When she had been a child, her father told stories about Anhau. He was obsessed. "Da," she said, fourteen years old and already too wise a woman for her father. "Anhau's a bunch o' vodundun, da, give it up." But he would go on and on about legends and Deep Tek and the old ways and where it was meant to be, like it really existed. It was ingrained in her, and her brother--he'd even gotten the myth, an entire city, tattooed to his back.

Sophie had meant, originally, to follow the roads and join up with a tribe; perhaps even her own, her little leg of the Laughing Sky, if they would have her. Somewhere, though, she had heard a tale, a fanciful tale, about Anhau's rediscovery, about its location. Something about the story kindled a little flame within her, where all had been dark.

Since the loss of her kint, she'd been running here and there, doing what it was that she had to. But it had been cold. She lacked the spit and fire of her youth, when she had been able and willing to take a blow on the chin, and come back up fighting. Her pride would not bolster her; no one had done her wrong. She had just lost her life to an accident of nature. Everything was gone now. She hadn't the strength to get it back.

Sophie had no idea what she meant to find here. But she came anyway.

It was different than the picture in her head. Sophie had never paid a great deal of attention to her da's rambling, but it seemed to her that the image she'd conjured from it was grander, more mystical, the legitimization of the spun sugar image natt had of wicks, especially spokes.

These looked like country folk--a far cry from her green hair (black, now, at the roots and two inches from), her tattoos and her piercings. Simple. Sophie felt uncomfortable; she had never been stared at when she could feel wickish fields about her. Her clothing was not as bright as it once had been. She had been walking. Sale had been sold a long time ago. She carried all she had on her back.

Sophie kept herself from shaking from her exhaustion. The little flame, whatever it was that she'd been hoping for, it was threatening to go out again, and she didn't know if she'd be able to take it. She touched the metal of his watch through her blouse; she wore it now against her heart, on a piece of twine.

She just wanted a place to sit. What was the difference between these two places? She couldn't quite tell. She was exhausted. Oh, Gods. What on earth was the difference?

Reokan didn't often visit the taverns. In fact, it was a past time he avoided. Drink only addled the mind, and with all these strange travelling 'wicks' entering the city an addled mind was not what he needed. However, even a warrior had to go down to the city from time to time. It wasn't that he was anti-social, just very protective.

Leaning against an outside post of the Kitava, the summer eyed man watched the foreigner as she stood between them, one thumb resting casually in the edge of his pocket. In the other hand he held a carved wooden cup filled with richly fermented hops and barley. Perhaps it was that cup that prompted him to talk to the stranger. He smiled at her, a dimpled lopsided thing.

"You seem to be stuck. Stand in the middle any longer and the patrons may start a bet to see what way you will turn."

Sophie almost didn't register that the kov was speaking to her. She turned her head to look at him, eye to eye. She had not lined her eyes with kohl for a long time, but they still seemed to be dark-rimmed, as if tattooed as well. Sophie raised an eyebrow.

She could not tell tribes yet, though she knew there were three. Still, something about this kov put her in mind of the Black Hand; she'd been yached by a Black Hander, maybe fifteen maw ago, and he had the same sort of swagger.

"That so?" Sophie said. Her voice was like gravel. She'd fallen into her bad habits, and on the road, she had spent her ging on spurs instead of food if she had to make a choice. She'd have to quit now, unless she could buy off of other outsiders or the locals sold their own poisons. "What's your odds, then? Which way'll the old chip tramp?"

Reokan's smile turned into a confused sort of expression, and he shook his head as if to clear his ears.

"What?" He said with a slight laugh, before smiling again and taking a large mouthful of his drink.

"I do not know where you intend to drink, or where you learned to talk for that matter, but if my bets were on you, I'd say the Wiju. It's always full of you foreigners. I think they even started changing some of the decor to suit you, all colourful and over the top." Waving his hand at the bar across the way, he looked at Sophie again.

"Depends on what your looking for really. An old friend, or a new one." Reokan smiled his dimpled grin again, before finishing off the ale. Tapping the cup on his knuckles, he shrugged.

"I need to refill my drink, and I'm going in the Kitava. If you want to drink somewhere a little less rowdy, this is the place to be." He hesitated for a moment, waiting for Sophie to decide what she wanted to do. He might be Roek, but he wasn't rude.

These wicks were more jent than tekaa. It amused her, in a strange way, to see that the old ways were nothing like how her fami was or any tribe she was familiar with. Sophie listened closely to the kov, leaning close like he was just as difficult to understand for her as she was to him, for a little fun.

From what he said, Wiju sounded too full of those living the life she'd lost. Foreigners! Strange that wicks would be foreigners in their age old haven. Sophie decided she wouldn't like to come across any foreigners, not just yet. She'd rather not explain to anyone her tribe or how she came to be apart from them. She disliked lying to tekaa, and she avoided it when she could. She'd do so now.

"I ent aim to get guttered," Sophie said with a shrug. "Though I think I'd sorely enjoy it, I oughtn't. But a quiet spot to settle a bit sounds benny. Kitava? Is that what it's called?"

Sophie memorized the bespectacled osta in the sign. She recalled a family deck her mother used, where the fourteenth card was called "Faith" and depicted with an elderly witch with an osta on her lap.

"You ent averse to showin' me you Anhau kovs do your businesses, are you?" she asked. Her tone was polite, anyway. "I dunno what kind of ging--money--you use. Not birds, I'm thinking."

Reokan nodded, standing aside with a sort of bow to allow Sophie to go before him. Entering the tavern, the green-haired witch would be assulted by the 'high-class' decor inside. It seemed that Kitava taylored to those more interested in the finer things in life. Well, seemed being the key word. In reality it was all a ploy to outstage the Wiju. Most of the finery was cheap, fake and the stuffed animals second hand or low quality. Still, Reokan prefered it over the boystrus Wiju.

Leading the woman to the bar, he leaned on it, before turning his dimpled half smile on her again.

"Here, we don't use coin. We barter for service, goods or things of true value. Gold and silver, they are for jewelery and decoration. And a fine silver pendant is worth more than a poorly made gold ring. Understand?" He asked, genuinely. It seemed like an impossible thing for the outsiders to grasp - that you paid in worth, not in value. Looking over at the keep, the man raised a hand to beckon her over.

"You see, I drink here with the future promise of two skinned, tanned furs for Myri Stora. It gives me about a small barrels worth of ale. If I wanted something like wine or sippa juice, my two skins may only buy me a bottle, or in some cases just a mug." Finally looking back at the witch, the roek placed a hand on his chest.

"I am Reokan Argune, of the Roek Tribe. Well met, traveller. What will you be drinking?" It was a greeting and an offer to buy her a drink - bringing with it the subtlies of acceptance in this place for now. On the outside, all it seemed was a greeting, but to the Roek, it was an agreement between them that he welcomed her.

Sophie entered first, but followed the kov obediently when it was clear she hadn't a clue what she ought to do. The inside of the Kitava looked nothing like the pubs she'd frequented and worked in over the years, but she was a connoisseur of cheap things. She was a witch, she could smell spitch like it was curry.

She listened to his explanation of bartering. Well, that wasn't hard. It sounded like how things happened on Surwood. She plucked at the ring in her nose idly, wondering if he had some meaning; her ring was plain, gold and the jewel in it was paste. Sophie wondered if this kov could tell.

"Junta, Reokan Agurne," she said. Roek. What a funny name. It sounded Tek, like how her brother's name did. "I'm called Sophie L--"

She hesitated. If she made this choice, she made it now.

"Linnet. Like the bird, y'see," Sophie said, picking up as if she might have had something stuck in her throat. "I'm from the Laughing Sky, and I ent got a thing to m'name. I'm good for nothing 'cept work. Cook, sew, clean, the whole bundle."

Fortune-telling was behind her, a thing of the past. Except . . .

"You think they'd booze me for this?" she asked. Sophie pulled the satchel from her back and dug through it.

She produced a little rectangle shaped package, only a little bigger than her palm. She picked open the oilskin to reveal the painted face of 0. The Child. It was the strangest of her decks, the last one she had left, and by far the most beautiful. Her gitgka had painted it, before her untimely death under a kint. Three decks, she had from her grandmother, and this the last one.

Reokan looked down with a curious frown as she withdraw a small retangular package, his green eyes opening wide as she revealed the deck. Leaning closer, he inspected the painting with great interest, marvelling at its beauty and its creation. Looking up at Sophie, he shook his head and covered it again with the cloth.

"No, my friend. That is not to be wasted on drink. You could buy the whole bar for something that fine. Save it, for something you truly need." Shaking his empty wooden cup at the keep as she waited patiently, Reokan continued.

"You have fine, useful skills to trade with. Cooking is a fine skill, better than you know. It is easy to find someone that cooks, its harder to find someone that cooks well. You can trade your skills, or your meals. And sewing, you could make garments in exchange for goods and services. Cleaning, well...we don't have others clean for us. But the shops and bars do. They might need a dish washer, or a table server. In exchange for food, drink and a roof over your head." As the keep filled his cup, the man tapped Sophie's forehead gently.

"Think outside of your old life. Here, we respect each other and take only what we need. You are worth more here with your skills than any coin or material you bring with you. Now," Lifting his cup, he smiled.

"What will you drink?"

Sophie was surprised to hear the value of her gitgka's old deck. Wo chet. Even now, fortune-telling was her greatest asset, as it always had been. She snorted. "Really now," she murmured. "That's interestin'. Never thought these would come in handy again."

She tucked the deal back in her satchel and listened closely to the kov's, Reokan's, words. Sophie had had her fill of sweeping and scrubbing. She didn't mind it for her own sake, but cleaning out the insides of tumble huts and all that collected in them for five years had put her off it. Sophie always fancied herself a good cook, at least as good as her daoa, but it was sewing that took her mind off of things. Easy work that went by quickly, even before her drift.

"So many things I'm learning," Sophie said. This kov smiled a lot that odd little smile a lot; she was glad to be immune to most kovs' charms now, though she would've acted far differently ten or even five years ago. "Makes the head spin. I ent too thirsty, but if there's something simple, y'know, to warm me, I won't say no. Taste ent an issue, I'm never picky."

Smiling at Sophie, he turned to the barkeep and ordered a cup of cider. The roek wasn't a hard drinker, and he wouldn't force the witch to be one either. Handing her the warmed drink, he nodded.

"To learning, and in that, growing." Clunking his cup against her's gently, Reokan took a deep drink, watching her over the rim. As he took the cup away, he spoke.

"Why Anhau?" He said simply, curious of her motive. Of any of their motives. Since the hatchers had disappeared, the colourful wicks had swarmed the city like some plague. Reokan couldn't understand their migration - and hadn't taken the time to find out. Mostly, he turned and went the other way when he saw them.

"Sounds good," Sophie said, and tapped her cup against his. She drank deeply, surprised by how cold she was. It tasted different from the cider she had drunk in Old Rose. She felt drowsy, but not half as tired as she had been. Not the all-consuming exhaustion. Maybe it was because she was sitting down.

He asked her something. It took her a moment to comprehend the question--well, why had she chosen Anhau?

"Funny question," she said, shrugging. "Not quite sure o' the answer m'self. My da was the great sage of my kint, and he used to spin all these grand yarns about this place, the sanctuary of the wicks. Legends, he called them. Da was never a great traveler, his was a weak constitution. But my brunno weren't, and he was like-minded, always badgering the elders about the old stories, with a mind to record them. Writing 'em down."

Sophie made a face, illustrating her thoughts on that practice. She sighed. She examined the fried ends of her green hair. "Not me. I never cared. Spoke through and through, that was me. So I dunno why I decided to come here, 'cept that it's hard out there, and getting harder."

She took another sip of the cider. Sophie swirled it in her cup, as if to read the omens in it.

"S'pose I thought that a sanctuary for our kind sounded fair benny," she said, at last. "Never paused to think that we were the ones that changed. Even the Deep Water ent like this."

Reokan snorted as he tipped up his drink, placing it on the bar half empty. His green eyes were amused, and perhaps a little confused.

"A sanctuary? I don't deny, Anhau is a beautiful and amazing place - and we like to keep it that way - but why a sanctuary? From the sounds of things, you outsiders have your wagons and your dancing and your colours and your whice. Yet you flock to a...a..." He tried to remember a word he'd overheard one of them use.

"A 'backwater' place like this. A sanctuary." Lifting his cup again, he gestured to Sophie with it, his voice gentler now.

"The hatchers were the most of our problems. There are stories of old, long long ago when Braunhald waged war against the wicks. The three brothers came here, and they created Anhau. The hatchers sealed us away, but also protected us. You sound like Braunhald still wages war with you. With us." He said, emphasising the last word with a raise of his cup, before taking another drink.

Sophie smiled. "Silly, ent it?"

She paused, listening to him describe his home, and hers. It was no doubt that the culture of the spokes--she briefly wondered if any tsats had uprooted themselves in search of this place--had made a sorry impression on these old-style wicks. She tactly ignored such words; it was no fault of her own, behaving as her daoa and her gitgka had taught her. Then he said something that struck her comical, with its hilarity.



"Braunhald? D'ye mean Brunnhold, the gollies?" It was her turn to snort. "They hate an' despise us, kov, and if they don't, they ignore us or find us like--like toys. Weaken the blood, that is what wicks do. If the hatchers was what kept y'safe, for your sakes I wish they'd've never left. 'Bruanhald,' ha! S'more than that now. If the High Judge knew about this place, I think he'd vomit out his twisty insides and order it burnt."

She scoffed and took a sip of her cider.

"Just to be in a city with m'own--" She could not reasonably say kind, for she felt that Reokan was much different from her. "--Race, I suppose, that is a sanctuary o' sorts. You Anhau kovs look at me funny, but you ent half so bad as the gollies."

Reokan finished his drink, listening to the womans words with a growing frown. Finally he crossed his arms, looking at her intently.

"You mean to say, Braunhald and the Galdori still war against the wicks? Do they know about Anhau?" Leaning closer, his summergreen eyes studied her face with a sort of fierce intensity.

"Do they come to Anhau?" It was a serious, and heavy question. The muscles in his arms twitched slightly under tanned skin as he waited. Something about his stance, his tone, would indicate to Sophie that if ever she needed to say something important, it was now.

"It's not even a war," Sophie said. Her own eyes were a murky color, but they were large, and mystic, and painted with fatigue. She held gaze with him. "For if it is, we've been beaten so soundly none of us want to rise.

"I found this place, kov. I imagine the tribes'll try keep it quiet for a while, but someone'll send word to their tsat dabeata in Vienda or 'Braunhald' and then the natt'll know and it's only a pina manna time before someone tells their master and their master tells the King or the Queen or godsdamned Azmus."

Sophie touched her satchel, thinking of the cards within. Her fortunes had gotten dark with her melancholia. "So yes. I imagine they'll come to Anhau, perhaps next year, perhaps next seven, but they'll come. I don't even need to look at the cards to tell you that. For now . . . the rosh who told me of Anhau, I thought she was plum moony 'til I set foot on the ridge myself."

Looking at Sophie thoughtfully, Reokan finally relinquished the intensity of his gaze and sighed, signalling for another round. As the keep poured them, he pushed one to Sophie and shook his head.

"You give me much to think about, and for this I am both blessed and cursed. For now though, I feel that you need less questions and more relaxing. Please, take your drink and we can find a seat. If you need somewhere to stay, I am sure they will let you a room here in exchange for your skills." Moving away from the bar, he led them to a free table with large, soft padded chairs. Sitting down, he thumbed his lip thoughtfully between sips of his drink. There was a lot on his mind, and the man had finally stopped his questioning. If Sophie wanted to talk, he would still respond, but it was obvious he would press nothing further.

Sophie followed him like a pet hingle tailing after the boch that fed it. What he said made sense her ears; he made out like she only knew about money, but Sophie had paid her way in skills before. She sat on the edge of the cushion, leaning hard on the table, over the cup of cider. Sophie passed her fingers over it, through the steam.

"Anhau doesn't think much of its travelin' kin, does it," she said. She sighed. Then she brightened. "Say. You wanna see a pina trick?"