Romney Balvance and the Katarin Stone

by J Jordan

  “Oh, yeah,” said Devon, “we’ve already taken care of that. Good work, guys.”

  “Well, I thought we could discuss the payment part.”

  “Nah, we’ve got it all figured out,” said Devon. “The reward should be in your accounts now. Right, Mila?”

  “It will be,” said Mila, picking up her tablet and swiping away.

  “What about negotiations?”

  “No, that’s all figured out now. We give you an assignment, you complete it, and then we pay you. The first one was kind of like an introduction to the contract. But now you’re employees.”

  “It’s done,” said Mila, “and we still have a lot of work to do.”

  “Right,” said Devon, “the merger.”

  “It was nice meeting you,” said Garn. “I’ll be looking forward to your report, Cora.”

  “And Romney,” said Devon, “good work.”

  He had no time to respond. The doors had shut and the elevator was descending.

  “Hang on,” said Tykeso, “How much did we make?”

  Fifty thousand Ontaran notes. The equivalent of one year’s work for a mid-level accountant at any given firm in Lanvale. Or, one Jade Scar. This made Romney unhappy. He stood in front of the ATM, hoping that maybe the number would get bigger at some point. The ATM disappointed him several times.

  “So I broke even. That’s just great.”

  Cora stepped up and inserted her Reymus card. Romney sighed at her larger number and kicked at the pavement. It scuffed his shoe.

  “Tykeso and I had a long discussion last night,” she said, “and we decided we’re going to compensate you for the Jade Scar. We are a team now, after all. If we share the reward, then we must also share the burden.”

  Tykeso nodded. “We bought you a new computer,” he said. “Plus, we’ll buy you dinner.”

  “Actually, we didn’t buy it yet,” corrected Cora. “We thought it would be better if you picked it out.”

  “Maybe I don’t want a new computer,” said Romney.

  “You need one,” said Cora. “That thing in your bedroom runs on ancient curses.”

  “And we need a better computer if we’re going to research our assignments,” said Tykeso.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to have one with a new graphics card either,” added Cora. “Maybe a game or two. To unwind, of course.”

  Romney sighed again. These were his associates. Maybe they didn’t always get along with him. And maybe they weren’t his friends. And maybe, possibly, they still hated his guts. But they were trying. And maybe, just maybe, that could work.

  “Fine,” he said, “but no more ganging up on me. If we are a team, then we’re all on the team. Not just Cora and Ty, with Romney off on the side. All together.”

  “All right,” said Cora, “next time, we will be more mindful of your contributions.”

  “Okay,” said Romney, “because I have good ideas too.”

  “Sure,” agreed Tykeso, “I bet you do.”

  “And we will address any concerns we have with them,” said Cora, “just as you will address any of your concerns with ours.”

  “All right,” said Romney, “but after a nap.”

  The drowsiness had come on like a heat wave, sapping Romney of all his strength. He could barely contain his yawns as he pulled into his parking spot at Cresdale Heights. He had trouble with the stairs as he made his way up to his apartment. He needed Cora’s help with unlocking the front door. Romney didn’t care that Cora and Tykeso were turning on his TV and watching the Epoch Channel in HD. He also paid no mind that they were making more coffee and drinking out of his other favorite mugs. Those were minor things. When he finally reached his bed and placed his head on his pillow, those little things were far, far away.

  It was just him, the dull murmur of the forest, and the cool mists of morning.

  Romney Balvance and the Trouble with Magic

  The Goddess Katrese is as old as elven language. Whether it’s the flowing script of ancient Tambridesian or the hieroglyphics of ancient Andar or the runic symbols still used by the Desridanian people, they all have something to say about the goddess. And, strangely, they all agree on several key points.

  Katrese is tall. One text describes her as being an inch taller than the average Azerran, which would make her six foot two inches tall, or six foot four in the Arctic North. She is always dressed in simple linen robes, with fantastic patterns and shapes stitched into the sleeves and hem. These patterns seem to glow in the moonlight.

  Her hair is always orange. Not auburn, the Camerrans note in their texts, but orange. Orange like the summer sun, say the Tambridesians. Orange like the wings of the Pharaoh’s butterfly, say the Andarans. Orange, as the Desridanians say, like an orange. The exact style of her hair changes from place to place: wavy, straight, braided, spiky. But there is always a single braid that travels down the side of her face. Which side of her face is another aspect that changes, depending on the worshipper. There is one feature that is always the same, in every denomination, in every country, and in every language.

  Her eyes are always the sky.

  The pronunciation of “Katrese” may change, depending on which area of the world you say her name, but it always comes out something like “Kah-tree-ss.” Andarans like to pronounce it “Kah-tray-sah,” while the Desridanians prefer “Kah-tear-eh-ss.” Camerrans always put an extra “e” into it: “Kah-ter-ees-ee.” Camerrans, for the most part, usually get these things wrong.

  Her disposition changes from place to place. In the green and hilly landscape of the Camerran highlands, the Goddess Katrese is a rugged lass with dirt on her hands. The stories say she would scoop up the earth, shape it in her hands, and lay it down like a hill of grassy clay. This was how she turned the flat earth into the rolling hills, one lump of clay at a time. So the story goes. Along the Tambridesian coast, she is mellow, with a relaxing aura. Her voice could lull the orneriest fishmonger to sleep. Much like the waves that lap the shore.

  To the grim-faced denizens of Central Azerra, she is fierce, cold, determined—all the traits of a noble warrior. The wind is her cuirass, and her sword is the earth. She can cleave the great nations with one true stroke, which she doesn’t do, because she is disciplined. Legend speaks of a great war that ended in one stroke of her hand. In that motion, all armies were routed.

  Then again, it’s only a legend, a story that’s gone through hundreds of tellings to end up in a textbook. There are no eyewitness accounts of a one-goddess army. That is, there are no sober tellings.

  In the country of Desridan, which encompasses the many islets that dot the Katarin Sea, the Goddess Katrese is wrath incarnate. In Desridan, it is illegal to litter near a Katresean temple, and for good reason. The hells hath no fury like the goddess scorned. See any of the myriad folk stories in which the mighty goddess cleaved men in twain, split countries, broke kingdoms; all with a gesture. In one gruesome account, she caused a chieftain to explode in front of his tribe. Her reasoning, as the stories go, was to show she could.

  In Andar, Katrese is reserved, thoughtful, and meditative. These were things she learned from the greatest mortal to ever walk the sands, the prophet Andrea. Katrese led Andrea through the desert to the Water Mirror at the top of the prophet’s mountains, which marks the end of Andrea’s Course and the beginning of Andar. And in that journey, they conversed about a great many things using Andaran Sign Language. The scriptures of Andrea’s journey say that Katrese had learned much from the prophet.

  It goes to show that even a Goddess of Creation can still learn a thing or two.

  The fact is that Katrese is many things to many people. To some, she is only a tall tale that spiraled out of control. And she played a part in Romney’s tale, whether he liked it or not. For instance, when Romney rose from his bedroll to see who was shouting, he found the tall, orange-haired elf standing at the shore of a clear lake. She had gained a leather apron since they’d last met, along with a fine smattering of dirt on her
hands and face. The Goddess of Creation was watching over her flock: two elves, a male and a female, both holding crude spears made from gnarled branches and waving them ineffectually at each other. The female elf gained an eager smile as she bonked the male with the flat of her spear. Katrese had been pinching the bridge of her nose since the scene started.

  “I said put the spears down,” she said slowly, with worn patience. “We are done with the spears.”

  Romney noted the thick trees that surrounded them on all sides. Their green needles told him they were pine or spruce. Their fresh smell mixed with the rain. Romney leaned against a tree and watched them. He could easily make out everything Katrese was saying. It wasn’t hard, because she was on the verge of shouting.

  Katrese was in the middle of a deep breath when she opened her eyes. He knew, even from where he stood, that they were gray as rain clouds.

  “We are fishing now,” she said patiently, “which means you put the spear down.”

  And then she remembered something that made her sigh and rub her forehead.

  “Well, you can, technically, fish with spears. But we’re not covering that yet. Right now, we’re going to use a fishing pole. You’re going to love fishing, Aldo.”

  The male elf, who would normally answer to Aldo, swung low and connected with his sister’s knee. This earned him a swipe across the cheek that left a red mark. He roared and began jabbing the blunt end at Eva’s stomach. The battle continued.

  “Put the spears down,” growled Katrese.

  Romney took this moment to brush green needles off of his leather leggings. He took a pinch of them between his fingers, rubbed them together, and smelled. The scent was lovely, but it hadn’t done much to narrow down which trees they were. He didn’t know the difference between pine and spruce.

  He looked out over the calm lake, followed its near glassy surface across to more trees in the distance. Trees, clear waters, and gray skies. Romney had no idea where they were.

  He noticed Eva grab Aldo’s spear. With a wrenching motion, she managed to twist it out of Aldo’s grasp. Aldo advanced to retake his weapon, only to receive a barrage of spear strikes to the head and neck. Aldo’s advance had failed. He backed away from Eva, his hands raised in surrender. Katrese’s smile was now a thin line.

  “Okay, Eva. Good work. Nice form and technique. You win.”

  She watched Eva. The elf was relishing her victory over the stupid boy.

  “Now, put the spears down.”

  Eva’s grin took a shade of malice. She reared on Aldo, crude spears held aloft.

  “Let go of the spears. Eva!”

  But Eva had already descended on her brother, Aldo. She swung the spears in overhead chops, like two giant drumsticks playing a skull. Aldo tried catching them with his hands, then lost his footing and collapsed in a heap on the ground. He covered his face and started squealing, as the wooden spears assaulted his arms and shoulders.

  Eva’s onslaught persisted, even as Katrese entered the melee. The goddess tried catching the spears as they swung, but the elf dodged around her grasp and continued drumming. It continued this way for several long seconds, Aldo’s squeals gaining desperation. Then an errant swing connected with the flat of Katrese’s hand, and she retreated from the wild elf. She shook the sting from her hand, her glare fixed on Eva. This required divine intervention.

  Katrese made a gesture, like grabbing the wind by the scruff of its neck. This gesture caused Eva to rise into the air, sticks swinging in all directions. Then both of Eva’s arms locked into place at her sides and an unseen force pried at her fingers. Both spears were freed from her grasp and floated down to Katrese. Then, without ceremony, Eva was returned to the muddy earth. Katrese approached the prone elf, her expression hiding a deep anger.

  “I said no more spears. You did not listen to me. And you kept hitting your brother when I told you to stop. You have lost your spear privileges, young lady. You are going to sit there and think about why you are in trouble while I tend to your brother. No more spears for the week. Do I make myself clear?”

  Eva looked away, still flexing her fingers, her mouth in a pout. Her large eyes began to water. Katrese turned away and moved to Aldo, who was still in a heap on the ground and still inconsolable.

  Aldo made a sound that could be universally translated into “Mommy,” made complete by pathetic lip quivering. Katrese’s stern gaze showed that it wasn’t working.

  “You started it, buster. You’ve lost your spear privileges too.”

  This news caused Aldo to grieve louder than before. The goddess was having none of it.

  “I don’t want to hear it. You didn’t listen to me.”

  Katrese set healing his scrapes and bruises. They were small gestures, like wiping his face and brushing dirt from his arms, but they also wiped away his wounds. A few light strokes along his forehead had lowered the welt on his forehead, and a wipe along each arm had removed the various scrapes and abrasions. Katrese lifted him onto his feet and patted his stomach. Then she brushed at his hair once more to remove a hidden bruise. Aldo was good as new, but still crestfallen about the spears.

  “There we are,” said Katrese. “Next time, I want you to listen to me. Eva, come over here. We’re going to learn fishing.”

  Katrese rocked on her heels for several long seconds before she finally turned to Romney.

  “Fishing poles,” she said to him.

  At first, Romney felt a sudden twinge of panic. As if the Goddess of all Creation was calling on him in class. But the fear was squelched. The fact was . . .

  Semnir knew how to make a fishing pole, but he used his own gear to do it. He had an old reel of twine he had saved from the old Highbrokes manor, which he used for the line. And there was his dagger, with its sharpened edge, used to whittle the pole. Hooks were another matter and bait another entirely.

  A quick glance at Aldo and Eva said they had none of these things.

  “You can start with the pole,” he said, “but I don’t know where to find fishing line out here.”

  “Okay,” she said, “good. Start with the pole.”

  She cleared her throat.

  “A good fishing pole starts with a sturdy pole. It needs to be long, sturdy, and flexible,” said Katrese.

  “Splinter-free would be best,” added Semnir.

  “A long, sturdy, flexible pole, with no splinters,” said Katrese. “And to do that, we should start with a good branch.”

  She looked at the trees around them and examined them carefully.

  “You need a tree with better branches,” said Semnir. “These are too small and flimsy.”

  Semnir rubbed another pinch of needles and sniffed. Maybe they were firs.

  Katrese nodded at the forest at large.

  “So what would do the trick? Sycamore? Elko? Bamboo?”

  “You won’t find any of those out here.”

  Katrese raised her brow at this. She raised a hand to the western tree line and made a slight flick of the wrist.

  Semnir didn’t see the change or hear it pass through the woods. It was as if the elko trees had always been there. They were tall and stalky, with a few hefty branches that held bursts of large, green leaves on their ends. Katrese took one in her hand and yanked lightly. It came off with a crack. It left no mark.

  Semnir watched as Katrese tried to whittle at her branch with a spear. Eva and Aldo hovered around her and watched the process carefully. These were strange occurrences, but they weren’t the strangest he had seen since traveling with Katrese. A tree was no small feat, and switching out an acre of forest was nothing to scoff at. But it wasn’t the biggest thing she had done.

  There was the mountain she had lowered because it was in the way. She had reasoned that there was no need for a mountain in that area anyway and that it was really just an eyesore if anyone was going to be honest about it. He remembered the simple motion of her hand. With a closed palm, she had pumped her arm down, and the mountain had sunk into the
earth. There was no quake and no grand commotion. It was like the crest of a wave folding into the land.

  And there were the sudden rain clouds, because the grass looked a little wilted for spring. A twirl of her fingers and the great sky mixed gray and white, until it had woven a perfect blanket. And then came the rain. Of course she had Semnir’s hooded cloak ready, which she had thrown over him as the first drops began to fall. She was always ready to take care of him.

  Her kindness had stung at first. It seemed a waste on such a lowly creature. He was the last of his kind, a small and lowly race that had seen the end of its era. They had no more mayors or civil servants, no more town watch. Their sun had set.

  But she had brought him here.

  She said she would need him in the coming days. The world would need new mentors. She always asked him questions. Over time, he accepted her generosity and followed her.

  Katrese was watching him now, her gray eyes losing their dark spots. She held out a smooth pole and beckoned him over.

  “What’s next?”

  “A line,” he said, watching the ground for pinecones as he made his way to the shore. “You need something thin. Strong too.”

  Katrese reached into a pocket of her robe and retrieved a spool of fine thread.

  “That’s cheating.”

  “What else could you use?” she said, dropping it back into her pocket.

  Semnir scratched his head. “Perhaps you should wait on fishing poles until they can make their own string. And hooks.”

  Katrese looked disappointed by this.

  “But where are they going to get omega-3s? This is a crucial time for brain development.”

  Semnir smiled at this. She was always using these strange words. He had learned to stop asking her what they meant. It often involved larger words, more explanations, and an entire evening to understand.

  “The spears are your best bet.”

  Katrese groaned. She looked to her children. They were still watching, now with a hint of pleading in their eyes.