The city of Maralon was well and truly alive and bustling with throngs of Humans peppered with Elves and Dwarves and even the odd half-Orc all milling thickly as they went about their day.
Aran wove smoothly through the crowds, his keen senses guiding him through the masses as he made his way down one of the hundreds of cobblestone streets. His direction was determined by his Gift, which had led him here, to Maralon. He tried to refrain from gawking too much; being from the country, he'd never seen this many buildings in one place, let alone the thousands of people all living on top of each other.
He had thought Ironshire was impressive, when he first saw it, but Maralon would swallow Ironshire ten times over! The houses and other structures were mostly all brick, tall and narrow with dark-tiled sloping roofs, the forest of countless chimneys leaving the smell of wood smoke hanging thick in the air.
Horses and carts aplenty populated the streets, sometimes knocking down an unwary pedestrian, the drivers offering nothing in the way of apology. Shopkeepers cried their wares loudly, while smiths, wheelwrights and other craftsmen and women further added to the cacophony.
The people seemed to favour dark clothing, the men wearing black cloaks and strange circular hats with high tops. Many of them carried walking canes, even though most appeared not to need them. They also seemed to be fond of strange beards that left their upper lips bare, or bushy sideburns that ended just before the chin. The women wore bonnets, usually of a dark hue, their dresses a slightly lighter brown, or red, or blue, with wide skirts that seemed ungainly in these crowded streets, but fashion rarely made practical sense.
Aran was passing an intersection of two major avenues when a man standing on a barrel caught his attention. The man was surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, who were listening avidly to his words.
"And that is why the Order needed to be destroyed!" The fellow said, addressing the crowd grandly. "To protect good folks like yourselves from the corruption and filth that they perpetrated!"
A few folk cheered, others clapped as Aran slowed to listen, standing off to one side, out of the speaker's line of sight.
"The Paladins claimed to be servants of a God!" The man continued, the light of zeal unmistakable in his eyes. "And yet, rather than serving the good people of the world, they built grand temples and monuments to openly display their arrogance and ill-gotten wealth, all the while engaging in sordid rituals of the flesh! Decadence and lust were their ways, and many innocent folk fell prey to their enticing and seductive teachings."
Aran couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had half a mind to step forward right now and set this fellow straight! If it weren't for the Order, none of these folk would be standing here today! Anger seethed in him, but he let it go; a confrontation here would surely have no positive outcome, especially with all these folks so keenly heeding this man's tirade.
"The Heralds of Dawn are dedicated to the protection of ordinary folk from such things ever occurring again!" The man continued. "Yes, we successfully destroyed the Order, but we must have measures in place to prevent another force from ever taking it's place! We are petitioning the Council for further power to carry out these measures as we speak! Do we have your support?"
Cheers erupted from the crowd, which had doubled in size since Aran had arrived. Their reaction concerned him no small amount; if the people really believed the Order was corrupt and evil, it would be that much more difficult to restore their faith in Aros.
Unwilling to risk being discovered, he turned and slipped through the crowd, disappearing into the flow of the city.
*
A little later, Aran was standing in front of a fruit cart, perusing the somewhat shriveled merchandise. The proprietor was cheerfully trying to engage him in conversation, but Aran was distracted by something, offering only noncommittal responses.
Upon approaching the cart, something had resonated inside him, humming in time with his Gift for the briefest second before disappearing. Not a minute later, it had appeared again, vanishing just as quickly. It was something he had only felt in the presence of others with the Gift, but this felt different -- a weak, fitful pulse, where Elaina, Smythe or Amina would radiate a strong, steady vibration. To add to the peculiarity, his Gift had stopped pulling at him for the first time in the week-and-a-half since he had left Amina's temple.
He continued to pretend looking at the apples, keeping his senses sharp, waiting for the signal to appear again. Had he not been so focused, he would have missed the scrawny hand that appeared over the side of the cart, seizing an apple before whipping back out of sight. A moment later, a figure, barefoot and dressed in dirty rags -- probably a boy, by the look -- disappeared into a nearby alleyway.
Aran almost dropped the apple he was holding, for at the last second before he vanished round the corner, the boy was surrounded by the faintest whisper of a golden glow.
The fruiterer, unaware he had just been burgled, politely asked Aran if he was going to buy anything. Barely looking at the man, Aran pushed a coin at him before hurrying into the alley after the urchin, not having to look terribly hard to find the poor lad crouched behind a rain barrel, scoffing the wrinkled apple, juice running down his dirty chin.
The lad was underfed, perhaps dangerously so, all skin and bones. He seemed unconcerned at Aran's presence, focusing solely on devouring the fruit as fast as he could without choking. This close, Aran could feel that resonance again. If he were a betting man, he would wager that this young urchin possessed the Gift of Aros, and probably had no idea.
When the boy was done, he looked up at Aran. "Can I help you?"
Aran proffered the apple he had just purchased. "Still hungry?"
The lad eyed him warily, looking hungrily at the fruit, but cautious to trust. Aran waited, a kind smile on his face.
Hunger won, and the boy snatched the apple from Aran's hand and tucked in. When it was gone, Aran asked if he wanted any more. The boy nodded eagerly, so Aran returned to the cart and bought three more apples.
Sitting down opposite the hungry lad, Aran tossed him another apple, asking a question as he did. "What's your name?"
"Sara," he replied around a mouthful.
"Did you say Sara? You're a girl?" Aran said without thinking. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the shape of the 'boy's' cheekbones, chin and nose, which could most definitely belong to a girl, as could the long, matted brown hair framing that dirty face. Reassessing, Aran placed Sara's age at seventeen or eighteen.
She glared at him as she bit off another chunk of the red fruit. "Yes, I am a girl! Does that surprise you?"
"No! Not at all!" Aran said, trying not to sound defensive. "I'm sorry, Sara, I meant not to be rude."
"Yes, well," Sara began, acid on her tongue. "I meant not to live on the street and starve to death, but look what's happened."
Aran looked down at his hands, still clutching an apple in each one, uncertain what to say next. Sara spoke again, this time in a gentler tone.
"I'm sorry, stranger, I know you didn't mean any harm. Thanks for the grub, and for not selling me out to that fruiterer."
"Aran," he responded, tossing her another apple. "My name is Aran." She snagged the apple from the air, this time eating at a more relaxed pace.
"So what can I do for you, Aran? Aside from eating all your food?" She smiled for the first time, a genuine warmth shining out from beneath the dirt on her face.
Aran returned the smile. "Well, Sara, you can listen for a minute or two." She looked back expectantly while her jaw worked on the fruit. "I'm not sure if you're aware, but you have a very special Gift."
"Yup, I know," she said with a grin.
"You know?" Aran asked incredulously. "How long have you known?"
"About a year or two, I suppose," she said nonchalantly, nibbling around the core to get every last bit of flesh. "At first I thought I was normal, but then the other urchins said that they've never seen anybody filch food like me, and I've never been caught, so I figure I've got a gift."
Aran felt like burying his face in his palm. "No, Sara, that's not what I meant. You actually have a very rare, and very powerful Gift. As do I, which is why I followed you back here from the street. I felt it inside you just before you stole that apple, and I can feel it inside you now."
Sara just stared back at him blankly. Aran continued, asking, "haven't you ever felt different from the people around you?"
After a moment, she nodded. "Many times I've felt different." Hope rose in Aran that she was seeing his point, but it deflated when she continued, an angry light in her eyes. "I feel different every time I see them," she threw a skinny arm toward the street, taking in the people passing, "going to their homes every evening, to their families and their fireplaces and their warm beds!" Her voice cracked at her last words, tears brimming in her eyes.
Aran's heart went out to the poor girl. "Sara," he said gently. "Do you find that, since I sat down with you, you've felt more comfortable in my presence with each moment? As if we've known each other for years?"
