Chapter 2

Daelia stood fixed in place, gazing in awe at the city that lay spread out before her. Parsaena was the busiest place she had ever seen. Everywhere she looked were large buildings, houses, street vendors, open store fronts, carts and horses, and people; so many people! Men, women and children hurried by, focused on reaching their destinations, hardly bothering to glance at the young woman who stared at the sights around her, completely overwhelmed.

A vendor from one of the many booths set up along the street spotted Daelia and hurried over; but he shrugged his shoulders and turned back when she ignored his enticements to buy a gold bracelet. Perhaps she is lost, he thought glancing at her strange apparel. The long blue tunic and matching leggings were certainly not the local fashion for young women, and the bow she wore across her back was an uncommon sight in Parsaena. His attentions were diverted by another potential customer, however, and when he turned back, the strange woman was gone.

Daelia wandered through the streets and alleyways, trying to find a particular building in a place called the “southern district”. Before she and Finneas had parted early that morning, he had given her the address of his shop in Parsaena.

“Stay there if you wish, at least until I return in a week’s time. No, you needn’t pay me. Just guard my artwork as well as you have guarded me this night and that shall be payment enough. The owner of the bakery next door has the key; just tell him that I sent you and he’ll unlock the back door.”

She had been shocked that a stranger would entrust her with such a thing as his home and artwork. At her expression of doubt, he had merely thrown his pack over one shoulder and replied, “Well, if I return to find you and my paintings gone, I shall simply have the soldiers hunt you down with dogs, and they would most likely mutilate you past recognition.”

He grinned at the look of horror on her face. As he started down the road he called over his shoulder, “A good day to you, mistress Daelia!”

Though it had sounded like such a simple plan at the time, Daelia was now wondering exactly how she would find Finneas’ shop by nightfall. Entering the first gate she came to had led her directly into the southern district, just as Finneas had said it would, but now she had to find a specific street and she was beginning to despair. Each house, each street looked exactly alike to Daelia. This city was like a maze.

Looking above the rooftops, she could see that the sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow over the buildings that surrounded her. Though she had wanted to avoid talking to people on the street, she realized she needed help. Seeing a bent-over old man standing near the corner of a dreary looking home, she stopped to ask directions.

“Could you tell me where I can find Leiden Street, sir?” she asked as the old man openly stared at her clothing and bow curiously.

Only after she had repeated her question more loudly did he respond by shrugging his shoulders and walking away.

Suddenly, Daelia felt more alone that she had ever felt in her life. She managed to trudge down two more streets before finally collapsing on the doorstep of an empty-looking building. She pulled her legs up to her chest and buried her head against her knees, feeling miserable. Aiden would tell me that I should ask Deus for help; Taerith would keep walking calmly until he found what he searched for, and Ilara... Ilara would have simply placed an arm around her shoulders in silent comfort. Though Daelia had taught her beloved sister many things, she had always secretly felt that Ilara was the stronger one. Daelia usually put on a brave front, while inside she crumbled slowly. Where are my brothers and sisters?

Deus, please help me...perhaps I have been putting you off...forgive me.

A tentative voice broke through her inner thoughts, “Are you well, miss? May I help in some way?”

She raised her head, meeting the sympathetic gaze of a bearded man wearing a heavy apron.

“Yes, sir; I’m afraid I am lost. I have been walking for hours and I cannot find Leiden Street.”

The man’s eyes brightened, “Well, you are fortunate, young lady; this is Leiden Street.

The girl stared at him in disbelief, then broke into tears.

“There, there, child, don’t cry,” he patted her shoulder as she tried to control her sobs, “Come into my shop and you shall have some bread. I baked it fresh this morning. Come, come.”

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“Finneas! Finneas Culwart sent you here?” the baker, a man named Sealen, turned from the hot oven his bearded face red.

"Yes. Do you know him?” Embarrassed by her tears outside, Daelia sat up straight in the wooden chair and tried to appear more capable than she felt. Sealen had set before her two thick slices of oat bread and a mug of hot cider and she was relishing her first meal of the day.

"Know him! Why, that young fool is my neighbor…left here yesterday on some escapade or another; always moving that one.” Sealen refilled her mug with more piping hot cider as he spoke. “I did not know he had a lady friend, though…too busy painting on rich people’s walls to have any friends but me.”

She was quick to correct him, “We are not friends; I met Finneas only last night on the road. I have nowhere to go and he was kind enough to let me stay in his shop until his return in a week, then I shall move on from here. He did say though that you would have the key to let me inside. Where is the shop?”

“Why, the very steps I found you sitting on outside belong to Finneas’s shop! You said you were lost, but there you were the whole time, right in the spot you had searched for so long. What a coincidence!”

’Twas not coincidence, sir. Deus blessed me despite my unbelief, and led me to you.”

“Who is this Deus? Is he travelling with you?”

“Deus is the God who has power over all,” Daelia paused as the thought struck her, “And yes, I do suppose he is travelling with me; but not in the way you mean."

The baker looked at the strange young women who spoke so openly about a single, all-powerful God. He pondered her words as a customer entered the tiny shop. A young woman, carrying a basket on one hip and a baby on the other, bought two rounds of barley bread, paid, and left quickly. Just as she passed out the door, another customer, this time an old man, came in. He and Sealen exchanged several friendly, good-natured remarks before the old man began a ten-minute tirade on the rising taxes in the city “to pay for those young squanderers and their frivolous feasts and parades.” Sealen merely nodded understandingly as he continued to knead dough on the long counter. Finally, the man asked for a loaf of oat bread, which the baker gave him, and left the shop after dropping a few coins in Sealen’s big palm. “Don’t know as I’ll be able to come as often anymore, my friend, if all of my money starts going out in taxes,” he said on his way out the door.

Sealen shook his head and kept on punching the dough with the heel of his hands, speaking more to himself than to Daelia, “My taxes are as high as anyone’s, but what can a man do? My sales continue to drop; my friends cannot afford to buy as much, even to feed their families. But our people have no voice. Someone much higher than us makes the decisions and it does no good to stir up trouble...only disaster can follow.”

Daelia was not sure what the old man had been talking about; she had never heard of taxes. What were they for and who did they go to?

At her inquiry, the baker gave a laugh completely void of humor, “That, miss, depends on who you ask. Our money is supposed to be going towards improvements on our streets, waste removal, the military, feeding the poor and other things. But people are beginning to suspect that funds are being diverted into private purses.” He stopped kneading for a moment to look Daelia in the eye, “Despite the proud praises young Finneas may sing of Parsaena, she is not the magnificent city that once ruled this region.

“I am but a simple baker and have very little knowledge of politics and the roles of the governor; but even the simplest of men may realize when the future of their city is being compromised for the excitement of one night’s wining and feasting.”

He saw the confusion in her expression, but waved his hand in dismissal. “Never mind, child; our troubles are our own and you say you shall move on in a week’s time.” He went into a back room, and returned with a large iron key, “Now, let us see if we can get you into Finneas’ shop for the night.”