Chapter 7: Charity
Chapter 7: Charity
Kyra, still angry from her confrontation with Rozen,marches down the street away from The Table.What did he mean, why does he have to say it like that. I did nothing wrong, I'm only trying to help. Miran, please, tell me what to do.
A voice pierces the crowd. It belongs to the merchant she slighted earlier. "Kyra! My, girl where have you been. I have more errands for you to run." The voice belongs to a merchant of writing supplies; the one from whom Lady Manon earlier bought her goods.
"Sorry, not today!" she calls across the busy square.
"Are you sure?" he calls back "It's easy work just a few blank scrolls for the guard's office."
"No, thanks. I'll be leaving town in the morning I have to prepare." She calls back leaving him scratching his head. She had told him earlier she would be around all day.
"Doesn't preparing involve money? Easy work for easy pay."
She stops at the edge of shouting range, her frustration gets the best of her. "If you're upset take it up with Lady Manon." A few heads turn her way, though they offer only brief annoyance before tending to whatever matters of trade they had been distracted from.
Fen gives her a pass and offers warmly. "Well if you say so. Don't be gone too long, I need as many feet out carrying supplies as possible. You know how the winter months are."
Kyra settles her temper and bows. "Yes Fen, see you in a few days." Kyra departs her eyes fixed on her next destination.
A low wide one story building prominently positioned with its front facing the square. Its facade is new, clean cut stone, intricate and decorative in its construction. The building is not remarkable in stature or design but in its pristine condition. The peak of its wooden roof bares a vent pouring steam out into the air. The wooden roof supports jutting out from below are decoratively carved into the shape of Anoran faces. Their mouths open holding a chain with a lantern suspended beneath each of them. A free standing wooden frame suspends a sign reading the purpose of the establishment. "First State Bathhouse"
Kyra puts both paws on the door handle, a large heavy ring bolted into a heavy door. She takes a deep breath and pulls it open.
"No, no, no, I don't serve your kind here, you know that; out into the street with you. No trade, only coin." The female Rohean by the name of Atta walks briskly from behind the counter and begins to usher Kyra back out into the street.
Atta is well dressed and views herself a member of the upper-class. Prideful in her successful operation of the prominent bathhouse situated on the market square. Her reputation precedes her, however, not the reputation she would expect. Instead of being seen as a well off cunning businesswoman and an intellectual as she might hope, Atta is seen as that of a loud obnoxious debutante known for viciously spreading unsubstantiated rumors on a regular basis. Luckily for her, arrogance and ego make for an excellent veil for pride and ignorance.
Kyra pushes back. "Here take it." She pushes the coin into Atta's chest.
Atta snatches it from her paws. She stares at the coin half expecting it to vanish as some part of an elaborate joke. When the coin fails to do so she relents and asks. "And what do you intend to buy with this."
"I intend," Kyra pauses for dramatic effect. "to get a bath. You can't turn me down your not allowed." Kyra clears her throat and mocks her self righteous tone. "I want, put simply so you can understand; a bath, my clothing cleaned, and a maid to assist me." She smiles with smug self satisfaction of being on the other side of the argument with Atta for a change.
Atta gives her a long cold stare glaring down at the girl. She considers if she should throw the poor girl out anyway and call the guard to investigate the matter. Not allowing the coin to slip from the corner of her eye she thinks. If I wanted, I could simply confiscate this coin and that would be the end of this matter. It's probably stolen. What a filthy little beggar and now a thief.
After a few intense moments of neither willing to give an inch, Atta relents and grants Kyra her request. "Your total comes to 400 bits. However, I am keeping 100 in spare change. Dirty little street girls like yourself require extra work, I'm sure you understand." Atta readies the 9 chieftains and 9 paws change.
Kyra undresses right before her in the lobby throws her dirty laundry on the counter.
"By Miran what kind of two bit establishment do you think I run here. We have a room for that, now get out of here before I change my mind. And take your laundry with you. I wouldn't touch it to save my life. One of the maids will see to that nasty bit of work."
Kyra smiles feeling if she has gotten away with murder. She gathers her clothing from the counter and proceeds through the door into the dressing room. A maid waits by the inner door and accepts her laundry from her.
Atta pokes her head in form the lobby. "Assign someone to this girl, she has paid her way, if you can believe it."
"Yes ma'am" The maid responds. "Right this way Matron Kyra."
Kyra is not unaccustomed to being called Matron. A term used patronizingly by servants towards those they serve. "Oh, you don't need to call me that." Kyra says politely.
The maid looks over her shoulder as they walk beside a pool of steaming hot water filled with a number of bathing Anorans both male and female. "Yes, I do." her tone expresses all she needs to. As a servant, the language is expected of her by Atta. Though there is enough inflection in her voice to tell that this is in duress rather than out of respect.
The maid gestures to another servant girl to come to aid Kyra.
"Right this way Matron" The maid leads Kyra to the pool's edge. Kyra slides in and lets the warm water soak into her fur. The maid disrobes and joins her in the pool. She wears a towel wrapped around her head to signify to the rest she is an employee, not a customer.
It is not unusual for Anorans to bathe together. In the cold harsh environment of southeast Attria bathhouses are commonplace. The need to heat ice to form water to bathe in is a necessity. Their long thick fur takes quite some time to brush and clean especially when shedding their winter coast in the springtime. As such communal bathing is normal in Anoran culture.
Anoran modesty has evolved alongside the practice. They do not have a clear cultural definition for nudity. Instead, the concept is largely contextual. Certain manners are meant to be observed in public. Men, in particular, are expected to wear pants. The female Anorans are expected to keep their tails down. It is known that the raising of one's tail is most often an involuntary reaction to being happy or excited, but alone with the object of one's affection the gesture implies something else. The more detailed features of Anoran anatomy are buried deep below their thick heavy fur and do not cause public concern. Their clothing is meant more for protection from melting snowfall, keeping them dry and warm.
I can't remember the last time I've had a bath. Kyra leans her head back against the edge of the pool of steaming water as the maid sits beside her brushing her dark black hair. She gently attempts to untangle it without causing Kyra any discomfort. It must of have been a month or two ago in the fall before the first freeze.
Childish screams ring out as some playful Anoran children burst through the entrance and jump into the water. Their mother, still half dressed close behind scolding them. The maid pauses a moment and suppresses a smile before. She reaches into her bucket of tools and pulls out a brush to begin working on Kyra's fur at the shoulders.
Kyra wades a few feet forward to a wooden bench submerged in the water weighed down to the stone floor and kneels, draping her arms over a rest at the front so the maid can work on her back. I still remember when I was their age. Her thoughts turn to her parents. _Odd how something can feel so recent, and yet so distant at the same time._The carefree days of her youth before they vanished.
Kyra dwells on the matter. Did they abandon me? No, I don't think they would. She lets out a long drawn out sigh. They were good people. I'm a good person. Aren't I? I saved that poor creature. I help my friends. I'm strong. I help. I'm good, my parents would love me just as I am.
Kyra thinks back on her relationship with Rozen. From when lady Manon first took her to them when her parents disappeared. Doing chores around the hall, sweeping the floors at night, taking orders to the market, and replacing the bedding in the hostel.
Why can't Rozen see the good in me? I can't accept charity if I'm ever going to prove I can take care of my self. She lowers her head to the water's surface and sighs. The water vapor fills her lungs with warm damp air. She closes her eyes and tries to relax.
The maid places her hand on her head. Kyra opens her eyes. The maid begins to bush her face with a small delicate brush.
Kyra closes her eyes and relaxes. The pressure finally begins to melt away from overwhelming frustration to a mild, nagging annoyance in the back of her mind. This is my last year before becoming an adult. I have all year ahead of me in which to prove myself once and for all. I can do this.
Time slips by each stage of brushing, cleaning, and detangling going by almost un-noticed as Kyra allows the maid to tend to her. Each time she emerges from the water to change position she can feel the weight of her fur pulling down on her.
This is nice, but, I can't imagine what it's like to have to go through this all the time. Kyra looks at the ceiling as the maid rings as much water from her hair as possible. One of the benefits of being poor I guess. She smiles at the childish nature of the thought.
The maid grabs her bucket of tools and brushes and helps Kyra climb from the pool.
The children at the far end cause another commotion splashing their mother as she attempts to untangle her hair. She turns to discipline them and drops her brush into the dark water.
"See what you made me do." her words trail off as the maid leads Kyra into the drying area.
Kyra pulls the door open and peers into the lounge. A gathering of unclothed Anorans sit around a hot bed of coals drying. Their attention affixed on an elder Anoran, his attention fixed on Kyra.
"Come in, come in, young one. Sit down, and have a listen. We were just beginning." He places his hand on the bench signaling her to take a seat.
Kyra recognizes the elder. A prominent disciple of Miran, Preceptor Heroth. "Yes, Preceptor." She sits among her kinsmen as Heroth begins his lecture.
"In Miran's name, it is a wonderful time to gather here today and reflect upon our place in this world, naked before Miran and nature." He pauses and looks around the drying lounge. "Well, perhaps not nature." He smiles and a low laugh rises from the small crowd. "I would like to take a moment as we rest to remind you that before Miran we are as we are here. Not betters in a fine establishment but fellow Anorans. Miran sees through our station, our possessions, our prestige. She sees us not for who we want to be seen as, but as we truly are. Our true selves are as naked before Miran." He opens his arms to the crowd, his paws upturned in a welcoming gesture.
"Miran teaches us many things and as we sit here today I would like to remind you among them is strength. The strength of oneself, and strength as a community. Let not your pride in your personal strength blind you however from the latter. The strongest among us, not simply in pure physical prowess, but in mind, manner, understanding, and compassion are a beacon to the rest. If you find you possess such personal strength do not let it blind those who would look upon you with respect. Instead, use it as a beacon to light the way. To show others the compassion Miran has shown you in granting such strength. For it is the strength she has earned for you, for strength comes from the Gods, and Miran is their witness."
Kyra hangs on his every word. This is amazing._To be so close to the Preceptor in such a private setting. _Truly Miran must be watching over me.
"Miran has favorably represented you. Not for your personal benefit, but because you can be trusted to carry the burdens of others who stumble, for those who are weak. The poor, the beggars, the unwashed, and unwanted. They are not a blight for you to pass by. It is your duty to protect them. As it is Miran's duty to protect you. We are stronger together. If you are a beggar or poor." He looks around the room reading the crowd.
"Or even if your not. If someone is kind. If they try to help you. Do not take it as a sign your own weakness. Consider that as a gift from Miran. Those who think ourself as best among our brethren often have trouble accepting the kindness of others. Don't. Even if the help is unneeded, be gracious. Strength comes in many forms. The way it reaches through society is complex. Consider that such a gift of charity-"
The word echos through Kyra's mind as if he said it a thousand times. As if it was meant just for her. She was sure of it. She looked directly at him her ears perked up convinced he would be staring straight at her. He is not.
"-is perhaps meant to be handed down. That you may not be its final destination. Take that charity, that act of strength, and add it to your own. Then in turn, as it was granted to Miran, as Miran granted it to those who in turn, have granted it to you. Take that strength and pass it on to those in greater need."
The feeling of the coins in her paw could almost be described as burning. It is now that it finally dawns on Kyra what Rozen must have been trying to tell her all along. That must be it, I should use this coin for good, not throw it away. A feeling of relaxation washes over her. I understand now. The kind of lie one tells oneself when avoiding self reflection. When you're afraid of what you might find out about yourself. While it's true Rozen did not want her to throw her coin away the finer points on her hypocrisy go largely unnoticed.
Heroth smiles to the room. "Well, I have gone on here long enough. Let Miran's teachings guide you."
Murmurs break out through the crowd as generally, cheerful conversation breaks out about the lecture. Several Anorans rise and leave the room having completely dried out some time ago staying only to hear Heroth speak. Kyra capitalizes on the newly available space and lays on her side allowing her back to dry facing the coals.
Charity... Strength... Kyra ruminates on the virtues of the lecture to herself. Interrupted only by the occasional maid bringing in hot coals to add to the pit. Kyra stirs afraid she has outstayed her welcome. She recognizes the maid from before.
"It's okay dear, make sure you are completely dry, you know how dangerous a damp coat can be in the winter."
Kyra smiles back. "Thank you."
. . .
Renno picks his face up from the hardwood floor having slid off the mat while asleep. The attic is dark only a faint glow emanating from lanterns below in the main room of the workshop. His ears perk up to the sound of light hammering.
Minetz pounds away on a chisel carving some freshly stripped lumber. The log not yet having taken any recognizable shape. The little rabbit intensely studies a book open to a diagram beside him as he works. Renno approaches him from behind.
"It's dark out." Renno states in the tone of a question unsure how long he slept for.
"Oh yes, it gets dark early this time of year." Minetz eyes stay fixed on his work.
Renno sits across the table from him. "So..."
Minetz unflinching chisels away at his creation.
"Do you actually live here?" Renno looks around the room. Nothing seems to stand out about this place as intended for long term habitation.
"Ever since my parents died, Kyra helped me. It was empty so I stay here. She knows what it's like, her parents died too. Don't say it like that to her though. They are missing. She says they are missing. I feel bad. I do, but I'm old enough now. I know the truth. We stick to gather. Me, her, and Tharen. He joined the guard though." Even solemn Minetz banters on leaping from one thought to another making it difficult to get a word in.
Renno scratches his head feeling timid. Should I apologize for their loss or avoid the topic? "So Kyra lives here too?"
"Anoran's don't really live anywhere. They stay together. That's where Kyra will be. They let her stay there cause she's not too old yet. It's her last year though. Then she has to grow up. She's very worried. She doesn't say it, but you can tell. She used to be nicer but now she's worried all the time. She could marry Tharen but she's mad at him now. He joined the guard. Didn't I tell you already?" Minetz looks up from his work at Renno.
Renno leans back. "I don't understand, where does Kyra live?"
Minetz resumes his work. "I already told you, they share. She's probably at Whitehall, they let her stay there."
"I see. I think I may be a bit older than the rest of you." He looks over his paws and fur as if to see a sign of his age in them. "But I can't really say how old I am. Anyway, I was thinking. I should go out and see if anyone knows me, or at least if there's any work I can do."
"Oh no, you best stay in here with me. Anorans are nice, but they aren't that nice. They won't let you in with them. Not to work, not to bathe, and especially not to sleep. You can go to the inns for food. But you need money for that, and I wouldn't go in the front door, at least for now. It would be best if you stay here with me."
"And do what?" Renno asks.
Like a bolt of lightning Minetz mood snaps to joy. "And help me of course!" The little Thono hops down to his feet collect a set of tools and a book. Walking around the workbench he places them onto the table in front of Renno.
Renno's gaze remains fixed on Minetz. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Read the book, make something, obviously. We can work together it will be great!"
"Minetz, I already told you. I don't seem to be able to read Anoran."
Minetz opens to book quickly to a page with diagrams on how to use carving tools. "Just use the pictures then, I can teach you to read later. Kyra taught me. Now it's my turn. Go ahead, I'll cook dinner. It's going to be great. I cook way better than Kyra."
Renno interrupts him. "I don't think I'm going to have time to learn this. I have to be going home. I won't be here very long."
"Don't go, you can't go." Minetz pulls down on his ears straining his words. Pleading with Renno.
He raises his paw to shush Minetz. "I need to get home, someone probably misses me."
"No, I mean it, you can't go. Not until springtime. It's too cold now. Just try it, we will be best friends by then. You won't want to go." He takes the book from the table and pushes it into Renno's chest.
"Stop it, I can't stay." He lets the book fall to the floor after Minetz releases the pressure holding it to him.
"Okay." Minetz, disheartened stares into the floor shuffling his foot a little before bending over to pick up the book. "I'm still gonna make dinner. You'll stay for that right?"
"Of course, I'm not leaving now. I still have to find out where to go first."
"Great!"
. . .
Whitehall._Kyra looks up at the sign, then cautiously back over her shoulder at The Table across the street. Keeta, Rozen's wife, owns both establishments. _I hope she's not mad at me. Kyra having skipped dinner in an effort to avoid a confrontation with either her or Rozen slips quietly into the front door.
Whitehall is an old stone structure repurposed over the years for a great many things. It now stands as the largest and oldest hostel in town. Its thick heavy rough stone walls from its days as a fortress help keep the sound of the street out. Its basement fireplaces from when it housed the Arbiter in its earliest days keep it warm. Its wide open floors separated into 3 tiers from when it was a barracks for the guard make it ideal. Inside a new wooden staircase beside a wooden desk built into what was once a large manual lift sits an empty desk. The walls covered with woven tapestry. The interior dark and windowless.
The attendant must be stoking the fires below. Kyra slips by the desk to the staircase looking at the open hatch leading to the basement. She nods to the guards posted at the door to the first floor. Meant for honorable women and children.
"Move along Kyra." He says quietly to her.
She smiles and hurries up the stairs.
The second floor is for Men and the occasional couples. However, it is known by most as a place for young, single, young men from the city markets, laborers, and scoundrels not yet found guilty of their crimes. No guards stand posted on the second floor tonight.
Kyra continues onto the third and final floor. The staircase leading into the bottom of the room. This room is for the orphans and disgraced members of society who find them self lucky enough to have either the coin or affiliation to be let in. Keeta, however, is known to be kind and lets the room stay near capacity regardless if most can pay or not. This has given Whitehall somewhat of a reputation. On one hand many see it as a positive symbol of cultural strength and unity. On the other, it is seen as a place where criminals and beggars congregate for an undeserved handout. The orphan's have priority over the rest. This too is not a requirement of the state which subsidizes Anoran hostels but a custom common across South Attria.
The floor is covered in a thick layer of de-sapped pine needles tucked beneath layers of durable linen cloth. Anorans sleep in every which way next to and even on top of one another. Some clothed, some not. The context of the situation makes it optional though most stay clothed in the winter time for warmth. Not wanting to get her freshly laundered outfit smelling like the streets as the third floor often does, Kyra chooses to disrobe and store hers in the common lockers on the edge of the room taking care to hide her coins carefully.
She walks a path left by Anorans piling together in social groupings to finds her group. A collection of young displaced women. Most older than Kyra. They are not known for being necessarily upstanding members of society earning their coin in the alleys and thick forest groves around town. Ever since Tharen joined the guard she has found this group home. They seem to have a welcoming nature towards orphan girls nearing adulthood, for what reason, one can only imagine.
End Chapter 7