Taren shifted in his chair and Joran had to stifle a giggle. Ky’ara just sighed in frustration. “Is that all you know?” she asked shortly.
“All I know?!!” Evlyn protested. “Of course that’s not all I know, but it’s all I know about the lost city, and it’s certainly enough to get me thrown in prison, though heaven knows why…All I know, really! I stick my neck out for you and…”
“Alright, we’re sorry!” Taren put in quickly, before the old woman could give herself a heart attack. “We’re sorry. She didn’t mean it like that; we’re very grateful for what you’ve told us.”
“Hmph!” Evlyn picked up her tea cup and gulped down some more lemon water before muttering to herself about ungrateful children.
“Yes, I’m sorry,” Ky’ara added, after a nudge from Joran. “Can you think of anyone that might know more?”
Evlyn looked up sharply. “More?! Why would you want to know more? Evlyn knows all there is to tell. The lost city was lost for a reason, but heaven knows what it was…no one cares to remember anymore. No one but tired old Evlyn…”
Ky’ara sighed. “Thank you, Evlyn. We really appreciate your help.”
Evlyn nodded and then looked at them sharply, “You’ve worn me out! Now go!”
Taren’s lips twisted into a wry grin as he rose from the table and bid the old woman goodbye.
“Well, that didn’t tell us much,” Joran commented dryly when they had exited onto the wet grey hillside.
Ky’ara nodded absently, thinking about what the old woman had said about her father’s cousin seeing a haunted island…it sounded almost like her dreams.
“We did learn a little bit,” Taren replied. Joran looked at him in surprise. “We learned that the government’s been trying awfully hard to keep stories about the past from surfacing…which means that they probably contain information that could help us.”
“So now all we have to do is find someone who actually knows the old stories.” Ky’ara stated sarcastically, “Great!”
“Or somewhere they’re written down.” Taren corrected, surprising her, “I think it’s time we checked out the village records.”
* * * * *
Sukylar walked down the misty streets of Brume, muttering under his breath as he rubbed his wrists to restore circulation to his hands. That Elysian girl was a real treasure all right…she really hadn’t needed to bind his hands that tightly. But he supposed it was partly his fault for showing off with that flip back at the entrance....binding his hands demonstrated that she was still in charge and the extra tug on the rope had clearly said she didn’t want him to forget that. Elysians were generally an unemotional lot, but occasionally one would lash out in what seemed to be petty irritation, but was usually a calculated attempt to draw emotion from the victim—and apparently her mixed blood made her more touchy than most. Sukylar stopped in front of a dingy-looking tavern and then ducked inside, dismissing the irritating girl from his mind.
The low rumble of chatter paused momentarily when he came in, then resumed immediately as though the people realized he would notice them watching him if the room was silent. Of course, even with the dull roar of a dozen or so conversations and a few petty disagreements, Sukylar could still feel the eyes of every person in the room shifting towards him. Walking nonchalantly to the bar, Sukylar eased himself onto a stool near the corner and ordered a drink from the innkeeper.
“Funny weather, eh?” he commented evenly to the large, hairy man who was waiting for the innkeeper to pour his drink. The man shrugged and scowled at him before turning his attention to the now-full tankard on the counter in front of him. Sukylar smiled amiably and took a sip of his own drink. He glanced around openly, scanning the room for any familiar faces. The rebellion had a few friends here—even though every single person in Brume had something against the government, not many were willing to do anything about it…or they didn’t see the organization as a proper alternative. Some simply refused to be ruled by anyone and couldn’t find a place within the strictly structured rebel forces where they would be able do whatever they wanted.
Sukylar finished his drink and put a coin on the counter, then stood and walked over to a table in the corner where three men were playing dice. “Up to a game of chance are ye, lad?” growled a stocky man who desperately needed a bath and a shave.
“Sure,” Sukylar said nonchalantly, taking the fourth seat at the table, looking around, and politely nodding to each of the men before slapping a coin on the table. He turned back to the scruffy man who had issued the challenge. “I’ll take splits—odd and even, sum under seven.”
The squinty-eyed man to his right snorted slightly and pushed a few coins to the center. “Splits, even, sum over six,” he muttered, staring intently at the dice.
“Twins, odd,” The tall, slender man to his left declared in a raspy voice.
“Then I’ll take Others,” grunted the stocky man with the dice cup.
Sukylar leaned back in his chair and watched idly as the man shook the cup and spilled the dice expertly on the table.
“Four and three.”
The stocky man pulled the coins over to his side of the table and passed the dice cup to his left. “Your turn, Griff. Too bad.”
The squinty-eyed man took the dice cup and shook his head in frustration. Sukylar shrugged and glanced around the room. “Much as I would love to sit and gamble all day, gentlemen, I have some rather pressing business to attend to…with Vivek.”
The man with the dice ignored him and took the other players bets, then shook the cup and cast the dice. This time the raspy voiced man took the coins, and the squinty-eyed man kept the cup. Sukylar leaned forward. “Vi-vek,” he said quietly. “I’m an old friend of sorts…and I know this is his table…so you can either tell me where he is, or I’ll start telling everyone else how you three cheat.”
“Everyone here cheats, lad,” the burly man grunted, “we’re all outlaws… remember?”
“And thieves, and murderers, and men with extremely short tempers who won’t take kindly to being bilked.” Sukylar shrugged, “Your hide…”
“No threats,” the squinty-eyed man interrupted, “we’ll let the dice settle it.”
He shook the cup again and deftly overturned it.
“Twins, even,” Sukylar said calmly. The man lifted the cup and looked down at two sixes. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“You cheated.”
Sukylar snorted contemptuously. “Everyone here cheats, remember? Now, I believe we were discussing how I could see Vivek?”
The stocky man sighed and got up from the table. “Follow me.”
Sukylar casually tossed the original dice back on the table and left his seat just as Griff grabbed the other man by the shirt. “You’ve been cheating me!”
“What—he’s the one who switched the dice!” the man spluttered, waving at Sukylar, who paused momentarily.
“Look at them! Four and six! Last time it was four and one, time before that it was four and three! And he said you was cheatin!”
Sukylar left the two bickering gamblers just as the tall one pushed Griff roughly away. The man tumbled back over his chair, inadvertently knocking the barmaid and drenching the neighboring table’s occupants in their own drinks. Sukylar left the room to the sound of yells and shattering glass.
The stocky man took him through a side door and led him down the street to a small house with fresh white paint and flowery curtains. Sukylar shook his head ruefully—trust Vivek to go for the opposite effect. A primly dressed woman with a severe face opened the door when the man knocked. Her eyes dissected the two of them and she pursed her lips expectantly. Sukylar’s escort murmured something unintelligible and received a brisk nod before handing off his charge.
“This way, please. And don’t even think of touching anything,” the housekeeper said briskly, taking Sukylar by the elbow and propelling him forward.
The inside of the house was as pristine as the exterior had been. Simple w
hite paint covered the rough walls and decorative flower vases were placed strategically to hide any flaws in the underlying wood. The floorboards had been swept with meticulous care, and the quaint, but pretty, furniture was well-cared for and completely free of dust. Sukylar quickly became minutely aware that his boots were leaving dirty smudges on the otherwise spotless hardwood.
The woman led him down a hallway to a door that opened onto a staircase. She deftly lit a lantern and motioned him forward, following him into the basement with the lantern held to one side in order to light the way. When they reached the bottom, Sukylar was unsurprised to note that the room they emerged in was anything but clean. The floor, though expensively crafted from the same hardwood used in the rest of the house, was covered in a chaotic jumble of books, clothing, mechanical gadgets and other paraphernalia.
“Suklyar! Old friend, what brings you to my humble abode?”
Sukylar’s attention shifted from the cluttered floor space to an equally disheveled old man. Vivek was a portly man well into his fifties. His once black hair—now a dusky silver—stuck out at odd angles from his head, as did his uneven beard. Near-constant worry had etched deep wrinkles in his forehead and too much wine had given him jowls. His clothes, likely once an expensive suit, were stained and wrinkled with disregard for their quality. Despite the damage age had inflicted on the rest of his appearance, the eyes that peered from beneath bushy eyebrows were just as shrewd as they’d ever been. It was because of his mind, not his appearance, that Sukylar respected this man. He smiled genuinely as the fat man heaved himself from a high-backed chair to greet him.
“Vivek, I never would have thought you could stand living with such a clean house above your head!” Sukylar exclaimed by way of greeting as he clasped the fleshy hand the old man offered.
“Aye, and that’s the point.” Vivek chuckled, “No one thinks to look for me here, so I can get some peace and quiet once in a while.”
Sukylar smiled. As if a man like Vivek would ever truly crave peace and quiet. This was a man who liked to have his fingers in as many pies at a time as he could—figuratively and literally. That was why Sukylar had come to see him, because if anyone knew how to find out hard-to-get information, it was Vivek.
“I need to know the whereabouts of the ancient druid city,” Sukylar said bluntly. Dancing around the issue wouldn’t help him here. They were already outside the law just by being in Brume, and Vivek owed him enough favors that Sukylar wasn’t concerned about the importance of the information driving up the price.
Vivek blinked, and then creased his brow. “That is common knowledge my boy. According to the history books, Eléirathös is nowhere. It was destroyed when the people grew tired of being oppressed under the druid’s reign, abolished magic, and established the glorious kingdom of Tirem.”
Sukylar snorted, “The day I believe you think Tirem is glorious is the day I admit myself to the asylum. Now, why would there be absolutely no information on its former location if there wasn’t something there the government wanted hidden? And one thing I know is that if they’ve tried to hide it, you’ve tried to find it out—even if only to spite them.”
Vivek chuckled, “I suppose you know me too well. In this instance though, I’m afraid my research was in vain. I gave up the hunt for Eléirathös a long time ago…as far as I can tell it is nowhere. No ruins match the description and no one has any mention of something being built over where it used to be. There was one elderly scholar I talked to who claimed to have known all there was to know about ancient geography, but the majority of his notes were lost when the University of Pelgrath was closed for renovations twenty-five years ago…If you recall, those renovations were never completed and the building is still locked up. I’m sorry my boy.”
Sukylar tried not to let the disappointment show on his face. He knew it had been a long shot, but he’d hoped for something a little more concrete. Here, of all places, magic still existed, and he’d hoped those who remembered magic would have remembered the druids more clearly as well. He thanked Vivek for his time and after few more minutes of idle chitchat, he went back up the stairs.
Sukylar exited the house with a polite nod to the stern faced housekeeper. Vivek’s information had been interesting, to be sure, but searching an old university for one man’s research notes could take ages—and could still end up being a dead end. Vivek had asked him to stick around for a day, to see if he could find anything more concrete… but Sukylar wasn’t hopeful. He headed back to the pub to arrange for a room anyways. If there was anything he’d learned in his life, it was that unexpected things happen.
* * * * *
Lauryn jumped up with a start, nearly falling face forward into the muck around her. How she could possibly have fallen asleep in such an uncomfortable position, she didn’t know. She needed to make a decision about where to go or what to do, and she needed to make it fast—it was almost sundown and spending the night in this bog would not be pleasant. If only she could find that blasted tree! Myrnai had said to look for a single red pine tree, then face directly northeast and walk forward a few steps—the land apparently rose slightly at that point, which would allow her to see the trees and house hidden by another slight hill. But the only tree she’d encountered other than short scraggly shrubs was this stupid log—Lauryn paused, feeling immensely foolish. Of course she hadn’t been able to see the tree; it must have blown down in one of the recent windstorms.
She walked along the edge of the log and sure enough, the dead brown-red branches started to emerge from the sludge. If she hadn’t tripped over it, she probably never would have found it—from a distance the branches would look like just more scrub brush. Retracing her steps, the frustrated girl found the end of the trunk, where a few of the snapped-off root ends protruded above the muck. This is where the base of the tree would have been, had it still been standing. She took a few steps northeast, and was relieved to see other trees appear hazily in the distance. Finally!
Shifting her pack to a more comfortable position, Lauryn took off towards the grove of trees, exasperated but hopeful. Less than an hour later she ducked under their twisted branches, grateful to be on semi-solid ground at last. Just ahead of her loomed a rambling old mansion—the former residence of a family that had once been deeply involved in the rebellion, according to Myrnai. They had been scholars, and bibliophiles, and the old woman had posited that somewhere in the probably molding library could be the answers Ky’ara was looking for. The sun went down just as she entered the ancient gates, light fading as shadows enveloped the house.
* * * * *
Ky’ara kicked up sand gloomily and stared out across the vague expanse of seawater as she trudged along the beach. They hadn’t found anything in the village records. Berd had been right: all but the most recent had been completely unreadable, half eaten by mold or faded away due to being stored in the dank, cold cellar beneath the Mayor’s home. They had poured over the remaining scraps for days, but even magic hadn’t been able to reconstruct what little was left. If there had been anything to find amongst them, it was lost now forever. Even rereading the seer’s book had only resulted in a resurgence of the irritation she’d felt while trying to decipher it in Doraicolé.
She sighed and clenched her fists in frustration, then slowly relaxed them to let go of the tension. Things would work out. She remembered that one clarifying moment when she had finally known what they needed to do…that feeling of purpose still lingered with her, and she let the memory seep through her thoughts till the frustration faded. One thing the last year had taught her was that even when it seemed nothing was going their way, eventually the dice would fall in their favor. Maybe it was because she was, as Hallahna believed, an Ysinkai—someone who inexplicably turned events in their favor, simply by existing. The term literally meant “without destiny,” though Ky’ara felt that was a little inaccurate. Sometimes it felt like the path life had set for her was more demanding than most.
A flicker of lig
ht from the ocean caught her eye. She gazed at the waves thoughtfully, once again reveling in their beauty. The light reflected from the water in such interesting ways, making patterns and images that almost looked like real things, only to flit across a wave to become something else…Ky’ara frowned. One image flitted from wave to wave, holding its shape in a way that the other light did not…it almost looked like there was a tiny fish or a large insect in the shallow water. She stepped closer, blinking her eyes to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.
“What are you looking at?” Joran’s question startled her, and she glanced up at him, frowning.
“I thought I saw something in the water.”
She glanced back down at the wave, but the light was just light again. Joran stepped next to her and followed her gaze.
“I don’t see anything. What did it look like?”
Ky’ara shrugged, “I’m not sure, I wasn’t able to get a good enough look…it was probably just my eyes playing tri—”
She had turned back to the beach while speaking, only to find a flickering light floating at eye-level.
Hello mortal.
“Joran!” she whispered breathlessly.
“What?” the boy asked nonchalantly, turning around to find Ky’ara standing transfixed by what appeared to be an empty section of air. “Are you ok?”
“Huh? I’m fine…can’t you see it?”
“See what?”
Like so many, he is blind to what is before him.
Ky’ara looked directly at the light, expecting that she would need to squint. But the more deliberately she looked, the more the light faded, leaving behind a tiny, faintly glowing, blue-tinged fairy.
I am not a fairy, the tiny creature sounded vaguely offended, I am a nymph—a Naiad to be exact. You may call me Nisse.
“Are you reading my mind?” Ky’ara asked, torn between curiosity and surprise.
Of course. How else am I supposed to know what you’re thinking?
Ky’ara shook her head and turned to an impatient Joran. “Are you sure you can’t see anything in front of me?”
The Keeper's Heritage Page 11
