We had prepared a net for her steps. We had bowed down before. Yet, now we dug a pit before her; In the midst of the chaos, Cardamon had fallen. -- Scribe from Lebanon, former guardsman.
--
Queen Seseh Diddymous sat alone by the broken windows of the broken palace. Her husband and her son had died. There was nothing but the nymph of the North residing inside her. She locked the doors to the royal hall barring separatists against her. The rebel guardsmen had taken over the lands of Cardamon.
Atop her throne, she surveyed out a window. A wasteland stood before her that once held magnificent gardens and trees. The gates lay destroyed on either side, tarnished by war. She wore a long gown of purple fabric adorned with golden threads running through and a crown. Vanice was alone in her private hall deep within the castle and tapped Seseh's nails on the throne's arm.
Where had it gone wrong?
What'd she do to fail? Vanice couldn't say. She had not become the queen of Cardamon and created an alluring thrall to lose it all as quick as a child's sniffle. Years of planning only to be ignored and forced to lock herself away in her own home. In the complexity that was her plans, there were always problems. Yet, moments had provided improvisation that furthered her dark quest. She hadn't expected treachery, nor the fall of the Cardamon territory. Guardsmen were solid and loyal caretakers of the royal household. Yet, they'd become separatists. The Nymph's plan seemed to have failed.
There was an edgy, pit-of-the-stomach, nervous feeling. She sensed someone was coming. Whoever it was, a couple of locked doors wouldn't stop them from entering and making more of a mess.
Was it the betrayal of the Cardamon guardsmen that tripped her warning jitters?
Or was it someone else?
She stared at an open glass window, a breeze blowing in and calming a small part of her nerves. There was nothing else she could do about the edgy feeling. Someone was coming and she knew it.
Vanice wished she could do something.
They sat, Queen Seseh mocking Vanice all the while and forced to wait for whoever was coming.
****
Lebanon began, "This must be where Cassius Longinus was--"
"This is?" Bramble interjected, climbing down the steps. "Uh-oh. Look at the floors. Scat, you mangy verman... SCAT!" Bramble ran toward a deflated corpse, flapping his arms at a group of carrion.
They were Cardamon guardsmen... WERE. Now with breastplates off, they scoured for remaining survivors. The two wanted to rally them against the former Queen Seseh. One name floated among the men, Cassius Longinus. Where was he?
"Dear Hovenlla. Poor Cassius."
They found him pecked and eaten. "Queen's birds were hungry. All that's left is gristle and bone."
"So? You think it was Cass? It could be any guard's remains by the look of this horrid mess." Bramble offered.
"No other guard was posted in the dungeon. He was head."
"What am I missing here?" Bramble asked.
"A breastplate, of course. This has to be the so-called Queen's doing. She usually doesn't go without her filthy, feathered friends. All we find are trails of feathers in her wake, pecking around at whatever they can get. Oh yes, this was her ill-gotten doing."
They looked downtrodden.
"All right," Lebanon said. "Let's head out. We know where Cass is and can prepare what's left for burial later. For now, we need to find more. One thing I know is, no matter how much I see ilk like this, it doesn't prepare me any more than before."
"I agree. I never thought I'd see," Bramble said. "That."
****
Seseh took a deep breath and blew it out. The energies of Vanice seemed to dissipate within, and she could do as she pleased so she walked to a window.
She focused on the poppies. They had not wilted in the death parade, not a petal nor a stem. Not one. They fought to live.
It gave her hope. Seeing the flowers ushered her to fight Vanice, her lungs heaved as she tried to breathe clear. She began to feel fires of rage building up. Unfair, this was her home and she was being held prisoner. Still, her flesh had held. If Vanice were in control, she would melt. She looked at her hand. She was. Yet, still, she held. Much better than the witch ever could.
She felt herself move, forced back to her beautiful throne, and she heard Vanice railing.
"Don't think you can defy me, thrall! Others tried."
Queen Seseh Diddymous was not the most patient woman in Fonde SSique. Being closed up in a room, no matter how well adorned was not her plan. She tried sleeping, sitting on her throne. Yet, the witch wouldn't stop yelling. She worked to keep form and found herself dripping to the floor. It was in thin, loose, brown puddles. Finally, she spoke out.
"This is my home, Vanice!" She pounded a wet fist against the hard arm of her elegant throne. "This is my body and you're an intruder, an imposter! Vanice, you are nothing! You are nobody!"
Those were the words that threw the witch into a hailstorm of fury. Vanice stretched, twisted, split, and tensed Seseh's muscles. The thrall's clay body had worked up a sweat.
"NOTHING! NOBODY! You pathetic use of a thrall. I OWN YOU! I BUILT YOU FROM MUD AND YOU'LL RETURN TO SUCH IF I DEEM NECESSARY!" She needed Seseh but she hated losing her power. "Now you listen. I will stop using Ezekiel's mixture until you learn to obey me."
When she was through with her tirade, Seseh felt exhausted. Yet, she felt better telling her off. Vanice did a lot of damage. Yet, It was Seseh who was smiling.Bonded over her curse, the Queen tried to resist Vanice's control. Her heart wouldn't break if she lost her. So she continued fighting and refused to give into the taunts running wild in her mind.
****
The servant girl Rachel stepped inside to clean the kitchen. There was a chittering sound in the rafters. Rachel turned in the direction of the noise.
"Get out of my kitchen!" She knew it was some birds left behind. Rachel scanned over the kitchen and sighed.
She had never seen Castle Cardamon in such disarray. The place smelled stale, as though centuries of death collected throughout the rooms. When the guardsmen came through, everything turned to dust and crumbled. Rachel, as angry as she was. As frustrated over the state of the kitchen knew there was no point in anger. It wasn't going to change anything.
But she wasn't going to give up, either.
The guardsmen couldn't undo the past. Yet, they could affect what was to come. She hoped they could change things and rebuild the castle. Rachel was the second daughter to Laban, a wealthy businessman in Alcov, and wife to Jacob who was a nobleman. She wasn't some dirty urchin who'd give up at the first sight of dust. She believed if there was something worth fighting for, then she'd fight. She believed the people of Cardamon could build their castle anew. If not today, someday.
Rachel grabbed a large, clay pot. She walked over to an opening and lifted the compartment. With determination, she set the heavy ceramic vessel below the carved stone ledge. Water came gushing forth from the compartment into the pot. She grabbed and released it, closing the compartment. She carried the large, heavy pot to the counter.
Rachel took a rag, dipped it into the pot, and began cleaning the kitchen's grime. Her orange hooded garments were a stark contrast to her environment. The clasp with her family crest dangled from her chest and a second one closed the robe. Rachel wondered about her husband and father.
She knew how cruel Galith could be and hoped that they were safe. For now, she kept to her work and lost herself in the act of cleaning. She soon forgot about her worries and past events. She lost herself trying to keep up even dusting the fallen rubble.
****
Raven, the proprietor of Angel's Raven Alehouse, fondly reminisced about Val. Several months prior, he had visited her tavern, bringing with him a pair of stunning Alcorn horned deer. Although he had mentioned bringing her meat, she never imagined his gift would be so extravagant.
Deeply touched by his generosity, she swiftly served the venison alongside warm porridge. Val left for a journey to Crenith after. His reasons for going remained a closely guarded secret, and Raven couldn't help but worry for his well-being. She cherished him with a love that Val had only discovered through a heartfelt letter.
She was shaken from her dazed memories of Val as five rugged yet striking men sauntered through the doors. Their muscular arms bore a multitude of tattoos. They exuded a pungent aroma of perspiration. A few of them sported disheveled hair and rough demeanor. Raven approached them, her golden locks, sapphire eyes, and plunging neckline immediately caught their attention.
"What can I do for you gentlemen?" Raven offered her services with poise and charm. "Lodgings? Food? Ale?"
With a bold motion, One brute reached out and grabbed her waist, pulling Raven to his lap.
"How about you?"
Unfazed, Raven withdrew from his grasp and slid off his legs.
"I'm not on the menu, boys." She said, adorning a smile. "If you prefer bordellos, Chestme's red ribbon district awaits in Westerian. I've heard they are willing if they can tolerate your stench."
The men laughed but ceased when one brought his hand up.
"Now, puppet. We don't want any trouble here. We're looking for some company. Besides, We don't smell any worse than your alehouse." He laughed.
Raven cocked her head to one side, giving him a stern look.
"Now that's improper, coming from one who smells like an ill-tempered, dirty sow wallowing in a dung heap."
"I'm Chadwick, the leader of this here bunch, and In that case," he replied, brandishing a longsword. Another unsheathed a knife from his boot. A scimitar emerged from another's belt and one displayed brass rings. He aimed his sword at Raven. "In that case," he repeated, "Thomas, John, and Ryan the silent one demand sustenance. Give us coin and the company of your warm smile- if you catch my drift." One of his companions burst into laughter again and echoed "Catch my drift."
Their apparent leader narrowed his eyes and sneered with a libidinous smile. He addressed Raven again. "Comply or face our wrath and we'll take your fine establishment by force."
Without hesitation, Raven's foot struck the floorboards, causing her silky dress to flutter.
"Megdda Lynn! Delilah! Come!"
In response, a curvacious titan-haired woman, Megdda with a penetrating dark-eyed stare and Automn-black skin danced gracefully into the chamber playing a lute. She captivated them with her moves and mellifluous voice.
Another woman, Delilah with sandy short hair sashayed passionately alongside her, playing the ocarina with skillful flair.
She moved fluidly around the men's table as they cast salacious glares at her. She cocked her head and winked.
"Ah, now that's a more obedient puppet," their leader chimed. He clapped his hands, drawing some applause from the other men. A single malicious smirk marred any handsome features he might have had.
They feasted their eyes with excitement on them. The ocarina player's dress was white with brown straps and made of rich velvet that set off her fair, kissable complexion and pale eyes. She danced with flirtatious gyrations.
Megdda began to sing as she played, her voice a deep-sweet smooth velvet while she danced entrancingly so, and this was their house song.
I met her in a smoky bar
she had black hair, her skin was dark
I couldn't help but wonder why she hid away from the light
She's a winch with a heart of gold
her love is eternal, her touch is cold
I shall be her thrall and I'll never grow old
I shan't be leaving the winch with a heart of gold!
As she sang the rabble fell silent as if falling in love instantly by the docile tones. Delilah played her ocarina, moving to Megdda's fierce and beautiful beat.
Raven hesitated briefly. She was confident that the men were fully entertained. Using her girls as a distraction to her advantage, Casually, she sauntered over to the bar. Without arousing suspicion, feigning indifference as she wiped down the counter she watched as the girls continued distracting the gruff, insatiable intruders. Raven continued to wipe as the men remained transfixed by the beautiful, luscious lady fare. When it seemed they weren't looking, Raven dropped the hand towel.
Beneath the table, lay her own sinister surprise.
On a hidden shelf, intimately stowed rested a razor-sharp blade. Raven was no craven. She deftly ventured down and snatched it up. She ran her finger over the edge, cutting herself. She was testing the sharpness. She sucked her finger until the blood ran dry. Then she ran along the hilt's smooth length, not showing any conscious reaction to the cut.
Raven concealed it within her garments.
'This will come in handy real soon.' she mused.
Nobody barges into Raven's den and acts like a ruffian without leaving stuffed in barrels.
****
Tana ma'hra carried Lisa and Tallik.
A steeple from Cardamon Castle was now in sight. The closer Tallik and Lisa came, the more They noticed the broken spires. Dead guards were littered around them.
Tana paced with smooth movements through the darkening mist.
Tallik, the assassin, and Lisa, the elven maiden were contrite with emotion and sorrow. In the depths of Lisa's spirit lingered Nyxith, a malevolent presence. Lisa never felt more empty even with someone inside. Nyxith wanted revenge. She wanted Valaria and the trip to Cardamon went against her plans. She railed against Lisa with bitter rage because of it.
Tallik did not know how to release the creature or help Lisa regain her strength. She held him protectively in her arms as if his life depended on it. He rode with an awkward, feeble posture in front of her.
Despite her innate ability to heal, Lisa found herself inferior when it came to taking away the hurt leading him to Abbadoth's doorstep. With each mile traveled toward Cardamon, his condition worsened.
Tana rode past the mist surrounding them. A faint light appeared on the eastern horizon through a lattice and Tana followed it. As they drew closer, they reached the isolated, lonely parapet wall of the broken castle gates.
Soldiers lay scattered, their bodies covered with gruesome fang marks. Lisa squinted her dark Nyxith eyes until she saw everything. Ominous shadows shrouded the decadence of the castle. Horrific scenes of carnage lay before them.
Overcome by exhaustion, Tallik fell from Tana and collapsed on the purple poppy flowers. Lisa's strength dwindled under Nyxith's parasitic grip. With trembling arms, she cradled Tallik.
"I need you back. Please." She said in despair, leaning against his limp body. She listened to Tallik's faint breath trickle from his mouth as if welcoming death. Her fingers ran over his head; she knew how close she was to losing him.
In a desperate plea for his life, Lisa implored. "Nyxith. Please! Do something!"
Nyxith refused Lisa, ignoring her tears. "Nyxith, you coward! You take control of my body and watch us suffer. You hide in the darkness yet won't reveal thyself!"
"War er we Lisa?" Tallik slurred. He could no longer hold his head up. "I love you." He managed. Tallik shook with violent gesticulation.
She held him tight, hugging his head to her chest and clutching his flailing arms as they both lay on the ground. Tears streamed down her face and mingled with the chill night air. At this point in their journey, she expected nothing less than death. The realization filled her with uncontrollable grief.
"I feel like I've loved you from a distance for so long." She whispered in Tallik's ear. Nyxith had heard this before. She tried to remember.
Lisa let her tears flow. "I can't believe I've found someone to love. My precious Tallik."
Nyxith finally spoke up. "What did you say?"
Lisa was sorrowful but this time she was angry. "I said I can't believe--" Lisa's voice trailed off into oblivion. Her heartrending supplication reopened Nyxith's old scars and she felt withdrawn. Phantasmal visions tugged at her with an affirm grip--
She gasped. With one more line before she left. "I won't bother you anymore," she said. "Please, find someone to love."--
Fleeting moments from the past, when she was in love, surfaced in the dark being's memories. A ghostly murmur echoed through time and space, beseeching her back to a specific time.
Nyxith remembered a youth she had once idolized.--
She rode the winds, invisible to those in the rustic hut. Nyxith's eyes peered through, saw the knife... Saw who wielded it and--
Nyxith rode the Winds, through the air of time. The scream of remembered moments echoed loud in her ears. She looked down into Tallik's hurt, dying eyes. The shadows that engulfed her called her back. Tallik's eyes, no--
She told herself it couldn't be true. The boy wasn't dead. She felt the warmth still flowing from his fragile body. His breathing was shallow. Blood leaked like a sieve from his wound, gushing onto her hands. He was cold to the touch. Nyxith saw his eyes open. He was pale, lingering, and clinging to life. She looked and saw her love, Prince Vinan Caspant, dying in her arms in a field in the elven village of Hilltop.
"Help them, Nyxith." His lips trembled, fighting to stay alive but only in her memory--
She was drawn back again, looking down at Tallik through Lisa's eyes with reproach. Yet, all she could see was the once youthful, handsome Prince Vinan Caspent. Seized by a wave of remorse for the couple, the guilty Nyxith released a sliver of herself from Lisa and it enveloped Tallik's injured skull in an icy caress.
Tallik dropped the contents of his stomach onto Fonde's ground. That part of Nyxith moved in his mind, encompassing his brain and dampening the effects of the injury. Tallik closed his eyes and lost consciousness.
Lisa screamed, "No!" She hugged him tighter. A well of fear erupted inside her. "TALLIK! Wake up!" she cried, kissing him. She hugged him as tight as she could. Blood poured from Tallik's nose and ears. Lisa felt his arms and legs go even more limp than before. Now he had become ashen white and cold to the touch.
"Do not let him die!" Lisa repeated. "VINAN!!!" Lisa heard Nyxith's lament. Tallik convulsed but dropped quick. She let go of his limp body, which fell to the grass with a thud.
"No!" This time she and Nyxith both screamed.
Lisa's horse lay down beside her. He pressed his body against her side, nuzzling away her tears.
Tallik was gone.
"He's brought us this far," Lisa spoke through angry tears and stood, pulling grass with her fists. "I will not let his honor be in vain."
Pulling a part of her cropped fur top, she wiped away her tears with the fabric.
"I will meet the Queen whether you like it or not, Nyxith." This time she heard no argument from the spirit.
She threw down the clods of grass and looked back at Tallik once more before walking away.
He was rubbing his head as he sat.
"What's wrong?" he spoke.
He felt himself restored to full vitality.
That part of Nyxith had healed him and brought his mind back from the unbidden depths of sorrow.
"Is something wrong?" His eyes were full of confusion as he came to his senses. He looked at Lisa, dressed in tattered furs. Her wild white hair blew in the bitter breeze.
"Nothing." She smiled, tears falling as she ran to him. She held Tallik in her arms and kissed him as hard as she could.
This time she was not the only one weeping. Tana nuzzled his nose with a loud, "Neh..." 'Glad you're back, friend.' He pressed his cheek against his with joy.
Lisa pulled Tallik close, kissing him again. She looked into his eyes and melted into Tallik's arms. She whispered, "Thank you."
She felt warm affection. Nyxith understood. From then on, the spirit would remain patient inside.
****
In Hilltop, nestled among craggy peaks and ancient forests, villagers bore witness. Priestess Hilda and the maellem mourned the fallen.
King Tullious and Prince Vinan's cremated bodies slumbered, buried in Fonde's cold embrace. The elves had placed things the prince and king brought with them to Hilltop beneath the ground.
Hilda whispered a requiem to the Master. Maellem helped Hilda place rock-faces in the form of small circular cairns.
Amidst the thrum of the Ziz Rawhide red elven tree log drums, Priestess Hilda moved with grace. She lit two candles above each monument stone. Her silken gown fluttered against the landscape, stirring skeleton leaves.
"This candle is light so too our loved one, King Tullious Diddymous is light." she spoke and moved to Vinan's monument stone, lighting his candle. "This candle is light so too our loved one, Prince Vinan Caspent is light." she said as she moved to stand beside the Ziz Rawhide drummers. With steady hands, Hilda moved her fingers around the candle flames and chanted "Through lighting the candle, we are able to connect to the light of the souls of Tullious and his son making this a sacred place that no Death Wanderer's tentacle can touch. Let us look at the flames and remember the good Vinan and Tullious did on Fonde. Loving father and protective, valiant son."
The thudding of metal against wood filled the air as the lead singer lifted an incense stick. With a few slight movements of her hand, the night air lit up with the scent of rosemary and sweet elven sage fruit. His words were elvish and sacred. They could never be written, only shared through speech.
She looked at the elven drum players and spoke in tones that seemed more spectral than corporeal.
"The drums..." She paused. "It has always been said among elvenkind seek and yee shall find." She continued. "We're seeking something. Not selfishly, but guidance and safety from the Master." She sighed, sat for a moment, and smiled. "The drums are respected as they always have been among our peoples. It's our heartbeat. Our music and our mantra. Although we pray and sing here through the drums and candles, the Master is in control, not the singers. We shall never outlive these drums. They will always be here long after our passing to Hovenlla. We respect them as we respect the Master." a muscular, body-painted elve brought Hilda his redtree log drum. She took it with courage and placed it between her knees. She spoke, maellem clinging to her and watching. "The drums, you see." She placed her dainty hands upon the rawhide and made a smooth circle. "Are eternally connected. It's life. It's all a continuous sphere. Our drums will be handed down to the next generation beyond and onto the next. It symbolizes that life is eternal."
Hilda's delicate elven features held a strength forged through loss and sorrow. Her eyes shimmered like a moon in the twilight. She reflected upon the young Prince Vinan. Beside her, the maellem appeared almost like a statue. Her muteness only hinted at her calm and respectful demeanor.
The maellem, elven for mute. A slender figure swathed in somber brown and green robes watched everything. It was as if she was learning like a child for the first time. Her silent presence added weight to the inescapable sorrow. Under a sky betwixt air and dawn, as they labored on the new alcove of remembrance, echoes of singing filled the night. The light from both candles was reduced to fading embers through the passage of time.
While Hilda loved words, she preferred the solitude of maellem's silence. Silence was powerful for those who knew when to use it. It was calming and peaceful. The pale elve of the Red stood in respect, continuing to sing and pray.
Together, they planted purple poppies in the hallowed ground. Hilda strung a vine over a gated archway leading to the memorial.
They reached the end of their ceremony for the summit of ash and stone. Hilda's eyes brimmed with tears of unveiled honor. This wasn't a moment of bleak sadness, yet a time to remember the breath and laden life lived before.
The air was still around them. It was a laborious but pleasing task. A final touch. Hilda laid wreaths woven from purple poppy around the cairns, symbolizing Westerian Cardamon. A wreath symbolizing an unbroken circle, a bond between father and son and life. She looked up at maellem and stood, exchanging a shared hug.
"Thank you for helping." There in her wordless moments, she gave a kiss of friendship on Hilda's cheek. It was a kind and gentle way of saying 'Your welcome, sister.'
Hilda returned to planting a few more poppies. She hung some vines, lilac, and lavender around a wooden seating.
The perfume of elderflowers wafted.
Hilltop had settled in a blanket of fog and the last of the whispered lamentations were carried away into the black of beautiful, shining stardust.
Hilda took up a tool, bent, and began etching runic epitaphs into each stone. A final hymn, a dedication to the fallen. Hilda smiled with solace at her artistry.
As the sun rose, Hilda saw movement from the corner of her eye. Someone else was watching. Her eyes squinted, and her hand froze, hovering over the work she'd finished a few moments ago. Her lips parted in awe.
A white raven flew down. It found a comfortable place to perch and squawked as it nested on Prince Vinan's stone in front of her. Its form was another symbol. It was the animal that once called Cardamon its home and in its beak it held a purple poppy.
Purple, a shade that stood for new life.
"A final offering, my little friend?" Hilda said and the bird dropped the flower and flew away, northwest to Westerian Cardamon.
She watched until she couldn't see it anymore and returned her attention to maellem. She gave her a warm smile. The mute's look turned northeast. She was pointing toward Southern Mountain Range and to the elven cave, to the Hallow.
****
On the distant island of Silent Harbor, where twisted palms grew, lived Zziggio. He was an enigmatic figure, dressed in a cloak and adorned with a medallion. People thought he was someone with a touch of devil-may-care flair. He would sweep through the island's markets like a swift wind.
With a jagged smile and eyes which the fire of a good businessman burned, he conversed in a lively manner. He spoke in a way that was both puzzling and charming. His tongue was silver yet broken - conveying a language as distorted as it was perplexing.
Zziggio was able to maneuver through alleys and districts with fluid grace. He and his family lived out of a gypsy merchant's wagon along with Ashaik, a horse, tethered to the moving house.
"You be wanting treasures?" he would call to passers-by with a wry grin stretching across his rugged face. He would rummage around in his wagon with calloused hands. "Must find treasure for you. A treat, no? Weapons, stranger. Dangers lurk, safety first."
He wore an ensemble of mismatched clothes. On his head stood an old captain's hat with ragged feathers. On Zziggio's shoulders hung a tattered hooded cloak with green leaves. each item told a tale that was untold. He had his blade sheathed at his side. Zziggio's eyes peered behind every shadow and shimmer that crossed his path. He knew that no corner was safe.
His tales of rendezvous with danger in Fonde served urchins begging for entertaining flights of fancy. His reputation reached as far as the ports of Seaside Alchov, a place he frequented in trade.
It was turning into a rainy evening and the island was sodden. Zziggio found himself entangled within the threads of a deal made by a Rapha cloaked in twilight. Ahead of him, through a misty maze of uncertainty - it was there the Rapha had told him to go: Melodia Alley. It didn't seem like an alley. It was far too twisted with many curves. Melodia was more like a parody of one. Lanterns hung from teetering poles. They illuminated rows of crooked shelves hammered together from driftwood. on top of them were piles of artifacts, clothes, and trinkets. He kept walking past the shops and traders.
The Rapha had said. "we'll meet at Portabello Street near Elm and Burningtree."
Here Zziggio would present wares to the new potential buyers visiting Silent Harbor. Yet, he had not ventured beyond Melodia. He had not even been to Elm or Burningtree and heard tell that the area was abandoned.
His destination loomed ahead. It was a dilapidated building nestled in the heart of the darkest of Elm and Burningtree Lane. The crooked windows glinted with flickers of candlelight. This dilapidated house had seen better days. He stepped inside. The musty walls smelled of mould and wood rot.
He drew his scimitar, brandishing it before him. He'd sooner stab those who wished him harm in the heart than make a sale. The dashing swordsman knew only too well how people liked to hide in the shadows. His instincts were sharp as a hound and usually, he was aware of any threat.
He did not care where the Rapha giants were, only that he had to meet with them and their leader. Either way, Zziggio was going to make a sale and Zziggio never dwelled on things he could do nothing about. He continued on his way without taking any chances as he followed a sound down the decaying corridor. Since he was a toddler, his ears could pick up everything. For a man like him, the world was small. Zziggio felt there had been nothing new under the sun lately. He had haggled and crossed swords with pirates and fugitives alike. He had made deals and sold to cutthroats, learning the lighter and darker sides of dealings.
This felt different.
He heard footsteps a few paces away. "No danger, no threat," he said aloud to himself. "Just coin. Zziggio knows this, yes?" He didn't expect to hear the small, muffled cry of a child.
He pivoted into the open room. Three people sat wide-eyed and gagged, staring at him.
"Sasha?" It was his wife and two children, Luke and Angie.
There were also Rapha in the room, some with knives, others with swords. Zziggio wanted to shout but knew better. He stood up straight and looked from one to the other. His countenance was not filled with fear, but rather with grimness. He sheathed his scimitar. He had come to do business. A valiant endeavor on his part would be futile. A cool head and logic would prevail better than a hot head and a knife in his belly.
Zziggio spoke, slow and steady, calm as a pond. "Please, allow family to go, friend Rapha, yes?"
The Rapha laughed at his broken speech. A giant with a bronze helmet walked forward. He wore a bearskin cloak, scale armour, and bronze pauldrons. His great sword of gleaming silver shown by his side.
"Here are the rules for our little game, merchant," he said. "Sell something to my raiders. If it pleases us, a family member goes free."
"...and if Zziggio does not sell, what then?"
"Zziggio watches a chosen family member get cut to death," he replied.
"Ah, Zziggio not like those odds, me thinks."
The Rapha shook his head and took a step closer. "In this game, you have a chance to win. If you do not show us the goods, loss is blood. We are not satisfied with our purchase, loss is blood. It is simple as that."
The giants stamped their feet on the floor in agreement.
"Let me enlighten you, Zziggio. We're known as the Rapha Raiders. We burn villages, rape, pillage, and take entire towns. The death of a small family won't shake our sleep. We are good at what we do and we love doing it. Either you play our little game or you do not and reap the rewards of your actions."
He nodded. Zziggio looked at his family, his gaze unwavering. In a moment, Zziggio took off a pack and set it on the floor. "Shop is open, boys. Take a look." He opened the pack, revealing iron crossbows, sweets, and a leather-bound journal.
His words were firm and calm. "As you see, Zziggio provides."
The Rapha studied the merchandise. A pudgy giant consulted his fellows. He spoke in a strange, high-pitched voice unusual for Rapha-types. "I want some candied boar meat."
He seemed to be the youngest giant in the room. "Boremeat wants boar meat. What price, merchant?"
At that moment, two things went through Zziggio's mind. One was 'They laughed at Zziggio's accent?', the other thought was. 'Oh no. Zziggio has no boar sweats.'
Boremeat spoke with impatience. "Want boar sweats now! I want box of sweetened, candied, delicious boar."
Zziggio tilted his head. He had to think fast. He looked at his items. Iron crossbows, sweets, a leather-bound journal. His gaze fell on the sweets. They weren't candied boar. Yet, a rare Alcorn dried meat from Fonde, mixed with dates and tropical berries. He had to risk it.
"Yes. boar like this?" he pointed to the candy pile and lied. "Zziggio hope you like it, no?" He watched their faces as the childlike Rapha popped some of the sweets into his fat mouth. He shared some among his fellows.
Zzigio was usually good at reading others. He looked at the raiders. An ugly runt of a Rapha had an arrow pierced through his earlobe. The tallest they called Drog had a deep red rose engraved on his arm.
He waited while their jaws dropped. One named Shog, Galith's assistant made a comment about how delicious it was.
Finally, Boremeat turned to Zziggio and smiled, food bits in his ugly teeth. "Good sweets, merchant." They all laughed.
"Zziggio says this is good. Free one of family, no?"
Boresweats stepped close to Zzigio. So close that the merchant could smell his rancid breath.
"No."
"Why?" Zziggio asked, while one was already putting a blade to his wife's throat.
"You don't think we can not tell the difference between Alcorn deer from Fonde SSique and boar meat? Stupid peasant." Drog ranted.
"You dissatisfied us, merchant. You lie, she die!" Galith said.
The beast began to run the blade across Sasha's neck.
"Stop!" Shouted Zziggio. A trickle of blood ran under the blade. "Not yet. Please, I'll check wares again first." Zziggio gestured to his pockets and rummaged through everything.
"Zziggio needs a moment." It was not going as planned. Zziggio reached for his belt and fumbled with it. This was it, he needed to fight to free his family, giants or not. Outnumbered or not. He pulled out his scimitar, the silvery blade gleamed as he threw it at the Rapha holding the blade to his wife. Its point struck him between the eyes, killing him in an instant.
The other Rapha rushed forward, weapons ready to slaughter Zziggio and his family. The helmeted Rapha glared with anger as Zzigio dodged left and right. They slashed at him, missing every time.
Zziggio rolled onto his shoulder, grabbed an iron crossbow, and fired. The arrow flew forward with the ease of a bird, killing Boremeat. Zziggio jumped into the air and slammed his foot against the knee of a Rapha, causing him to fall.
"RAIDERS! DO SOMETHING INTELLIGENT!" The helmeted giant rallied. "Remember the fires of Abbadoth that spawned you and kill that merchant!"
Zziggio ran to the Rapha he had thrown his sword into and dropped the crossbow. He tore it from his head and rushed to his wife and children. He cut the ropes and ungagged them, freeing them to stand. His eyes fixed on the other Rapha as he jumped in front of them.
"RUN!" he yelled, motioning to Sasha, Luke, and Angie.
"You dare challenge Galith!?!" he said, swinging his blade in front of Zziggio's face and throwing him on his back. His family ran past a second giant as Zziggio jumped back to his feet. One of the other Raphas ran to attack Sasha and raised his club.
Zziggio grabbed the handle and heaved it away. Both lost their grip on the weapon as it spun in the air and clattered against a stone wall. Zziggio spun, slashing his scimitar across the Rapha's belly, spilling out his contents.
As another went to strike him, Zziggio stepped aside. He slashed downward with his sword, taking the giant's life. A third leapt up to grab him, but he twisted out of the Rapha's reach and ran for the door with Sasha, Luke, and Angie. They ran for Melodia Alley, for their gypsy wagon home, and locked the doors.
****
Zziggio sat before the hearth staring into space with troubled eyes. As he thought about the violent encounter, he reflected on the worst part. He felt the lowest point was the fact that he couldn't do anything. Zziggio felt that they had forced his hand to fight and he did so for his family. If that meeting ended otherwise, Zziggio didn't know what he would have done. Zziggio is meeting with customer tomorrow and thank goodness it's no Rapha. Things seem to be looking up for Zziggio, no?--
Val closed the leather-bound journal. He knew what happened next, and now he knew why. He sat down and looked into the fire. Val had stopped to rest for the night before continuing to Alchov.
He thought of something Zzigio had said to him before he died: "Revenge is sickness, Veileen. I cursed them daily until Zziggio had nothing left. I spat at every mention of giant, Rapha scourge. It not worth it, fellow. It not. Vengeance is powerful and kills the soul. Zziggio knows this to be true... The price is too high, Veileen."
He ran it over and over in his head 'The price is too high.' and for the first time since departing from his friend, Val pondered that perhaps Eddipus was right.
****
Raven unpinned her blonde hair, letting it flow down like a river. She waved a come-hither finger toward the enchanting dancer, Delilah playing the ocarina. She concealed her instrument within her blouse.
"Apologies, boys! The boss beckons!" she exclaimed, her voice falling upon their improper, intoxicated ears. Their attention was on the sultry, dark-skinned Megdda Lynne and her crinkly titan-like hair. She was strumming her lute with an alluring flare.
Delilah danced away from them while humming to Megdda's music. She cast a flirtatious smile at the intruders, arousing one of their glances, and kept moving to Raven.
The thugs kept to their drinks and musical entertainment. Raven and Delilah conversed over what to do about them. Raven knew the best way to approach the task: beguile, break, and bury away. She knew exactly what she needed.
"Delilah, tell Brutus to bring in the barrels." Delilah's response came in a nod, her short sandy hair dancing with each movement. "Round up the girls," Raven continued. "We'll prepare the backroom for our esteemed guests." Delilah nodded once more in agreement."Put your faces on, girls, and ready the knives."
She had been comfortable with violence. Raven found herself quite accustomed to taking necessary measures, due to someone hunting her in the past. She had to put her in the grave right quick. This experience granted her the guts needed to manage an alehouse. She had led an exciting life.
Brutus emerged from the kitchen and rolled large barrels into a backroom. His stare was blank, his skin was pale. He was a bold, hulking individual who sported a sizable scar across his throat. He groaned, rolling the barrels without effort into position. He was quiet and didn't interact much with the clientele. That was Raven and the lady's work. The silence was his bliss; he relished in the solace of his kitchen duties. He took immense pleasure in maintaining a warm pot where he cooked creamy porridge and brewed hard thick ales.
Brutus had no time for anything else nor did he ask or want said more time for anything else. He retreated to his sanctuary within the kitchen and his desirable, delicious dishes. Megdda ceased her performance. Delilah sidled up to her fellow performer and whispered something into her ear. Megdda nodded in response. Raven then addressed their coarse clientele:
"We've prepared the backroom for you boys."
"This better not be a trick, puppet." their surly leader, a hairy man Chadwick replied, mimicked by his dolt of a right-hand man "Not be a trick." He laughed.
"Shut up, Thomas!" He smacked him in the back of the head. Thomas didn't know much about dental hygiene. Not only was he missing brain matter from many wacks to the back of the head, but he was also missing maulers too.
A third one named John pipped up. A dirty, disheveled, pudgy short man. He had craggy stubble and ratty looking red hair. He had an eye-patch and missing fingernails. He smelt of beans, elderberry, and cheese. "If this is a trick, we'll gut you like a fish."
Raven's mesmerizing gaze sent them into a complete stupor. She smiled in a flirtatious effort to guide them away. To start her plan, she had to lead the scoundrels on. After all, the day would break shortly and her maidens needed to feed. She ran her tongue over her full red lips, while her doe eyes were so dark, they seemed to captivate the men. With a sly smile, she spoke.
"Come now. Let's go to the backroom where we and your men can become more intimate." She sat on Chadwick's lap with provocative reproach. She massaged the back of his neck with a playful, tender tease. "Come to the back." she starred deep into his eyes, locking her's to his and sending him into an even deeper, entranced stupor. This time he repeated.
"Room is ready... Puppai--" His words struggled to the surface. As if they were being dragged down to Abbadoth. He swallowed hard. Raven stood. With Delilah and Magdda leading the way. She spoke, her voice gentle but steeled. "Let me show you something you'll never forget."
The room was big, some chairs and a small wood grain table stood in the center. There were no windows and no mirrors. Twin ebony chandeliers graced the space above, each bearing three flickering candles. In one corner rested Brutus' recently rolled barrels.
The marauders advanced. Their eyes widened as if their souls were ensnared by an unseen sensor. Looming in the right corner stood three imposing, tapered hexagonal crates. Above a grand fireplace mantel hung a portrait of a quaint, dark-haired man. Adorned on his head was a regal red crown. He had deep, dark hypnotic brown eyes. His prominent cheekbones were framed by a distinguished mustache. A plaque below declared him 'The Dragon'.
Two shelves stood on either side of the fireplace. One bore cider. the other housed an alluring rich, dark red wine. The room exuded an ancient, musky aura. They also noticed, with each barrel top opened, there was nothing in them but darkness.
Their attention turned to Raven. Despite her silence, she captivated with ease. She was the epitome of beauty. Raven stood out in her grace and poise, her features growing more exquisite by the minute. Either the men were still intoxicated or something else was at play. They couldn't quite put their finger on why they were so transfixed. She moved with an air of grace and finesse. Delilah and Megdda were striking with equal beauty as they strode alongside Raven. The trio carried themselves with serpentine agility, their sinuous movements reminiscent of feline grace.
"Sit." Raven spoke, her voice distant, elsewhere. Elusive and billowy with a deep tambour echo. It was unnoticeable if you weren't paying attention. Even then, you'd confuse it with the surrounding ambiance, blending in with effortless reverberance. They settled into the chairs clustered in the center of the room with obedient abandon. Delilah sauntered over to Thomas and took a seat on his lap while facing him. Megdda followed suit with John.
Raven lifted her dress with provocative allure before sitting on Chadwick's lap. The men found themselves captivated by the women's mesmerizing eyes. Each emanated a tiny flicker of a pinprick illuminated in their pupils' centers.
None of the women took their gaze off of the men.
"LETS EAT!" They pulled knives out from their bustier tops with zeal. All three plunged the weapons mercilessly into the men's chests. Blood oozed as the men choked and the women moaned.
They stabbed again and again. The women quivered with macabre delight.
Raven and her maidens opened their mouths wide, exposing rows of needle-like teeth.
With a glimmer of life still present, Chadwick raised his gaze towards Raven. His voice became weak and shaky.
"Darklings!" he sputtered, struggling to get the words out. "Why us?"
"You attempted to deprive our humble coven of its possessions. That and my name is Raven." She responded, a hint of cold finality in her voice. "It's a shame you won't survive long enough to utter it."
As she leaned in close, her jaw latched onto the side of the soft flesh of Chadwick's neck. Delilah and Magdda did the same with the other men. Raven savored every last drop of the leader's crimson. When she detached herself, he had become a wilted form.
Raven stood and produced a small, ornate compact mirror from her pocket. Using it, she cleaned away any remaining traces of blood from her lips. The compact was a decoration. It wasn't a useful tool but a frivolous and whimsical trinket of sorts. After all, she could cast no reflection on its shiny surface.
"Brutus!" Raven called with a clap. The pale thrall sauntered in. "The bodies are ready."
With a groan, Brutus seized their leader. He dumped him into one of the barrels like a heavy sack of potatoes. He repeated the process with another, cramming him into an ill-suited container. With all his raw might, Brutus slammed the lid on the final barrel, eliciting a guttural moan.
His task complete, Brutus lumbered back to the kitchen, maneuvering barrels with care.
None of the girls had any blood on them, not a speckle nor a spot, or a stain. The unsuspecting clientele in the bar would never have guessed that they had fed. Raven slipped past the patrons and outside. She blinked, allowing a sliver of sunlight to kiss her shoulder. She did this every day since she had been bit. Raven's head swam, her vision blurred and she became dizzy. Raven squinted against the burning brightness. It was the downside of her condition. The blight in the sky.
The heat burnt her skin as she lingered in its glow before retreating to the safety of the ale house's dim light. If she had stayed any longer, she would have ended up in a pile of burning, bleeding ash.
Each daybreak, she went through this routine. She fought to keep hold of precious memories from her past life. A past life that was fading away like whispers among the Winds.
She rubbed a scar below her clavicle. Raven couldn't help but acknowledge the dark side of its existence.
"Closing time!" Raven called out with finality in her voice. "Last call."
The scar served as a constant reminder of her old master, a man long ago known as 'The Dragon.' A king, a conqueror, and to some, a dark lord from days long past. Rumor spread. Some said he was close friends with the Master until a betrayal severed their bond. A single painting hung over the mantel in the backroom, her only keepsake to remember his visage as a gift from a queer merchant. She remembered his name being Zziggio. She still recalled the sword the Dragon carried. It was a unique ruby-red sword with an unadorned hilt. Its marred blade was a dull brown.
As the last patron departed, the girls locked up the alehouse with lingering sighs. They began clearing away any remnants of the night's festivities. Their movements had been choreographed from years of routine.
Together, they pooled their hard-earned coin and split it. They allotted Brutus his fair share. Delilah and Megdda retreated to the backroom to prepare supplies for the next night. Raven methodically inventoried bottles on the shelves beside the fireplace. A sense of serene normalcy settled in as they readied for sleep. Lanterns had extinguished, casting soft darkness over their cherished space. Megdda and Delilah slipped back into the backroom. They opened two of the three tapered hexagonal crates. Raven pushed aside some bottles on one of the dusty shelves. She was still jotting down inventory. "Good day, girls." She said.
Raven then approached her own hexagon crate and opened it. She stepped inside and shut the lid. Her arms crossed over her chest as she sank into thick darkness. A small crease shattered the black from the top letting in candlelight.
She leaned back against the lavish red velvet lining. That small sliver of light illuminated the inner side of the door. In front of her, hung a tenderly drawn picture sketched with a simple piece of charcoal. Raven couldn't help but fixate on it with a warm smile. She pondered over the man depicted. The hooded, bald figure bore a striking scar on his right side. Raven's heart ached for the mortal venturing to Crenith. She clung to hope that he would return someday. It was his depth that stirred an irresistible attraction in Raven's heart. She knew him as Val - the hardened archer with a somewhat rugged handsomeness tainted by sorrow. A man who seldom spoke but made an everlasting impression in Angel's Raven Ale House. Opposed to the elves, Men, or rouges popping in. Val was rough around the edges, yet there was an undeniable gentleness about him. A hidden kindness buried beneath a world-weary exterior. He had the smell and look of someone who had seen and experienced life. Raven was attracted to that.
****
On a clear, crisp morning of a bright beautiful day. Beneath the radiant embrace of the sun, Hilda and maellem trod the worn paths through Southern Mountain Range. Their destination was the Hallow. The cave was now but a mere shadow of its former glory. It once served as the bastion of the elven people of the Red.
It was here they approached the maw of the cave and entered the once stately cavern.
A warm shudder coursed through Hilda as she recalled old memories. The cave housed Adeve, the first and last of the magic sage fruit trees. Hilda's soul quivered with the bittersweet tang of nostalgia. Memories played as specters from the past.
"War in our lands will stop..." and "I love you. I will always love you." swam in her mind as faded, blue ghosts of yore played before her. She felt euphoric hearing Eddipus's soothing voice, low in their elvish tongue. Hilda glanced over at him and smiled. His blonde hair rippled around his hardened features. Eddipus looked up to clasp a hanging sage fruit and disappeared.
It was beneath Adeve that she and Eddipus professed their love for one another. With bated breath, she stepped near where the tree should have been. Her heart pounded against her chest. She surveyed the sacred grounds with tender reverence. A tang in the air and a chilling breeze caressed her slender form. yet, amid the cave's icy grasp, Hilda found solace in Maellem's unwavering companionship.
"Adeve," Hilda whispered. "Where have you gone?" she pondered.
The center-embedded pedestal where once Adeve had been dying, now naught but a desolate expanse lay. The edge of the ground had eroded into a rocky, dry ravine. Hilda paused to take in the holy space. A divine light above wove itself through a canopy to kiss the soil below. The light showed onto the pedestal, bouncing off the ground like rays from Hovenlla. The soil was not barren or cursed. Even the cliffside pedestal withstood the bleak environment. Stalactite and stalagmite formations jutted from the deep, dark ravine.
She extended her hand toward maellem with a slight tremble. "We must find our precious Adeve," she said, taking a deep breath.
Bioluminescent organisms glistened like stars on the walls despite never seeing daylight. In the captivating darkness, Hilda searched and mediated with the Master. She tried to figure out what happened to Adeve.
Aware that the gaunt and sick maellem hadn't followed her steps, Hilda turned with concern in her eyes.
"maellem. Are you alright?" Hilda asked, shaken. Confirmation in maellem's silent nod told her she was fine.
Maellem's form melded with nature itself. Hilda had seen an amazing, distinct metamorphosis; a Fonde-shaking tremor filled the cave. She watched in awe as maellem's legs coiled and twisted into knotted roots. They pierced the soil in the pedestal. Her arms branched out into wood adorned with dying leaves and sickening sage fruit. The crown of her foliage shifted its shape into several dry crescents. Her branches expanded into elegant spires of twisted limbs. In maellem's stead stood great Adeve in all her verdant splendor.
She suffered, her visage a tribute to beauty marred by a poison's grasp. Her rotten harvest fell unbidden into the jagged, barren ravine below. Above her head yawned the canopy. A sunbeam glazed her fruitless vine-top. Maellem's body continued its shocking transfiguration. The frail woman transformed into a majestic frail tree. She had molted back into her primordial essence, Adeve.
A maelstrom of emotions raged within Hilda in an amalgamation of relief and sorrow. She could feel Adeve's cries throughout her whole being as she placed an ear to her trunk. maellem's memories of her time spent with Hilda flashed with vivid clarity. They played at a frenzied pace like the memories Hilda had of her and Eddipus before.
Adeve showed her images of them spending time together, of them cleaning Sister Lisa's hut, meeting the dark and foreboding cat, and images of Samson when he came to visit after the battle. Another memory appeared of the memorial for Tullious and Vinan. Images of their walk to the cave. Memories the both of them would cherish.
Adeve had learned so much as maellem, she couldn't contain her thanks. It was her final wish to learn from the very people she had watched for so long and walk among them. The Master had granted her that wish. He hadn't said how much Hilda needed that companionship too, but he knew. Now it was time for maellem to finally return home.
Hilda fell beside the tall tree with thoughts not only of her silent friend, but now of Eddipus. Time seemed to unfold. Everything stood still for Hilda. She held onto the Adeve.
The priestess gathered her strength and stood. She turned from the ancient tree and continued her journey out of the Hallow.
To Hilda, no other destination mattered now but Hilltop. Yet, her departure from the Hallow left feelings of happiness, not loss. She made her way through the forest of the Red and Southern Mountain Range. Hilda would wait for Eddipus at the Westerian memorial. She had planned to sleep and meditate there until her lover returned to her.
It would take a while for the foggy haze over the Red forest to clear yet, it did clear. Hilda could see beyond the mountain range to the decorum of Hilltop. Soon enough, she saw a lit path leading to the small wooden gate and shrubbery of her village. Through a series of winding steps carved by elven hands, she walked forward.
While the mists continued to fade away, a bell rang off in the distance. The villagers were preparing food and song for Unadoda Day. It was an elven feasting and praise day for the Master. A part of her heart ached knowing the day she would spend would be one more missed by those she loved dearly.