Chapter 13 - The city of Posita

Avia yearned for solitude. Here among so many people, it felt hard to breathe, not because of dust but because of a lack of energy in her body. It had been a significant amount of time since she was alone. She remembered her last night before what she thought would be meeting her daughter and her family, how she had enjoyed being a hermit. With a pang of guilt, she wondered if she would have continued to Peragri had she known it meant losing her dear solitary days.
Of course she would have, because she had loved her daughter and Putt was her darling grandson, and she did care about him and his future. Yet, surrounded by all these people, she felt a desperate need to just leave it all and run. It wasn't that she couldn't stand people; it was the sheer amount of them she couldn't handle. It was like most of the people around her gained their energy from those like her. Most humans seemed to thrive the more people they were with, producing their own kind of energy just by being near each other. She had never understood it.
Lack of internal energy made her grumpy, like a bitter old man. And all because of Putt. She was fully aware she was being unjust, and none of this was Putt's fault. Unbidden thoughts came to her. Not only did she feel drained, but she also felt trapped, like a bird lured into a cage. This was all a big trap, and she was caught in it, with nowhere to run. She fought panic.
Putt pulled her sleeve, trying to get her attention. "Look," he said in a harsh whisper, pointing.
They had reached the execution area, and from the gallows hung a body. The dress and the hair... Though it had been there for a couple of days at least, she knew who it was just as well as Putt. It was Hockheba.
Avia hissed between her teeth. This was not what was supposed to happen! Why had they hanged her? It made no sense to transport someone for an execution. It was a waste of time, money, and future confidence. The purpose of the transport was for safety and fair treatment, not this. Why? She clenched her jaw.
"Don't watch," she told Putt, but it was useless. He had been the first to see the body, and looking away now would make no difference. She pulled him along, eager to get the gallows out of sight. They turned into the crossing's main road when they came to the center square and forced their way down with Putt by her hand.
Putt pointed at a sign for an inn, but she shook her head. The ones along the main roads were far too expensive. Besides, she wanted something closer to the fighting arenas. She turned again, into one of the alleys leading from the posh areas. Finally, she found an inn that appeared just right for their needs. They had barely entered their room before Putt burst into tears.
"Why?!" he yelled, his fit of anger surprising Avia.
"I don't know," she admitted. "This was not supposed to happen. I don't know what went wrong."
She felt fooled, for some reason she did not quite understand. Though Hockheba had been her responsibility for only a short period of time and her past and future were no business of hers, she felt like she had led her prisoner to death, which was not part of the agreement.
"Was it my fault?"
"I don't know," Avia repeated, uncomfortable with her lack of proper answers. What would she have said if it was Putt's actions that led to Hockheba's death? Would she have told him the truth? Putt would likely cry and blame himself no matter what, but knowing others blamed you as well was something different completely.
"No. It can't have been your fault," she assured him.
As it was, she had no idea what had happened, and she thought she did not care either but found she did. Oon Barsate had been her employer, and though she knew Oon would never hire her again, other employers might hire other warriors. It was her responsibility to protect her clan, her profession. She needed to know if something was going on.
But as it was, Putt's future was her first priority, and she had to secure money before investigating her former prisoner's fate. She sat down beside Putt and hugged him. It felt good to be able to do so without questioning if it was the right thing to do for a master. Never before had she considered that title a limitation. She, who did not want to be caught up in others' expectations, had been so blind.



Osapi wandered through the bustling streets of Posita, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and conflicting emotions. The sight of Hockheba's body hanging from the gallows was etched into his memory, a grim reminder of the harsh realities of his world. The story behind it all was even more disturbing. He had learned from whispered conversations and overheard snippets that Oon Barsate had had this grim fate for Hockheba in mind all the time, and the details of Avia's involvement troubled him.
His master, a seasoned warrior whose name carried weight in certain circles, had taken a different path than the one Osapi had imagined for himself. The man was more of an assassin for hire than the noble warrior Osapi had hoped to become. He had no interest in fairness or high standards; his only concern was the job at hand, no matter how dirty or dishonorable. Osapi often found himself questioning the moral compass of his master, especially in comparison to Avia, whose reputation for integrity and honor had spread even here in Posita.
Osapi's thoughts drifted back to that night in the woods when he had been sent to kill who he had learned later to be the warrior Avia and her grandson, Putt. He had felt uneasy about the mission from the start. Killing an old woman and a child in their sleep had seemed more like murder than a warrior's duty. When he had faced Avia, her words had struck a chord deep within him. She had treated him not as an enemy but as a wayward apprentice in need of guidance. Her calm demeanor and the lessons she imparted during their brief encounter had left a lasting impression on him.
His master's reaction to his failure had been predictably harsh. The older warrior had berated him, calling him a fool for letting Avia live and for revealing too much information. The scorn in his master's eyes had burned deep into Osapi's soul. Yet, despite the shame and disappointment, he couldn't help but feel that he had made the right choice by leaving. There had been something profoundly wrong about the whole situation, something that reeked of political maneuvering and deceit.
As Osapi made his way through the market square, he couldn't shake the feeling that Hockheba's execution was part of a larger scheme. Moving a prisoner for execution rather than for protection and fair treatment didn't add up. The pieces of the puzzle didn't fit together neatly, and it frustrated him that he couldn't see the full picture. He wondered what Avia would feel if she saw Hockheba's body hanging there, whether she felt as used and manipulated as he did now.
Osapi paused at a vendor's stall, pretending to examine the wares while his mind raced. He needed to find out more about what had happened. Perhaps if he could understand the political motives behind these actions, he could make sense of his own role in this twisted game. He resolved to seek out more information, to dig deeper into the web of intrigue that surrounded these events.
His master's indifference to these matters only fueled Osapi's determination. He didn't want to become a cold, unfeeling assassin. He wanted to be a warrior with a code of honor, someone who fought for justice and fairness. Avia had shown him a glimpse of what that could look like, and he couldn't let go of that vision.
As he continued through the streets of Posita, Osapi knew he had a difficult path ahead. Balancing the expectations of his master with his own burgeoning sense of morality would not be easy. But he was determined to carve out his own path, one that aligned more with the values he had glimpsed in Avia. He would find out the truth behind Hockheba's death and Oon's fall from grace. And perhaps, in doing so, he could find a way to redeem himself and become the kind of warrior he had always aspired to be.



Putt stood with his grandmother in the free spectator areas at one of the fighting rings. The sun was high, and the smell of sand, blood, and sweat made him want to stop breathing. What he saw was even worse. Two people entered the arena from opposite sides and fought until one of them gave up. With real weapons, aiming to take the other's life. The fight going on was the third since he and his granny had come to watch. The previous battle left one dead, and in the one before that, both contestants were severely wounded.
This was where his granny planned to earn them some money. His grandmother, an old woman, intended to win over the younger and faster contestants. He couldn't comprehend what she was thinking. He had always considered Avia a wise person and respected her tremendously, but in this case, there was not even common sense; it was pure madness. His eyes wandered from the two women challenging each other in the ring to his grandmother. Her face was in deep concentration, watching the fight. He turned his back to it, and when he did not get a reaction from Avia, he left.
He walked outside and sat down in the shadows, leaning his back against the wall of a building. He still had to listen to the battle, though. Not that he wanted to, but he didn't find it wise to walk further away since Granny did not know where he was. If he stayed nearby, she would see him when she exited. He closed his eyes with the hope of dreaming himself away, forgetting to listen.
"Are you dead?" asked a high-pitched voice beside him.
He looked up. A girl younger than him, stood beside him.
"No," he answered, though the answer ought to be obvious already.
"Are you pretending to be?"
What a peculiar thing to ask, he thought.
"No." He searched her young face for a reason for such a question. "Why would I be?"
"You can't fight if you're dead."
"I ain't dead, and I ain't going to fight." He thought he ended the conversation, but the girl remained by his side.
"Sometimes they drag boys inside there," she pointed to the fighting areas. "They don't want to fight either. But they always do. And you speak funny. Where are you from?"
Would the name of his tiny village mean anything to her? Probably not. He shrugged.
"You don't know?"
"I know where I'm from," he blurted, annoyed and embarrassed now. "But you don't know where it is even if I told you, and even if you do know where the village is, what does it matter where I'm from?"
The girl shrugged. No one said anything for a while, and the girl walked away. Unexpectedly, Putt felt worried. She had said something about children being forced in there.
"Aren't you afraid they'll take you?" he called out to her.
She shook her head.
"No. My dad runs the fights."
Oh, well that would make her safe indeed. She disappeared inside the arena building, leaving him alone to whatever danger there was sitting by himself. He rose and thought he should return to his grandmother when he realized he was being watched, and not by the child this time, but by two grown men. To hurry back to Granny meant to move towards them. Would that be a good or a bad thing? He wanted his grandmother, and she was straight ahead. If he turned and ran, he would be on his own. If he could not find his way back to the inn, he would be in huge trouble. He did not like to feel like a coward. Even if he had nothing to prove anymore as he had as a warrior's apprentice.
"Where are you going?" one of the men asked when he was so close he could touch them if he tried. A smell of leather and wet earth reached his nose.
"To my grandma." A reply that caused the men to laugh.
"Does the old hag enjoy the show?" the other man inquired, though he apparently found it hilarious that a woman of old age would like the spectacle of human killing.
"She's no hag," Putt protested with his arms across his chest in a firm pose. "She's a warrior. And she'll fight here tomorrow."
Putt almost thought the two men would fold themselves double in their laughing. He saw his chance to pass them, but then they sobered and grabbed his shirt.
"Who do you think we are, brat? No warriors live long enough to become grandmothers."
"Let go of me!"
They did not heed his command and dragged him away.