by David Bokman
Their father had not been able to fish much at all, on account of his illness. Instead, he sat inside, working away at his inventions and machinations. And he was good at it. Zena liked to think that she had inherited their father’s mind, while her brother had inherited their mother’s skills as a survivalist. Her father’s inventions never translated to any coin, though. Once or twice, he would create something brilliant, such as a fishing lure that looked and behaved just like a small fish. But every time he did, the guards would confiscate it, claim it for themselves, and sell it off without the Fishbane family seeing a single copper. To them, science and innovation was nothing but another way to steal money.
The Fishbane siblings did not start seeing money until they were fifteen years old. By that time, their father had long since passed away due to his illness, and their mother did not have many years left in her either. Paavo had become so adept at fishing that he got a job on a fishing ship, which paid him well. Zena, on the other hand, had become rather adept at… dealing with people she disliked, which got her a job in the Portsguard. It was not a job she wanted, but she also did not want to starve to death, which was a strong motivator. From there, her brother had a slow but steady rise in the ranks of the fishing community, and she had an explosive rise from guard to captain to minister to townmaster. But despite it all, I can’t even force myself to be angry at them, not even at Oswald. They showed me how the world works, and they made me stronger. Just like how I am making the people stronger now.
Zena’s afternoon contained a meeting with the person she perhaps disliked the most in Kardh’Ao. Second most, closely behind whoever orchestrated the attack on the temple. Although it brought her no pleasure, she knew that it would be foolish not to meet with Deston, the merchant. Calling Deston a merchant was a bit like calling a shark a fish. His proper title was indeed merchant, but with the empire of shops and stalls he commanded, he was more akin to a king. He had acquired such wealth that he could easily leave Kardh’Ao and build his own city, should he please. And he is most welcome to. Here in Kardh’Ao, he brings nothing more than misery, to me most of all. But his wealth was not the reason Zena needed to meet with him, although his money could certainly come in handy too. The main reason was his role in The Trade.
The Townmaster did not know if The Trade had recruited him when they saw his great empire of trade or if he had built his empire thanks to his role in the organization. Regardless, this combination made him one of the most influential people in the city, and he was well aware of this fact. If it weren’t for all the problems it would cause, I would have dealt with him long ago. Hopefully Deston could help her solve one of her problems today for a change.
Zena could hear Deston coming as soon as he made it to her floor. His footsteps were heavier and louder than those of an ox, and he probably weighed as much as two. After a slow walk, the merchant king, without knocking, opened the door to the Townmaster’s office with one hand, holding some sort of pastry in the other. “Hi!” he exclaimed in a loud, high-pitched voice. “I hope you don’t mind the food! A man like me has a certain… requirement when it comes to sustenance.” From the moment he entered the room, Deston’s eyes were locked on Zena, so much so that he did not even bother turning around to close the door behind him.
Zena took a quick look at the short, round man with his overpriced monocle and precisely cut moustache, and gave a smile. “I’m so glad you could find the time to talk to me.” Her voice was soft and kind, too kind.
“Of course, of course! Don’t mention it. Glad to help however I can.” Deston grabbed a chair, sat down, and leaned back so far Zena was afraid he’d break the back of it, but by a miracle it managed to hold his weight.
“How is business, Deston?”
“Oh, you know, could be better, could be worse. I get by. Silk trade is down, the reason eludes me. Book sales are up, though! Those rift things really piqued the commoners’ interest for fiction, it would seem!”
“I’m glad your business is surviving. And how are your colleagues in The Trade?”
Deston gave a broad smile, revealing his teeth, of which many were made of gold and silver. “Shall we get down to business, perhaps? You know what they say, time is money!”
“And I would hate to keep you from stealing more of my city’s money, yes. So, did you hear about the attack on the temple?”
Deston’s grimace of distraught looked so genuine that Zena almost believed it. “Oh, a terrible business, truly terrible. Dreadful. So much death, so much destruction. And you in the midst of it! Most unlucky, not a good look at all for a Townmaster, not at all. That’s the sort of thing that follows you forever, it is. But you are okay, I trust?”
“Your compassion is touching, Deston. Do you know who did it?”
Laughing, Deston said, “You must have mistaken me for your new commander… Dovan, is it? I can’t say I blame you; we look much alike. No, my area of expertise is trade, not crime.”
“I thought they were the same thing.”
“So unfortunately I will be of little help to you here. I do hope you find whoever is responsible, though! If they were to escape unscathed… well, the implications—”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like how?” Deston tilted his head to the side, frowning.
“Like altogether. Look at something else.”
“But I’m talking to you, not to something else.”
For a brief moment, Zena could feel her hands start to tremble and her breath get stuck in her throat. Don’t do anything stupid, she reminded herself. He always does this. Very well, I will find help elsewhere. “Of course. Well, if you’re sure you can’t help me, I—”
“Does it bother you?”
“What?”
“I can look away, if you prefer. Just say the word, Townmaster.”
Zena broke eye contact, took a breath, and said, “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. So, nothing regarding the bandits, then?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Did I mention the Minister of Trade and I were just discussing a new tax raise?”
“Ah, but threats are useless against me, Zena! A decade or two ago, it would have been a fine strategy, but today, I need not worry myself with such things.” Deston took another bite of his pastry, spilling some crumbs on his large silken robes. He quickly brushed them off onto the floor, and continued, “You know I like you, and I’d love to help, truly! But I cannot.”
“And nothing can make you change your mind?”
“Absolutely nothing! There is nothing you can do to make me tell you the bandits’ new headquarters are at Tanner Street! You especially could not promise to put that vehement ‘merchant’ Sylas in the dungeon, or perhaps execute him for good measure.”
Zena gave an understanding nod, and said, “In that case, I would be rude to keep you here any longer. Have a good day, Deston.”
“And you! And you.”
“Oh, Deston?” As always, Zena spoke just before the person she was talking to was about to leave the room.
“Yes, Fishbane?”
“Why help me? Surely this Sylas isn’t causing you that much trouble.”
“Indeed he is not. But the bandits are. Take care of them for me, will you? Good day!” Deston walked out of the office, leaving the door wide-open behind him.
When your time comes, I’ll take care of you, too, thought Zena, watching the round man walk away. When your time comes, the dungeon will be far too good for you. I will have to think of something else. He would have to get in line, though. First, some of the inhabitants of Tanner Street were being sent to the dungeon. Or straight to Haara, if they’re lucky. Is there anyone in this damned city I can trust, now that Stonehand is gone? The Townmaster certainly did not trust Deston, for a start. Nor did she particularly trust either of the commanders of the city, Dovan least of all. She did not trust her ministers, either. Who does that leave me with? Paavo? I did trust Paavo, once upon a time. We kept each other saf
e. In many ways, he was more of a man when we were children than he is now. No, Paavo could not be trusted either. Not fully. That leaves you, Zena. Let’s hope that’s enough.
⧫ CHAPTER XXV ⧫
The tunnels in the Cold Peaks were dark and hostile. They seemed to twist and turn in a million different directions, but Oso and his friends never once stopped to ponder which path to choose. They had entered through a small crevice in a mountain a bit to the west, and must by now have traversed the tunnels for a quarter of an hour. Inside, icicles hung from the ceiling like spears. If one were to fall at the wrong time, not even you would be able to avoid it, thought The Dart. The floor was not much better; it was covered in cold, hard ice that the heralds all learned was unpleasant to fall on.
“So The Atlas is a man?” Na had asked the men as they set off.
“He is much more than that,” Bol had answered.
“But he was mentioned in texts hundreds of years old! Is ‘Atlas’ some sort of title passed down between generations? Is he like a king?”
To that, all three men laughed. “No, young Herald. He is not like a king. Now be quiet.”
After another long pause, Cadwell broke the silence again. “Your job was to test us, yeah?”
“Among other things.”
“So then why’d you not just test us up here in the mountains? Would’ve saved yourselves quite a hike.”
“We don’t mind walking,” said Ark. “Besides, the rift seemed to be the perfect thing to test you about. After all, the rifts are why you are here, are they not?”
“Well we’re not here to ask about the weather.”
They continued through the labyrinth of tunnels, descending ever deeper into the mountain. After a while, most of the ice disappeared, being replaced by dark stone. Somehow, with the ice gone, it is even colder, Sam thought, wishing he had bought two pairs of gloves from the Vestroki merchant. Thankfully, their cold, dark descent did not continue for long. After a few more tunnels the heralds spotted their destination. At the end of the tunnel, carved into the mountain wall, was a portal not too dissimilar from the ones they had seen in the Eastern Library in Kardh’Ao. It emanated the same blue glow and was of similar height - roughly seven feet tall and three feet wide.
Cadwell cursed under his breath. “Another damn portal?”
“They are a very efficient means of transportation.”
Florianna, on the other hand, was intrigued. “How did this portal end up here? This is far from Kardh’Ao, so who built it?”
“Save your questions. You will no doubt have more after you enter the portal.”
“And beyond it we will find The Atlas?” asked The Dart.
“If he wants you to, yes. In any case, this is where our journey ends. Goodbye.” As if controlled by a puppeteer, the three northerners all turned around and began walking back up the tunnels.
“Right,” said Cad. “So it’s either through the portal to who knows where, or die from frostbite lost in the caves of a mountain at the Northern Horizon. Great.”
“You’ll have time to die later. Let’s go,” said The Dart.
With his boots on, Cadwell barely fit under the archway of the portal, but after some convincing, they all took a step of faith.
The first thing that struck the heralds on the other side of the portal was the sound. The sound of running water was impossible to mistake, but it felt like it did not belong. Two seconds ago, we were in the coldest place I have ever been, Na thought. And now there’s running water? It did indeed seem like they had travelled far with the portal; this cave felt as warm as Kardh’Ao, not like a cave you would find at the Cold Peaks. The cave stretched at least a hundred feet in every direction, and had to be around thirty feet high. The shape of the cave gave the impression that it had been built by hand, not formed by nature.
Turning their attention to the water once more, the heralds saw a small waterfall in the cave. The water seemed to originate from somewhere outside the cave, and was dropped down from almost all the way up at the ceiling, down into a pool of water below. There were also strange rock formations, scattered trinkets, and unopened boxes to grab one’s attention. The heralds saw no way out of the cave, only the blue portal shimmering behind them. Their perhaps most important find was located on the other edge of the cave. Sitting on the bare rocks were two figures - one short and hooded, the other taller, but thinner. Two others stood beside them, presumably acting as guards. “We’re in luck; not one Atlas, but four,” Cadwell whispered to the others.
“I don’t get the impression this ‘Atlas’ is someone we want to agitate, whichever one of them he may be,” said Sam. “Let’s be cautious for once.”
“Aren’t we always?” said Mae, starting to approach the figures. The other heralds followed close behind as they slowly made their way across the cave. The stone floor was littered with books and scrolls and texts, forcing them to tip-toe across. The figures did not seem to pay any notice to the heralds’ approach. As The Dart got closer, she realized the figures differed quite drastically in appearance. The two men who were standing looked to be in their thirties or forties.
Strangely, they only looked to be armed with shields. Wooden shields bearing coats of arms unknown to even Cadwell. They probably made them up themselves, though it’d make them look scary. Amateurs. They wore no strong armor either, only the studded leather that many mercenaries and hunters seemed to prefer. The small, hooded figure looked to be a woman, although it was hard to make out. The robe and hood looked like they had both seen some action and could both use a wash and some repair. This must be the herald that Vanessa spoke of, Cad realized, although he could not see her emblem.
To the right of her sat a man who looked to be perhaps a few years older than Cadwell, though far smaller in size. Despite his age he had thick, white hair, and a beard so long he had tied it up in four braided sprouts. His clothes were not too dissimilar to those of the woman, although his robes looked far older. The man was busy reading a scroll, and the woman was busy observing the man. “Any of you called Atlas?” asked Cad.
“This place is old.” The man’s voice was a harsh whisper, yet it seemed to echo across the entire cave. He had not taken his eyes off the scroll, and spoke almost as if to himself.
“We’re… here about the rifts?” tried Na.
“This place is old, yet by the hand of a young one, it shall be made anew.” It did not sound like he was reciting the scroll. The words appeared to be his own.
“We don’t even know where this place is,” said Sam.
“That which one fights hardest to keep, one will inevitably lose.”
“Well this was a great idea, wasn’t it? This explains everything,” scoffed Cadwell. The two guards seemed unaffected by both the heralds’ presence and the man’s words; it was hard to tell if they had even noticed that something had changed. The woman was still closely observing the man who they presumed to be The Atlas.
“A secret hidden is a tool. A secret revealed is a threat,” the man went on.
“To hell with this. All this way, for this? Waste of time. You can stay if you want to, but I’m—”
“You will not leave.” The man’s voice was a whisper no longer. It was sharp as a knife. He threw his scroll aside and looked directly at Cadwell. “You will stay until we are done.”
For once, Cadwell decided not to talk back.
“Until we are done? With what?” asked Sam.
“With what you came here for.”
“Are you the one they call The Atlas?” said Na.
“The old name seems to live on. Yes, that is what I am called. And by whom were you given my name?”
“A librarian. Well, the curator of a library. Curator Hako, from the Eastern Library in Kardh’Ao?”
The Atlas gave a hint of a smile. “I know this library. I know it well. Yet this is not why I have allowed you entry.”
“What do you mean?” asked Samson. “It was Oso and his friends who allowed us e
ntry.”
“As I said.”
“It sounds like you want something from us.”
The Atlas, chuckling, said, “Not something. Someone.”
“Oh, another kidnapper. Great.”
The Atlas grabbed another scroll, and said, “I only wish to speak to her.”
“To whom?”
“There is one who travels with you who is known as The Dart. She is the one I seek.”
Whatever it was that The Atlas wished to discuss with Mae, he wanted to do it in private. The hooded woman escorted the other heralds to the other side of the cave, not too far away from the portal from which they had entered. “You’re a herald too, aren’t you?” Sam asked, leaning against the cave wall.
The woman did not seem to understand she was being spoken to.
“Excuse me?” Sam gently poked her shoulder, which seemed to do a better job catching her attention.
“What is it?”
“I said, you’re a herald too, like us, right?”
“Oh.” For a long while, that was the only answer Sam got. Then, she continued. “I’m not sure what I am. A student, perhaps.”
“A student of The Atlas?”
“He has much that is worth learning.”
“And you came from Kardh’Ao, like us?”
“Yes. I lived there my whole life.”
Florianna sat down on a rock she found suitable, and asked, “How did you become a herald?”
“Through years of hard work in service of the city, I suppose.”
“And your mission was to find The Atlas?”
“I think my mission has only just started.”
