The Arrival.

(NOTE TO READERS: This is episode 3 from an episodic story on Kindle Vella. I sent a link a while back and discovered that not everyone can get into the Kindle Vella site, so... I will post updated episodes here (through episode 10). This project is being used to help me grow and refine my ability as best as possible. Every few days, I will post an episode with hopes for some meaningful (i.e., butt-kicking feedback). P.S. I AM looking for a day job. ;p)

A steady mist drifted from low clouds at the north harbor gate. A cloaked and hooded man emerged from the gray morning gloom, approaching the gate guards huddled around a small fire. A guard straightened and then stepped in the road as the stranger approached.

“Remove your hood.” He demanded.

The man was average-looking, with bright dark eyes and golden-brown hair forming midsized curls just above the shoulders. Some would consider his face handsome, but the untrimmed thin beard and worn clothes told a story of a meager living and difficult life.

“State your business.” The half-armored guard demanded.

“I am hoping to see the Sanctuary and hear teachings in the city.”?

“Boys, we gots us a scholar here.” His hoarse laugh was echoed by the others at the fire. “What trades do you know?”

“I can work iron and wood.” His face was pleasant and showed no concerns.

“Hand me some coins, and you can pass.” The guard’s dirty hand reached out expectantly.

“Coins?” asked the traveler. “When have qualls or ducats been required to enter Esalens?”

Stepping close, the guard locked eyes, “Sanctuary tax boy! King’s Sanctuary tax for the needy.”

A voice near the gate yelled, “And they’re the bloody needy.” The guard turned, searching intently for who had spoken, but everyone in view looked at the ground.

When he turned back, the traveler looked directly into the guard’s eyes, “I have no coins, but I can offer what I have.”

“If it’s not coin, wine, or gold, I have no use for it.” The guard said with a sigh. “Move on.”

The man passed through the arched opening, where two thick wooden doors stood open. Rust and dirt covered the ironworks and hinges from lack of use. He followed the road to the docks and watched the men working on boats. Two men tried hammering a sizeable wooden peg into part of a small boat that looked more rot than wood. After many attempts, one of the men threw the hammer down.

“Fire and death, that bloody thing will never go in. We should burn this floating pit of eternal anguish and find another!”

The other man said, “Dash-it, you might be right; fishing has got to be one of the most miserable endeavors ever without Richman’s gear,” and then saw the stranger watching them. “What are you looking at ragbag?”

“Such creative language, much as I had expected on the docks. Put the pin in the other way and try again.” Said the observer.

“What are you, a master shipwright?” the first man said, shaking his head. “Mud-brained fool. Ok, sure, not like we haven’t tried that already!”

One of them pulled the peg from the side where they had been working and placed it at the hole's opening on the other piece of wood. The other picked up his hammer with irritation, drawing it back. His swing hit true and centered, and the peg slipped in as if it were greased. Their mouths fell open, and they slowly looked back at the man.

“Are you a shipwright?” one asked, still kneeling.

“I’ve milled a few trees. I’m looking for a few people interested in something…” he paused, “special and different.”

Their eyes widened, “Didn’t we just talk about that last night?”

“Yes, with those exact words, something special and different, but the devil you know is usually safer than the devil you don’t.”

The older-looking man stepped up on the dock, “So…what’s in it for us? Regular pay? Daily meals?”

The other man in the boat grinned, “A good time?”

The stranger smiled, “No. Maybe. Hopefully.”

The younger man laughed, "It sounds better than fishing with a worn-out boat, only to have a chunk of the earnings taken as taxes and fees.” He spit in the water. He gathered their worn tools and stepped onto the dock. “I am Owen, and this is Caiden, my older brother.”

Caiden scrutinized the man, “And who might you be, and what kinds of different and special do you have in mind?”

“Different and special? Hmm, things you cannot yet imagine. I am Salvatore, a traveler from the east side of the island. We will need to gather a few more people for the special and different to begin. You will need to get used to different.”

A man down the dock asked, “Why don’t you sell that piece of junk on the cheap?”

They looked at each other, then Salvatore, who smiled and nodded. “Yes!” came the reply. “What do you offer?” Both men had discussed that they would say yes if someone offered them at least ten qualls.

“The best I could do is fifteen qualls and another five if you leave me your tools and materials.”

Caiden restrained his enthusiasm, “That should about cover it.”

They placed the tools on the dock, and the man handed them a bag of coins that seemed heavier than they expected. When opened, the shine of silver, with a few smaller gold qualls, filled the bag, which was quickly stashed under Caiden’s shirt. They didn’t consider counting it since cheating on the docks tended to get people sunk in fishing traps as bait.

Owen asked, “Where are you staying?” Followed by, “And what will we be doing? Ship work? Building repairs?”

“I’m staying at your house, Caiden, and we will be repairing people.”

Caiden’s face twisted, “That is impossible. I have a wife who doesn’t trust much of anyone, especially strangers, and,” shrugging his shoulders, “hates surprises.”

“Not to worry, we will pass by a market, correct?”

“Yes,” said Owen, “but there won't be much left by now. At least not much of anything worth having.”

They followed the main street from the docks to the harbor market. Each street and alleyway that entered the market square had a dirty, rag-clad person holding a hand out, shaking a cup, or simply asking for coins. Broken crates, rags, and discarded rotting vegetables formed small mounds. An old woman was rummaging through one pile, tasting scraps, while two old men picked up debris, tossing it into nearby mounds.

Three men were talking with each other, leaning against a low wall with two tables in front of them. Salvatore approached them. “What have you left to sell?”

“Vegetables and potatoes,” said the first, followed by, “He has a little flour, if you can call it that, and there might be some wine left in that jug.”

The flour seller added, “If it hasn’t been vinegared by now.”

“What are those two sacks behind you?” Salvatore pointed behind the vegetable vendor. “And that lovely corked jug behind you, flour peddler?” Salvator reached into the potato basket and, after removing three rotting lumps, pulled out five large healthy tubers. Reaching into the next basket, he shuffled through the contents to remove a bundle of spinach and a large purple onion.

The three men’s eyes widened. The vegetable peddler stepped forward, looking into the first and then the second basket.

“How much for these, the flour, and that sealed jug of wine?”

The three leaned close to each other, heads turned away from the asker, and then one answered, “Six qualls.”

“You can have two qualls and forty ducats, plus I’ll throw in the end of your workday.” Salvatore grinned with the last few words.

“Agreed.”

“Caiden, pay the man,” Salvatore said, waving at Owen to collect the flour while putting the vegetables in a basket. “Don’t look so confused, Caiden. You have the money, and this is to please your wife, after all. Don’t forget the wine!”

They continued up the road to the Sanctuary of the King. As they passed, Salvatore examined the building closely.

“Looking for cracks, or have you never seen the Sanctuary before?” Caiden asked.

Salvatore just nodded. The three turned up a side street in front of plain homes with little or no color. The most expensive homes, with the brightest colors, had been built near the chateau wall, where smaller homes had been demolished and the residents forced to move. These homes had an expansive view of the city, harbor, and sea.

The three arrived at a small two-story home, where Caiden knocked in a unique pattern and waited. Traces of light purple still clung to the walls with streaks of blue from the degraded roof tiles.

“Why don’t you just go in?” Salvatore asked.

“With the way the city has been declining,” replied Caiden, “we must secure our doors most of the time.”

The sound of wood sliding across the floor greeted them, and the door opened. A small woman with large eyes and a greeting smile gazed through the opening until she saw Salvatore.

She opened the door fully and, with a forced smile, gestured for Salvatore to come in. A glare met Caiden as he entered.

Salvatore placed the basket on the table and said, “Thank you, Myahira. Peace to you and your home.”

Caiden leaned over and whispered in Owen’s ear, “Did you tell him her name?”

“No.” replied Owen, “Didn’t you while we were walking?”

Caiden shook his head, looking at Salvatore, who had sat down. He watched the two brothers; a slight smile had creased his face. They placed the flour and wine on the table, and then Caiden pulled a chair out and sat across from Salvatore while Owen chose the rocking chair by the iron stove. A pot bubbled slowly on top of the stove, and the aroma of peppers and spices filled the room.

Myahira approached the table, “What’s all this?” lifting the wine jug.

“Owen and I had a bit of luck at the docks today,” Caiden said cautiously.

She crossed her arms tightly, “Anything like the last luck with getting that rotten hulk?”

Owen interjected proudly, “A man offered us twenty qualls for the boat and our tools.”

Her jaw dropped, “Really? AND the tools, those things you make a living with? Those things that will cost near fifty qualls to replace?”

Owen’s smile faded, and he looked at the floor as Caiden’s eyes drilled through him.

Crossed arms transitioned to hands on hips, “And just exactly what are we to do once you have squandered the twenty qualls on luxuries like wine and quality vegetables?” Her foot had begun tapping rhythmically on the floor.

Caiden’s face changed to that of a trapped rat, “But this was only two qualls forty!”

Owen jumped as Salvatore coughed and spoke, “They would have been happy with two qualls alone, but it was wise to ensure there would be some quality goods available in the future.” He continued, “They have no further need of tools. They will be assisting me in fulfilling something different and special.”

Her mouth dropped open as she looked at the guest. “And just why exactly, in the name of Alaric, should squandering away tools be a good thing?” Her face shifted from intensity to confusion, “did you say something different and special?”

“Yes, and you, dear woman, are invited.”

Her mouth began to move, but only faint grunts came out until, “How… how did you know? I was begging the Spirit of the King for an invitation to something special and, I guess, different. Who are you, and why are you here?”

Salvatore began to pull the plug out of the wine jug, “I am Salvatore. A traveling teacher would best describe me. The cries and troubles of the people have wearied me just as they have wearied you and others. I have chosen to do something about it.”

Myahira sighed, pulled small clay cups from a shelf, and placed them in front of each seat. She then pulled some small loaves of bread from the stone oven and placed them in the middle of the table. She moved the flour and basket to the kitchen, returning with bowls. After ladling stew into each bowl, she turned to Salvatore, who was pouring burgundy-colored wine into each cup.

“This is all so… surprising,” she said while sitting down.

Salvatore’s face carried kindness when he said, “There will be many more surprises in the weeks to come. For now, we eat and rest.”

Owen lifted his cup, “Too good surprises.”

Salvatore raised a small loaf, “May the King be praised for all he has provided and may peace be upon this house.” He tore the bread and handed a piece to the other three, and immediately, a sensation of calm filled the room.

Caiden’s gaze fell hard on Salvatore as they drank.

<END>

Questions for Story Reviewers:**

• What do you think is going to happen next?
• Who do you think the important characters are?
• What do you think the characters want?
• What, if anything, leaps out as a setup?
• What information did you think was really important?
• What information were you dying to know?
• What did you find confusing?