Chapter Two

From a completed epic fantasy novel told across two time periods.

Veabella

She was glad to hear laughter coming from the other side of the door. The interaction with her sister had hurt her more than she expected. She had thought she was without the need for her sister’s approval, but that had been wishful thinking. Lydee may have said she withheld judgement of her younger sister, but Veabella felt otherwise. And the critical eye of someone she respected made her feel like a child, which was, she knew that in many senses, true.

Through the door and into a roar of drunken boasting and singing. Back to her life in the here and now. Back to the comfort of her friends. A true comfort, not just an escape from the judgmental opinions of her sister. These were the people Veabella loved.

Every table was occupied and there were not enough chairs or stools to seat the patrons. Veabella slid her way through the crowd as she inched inside, keeping her hands on the knives at her hips. The loudest table was where she was headed. That would be where her companions, Twig and Donnes would be playing cards. Veabella smiled when she heard and then saw them seated in the middle of the tavern. They were easy to spot- Twig, a short, skinny man in his early thirties, smaller than most boys who had only reached adolescence, and the tall, bulky Donnes, a woman of a similar age. The contrast of their sizes was laughable, and the butt of many jests from others, though never from Veabella. Across from them was an older man she did not recognize.

“My turn,” Twig said, slamming a painted rectangular piece of wood onto the table below three other equally sized pieces.

The stranger leaned over and looked at it. “A fitting card for the situation,” the man allowed after his inspection.

“It’s a good card because I made it,” Twig smiled.

Veabella came up from behind him. “Are you winning?”

“Of course!” Twig said. “I never lose at Factions.”

Donnes grunted then laughed. The other man scowled. “The game just started,” he said.

The grin on Twig’s face was implacable. “That was a winning card,” he said.

The man across from him was riffling through his hand, tongue sliding across a gum line of mostly missing teeth. “Here,” he said as he set a card down.

Twig leaned over. “Ha. I have just the thing for that.” He drew a card without looking and played one from his hand. “Good, huh?” he asked the man.

“Another one you designed?”

“Of course.”

“You know I can’t read, yes?”

“That’s why I’m playing against you.”

Donnes laughed again. “You two are fools.” She looked at Veabella. “Vea, thank you for arriving and sparing me from this idiocy.”

The giant woman put her arm around Veabella and guided her to the bar. “We’ll leave him alone with his new friend. A captive audience who has yet to be victimized by his charm.”

“Where’s everyone else?” Veabella asked.

A shrug. “Haven’t seen them since yesterday, I think.” Her eyes narrowed in contemplation. “Not sure what day it is.”

“We arrived yesterday.”

A smile. “Then tomorrow is the tournament.”

“What do you know about our competition?”

“I can out drink them all.”

“And in terms of fighting?”

“Don’t tell Xopher I said this, but with him on our side, I like our odds. Also don’t tell Twig, but he’s damn handy in a pinch. Best not to tell anyone anything,” the burly woman said.

“Not long ago, I’d have paid solely for a glimpse of the competition. Now I’m part of it. It’s surreal, Donnes.”

“Sound like you haven’t had enough to drink. I’ll order you one.”

“Thanks.”

“Twig will pay for it. Again, don’t tell him anything.”

The comfort of being with her friend relaxed Veabella. The ale which went directly to her head assisted as well. She did not want anyone to know the profundity of the nerves which were tearing a hole in her stomach. The feeling reminded her of her first hunt. She had had no formal training. Truth be told, she had had no informal training either. And then, as now, it was the deceptively caring and complex Donnes who comforted her. Meffas had clearly taken the role of her father when she left home, as he did for the others, a truth that was left unsaid but impossible to ignore. Donnes was not as a mother though. She was as an older sister, perhaps the one she had always wished for, one who taught her what she wanted to know, and never looked down at her. It was fairly macabre how her still living family members had been replaced by lethal hunters, but it could not be denied. She had a new family now, and there was no sadness in that realization. Veabella loved her crew. They were everything she had ever wanted.

“You’re drifting off, lass?” Donnes said, elbowing her in the side.

“Sorry, I haven’t eaten since morning,” Veabella said.

“Thought you went to see your sister; she didn’t cook you anything? What kind of an older sister is that?”

“The kind who is more interested in books. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t eaten all day. I’m surprised she hasn’t forgotten to eat or drink and simply withered away beside a pile of old writings.”

“Sure you two are related?”

“I’ve wondered on it, but yes. We’re each more like one of our parents. I’m more our father, and she’s more our mother.”

“Except for the motherly qualities,” Donnes quipped.

“Yes. Except for those. I cannot imagine Lydee ever having children, nor anyone proposing the idea to her.”

“Hmm, I had a couple brothers and sisters when I was young. Don’t know what happened to them. ‘Suppose the ones that’re living are still on the farm. That wasn’t the life for me. It wasn’t a choice either, after I beat the piss outta the governor’s bratty son. Gave me a good excuse to leave.”

“You’ve never gone back to see them?”

Donnes waited a moment before answering. “No. Not my kind of people,” she said before tilting her head and drinking down a full tankard. “Barkeep, another, if you would be so kind.”

Veabella enjoyed Donnes’s philosophical side, and she looked at her friend with open admiration until she felt someone approaching them. An athletic man in his late twenties was aggressively pushing his way to the two women. Unlike the majority of the patrons, he was wearing a scowl. Veabella smiled at him when their eyes met. He smiled back before remembering that he was supposed to be perpetually brooding.

“Xopher! Join us!” Veabella said sincerely.

Donnes’s look of curiosity at seeing the man in a tavern at this hour made her smile even more. Xopher did his best to ignore the large woman.

“Meffas wants to see us. He has a room in an inn not far from here. Finish your drinks and follow me. I’ll grab Twig as well, assuming no one has stepped on him.”

“I’m ready now,” Veabella said, standing up.

Donnes took the opportunity to finish both of the tankards, and in a few heartbeats, they were all out and onto the street.

Twig knocked on the door, then opened it before receiving an answer. The room was plain, with a modestly-sized bed, a worn nightstand, and a battered wooded chest the only furniture. In the center of the room was Meffas, a somber look on his lined face, the lips of his closed mouth barely visible through a thick beard of black and gray. Next to him was Ictorian. The tall man was in his late forties, perhaps less than ten years younger than Meffas, though much more muscular and intimidating to strangers.

Meffas motioned to Ictorian. “Close the door, please.”

Xopher stood to one side of the room, arms crossed, with Twig and Donnes sitting on the side of the bed. Veabella remained by the door which Ictorian was guarding now, possibly unconsciously. Meffas moved his tongue in his closed mouth before speaking again. “I withdrew us from the tournament,” he finally said.

Veabella caught a slight change in Xopher’s stance. No one else moved. “I know you all had been anticipating the event. I’m also aware you won’t agree with my reasons for removing us. But I’m going to state them anyway, and then that will be the end of it; tomorrow I’ll be searching for a contract.” He cleared this throat then, the only sound in the room. “I’ve had a bad feeling about the tournament since the beginning. It isn’t safe. I know the history of these events. A lot of the teams don’t make it out alive. We face beasts like these on all our contract, yes. But never forget that we take our lives into our hands each time we go out. To do it in this manner, with no threat to innocent villagers or farmers being posed, it’s reckless glory-seeking. Furthermore, and I hate to say this, but it’s the way of things- we should not have been selected by the guild. There are other companies who were passed over for reasons that were intentionally left unsaid, and that does not add up. I will not put my people into harm’s way under those conditions.”

Veabella could not tell if he expected resistance to his speech, but regardless, none came. His face unreadable, Meffas simply walked out of the room. Ictorian looked over the others, then followed the captain.

Xopher stood straight as an arrow, arms tight across his chest. Donnes shrugged. “Good that I did not wager on us to win.”

“Good for you,” Twig replied.

Veabella grinned. “You bet on us?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he moaned.

Still unmoving, Xopher scowled. “We wouldn’t have won. Not the courage needed.” He strode to the door. “He was right about one thing though. We should not have been selected. The truth of that is clear enough, is it not?” he said, slamming the door without waiting for a reply.

Twig swept a hand through his unkept hair. “Enough people underestimate us. I don’t. We would have won.”

“He’s just doing what he thinks is best,” Veabella said. “We have to trust him.”

“We do,” Donnes said. “We’ll get over it. So, back to the tavern then?”