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Chapter 35
Chapter 35. The Holy River
The two of them slipped into the royal carriage. The curtain was lowered, and Fick leaned against the soft seat. He had just been about to speak when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shulia yawn—her mouth did not open wide, but tears were squeezed out.
“Sleepy?”
Shulia rubbed her eyes and said nothing. Then she yawned again.
Fick stiffened his neck, his eyes fixed on the ceiling of the carriage, and his voice came out rigid. “If you are sleepy, you can lean on me.”
Ẃѐ bn̄ о vѐ l En̈ um а̇
Shulia froze for a moment and turned her head to look at him.
He was still staring at the carriage ceiling. His face was a little red, his ears were a little red, and his neck was stiff as a thick wooden stick.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
The corners of Shulia’s mouth curved upward, and she yawned again. This time, it was deliberate.
“Thank you, Fick,” she said softly. Then she lifted the carriage curtain and called outside, “To the Holy River!”
The private coachman answered, and the carriage began moving.
Shulia lowered the curtain, leaned a little closer to Fick, and rested her head on his shoulder.
É ǹ ǔmá
Fick’s body went rigid for a moment, but he did not move.
Shulia closed her eyes.
The carriage swayed along. The wheels rolled over the stone pavement with a rumbling sound, like a lullaby. Shulia’s breathing gradually became steady. Her lashes trembled now and then, but she did not wake.
Fick lowered his head and glanced at her. Sunlight leaked in through the gap in the carriage curtain. Her cherry-like little lips were slightly parted, and she slept without the slightest guard.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Fick withdrew his gaze and continued staring at the carriage ceiling, not daring to move, like a tortoise frozen in place.
The sounds outside gradually grew louder. There were peddlers calling out, the clatter of hooves, and people haggling. They had probably arrived.
Е́ n̂u m̊ а̇ . id
The coachman did not say anything. The carriage simply stopped quietly.
Shulia did not wake, and Fick did not move either. Keeping this posture made his shoulder ache a little.
After who knew how long, his eyelids also began fighting each other. He had not slept all night. Now the carriage had stopped, the interior was warm, and the person beside him was sleeping soundly. He grew sleepy as well, leaned back, and simply closed his eyes.
When Shulia woke, she discovered that the shoulder she had been leaning on was still there, but the head above that shoulder had already tilted to the other side.
Fick leaned against the soft seat, his eyes shut tight, his breathing deep and heavy. Sunlight fell across his face, making that face of his look faintly bright.
Shulia looked at him for two seconds, then could not resist reaching out, pinching his face, and pulling it outward.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
“Handsome sir, it is time to wake up.”
Fick opened his eyes in a daze and rubbed them.
“Hm? Damn it, have I become handsome? No girl ever praised me as handsome before. Even my dad said that if he threw me into the street, he would not be able to find me.”
“In my eyes, you are the most handsome man on the entire continent, and you are becoming more handsome every day. Today is our first date, so you have to get your spirits up.” Shulia withdrew her hand, still smiling.
“You are making me float with praise.” Fick sat up straight and stretched. His shoulder ached badly, but he felt much more awake.
“My young lady, let us get out.”
Е̄num a
The two of them stepped out of the carriage, and sunlight poured over them all at once, so dazzling that they could barely open their eyes.
Fick stretched out his hand. Shulia also stretched out her black-gloved hand. Their hands clasped together, their fingers interlocking.
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Shulia lowered her head shyly under Fick’s gaze.
Clearly, I did not feel anything before when he looked at me.
She suddenly remembered that kiss from last night, remembered how nervous the two of them had been when they kissed, and remembered those thoughts she had heard through magic.
She pursed her lips and did not take off her glove. Fick said nothing. He merely tightened his grip a little.
È n̆ um a
There were not many people around. Fick and Shulia walked forward side by side, with two guards following behind them.
The carriage passed through the Weaving District, then through the city gate, and the view before them suddenly opened up.
Fick stuck his head out of the carriage window. The first thing he saw was not the river, but the embankment. The stone embankment wound along with the river’s course, stretching out as far as the eye could see.
The stones at the bottom of the embankment were half a person tall, one pressing down upon another. The stones in the upper layers were smaller, and damp green moss grew in the cracks between them. At the top of the embankment stood a neat row of stone railings. Faint patterns were carved into the railing posts. Some had already become impossible to recognize, and only a few could still be identified as the shapes of waves.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Fick and Shulia got out of the carriage and stood on the embankment, looking toward the opposite shore. The figures on that side were as small as ants, and the houses had shrunk into a blur of color.
The river surface was roughly three hundred meters wide. The current was not rapid, and the water was bluish gray.
E̊ ṅů.ḿа.і̄ d
The docks were crowded with boats. Pressed close against the embankment were small sampans with narrow hulls and sharply upturned bows. Fresh seafood was piled aboard them. Women selling vegetables crouched at the bow, calling out loudly and bargaining with housewives on the shore.
Farther out were flat-bottomed cargo boats. Their holds were open, revealing neatly stacked wooden barrels and burlap sacks inside.
Some carried grain, some carried salted fish, and several boats were loaded with large blocks of stone. They sat deep in the water, their sides almost touching the surface.
Even farther away, several great seagoing ships were moored. Their hulls bulged high, their prows were carved with beast heads, and square gunports opened along their sides. Their masts were thick and tall, and their sails had been furled into bundles, like giants leaning against the ships. Sailors moved about aboard them, tiny as ants.
On the embankment, bare-chested porters had coarse cloth towels draped over their shoulders as they moved box after box of goods onto carriages. The coachmen sat on the shafts and waited, occasionally exchanging idle curses with the people beside them.
Merchants in long robes stood to the side, ledgers in hand as they waved their arms about. There were also several uniformed tax officials, holding long iron probes and stabbing them into sacks.
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Along the inner side of the street, food vendors were lined up in a row. Smoke rose from the grilled fish stall, and its aroma drifted over, mingling with the faint fishy smell of the river.
A woman selling ale carried a wooden bucket and ladled drinks for the porters. Copper coins were tossed into the money pouch at her waist, clinking as they fell.
Old men and women selling flatbread crouched at the foot of the wall. In the baskets before them were thick stacks of flatbread covered with a piece of white cloth.
Shulia pulled Fick along the embankment, with the two guards following behind.
“When I was little, every time I returned to Saint-Denis City, I would come here,” Shulia said, her voice gentler than usual. “I came to watch the ships going out to sea, and to watch these commoners.”
“And later?”
E_nú.m̈ а̂
“Later, I got tired of watching alone, so I stopped coming. Now that you are beside me, I want to come and look again.”
She pointed at a great seagoing ship in the distance. An eagle with outstretched wings was carved on its prow. “That kind of whaling ship can carry three hundred people. Once it sails out, it only returns after two months. The ambergris it brings back is worth as much as gold.”
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Fick followed the direction of her finger and looked over. That ship was moored quietly in the water, its sails furled and its mast pointing toward the sky.
“Is the scent on you ambergris?” he asked.
The corners of Shulia’s mouth curved upward. “Idiot. I never use that sort of thing…”
She did not continue. She only tightened her grip on his hand.
Ѐn u̇ m̄ а. і d
The two of them continued walking forward, passing row after row of cargo boats, passing merchants calling out their wares, and passing children squatting on the embankment to fish. The riverwater slapped against the embankment with a rhythmic splashing sound, like a song that never ended.
When they reached a place with fewer people, Shulia stopped and leaned against the stone railing.
“Have you heard the legend of the Holy River?”
Although Fick knew it, he still cooperatively shook his head, satisfying Shulia’s tiny desire to show off.
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Shulia pointed at the river and began speaking.
“A very long time ago, before this city existed, this river was not called the Holy River. It was called the ‘Red River.’ Because the riverwater was red, like blood, and one would die after drinking a single mouthful. At that time, a man lived on the riverbank. He was very poor, so poor that he only had a handful of flour and a little oil left. One day, a passing prophet asked him for food, so he used that handful of flour and that little bit of oil to make a flatbread for the prophet to eat.”
E n û m̂ а
“After the prophet finished eating, he pointed at this river and said, ‘From now on, this water shall no longer be red, nor shall it harm anyone. The flour in the jar shall not be used up, and the oil in the pot shall not diminish.’”
“Afterward, the riverwater truly became clear and gentle. Relying on that little flour and oil, that man and his wife established the Saphile Dynasty.”
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