Chapter 19

  “You late!” Lydian scolded in her with a heavy accent. She unlocked her hut and let them in.

  Three male Habianim, the name of Lydian’s race, exited the back door of the shop as Kopius and company entered. They were much shorter than Lydian but had the same number of armed appendages she did, so it wasn’t a giant leap in logic for Kopius.

  The Habianim, Cici had explained the previous night, were a race of six-armed humanoids with an uncanny, almost instinctual ability to weave. They hailed from the far east, well past the waters of the Torrent and beyond the dark lands of the Val-jin. Dense, shrouded forests are their preferred environment, which partially explains why Lydians shop was found in the deeper, darker off-shoots of Cawbachu.

  “We made a stop by Mineo's love,” Cici explained. “Finally got this boy some proper fitting attire.”

  Lydian gave a derisive harumph, pointed at two empty chairs and then placed herself at the sewing station in her shop. They took their seats per instructions and watched the weaver start to place items on her workbench. She set two blackish-gray spools of thread to one side and the finished cloak on the other. Several strips, that looked to be leftover pieces of the material Kopius had provided, were put down in a pile.

  “Do you know the beast?” Lydian asked by staring intently at the two men. When no answer was forthcoming she picked up the cloak and shook it at them. “The beast! I’ve never seen. Had to ask elder.”

  Both Kopius and Cici shook their heads in the negative.

  “Of course you no know!” She said, jabbing a finger into Kopius' shoulder.

  “Ouch!” Kopius complained.

  “Where you find?” She asked Cici directly. He gave off the look of a man deep in his memory. A few shakes of his head and an occasional hand wave later, he shrugged.

  “Lamazil, maybe,” he finally guessed.

  “Before there. In dry ground,” she said.

  “The desert?” Cici inquired. “Sands of Shirlavene?”

  “That.” Lydian confirmed.

  “Alright, I still don’t know what our little beastie is—was.” The big guy admitted.

  “Cloaked noir,” she stated, letting the words hang in the air.

  “A cloaked noir?” Cici repeated to himself with a speck of awe, his eyebrows raised in appreciation. “I’ve never seen one.”

  “Most don’t!” Lydian lectured. “Travel by night. Hidden by moon. Beasts of old age”

  “Noir’s are like large wolves, lad” Cici started to explain. “Huge. Said to be fierce but loyal.”

  “Sounds like a really big dog,” Kopius added.

  “I don’t know what that is but,” he turned to address Lydian. “Is it true their skins are only used after a natural death? I never quite understood that.”

  “Natural only. Skin strong, durable. Here we have walking secret.” She smiled wide.

  “Walking secret?” Kopius wondered aloud.

  “Stealth, lad,” Cici replied. “A cloaked noir has hiding capabilities rivaled by few.”

  “So, what, I’ll be invisible when I have it on?”

  “At night only, no move,” Lydian clarified.

  “Got it,” Kopius responded, noting the limitations.

  “Try now,” she demanded. “Harness too–first.”

  Kopius removed his untangled sword sheath from his ring and put it on with relative ease. When he was done strapping the thing to his body, it adjusted and melded to his frame. The leather type material slightly contrasted against his new clothes but thankfully did not give off oldman overall vibes. His black pants and dark gray three-quarters length sleeve shirt fit snuggly with the harness as if all of it were all a giant onesie.

  Only his fire boots looked off, at least, he would have chosen a different color given the outfit. He momentarily sprinted in place and then did a few quick quasi-yoga poses to get an idea about how flexible he could be. Which turned out to be a lot.

  “You done?” Lydian asked sharply with her normal annoyance. She approached him with the cloak in hand as if she might black bag him, drag him off for interrogations. He let the paranoia pass through him and Lydian placed the cloak on his back. Her six arms adjusted and straightened the material.

  The piece fit perfectly. It was snug but loose, reached down to his knees and was reversible. The dull side was waterproof and the fur side, because it had been a cloaked noir, would allow for him to remain hidden in the dark—for the most part. There was a slit sewn so that the hilt of the sword on his back was still exposed and accessible. The hood was deep, cavernous and yet, no matter how he rested it on his head he felt it would stay that way and not slip in either direction. He tested his theory by running in place again. He was right, it didn’t move.

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  After the cloak was confirmed to fit, Lydian went into great length to describe the complexity and focus required to create such an outstanding garment. How, through willpower and skill alone, she was able to mold and design a thing of such elegance and utility. That only a weaver of her ability and vision could create such a magnificent item. Her crowning achievement, in regards to the cloak, was the hood itself.

  Picking up the two spools, Lydian droned on about how transforming the bits of grafeen into usable thread was a miracle all on its own. Her men had spent countless hours molding all the grafeen together and many more hours creating and spooling the dark, metallic string. Once the grafeen thread was complete, she sewed intricate, purposeful patterns all throughout the hood. When it was all in place, she infused the grafeen thread with her magic.

  “It will block psionics,” Cici marveled when she had finished explaining.

  “Only if on,” Lydian replied with some sass in her voice, obviously proud of her creation.

  “That’s the mind magic, right?” Kopus asked.

  “That’s right,” Cici confirmed with a pat on his back. “You know who likes the mind stuff right?”

  “Val-jin,” Lydian answered, staring directly at Kopius. A chill ran through him, goosebumps came and went. He wasn’t sure how to react. He was Jinovian after all, though those other assholes never failed to give him the creeps.

  Maybe seeing one would take the edge off, Kopius thought to himself.

  One who, Jinovian? Lydian's voice suddenly echoed inside his mind. It whipped at him the same way it did when she spoke aloud. He was jolted by the sudden intrusion. Val-jin? You no want to see them, they ugly. Beside, you soft but still pre—” Kopius, on instinct, yanked the cloak over his head and the barrage of angry-yelling-filipino-lady stopped. She smiled at him as if to say ‘you’re welcome.’

  Once Kopius was moved past his personal space being violated, things went down like a checklist. The two spools were left over grafeen thread to be used for future endeavors. The extra scraps of material were actually additional wears, meant to be slipped on the boots and arms for total coverage if needed. Kopius removed his waterskin from his ring and attached it to a loop on his new functional fatigue type pants. Now with enough room, everything else went back into the ring and for the first time it was full.

  Kopius inquired about the optical-quartz but was left with only suggestions. She had explained it was becoming harder to come by. Not due to the scarcity but that a hive of monsters, locally known as redwhips, had moved into the area, making things more dangerous than it was worth. “You get; I buy,” she had claimed.

  Lydian also suggested a blacksmith, Squeeze, might have the material but also complained about him like a jealous ex-girlfriend spilling the beans and personal items from the relationship. It was all related to the quality of his work, not his personality but still, she was brutal. It was like every ‘it’s not you it’s me’ break up conversation that ultimately made the point that it was me, brutal. They exited before her ire could be directed at them.

  As the two returned to Twelve Days March, Kopius was thankful to exit with his pride intact. They had spent more time than they had planned with the weaver and the sun was almost at its peak, shadows being where they were. Tummies were grumbling and they needed to get to the northern part of town before the shops closed. It wasn’t a terribly far journey, just that they had a tendency to lollygag. Kopius generally looked about in wonder as they walked, taking in the town and its occupants. Cici would window shop and linger to chat with various folks. They were like two teenagers strolling the mall with no money, just to stay out of the summer heat.

  Roughly fifty minutes of meandering later and they arrived at a long wall and gates reminiscent of their entry into Cawbachu a few days back. There were two gates next to one another, two separate paths in and out of what Cici had said was the original Cawbachu. At some point the city had expanded and the more affluent area was created along Twelves Days March. Just walking through the gates and the street transformed from 5th Ave luxury to Canal Street swap meet.

  Folks flowed freely into oldtown. The open gate had guards to each side but they seemed bored at best, one using his spear to lean on. Getting into the nicer part was a little different. Questions seemed to be asked and purposes needed to be stated. Some unruly and unkempt people were turned away but it was difficult to see if there was a reason other than their look.

  Apparently Cici had treated Kopius to the nicer part of town and they were going to be entering the not so nicer part now. On this side they could purchase more unique items, questionably acquired items and other tidbits that the upper-class folks didn’t need or didn’t want.

  Here the stone buildings were tightly cramped together, leaving little room for side alleys to sneak down. Some structures leaned against each other in an attempt to stay erect. The whole place felt like a gloomy, exaggerated version of any Hollywood medieval town where it rains all day, every day in perpetuity. Though it wasn’t raining at the moment, the place could use a quick shower.

  The two opted to eat from their rations instead of pressing their luck with a local diner. Though the place was run down the people went about their business just the same. The further they walked down Twelve Days March the more the mixture of races became noticeable. The ratio of humans to other races flipped and Kopius got his first glimpse of wealth imbalance.

  There were more children in the street, running from or to one thing or another. The people themselves were gaunt, their eyes showing less gleam or wonder. They had an almost robotic, this is my everyday life until I die, type look and cadence to them. Not that everyone had the same hum-drum appearance, there were just significantly more of them.

  Street vendors of all types were scattered along the street, many of them adding to the cacophony of noise as they pitch their goods or services. It was more difficult to navigate the yelling than the impromptu flea market that occupied both sides of Twelve Days March.

  Beggars, many of which were old and distraught, began appearing; as did the drunk and disorderly. Local authorities were on patrol in the area, thankfully the place didn’t feel like it was ready to explode or get violent. There was a fair share of unsavory looking people and Kopius was sure he could get in some trouble if he really wanted to. Still, people went about their business and it was just another day.

  “We’ll stop up here, lad,” Cici said over his shoulder, gesturing up the street a way. “It usually has the supplies I need. Quality stuff, just can’t understand the bastard that runs the place.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They don’t speak Common.”

  “They?”

  “Husband and wife own the place. They’re satyrs, they speak that damn jibber-jabber, screaming nonsense.”

  “I’ll be able to understand,” Kopius reminded Cici and the big man gave him a friendly pat in the back.

  “I don’t know, lad, maybe not this one.”