Chapter Eleven
From a completed epic fantasy novel told across two time periods.
Veabella
Year 1378 (Present Day)
“Since when was this shield so damn heavy?” Donnes growled for the tenth time. A few paces ahead, Veabella chuckled to herself. Leaving the bar area before Donnes and Twig was always a wise move.
The hunting crew traveled the beige cobblestone streets of Oslidor’s Mines industrial district, which distinctly lacked a mine of any type. Pedestrians did their best to walk in the shadows provided by the larger buildings, none wanting to be in the heat of the sun. Veabella had grown up north of the city, near the border between Vinredor and Ebanigan, and was not accustomed to weather of this nature. The sweltering afternoons of Oslidor were oppressive, especially beneath the weight of her gear, and it was still only morning.
Behind her, Donnes continued a steady string of complaints, while Twig was struggling to compose himself enough not to vomit. He wore an oversized pack that looked all the more gigantic on his small frame. It was filled near to bursting with gadgets he had created.
Meffas had rounded up the crew at dawn and given them the details of the contract he had acquired. It was a typical job, and no one had given a reaction to the news. They were now on their way to purchase equipment from the inventor, Simon Howswilder, and Veabella knew Twig was hoping to impress the man with his own works.
She walked between Meffas and Ictorian, the latter dwarfing her. The two of them always seemed to find a way to be standing next to each other, each gaining an unspoken benefit from the relationship of protector and protected. Ahead of them was Xopher, who had not spoken at all since the night before. Veabella knew he was still brooding over their withdrawal from the tournament, and she was empathetic to his disappointment as he had been anticipating displaying his skill in front of an audience, especially peers. She had no doubt that the only reason he held back his disapproval of the decision was because of a deep deference for Meffas. There was a story behind the younger man’s respect for the crew leader, but despite her many clever attempts to uncover it, it remained hidden from her. She suspected she was the only one who was not privy to that information. They’ll tell me eventually. Perhaps it would pay to stay out later with Donnes and Twig…
On both sides of the street, masons and carpenters toiled under the sun. Sweat poured down their faces and backs, leaving damp stains on their loose cloth shirts and pants. Veabella had not been in the capital city of Vinredor in years, and its hustle and development were in stark contrast to Goldcrest, the capital of Ebanigan, where she often found herself between contracts. It was exciting to see new buildings being erected, and to walk through a city where there was not a single unpaved street. She wondered if her sister had noticed these advancements, or if she had been too engrossed in her research to appreciate the world around her.
As they turned a corner, a paper which had been stuck to a wall caught her attention. “The Hero walks The Path,” it read. “Behold the fulfillment of His second prophecy when the sky is alight.” Lydee is not the only one with heavy expectations for this year.
For her part, Veabella was still skeptical. She knew her sister was an expert on historical matters, and she had assured Veabella that the first prophecy had in fact been fulfilled as was predicted. Nevertheless, she found it difficult to believe. Perhaps her sister’s assurances had had the opposite effect. The message had been printed in ink, a bold move considering how expensive the use of a printing press was. Veabella wondered if that detail was intended to be noticed.
Ahead of her, Xopher had halted before a large wrought iron gate. Two guards in full chainmail armor equipped with short swords stood in archways on either side of the gate. Though they could not have been unaffected by the heat, they showed no signs of discomfort. Beyond the gate was a marvelous fountain where water flowed out from the mouths of tropical birds made of white marble. Although the city was virtually free of grass, and the few strands that could be found were yellow and dry, the estate was covered in luscious a luscious green carpet, the like of which could not be found naturally within a fifty miles radius.
While Meffas approached a guard and spoke with him in private, Twig and Donnes finally arrived next to Veabella, the former leaning down to rest his hands on his knees. “If I were to rush the guards, do you think they would kill me?” Twig asked.
“I can kill you if you’d like,” Donnes offered.
“You should have told me earlier,” Twig moaned.
Meffas looked over and motioned them forward. A guard opened the gate and the hunting crew was escorted inward. A woman in a flowing silk dress awaited them at the fountain. “The master will be with you shortly. Please follow me,” she told them before leading them into the main building.
The vestibule was mercifully cooler than the outside, but the calming mood of the exterior was instantly replaced with a frenzy of activity. Men and women rushed through the room, disappearing behind doors, carrying crates of books, scrolls, maps, and tools. Empty spaces on the walls between framed paintings added to the sense of chaos. Veabella could hear the sound of carriage drivers bellowing orders on the opposite end of the estate.
The woman who led them into the building had told them to wait and then walked through a side door. A few moments later she returned without speaking and now stood beside the crew, completely still with her hands behind her back, staring at the door. Donnes and Twig slightly swayed in place, everyone’s eyes on the passing workers.
They waited for more than two hours before being allowed to go further into the mansion where they waited another half an hour. Finally, they were led into a room with a long rectangular table and a dozen chairs. At the head of the table sat a man in his fifth or sixth decade of life. He wore a dark green tunic with an elaborate design of golden colored leaf prints. Directly in front of him on the table was a strange stone, roughly the size of a brick which emitted a faint, white light. The inventor’s eyes were fixed on it until the door closed behind Veabella and he finally looked up to make eye contact with Meffas. “How can I help you, Meffas, my old friend,” he said, his attention clearly still being pulled away by the stone.
“We’re in need of more of your spring-loaded traps. The large ones. Also flame bolts, we could use quite a few of those,” Meffas replied.
Simon Howswilder removed his custom designed lenses and set them on the table. He bit his lip before speaking. “I wish you had arrived sooner. I may have one or two of the traps left here, but the rest of my arsenal is in transit.”
“Why’s that?” Twig asked. Meffas turned and gave him a dirty look, making the skinny man flinch. Simon clenched his fists before answering.
“I am moving my operation to Withigan. Therefore, at the current time, I do not have access to the majority of my merchandise.”
Veabella could tell Meffas was curious as to the inventor’s reasons for moving out of royal territory, but she also knew he would never risk being untactful. Twig did not share those reservations. He did, however, have the sense not to ask directly.
“Simon,” Twig said, “I made some modifications to a few of your traps.” He began untying one of the many pockets of his pack, then reached in and pulled out a crossbow bolt. It looked like the typical flame bolts that Simon had developed nearly a decade ago, the tip wrapped in animal hide to protect the flammable substance which covered it. The flame-producing tonic which coated the tip of the bolt was not the only aspect that separated it from a normal crossbow bolt however. The tips were removable and a tiny brass wick hid inside. When the bolts hit their target, the wick would light, and the tip of the ammunition would explode in flames. It was an invention that had made warfare more deadly, but due to the cost of the coating, it was mostly used by hunters on lucrative contracts. The only notable difference between this bolt and the others Simon created was a slight incision on the shaft of the bolt. Twig held it up proudly. “I hollowed out the shaft. Inside is a poisonous dust. On impact, the flames will reach the dust and explode. The poison paralyzes whatever it touches. The idea is, for the larger targets that don’t go down in one hit, the poison has a chance of spreading into the eyes, throat, or even lungs.”
The little man displayed an enormous grin. Simon nodded. “Very clever.” His view returned to Meffas. “Have my assistant gather whatever you need. It’s the regular price, even with the current drop in supply.”
He stood up then and made a nearly imperceptible bow to the crew leader. “Perhaps our paths will cross again in the future. Withigan is the land of opportunity. I believe Vinredor has lost an invaluable asset. But that is their concern, not mine. Good day, Meffas.”
With that, he lifted the glowing stone, tucked it under his arm, and exited the room. The woman in the silk dress had been present for the entire exchange. She cleared her throat to grab Meffas’s attention. “Come with me, sir. I will show you what the master has in storage.”
The rest of the crew then left and waited by the fountain. Veabella could not help but stare at Twig. He somehow appeared even smaller after the curt response from his idol. Those bolts were more than merely clever. A poison that can be delivered in that manner could be monumental. And that was only a fraction of what he’s created!
She walked over to her friend and put her arm around him. “He was just in an awful mood, Twig,” she said. “He wanted to say something even ruder, but the brilliance of your work stunned him.”
“Thank you, Vea,” Twig said without looking up at her. Though Veabella was only average height for a female, she had a good hand’s height over her crewmate, a fact she never brought to his attention, though she was sure he was constantly aware of it. She could not recall having seen him so hurt by another person in the past. While the little man was often the butt of jokes, he gave as well as he received, and always appeared to laugh off every comment. It was clear that the indifference shown by Simon had stung more than the much crueler intended remarks of others.
Twig shook his head and finally looked her in the eyes. “Just one more person who overlooks us. We fly low, but it won’t always be that way.”
“It wouldn’t have been if we were still in the tournament,” Xopher said, his back to them. The man then flinched and walked away from the others. Hero, what a miserable visit to the city this has been!
While the crew ate a lunch of fried fish and rice at a small open-air establishment, Veabella asked permission from Meffas to seek out her sister. With the excuse of wishing to speak about the notice she had seen in the street firmly in mind, she bounded across the city to the university. She did not like the way things ended with Lydee, and she wanted her to know she was no longer in the tournament. Moreover, she had seen a lot of herself in Twig and how he looked up to Simon, and though she knew she was going back in the hopes of kind words or a compliment, she could not help herself.
She asked a group of students who were no older than her for directions to the history department, and headed in that direction, the discrepancy between their scholar’s robes and her hunter’s trappings just on the edge of her awareness. There was still time for her to change course and take that path, she knew. Nothing would please Lydee more, yet I recoil from that choice. In truth, am I going to see her to rub my lifestyle in her face? To show her I will never bend to her wishes? Would she even attempt to sway me again? Am I looking to find out if she still cares enough to try to save me from myself?
She shook her head as she entered the building the students had indicated, an unconscious attempt to leave her doubts outside. Once in the hallway, she had no sense of which way to go, and so she followed the lone voice which echoed down to her. As she stepped close to the room from which it sounded, she recognized it as her sister’s. She peeked into the room and saw Lydee standing at a pulpit in front of a modest arrangement of perhaps ten students, their hands working steadily to copy her words.
“With a singular exception, the soldiers perished in the fire,” Lydee said to the class. “But their journals have survived, and many were even delivered to our own library. These are the types of primary documents on which you should base the majority of your research. Delivering an argument from firsthand accounts, especially those which were incidental and therefore without the bias of a secondary author’s opinion, is a stronger position than regurgitating another historian’s ideas. Furthermore, you never know what you may encounter, especially when you consider that many documents in our archives have never been read.”
The professor paused for a moment, then slowly turned to look at Veabella. Lydee gave a polite nod, then motioned for Veabella to enter the room and join the class, which she did, taking a seat behind the students. She watched and listened until the class ended, impressed with the confidence with which her sister spoke, and aware now that just as Lydee had taken no interest in her career, she had paid no attention to her sister’s calling until just this moment.
We do not look alike, either. Lydee with her hair short and neat as always, and I with a bird’s nest of tangles, tidy only when it is in braids, and even then, there are leaves and pebbles strewn about. No one would ever take us for sisters.
When the students filed out of the room, Veabella stood up and went to where Lydee was gathering the books she had open on the lectern. “That was interesting,” Veabella said.
“Thank you. We will see if any of my students follow through with my advice. They tend to prefer the easier route whenever possible,” Lydee said.
“Most people do.”
“Not us.”
“No. That’s one way we’re similar, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure there are more as well,” Lydee said, forcing a grin. “We’ll simply have to look harder.”
“I wanted to let you know our company withdrew from the tournament.”
“Why is that?”
“Meffas says it’s an unnecessary risk.”
Lydee only nodded at that.
“We have a new contract though, so we’ll be leaving the city in a couple of hours.”
“I hope it goes well. Safely. And, lucratively, of course.”
“Thank you, Lydee.”
There was another uncomfortable pause, the likes of which their conversations had been characterized by over the past few years. Veabella made to speak, but Lydee beat her to it. “I would like to apologize for being so… cold,” she said. “I’m concerned for you, but instead of making you feel as though I care, I fear I have come across as condescending and distant. I do not know of another way to reach you though, for I do not wish to be manipulative.”
“I think I could say most of the same to you,” Veabella said.
Another long pause.
“Have you seen the messages throughout the city?” Veabella tried. “The ones about the prophecy?”
“I have!” Lydee said, her voice finally sounding alive. “They get torn down quickly, but they show up again the next day. They’re putting the idea in people’s heads, so that they will realize what they are seeing.”
“What will it be, exactly?”
“A great light. That is the best description we have. There will be a great light in the sky, but it will not last. I only hope it remains visible long enough that it cannot be denied, even in the three royal nations.”
“And once the second prophecy is fulfilled?”
“There will still be two more, of course. But people will be ready for them. That’s the idea, I believe; that each prophecy builds momentum to the next one.” When she finished speaking, Lydee looked over her shoulder, then walked to close the door to the room. “He will return soon, Vea. It was a long time before the first prophecy was fulfilled, and it has been forty years since the last one. Each one will be closer together, so that the wave of support grows with them. At least that is what I believe. But it makes sense, does it not?”
“It does,” Veabella said.
“I know. We will have to wait a bit, but I think it will be in our lifetimes. The Hero will return, and we will be fortunate enough to be witnesses.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“For all of us, Vea, not just me. This is for everyone. The Hero will unite the world. That’s why he is doing all of this. It’s not just so that I can be proven right.”
“I know. I just meant I’m happy that you will get to see it.”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
“It’s this year, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It could be any day now, but it will be before the year is out. That is definite.”
“When the sky lights up, I’ll be thinking of you, Lydee, no matter where I am.”
“And I will be thinking of you, Vea.”
Neither sister moved, and the moment passed without comment. “I have to be going,” Veabella said. “It was nice to see you as more than just my sister. I was impressed.”
“Thank you. Maybe one day… well… I hope you’re safe, Vea. I mean that with all my heart. Be safe and listen to Meffas at least. He seems to have a good head on his shoulders, for a- never mind. He seems to be a good man.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“Goodbye, Vea. I hope you visit again soon.”
“Goodbye, Lydee. I will.”
As soon as she was back outside, she felt the tension she had not realized was there begin to melt away. How could it be that speaking with family was more stressful than killing deadly animals?