Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1) (32 page)

Outside, it’s dark, and the street is filled with a festive atmosphere. The air is chilly but comfortable, and white translucent paper orbs with candles in them hang from lines drooping across the street.

Yaz grips a brass light post and swings his body around the mast. “Yeah!” He let’s go and haphazardly flings his body into the center of the road. Arms extended, Yaz spins round and round as he gazes up at the night sky.

Large crowds of pedestrians and bicycles pass him by, paying him no mind.

Men stagger, whores prance, couples embrace; poor, rich, young, old, clean, and dirty all mingle without care.

Across the street, a woman with short blonde hair and wearing black slacks slaps a man in the face.

A different man, short and standing on his tiptoes, kisses a woman wearing a white dress.

Entranced, Yaz continues spinning as he gazes up at the moon. He lets out three high-pitched howling yelps and then sings at the top of his lungs.

On a corner near by, musicians play drums and stringed instruments. The tunes echo off the cobblestone and brick walls.

A scrawny, elderly, scruffy man leaning on a crutch and hopping on one leg sways a hat filled with coins to all passing by him.

Preta steps into the street, and a handsome man winks at her. The woman on his arm shoves him away and slaps him in the face. The man spins to the woman. “Come on, it was nothing.” She pushes him again, turns, raises her chin in the air with contempt, and strolls away with the man following behind with open arms, pleading for forgiveness.

Another woman with long black hair and wearing a tattered but clean lavender dress slides next to Preta and grazes her arm. “Looks like you’re waiting for someone? Can I be that someone?”

Preta giggles. “
Umm
—no thanks, I’m fine.”

The woman tilts her head as she watches Yaz spin in the street. “Suit yourself.”

Preta, in awe, can’t believe Yaz isn’t dizzy and falling to the ground. People dodge and knock into him yet he continues spinning, carefree and balanced. She charges Yaz and grabs his arm, making him snap to a stop.

Yaz stumbles to the side. “What the heck’s your problem? You’re getting me out of my zone.”

“What the hell are you doing?
Your zone
? Come on.”

Yaz shrugs. “You know, just taking it all in and getting my mind right.”

Preta scowls. “Getting your mind right for what? You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

“Look around, Preta. I draw no more attention to myself than anyone else. If you’re gonna hang with Yaz the great, you gotta back off and lighten up, you’re cramping my style.”

Preta snorts. “
Whatever
. Get in the pub and let’s get this over with.”

Yaz smirks and nods. “Now you’re getting it. I like where your mind’s at, Sis, let’s do this.”

“Yeah, right, let’s do this.” Preta stops at the pub door and grips the handle.

Yaz gazes up at the night sky. “
Ra-haha-yeah-come-in-ra-in-haha-freakin-get-it-whoohoo—
”

Preta jumps in a fright. Her heart skips a beat, and she spins around with her arms up ready to fight.

Crouched over with legs half-bent, Yaz stares at her, eyes wide, mouth open, and head shaking side to side, crazy.

Preta lunges forward and punches him in the arm. “
Holy crap
, what the heck is wrong with you?” She grips Yaz’s arm and yanks him through the pub’s front door and immediately stops, overwhelmed by a dense warm cloud of tobacco smoke rushing for the opening. Preta lets go of Yaz and places her hand over her mouth and nose. She coughs, and her eyes water and sting.

Yaz pushes by her. “Let’s do this.
Whoohoo-freakin-yeah-ha-ha-yo-yo’s
—”

Preta takes her eye off him for a second and takes in her surroundings; the pub is packed with people, and the commotion disorients her. A fiddler stands on top of a table across the room, playing a tune while stomping his foot. Men and women sit and drink and dance and yell and kiss. The room is a chaotic, smoky madness.

“Yaz, stay close,” Preta says.

Yaz is gone, nowhere to be seen.

Preta pushes her way through the people, entering deeper into the pub. “Dang it, Yaz, where are you?”
The bar!
Her gaze shifts to the bar.

Yaz is on his knees with mouth open wide under a spigot of flowing black ale.

A pretty blonde woman in a faded, light-blue dress laughs and sits on a table next to him. The woman’s hand is on a nozzle, and she counts out loud.

Onlookers point and cheer and count in a boisterous chant as the dark stout cascades over Yaz’s face.

Yaz stands and his body twitches.

The woman closes the nozzle and holds out her hand.

Yaz stumbles, reaches into his pocket, and hands her a coin.

Preta bullies her way to the bar through the thick crowd.
How did he get to the bar so fast?
She reaches Yaz and punches him in the arm. “Yaz! I said stay close to me.”

Yaz laughs and leans into her. “Relax, chill out,” he says in a calm voice. “Hey, check it out, a copper qid for all you can drink in one breath, isn’t it great?”

“
Er
, right, great.” Preta turns and watches a group playing poker right in front of her.

The bar woman laughs behind her. “Hey, stud, you wanna go again?”

“Huh?” Preta spins around to the bar; Yaz is on his knees under a flowing spigot of black stout. With intense focus and wide eyes, he gulps in vocalized undulations. She nudges him out from underneath the stream of liquid, and the stout flows onto the ground.

The bar woman laughs and shuts the nozzle.

Yaz, upset, wipes the stout off his face. “Come on now, I was good for at least another thirty seconds—at least.”

The bar wench holds out her hand. “That’s a qid, sweetie.”

“Fine.” Yaz tosses the woman two copper coins. “Give me a pint too.”

“You said you would only have a few,” Preta says.

“Technically, I’ve not even had one yet.” Yaz shoots his arms out and roars at the top of his lungs, and Preta flinches.

“Here you go,” the wench says, extending a pint.

“
Ah,
yes, thank you, this is exactly what I needed.” Yaz winks at the woman and lifts his pint. Foam bubbles over the glass lip, and Yaz sips the amber liquid. He lowers the glass and a smidgen of foam sticks to the tip of his nose.

A young woman, lean and elegant, sharp eyes, long dark-brunette hair and wearing a worn dark-tan leather duster coat and charcoal wool trousers leans onto the bar and points at the wench. Her fine features give the air of high class, though fresh scratches on her supple face and a rough, energetic exterior masks such a notion as she viciously pounds her fist on the bar top and grunts like a savage. “I don’t have all day, ale, woman!”

Yaz, with one hand on his hip and another on the bar, not so subtly scans the duster woman from head to toe. “Hey there, my name is Yaz.”

The duster woman’s face goes stiff, and she turns toward Yaz. She places her hand on her hip and not-so-subtly scans him back. “Yass, is it?”

Yaz leans in and straightens out his neck. “No, it’s Yaz.”

The duster woman leans in and imitates Yaz. “That’s what I said, Yass.”

Yaz shakes his head in confusion. “No, it’s Yaz, with a
z
, no
ss
.”

The duster woman smiles, leans in closer, and blows him a kiss. “Very nice to meet you, Yass.” She sneers, clinches her pint and steps away.

Preta giggles, and the duster woman winks at her.

The duster woman leaves Yaz scratching his head lost in deep thought.

Yaz scrunches his face and shrugs. The answer not coming to him, he raises his hand to the bar wench and clicks his fingers.

The wench smacks her palm flat on the bar top. “Again!”

Preta smiles, and then it fades. “Huh? Again?” She spins back to the bar, and Yaz is below the flowing spigot of stout. Preta’s body burns with fury realizing she can’t control her brother. She considers her options and thinks the only choice she’s got is to sit by the door and make sure he doesn’t leave.

Yaz faces Preta and shoots his arms straight out. “
Yeah-ha-ha-freakin-heck-yeah-whaaahoo—
”

Preta scowls at him, and is so upset, she can’t even form words.

“Hey now, Sis,” Yaz says, “look, I need to blow off some steam and forget about this shit-filled sewer of a life it’s been for the last few days. Not to mention the fact we’re probably heading straight back into the sewer for more shit tomorrow. So just let me be, and I promise I won’t leave the pub without you.” Yaz smacks Preta hard on her butt, and she jumps. He smiles. “Relax, have a pint, and enjoy.” He hands Preta three coppers and throws back his head, draining his entire glass.

“Fine.” Preta pouts and eyes an open table by the front door. She sits and watches Yaz work the room.

He dances like a fool and kisses any girl who will have him.

Not believing her eyes, Preta’s jaw drops. “Is this really my brother?”

Across from her, a young man sits at Preta’s table and tilts his head to the side. “Who is your brother?”

“Excuse me?” Preta says, staring at the man with a square jaw and deep eyes.

“You said brother.”

Preta checks out the good-looking dark-brown-haired man sitting in front of her. His face is covered in stubble, and he has a gleam in his green eyes.

He pushes a pint in her direction. “You look thirsty.”

Preta sits up straight. “Do I?”

“Yeah, you do,” and he gives Preta a sly smile. “And lonely too.”

Preta chuckles under her breath. “Do I look lonely?”

“Sure you do, and I thought what a waste, such a beautiful girl, both lonely and thirsty, I can solve both of your needs at once.”

Preta eyes the pint then the handsome man sitting across from her.

He brushes his hair behind his ears. “So you’re not thirsty or lonely?”

Preta tilts her head and looks away. “Maybe just thirsty.”

The man laughs sending the smell of ale toward her.

Preta chuckles and waves her hand in front of her nose. “Smells like you drank enough for all the thirsty girls in the pub.” She sips from the glass.

“That a girl,” he says. “I knew you were thirsty.” He suddenly squints in confusion. “
Umm
—you are a girl, right?”

Preta chokes on her ale. “
What
? Do you ask all the girls you sit with if they’re a girl or not?”

“So you are a girl, see, I knew it.” He grins, satisfied with himself and then looks to the side while nodding. He turns back to Preta. “Well, only the pretty ones,” and he reaches across the table and grazes Preta’s hand with his fingertips.

Preta shivers from his touch, not expecting any contact. Uncomfortable, she slides her hand away. “Wait, you are a man, right?”

The man leans back and puffs out his chest in cocky bravado. “Most definitely a man. I can even show you if you’d like. And by the way, I am,
the man
. Maybe even the—w
hat the
—”

“You piece of—” Yaz jumps on the stubble man’s back, pulling him to the ground, and he swings his fist, connecting with the man’s jaw. “You touch my sister, you drunken dead man, I’ll kill you.”

Chairs tumble over and crash and slide on the floor.

They both scramble to their feet, and Yaz lunges at him again.

“Yaz,” Preta says, “stop it! I was handling it just fine.”

Yaz pays no attention to her. “You lousy piece of crap.”

The stubble man parries Yaz’s advances. “Piece of crap, is it?” The stubble man extends his leg, tripping Yaz to the ground.

Yaz catches the stubble man’s arm while falling forward and drags him to the ground with him.

In a tight embrace, they snarl and spit and roll on the ale-and-wine stained, sticky floor.

A human circle many rows deep forms around the stubble man and Yaz rolling on the ground.

Cheering ensues, and coins change hands.

The dark-haired woman wearing the tan leather duster, whom Yaz hit on earlier, collects silver and coppers with business-like focus. She eyes Preta and shrugs.

Preta scowls and jumps into the human pit, pulling Yaz off the stubble man.

Yaz struggles backward, and Preta tugs him harder.

The stubble man regains his balance and swings at Yaz.

The cheering intensifies and more coins change hands.

Yaz ducks, and the stubble man’s blow strikes Preta in the jaw, knocking her to the ground.

“
Oh
—
ah
—” the crowd says.

Yaz sees her hit the floor. With fire in his eyes, he crouches into a fighting stance. He spits and screams in unknown tongues.

The duster woman steps into the ring. “That’s enough, Tages.”

Tages pushes her back. “He wants more, Mara. He wants more crap.”

Preta stands up woozy, shaking her head and rubbing her jaw. She turns back toward the ring.

Yaz lunges forward, faking to the left, and Tages swings. Yaz ducks, avoiding Tages’s blow, and he drops to a knee and punches him in the groin.

Tages hunches over and groans.

Yaz pops up with an uppercut, knocking Tages back.

Tages stumbles. Aware and sober, he glares up at Yaz. He stands straight, wipes a streak of blood off his bottom lip, then opens his arms, prodding Yaz to attack.

Yaz lunges at him again.

Tages gracefully steps back with his right foot and strikes the back of Yaz’s shoulder as he passes by.

Yaz bounces to the left unbalanced, and Tages grabs the back of Yaz’s head and knees him in the rib cage.

Yaz lets out a groan.

Mara steps in and grabs Tages from behind. “I said enough!”

Preta grips a pint glass and slams it into the back of Tages’s head.

The glass shatters, and Tages sways and drops to his knees.

“
Oh
—
ah
—” the crowd says.

Mara frowns as she watches Tages fall to the ground in slow motion.

The crowd mumbles, and the human ring breaks, going back to its prior concerns.

“Out of my way, out of my way,” a burley guard wearing a black uniform and a yellow armband says from the front door.

Five more similarly dressed guards bully their way through the remnants of the human ring.