. Marble and concrete buildings tower over its hordes. Alluring scents waft through the breeze, the nearest being those of a baker eagerly advertising his sweet honey rolls and fragrant spiced bread. Musicians play exotic instruments, flutes, harps, drums, creating a dissonant yet merry atmosphere. A gang of children chase each other through the streets, laughing loudly as they rush around and between us like a school of fish.

“If I may ask, miss Arcadia,” I say, a smirk on my face as the little ones go by. “What brings you to the capitol today?”

Arcadia grins up at me, but I can see the strain at the corners of her eyes. She isn’t taking Sigrun’s warning about the ring lightly. It was an hour walk to get back to the city by way of the north road, and she spent most of it with her hand balled into a fist. Just in case the ring slipped off on its own.

“Ah, well, you see, I’m bound for Demeus, so I’ll have to book passage on a ship. I have it on the word of a trusted friend that there’s something there that interests me greatly.”

“Demeus,” I say, my eyebrows raised. “Pretty beaches. And good fishing, I hear.”

“Ha. Well I’m not going for the beaches or the fishes.”

A chariot storms through the narrow street toward us, and I catch Arcadia by the arm, yank her out of the way. Its great black stallion misses us by inches, snorts hotly through flared nostrils before thundering past. She yelps in surprise, watches the beast pass us with a scowl at the charioteer. Afterward I realize her body is leaning against mine, which feels nice, so I let her linger like that until she notices and stands up straight again.

"Thanks," she says, a faint blush on her cheeks.

We walk on while her complexion cools, staying close to each other to negotiate the crowded streets. Her head is on a swivel throughout, looking around at every different sight as if really seeing it for the first time. It doesn’t surprise me that she’s taking it all in like a doe-eyed vacationer, members of the Imperial family tend not to wander about the city much at all. Especially ones who spend all day and night with their nose in a book.

We step aside for a quartet of muscular servants just then, hauling a litter upon which a fat, bejeweled aristocrat lounges. After they pass, Arcadia notices a bit of graffiti on the wall that makes her cover her mouth to stifle a laugh. I follow her gaze to the inscription, and let out a chuckle of my own.

“Lucius, physician to the emperor Phileros II, had a good shit here.”

There’s more graffiti all over the city walls, or on the sides of business establishments, so as we walk along we start pointing it out to each other when we see it.

“On June 15th, Marcus screwed here with Drusilla and Cithera.”

“We have wet the bed, my host. If you ask ‘why?’ There was no chamber pot.”

“Weep, you ladies! My penis has forsaken you! Now it penetrates men’s behinds!”

Arcadia is recovering from a series of giggles when she turns her smile to me. It's disarmingly cute. "What about you, miss Rekka? What's a sellsword like yourself doing here in Ecea?" Her smile lingers as we continue our game of not knowing one another.

We are now strolling down a wide avenue, bound for the Forum, giving us more room to spread out and walk at a leisurely pace. I consider her question, gazing around at the stately buildings, the columns of white concrete capped in gold, the marble staircases. In the distance I hear a cheer erupt from the bleachers of an amphitheater. It makes me wonder, all of a sudden, what it would be like to fight in the games. Be a Gladiatrix. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about it, but I actually could now if I wanted to. I imagine I could put on quite a show. I was chosen to guard the Prince of Ecea for a reason, after all, but now doesn’t feel like the time to speak about such a desire.

“I don’t know. I just finished a lengthy contract, you see. The client was nice enough, a little on the shy side though. I don’t know if he ever warmed up to me.”

It takes Arcadia a moment to catch onto my meaning. She looks down, kicks a pebble along the cobblestone street. There’s a grin on her face, but her eyes are sad. "That's not true."

It is too. But rather than argue the point, I smirk and bump her hip with mine, making her squeak in surprise and stagger a few paces. Her cloak flaps open in the process, and I notice with some amusement that her feet are practically swimming in her boots. Besides that, the laces at the front of her trousers are straining hard to contain her new hips. She’s rolled up the sleeves of her tunic, but on her small frame it looks like something she stole from her father.

I laugh. “I think it’s time for a change of outfit.”

Arcadia frowns, looks down at the state of her attire. “We’re a little dirty and smelly for that, aren’t we.”

“We have been wading through sea caves and scaling mountainsides and tramping through the woods with wet clothes,” I say.

“Will a tailor see us like this?”

“Probably not,” I reply. “We’ll have to go to the public baths first.”

Her eyes slowly widen, and her cheeks begin to glow. “Oh. Right.”

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