Children of the Glimmer Pool - Obstinate Anarchist (pocket ebook reader TXT) 📗

The warm summer sun bore down on the vast desert terrain, waves of heat floating up from the dunes of sand.  Cacti grew in patches here and there, small pink and white flowers blooming amid the prickly green plants.  There was not a cloud in sight, simply a clear blue sky that offered no sign of rain for miles.

A cloaked figure trudged through the sand, laden with bags and pouches of all sorts, containing everything from foreign herbs, strange seeds, and little round bottles filled with an ominous blue liquid that seemed to glow. Clutched in one hand was a thick cord of braided rope tied to a wooden dog sled. A cool gust of wind blew past, forcing the dark, olive colored hood from the wearer's head. Thick blonde locks whipped about the girl's face, her emerald eyes squinting against the rough wind. She pulled her free hand from the cloak and ran it through her unruly hair, brushing it away from her line of vision.

Not more than a stone's throw away was the Desert Village with its large sandstone buildings and cracked cobblestone roads. The girl grit her teeth as sand kicked up by the wind scratched at her pale cheeks. In an effort to protect herself, she grabbed for the hood of her cloak, pulling it up over her head as she continued through the sand.

She was greeted by no one. The Desert Village was usually quite vacant during the afternoon hours, when the sun was the highest in the sky. Only a few children littered the streets, kicking a well worn ball back and forth. When they noticed the foreigner, they stopped their play and sent her hostile glances. The smallest one, a fair haired boy, gathered the red ball up in his arms before reaching out to a blonde girl, his sister. They exchanged hushed words before the young girl scampered off and disappeared into a building, presumably their home.

The boy approached the young lady who had stopped to admire a large stone statue in the center of the village plaza. When she did not at first acknowledge him, he tugged on her cloak.

Feeling the tension on her cloak, the girl whirled around, her hand at her side where a dirk was strapped to her leather belt. Realizing that the culprit was a startled child and not the pickpocket she had first thought it to be, she cleared her throat and tugged the cloak over the long bladed knife before crouching down to the young boy's height.

"Hello there. Can I help you?" She asked, her soft emerald gaze focused on the child.

The boy seemed to relax a little, his own threatening gaze clashing with the older girl's tender one. "You're not from around here, are you?" It was more of an accusation than a question.

The fact that a small boy could have such an intimidating tone in his voice surprised the girl and she was a little reluctant to reply. She assumed that perhaps the boy was just frightened of her and in an attempt to soothe him, she expressed a gentle smile. "No, I'm not. Actually, I-"

An earsplitting shriek rose up from the boy's throat and immediately he grabbed at the blonde girl's cloak again, this time pulling on it much harder than he had the first time. This sudden clamor caused a wooden door to slam open and nearly burst into splinters as it smashed into the side of the building. A heavyset woman stood in the doorframe armed with a frying pan, a small dog yipping menacingly at her feet.

The woman tore across the sandy cobblestone street and advanced toward her son and the older girl who looked to be in a state of comfusion. She reached out and grabbed the boy's hand, heaving him up off of the ground and to her side before turning to the girl and giving her a hefty shove.

The girl stumbled backward, bewilderment flashing in her eyes before rage replaced them. Her hand flew to her side for the second time in five minutes, fumbling for the dirk. "Listen, ma'am, I'm not here to cause trouble," she warned, dusting down the front of her cloak, "but if you want to start something, I'll have no problem finishing it."

"I didn't start a thing! You were the one trying to hit my boy, Clemont, here. Now why don't you get out of here before things start gettin' physical, stranger," the mother threatened, emphasizing the last word of her sentence. She held the frying pan in a malicious manner, as though she were carrying a double edged sword.

Things may have escalated further had a young woman with auburn hair not stepped onto the scene. "Bertha, who are you threatening now?" She asked accusingly, making her way over to the large woman and prying the pan from her hand. "You and your delinquent children know better than to drive off travelers! Now go on inside and take Clemont with you. I don't want to have to tell you twice."

Bertha clenched her jaw, glaring intently at the reddish-brown haired woman who firmly crossed her arms over her chest and cocked a brow as if to say, "Well?" Bertha let out an sigh of annoyance and grabbed her son's hand, leading him back into the house and slamming the creaky wooden door behind them.

The young woman turned to face the blonde stranger who stared back dumbly. "Sorry, you'll have to excuse Bertha and Clemont. They have a nasty habit of accusing innocent travelers of crimes they haven't committed. My name is Geraldine. I'm the Village Leader here," she greeted, sticking out a gloved hand.

"Oh. No, it was no problem. Um... Iris. My name is Iris Lockwood," the younger girl greeted, sending Geraldine a small smile. She felt slightly more comfortable with the Village Leader than she had with the malevolent woman, Bertha. "I'm sorry for causing you trouble. You see, I'm a merchant and-"

This sparked Geraldine's interest and a small grin crossed her features. "A merchant? What do you sell?" She inquired.

Iris' green eyes widened in surprise at Geraldine's question. In fact, she was a little hesitant to give her an answer. In fact, if it were not for Geraldine's position, Iris might have just snapped out a quick, "None of your business" and be on her way. She shuffled her feet a little and jerked the rope in her hand, drawing the wooden dog sled forward.

"Sleds?" Geraldine ventured, raising a brow in question.

"Dog sleds, to be exact. Not much use for them back home, though," Iris explained sheepishly, her gaze briefly flickering to the dog sled at her side. "But that doesn't mean they can't be used for other things. I sell them mainly in the Arctic Village, you know, because it's colder there and you can't really get around fast. Of course, I'm sure they work just as well here. I've sold some to... Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I just get so..." The girl trailed off, staring at the little sled again. She did not know where else to look. She had just embarrassed herself in front of a Village Leader.

Geraldine offered Iris a sympathetic smile and shook her head. "No, it's fine. I don't mind. Perhaps I'll purchase one myself. While you are here in my village, allow me to show you my village's kindest hospitality," she decided, starting off down the empt road.

Iris stared after Geraldine for a good minute before realizing she ws supposed to be following the village leader. "Oh, of course!" She hurried after Geraldine, tugging along the dog sled.

The auburn haired girl guided Iris through the village who's residents slowly began filing out. The hottest hour of the day had passed and now they were ready to get back into motion. Vendors rushed about at lightning speed to set up their booths, children poured into the streets to play with one another, housewives left their homes to buy groceries for their families and each of them sent Iris the same strangely hostile glare.

In all truth, it unnerved the blonde girl a little. She had been to plenty of places with scary looking inhabitants, but the fact that Geraldine came off so nicely frightened Iris. She increased her pace so she and Geraldine matched strides. "Geraldine?"

Geraldine's amber eyes flickered over to look at Iris briefly before stopping in front of a building made of the same material as everything else: sandstone. "Here we are, the only Inn for miles. There are only a few rooms, but no worries, Iris, you're the only guest we've had for weeks on end. Go on in, make yourself at home," she insisted, ushering Iris inside.

Iris suddenly frowned and dug her heels into the sandy earth, wriggling away from Geraldine. "Oh, but I don't have any dollops, ma'am!" She objected, stepping away from the Inn and the Village Leader.

"Nonsense! I shall pay for you, Iris. Now, go on, it'll be fine," the woman pressed, taking Iris' arm just above the elbow and escorting her into the inn before the younger girl could refuse.

The interior of the building was quite different from it's exterior. The walls were draped in a scarlet fabric with golden tassles at the end of each hem. A large, C-shaped desk made of cherry wood sat pressed up against the left wall. At it's opposing, right wall, a matching set of dark, wicker furniture made for a comfortable waiting area, though who would wait there was a mystery. Straight ahead was a large, arched double doorway that no doubt led to the rooms.

Behind the desk was a young, russet haired man who looked quite pleased to see Geraldine coming in with a possible customer. "Ah, Geraldine, it's good to see you. Who is our guest?" He asked in a friendly tone, leaning forward over the desk.

Geraldine smiled and nodded her head in greeting. "Hello, Brendan. It has been a while since I'd last had a good conversation with you." She swept her free hand in Iris' direction, though it was a little unnecessary seeing as the girl hadn't moved from Geraldine's side in the slightest. "This," she began, "is Iris Lockwood. I'll be paying for her stay. She sells dog sleds."

Although she was sure Geraldine had not intentionally meant to embarrass her, Iris felt her cheeks flush. She mumbled quietly, something that sounded like, "Nice to meet you."

Brendan turned around to the corkboard hanging on the wall behind him and pulled a set of keys from the seven that were suspended by nails. He set them on the table and smiled innocently. "Here you are, Miss. Lockwood. Room number seven."

Iris subconsciously flinched at the number seven. She grit her teeth and forced a small smile in return before snatching the keys from the desk. "Iris. Just Iris. Please," she replied curtly, reaching down to grab the rope of her dog sled before turning on her heel. Looking over her shoulder at Geraldine, she mumbled a, "Thank you," and shoved through the arched doors.

"She's a bit of a wild one. I can tell," Brendan said suddenly, momentarily distracting Geraldine. He idly turned his back to the Village Leader, as though her position meant nothing to him, and leaned against the desk.

Geraldine rose her brow and frowned. "Excuse me, Brendan, but I do not appreciate that attitude toward a paying customer. If I hear that you're-"

"It's only fair. We don't get strangers-"

"Travelers."

Brendan sighed and rolled his gray eyes. "Sorry, travelers. We don't get travelers here often. And you know that since Frederick's Ring has disappeared-"

"Silence! We will talk about this later, Brendan. What if she heard you? Now here, take these so that I may be on my way," Geraldine snapped, reaching