Lord and Servant: (Book I of the Elementals Series)

by Marisol Logan

  Veria was not sure what she expected, but the way Daloes had described the island, it always sounded like a bustling, thriving place. Not an abandoned dock town on an overgrown jungle mountain.

  Oh, well, she thought, less people to witness what I am here to do.

  Once off the boat, Veria inquired with one of the workers about hiring transportation to the Elemental Shrine.

  “We have no horses on this island. Everything is within walking distance,” he answered gruffly.

  “I realize it is a small island, but, through the jungle?” she protested, but tried to keep her calm.

  “Not far through the jungle, miss,” he chuckled, going back to his ropes and knots. He jerked his head toward inland. “The shrine is a drunkard's crawl north of where you stand.”

  She sighed and looked north, but only saw dense jungle. No signs of buildings, roads, or people, even.

  “It is straight there,” he laughed again. “I swear on the sea.”

  Veria was not sure how seriously she took a dock man’s promise, but she grabbed her satchel and made her way off the beach, straight into the thick, jade wall of vines and trees. As she neared the perimeter of the jungle, she did notice a thin, broken stone path, but if it was meant to signify an easy path through the jungle, it failed. Vines hung as thick as curtains and limbs fell high and low. In fact, Veria could hardly take three steps without some sort of obstruction to the old path.

  As soon as she felt she was completely encompassed by the oppressive forest, she caught a glimpse ahead of a small hut with a thatch roof and old ship's cabin door. She looked all around her, every direction, to make sure there were no other buildings before going up to the hut and asking for a possibly more reliable source for navigation.

  Nothing, so she approached the hut and knocked politely on the second-hand door. There was no answer, but the door opened silently.

  “Hello?” she called, softly. “May I come in?”

  The door, as if to answer, opened further, but still no sign of a person inside.

  Veria peeked her head into the tiny hut. It was definitely one room, with a hammock right in the middle, and books stacked everywhere. Lying in the hammock was an old gentlemen with bright white hair, eyes closed, swinging in silent tranquility.

  What do you want? Came his voice, but she could swear he had not opened his mouth, let alone moved at all. Maybe it was the day of travel catching up to her. She did feel a bit dizzy, now that she had been on solid ground for several minutes.

  She took a deep breath and answered: “I am looking for the Elemental Shrine.”

  And why would a nice young lady like yourself be looking for a place like the Shrine?

  This time she watched him like a hawk watching prey. No movement. He looked like he was asleep to anyone else, but she heard a voice clearly.

  “Do you know where it is?” she pressed on, trying not to dwell on the method of communication.

  Communication, she thought. He was a Wind Mager. And he was sending messages to her in lieu of speaking.

  The man in the hammock gave a very visible nod, then pointed to his head.

  “In...your head?” she asked, puzzled.

  Memories. 'Tis all but a memory.

  “Are you saying it—the Shrine is gone?” she interrogated, panic infiltrating before she could put up defenses.

  The old man nodded again.

  “What happened?” she demanded, more forcefully than she had intended.

  The more important question, came the voice, is why you are looking for it.

  This could be a trick, Veria thought. A way to find out the true intentions of visitors to the Shrine.

  But, Daloes' words sounded as clearly in her head as this mysterious man's did now. Whatever you do, do not lie. Lies will ruin all of our progress.

  She told the truth: “I need evidence, from a closed investigation. I have a letter of request from a member of the Consortium.”

  There was silence. The white-haired man rocked silently and ominously in the hammock in the middle of the hut, and a dewy jungle breeze swept through the open windows.

  “My father's suicide,” she added, quietly, deciding rashly that the man needed more information, “or that is what the investigation ruled, but I am not convinced.”

  The man opened his eyes and turned his head toward her slowly. His icy blue eyes scanned her sympathetically, but with guard and concern.

  “Lord Gordon,” he said, with his voice, and not his messages.

  She nodded in affirmation.

  I apologize. Back to the wind communication.

  “Do you know what would have happened to the evidence from the Consortium investigations?” Veria inquired.

  The man seemed to hesitate before answering.

  “They were all in the catacombs, and I doubt they were damaged,” he said aloud.

  Then, almost overlapping, as if it were a separate person speaking: I know how it feels to lose loved ones, and need answers, Lady of Longberme.

  She surveyed the man, the deep sorrow in his pale blue eyes, and caught a glimpse over his shoulder of a large painting of a beautiful woman, in thick white brush strokes on a muslin tapestry.

  “Adierre,” she ventured, gesturing at the captivating silhouette, but she knew as soon as the words escaped her that it was the truth. This was Virro Ladny, and if Daloes had known that his old friend had only reclused as far as the Island of Tarddiad, he may have been more keen on the concept of traveling to it himself.

  The old man went soft all over, as if every muscle in his body was found incapacitated at the mention of the name.

  You are Daloes' apprentice?

  Veria nodded.

  And your Master could not be bothered to visit the Shrine on his own?

  “Travel is an inconvenience at two centuries of age, I am told,” she answered.

  The man chuckled and sat up, with enough effort that Veria considered moving toward the hammock to help him. “So, Daloes has told you of the Ageless Council, and his dear old friends, enough that you know my name, and that of my beautiful wife,” the man said, his voice quiet and scratchy, “but he does not mention that the Shrine was destroyed shortly after he left?”

  “Maybe he did not know,” Veria rebutted.

  There is very little that happens in this world that your Master does not know.

  “You say you have a request to reopen the investigation?” the man vocalized, almost at the same time his message hit her ears. She swooned in confusion.

  “Are you the official keeper of the Consortium's records?” Veria said, an edge of terseness in her tone.

  The old man chuckled softly.

  “I am the only person in the world who seems concerned with the Consortium records at all,” he answered. “So, I suppose so.”

  “Will you grant me access to the investigation on Lord Gordon, then?” she asked again.

  Virro scratched his beard and nodded to himself.

  Under one condition.

  Veria nodded her accordance.

  No one can know that I am here, and no one can know that you were here.

  The chills of conspiracy ran up Veria's spine. She was not sure exactly what she had gotten herself into, but the reality of how dangerous digging up hidden information could be was beginning to settle on her.

  She nodded again, and the man nodded back.

  Grab that torch. He gestured to the wall behind her. And as soon as you get it lit, burn the letter you brought with you, and burn your transportation documents. I want no record that you were here, or your intentions.

  The two walked further into the jungle. Veria knew it was not a great distance they covered, but it felt incredibly long, due to navigating through the dense and obstructive plant life. After awhile, they reached a vast outcropping of rocks, and they hugged the rim of it for some time, which provided some relief from battling the trees and vines. Rocky outcropping turned to a steep slope that extended up well above the canopy o
f the trees—the mountain of the isle. They stayed near its base for the last leg of the journey, and Veria was beginning to feel fatigued.

  “I apologize, I am having a hard time keeping up,” she said in advance of actually falling behind.

  Virro turned and looked back at her with concern in his eyes, perhaps to make sure she was alright, but said nothing, and continued walking. After only a few more steps, he stopped and gestured to a cave opening. A net of thin vines draped over the small tunnel, that was just low enough clearance that Veria and her quiet guide had to hunch over to avoid hitting their heads.

  Veria cast her torchlight on the tunnel in front of them. A stairwell carved into the ground led down into the Earth, and she followed him down it, thankful that the ceiling seemed to open up the lower they went. By the time they reached the bottom step, she had plenty of room to stand completely erect.

  Ahead, came the Wind Mager's voice, the vault is broken into four sections: Historical documents, High Council Records, Research Annals, and Investigations and International Diplomacy. The sections are marked accordingly. Once in the correct section of the vault, articles and records are stored with the most recent entries on the bottom shelves, and organized by the Kingdom of origin.

  “You are not coming in?” Veria asked.

  The less I see of your quest, the safer we both are.

  Veria shivered, partly from a gust of cave wind sweeping through the tunnel, and partly from the sense of danger she was getting from Virro. Maybe Daloes was not aware of how dangerous it was to go looking into closed investigations. But then she remembered Virro's ethereal wind voice in her head: There is very little that happens in this world that your Master does not know.

  She took a sharp breath that caught in her chest, and exhaled it slowly to attempt to calm her nerves. She had never been in a cave before, she realized at that moment—the moment she turned away from Virro and ventured further down the tunnel on her own. Darkness seemed to overtake her torch the deeper into the cavern she went, until it was just a solitary orb of light that only covered the immediate area around her.

  She carefully descended a short set of steps, then navigated a narrow curve, but was completely caught off guard by the next section of the catacombs. The tight turn in the corridor opened up into a giant circular chamber, with matching elaborate gilded floor and ceiling that glinted in the faint light of her torch flame. Four doors aligned with a cardinal rose on the floor, the doors made of solid iron and wrought into intricate designs representing the four different Elements. She could not read the directions on the floor, nor the markings on the doors, with such little light—she would have to get right up to the doors to see—however, she had a strong feeling that North would point to the Earth door, and Earth, as the seekers of truth, would represent the investigations vault. She angled her torch toward the floor and walked to the exact center of the cardinal rose. A small 'N' clued which arrow pointed North and she followed it to its corresponding door.

  Upon reaching it, she held up her torch to an ornate golden plaque to the left of the door. It read “Investigations and International Diplomacy”. She smiled briefly and took a moment of personal delight that she was right about the direction and door, and she maneuvered her torch in a manner to take in the depiction on the iron door. A tree, with deep and tangly roots, shedding its leaves in the valley of a long, rocky mountain range. Earth.

  Veria placed her hand on a large branch that appeared to be a handle and pulled. Dust and rubble spewed from all around the door as it cracked open slowly, then swung open far enough for her to enter. Once inside, there were rows upon rows of wooden shelves, covered in papers, parchment rolls, boxes, books and artifacts. “Kingdom of origin...bottom shelf,” she muttered to herself with a sigh. She scanned the outsides of the shelves, but not too closely for fear of setting fire to the old wood. Esperan.....Esperan....Govaland.....Londess!

  She turned down the first aisle of Londess investigation and diplomacy records, but quickly realized that a kingdom of its size and diplomatic presence would probably have quite a few rows. She did not reach the “L” section on the bottom row until four rows into the Londess section. Her heart twisted nervously in her chest as she located a small document box, engraved with the name of her family: “Laurelgate”. She secured her torch in a bracket on the shelf, then carefully got down on her knees, and pulled the box off the bottom shelf as if it contained treasure.

  The first item she saw upon opening the box was the official request of the King to close the investigation due to the evidence suggesting suicide. She lifted it carefully out of the box and placed it to the side. Directly underneath was the note. She held it in her hand, and nothing happened. She had half expected to have some sort of revelation of adept powers with the pasts of artifacts, but, alas, she would have to train them. She pulled out a letter-sized sheet of paper from her satchel, and a quill and ink bottle. Slowly, carefully, in her best forgery, she copied the letter.

  Dear Tanisca,

  The embarrassment and disgrace I have caused myself, and you, our family and legacy, is too much of a burden for me.

  I regret many decisions, but leaving this life before my daughter's reputation is completely destroyed is one I never will.

  Please, forgive me, and hold her tight through this.

  Love, Gordon

  Maybe it was that the letter felt slightly impersonal to her, or that she still harbored anger for her father since learning of his elemental experiments on her, but she felt almost nothing reading and copying the letter. If she had read the letter a week before this, it might have been a different story, but now, she felt disconnected from him, from anything he could have said in that letter or any other letter. A few other pieces of paper were in the bottom of the box, and she thumbed through quickly—reports from the investigators, which Daloes surely would have seen already—and put them back, placing the fake copy of the suicide note on top of them, then the King's request of closure, before closing and replacing the box on the shelf. She rolled the original copy of the letter and tied it neatly, then placed it in her satchel.

  A wave of nausea rippled through her chest as she stood from the floor and reclaimed the torch. Now that her job on Tarddiad was done, she wanted nothing more than to get home as quickly as possible.

  If she never had to enter a cave or travel by sea again after this, she would be perfectly happy.

  -XVI-

  Virro attempted to persuade Veria to lie down in the hammock and rest, eat dinner, stay the night—anything except go back to the docks and wait for the ship back to the main island. She figured she had probably looked fairly worn and exhausted when they finally emerged from the cave into the dewy, emerald light of the jungle. She had brushed many cobwebs and rocks off of herself, but never could seem to get all of them, only managing to spread the dust and dirt around a bit more.

  The old Wind Mager reluctantly watched and waved goodbye as she made her way down the beach to the docks.

  You will send notice that you have arrived safely home? he suggested as she prepared to take solace from the afternoon sun in the same fishing ship, which seemed in the same stage of the endless cycle she left it in that morning, fish being loaded in preparation for transport back to the mainland.

  She turned and nodded, but realized he probably could not have seen such a small movement with the glare of the sun and his aging eyes, so she raised her arm up high and waved it in a slow, exaggerated arc.

  There is a trustworthy messenger at the mainland docks. Use him. And, be careful, in your quests and journeys, young Mager. Love is important, too. She could hear the sadness, the loneliness, in his voice even through his wind message. A sweaty ship's hand muttered something in Esperan and offered to take her satchel down to the cabin.

  “No, no, I can manage. No, thank you,” she argued, having to shake her head and decline several times to be sure he understood. She sighed and boarded the ship with a helping hand from the Esperan sailor
, trying to shake the feeling that Virro had left her with—that she was making some kind of mistake, as if she did not question her choices enough.

  It haunted her for the rest of the trip, and she believed it was in part because she knew he was right. Someday, when she was his age—or not exactly his age, since he was over two hundred years old—she would look back at her life and wish she had spent more time with family, and friends, lovers...

  The exhaustion of the day caught up with her as the sun began to set, and the waves rocked her to sleep like a cradle. She woke up to a black sky and yelling sailors and crisp breeze at the mainland docks, and quietly exited the ship unassisted as the crew continued in the fishing ship routine, unloading their odorous haul from Tarddiad.

  The amount of buildings at the mainland docks was obviously much greater, but she had very little trouble finding the messenger's office, even in the dimly lit avenues. She entered, her arrival announced with a bell that chimed as she opened the door, and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the bright lantern glow of the small office. A short, bald man bustled out of a back room, smelling of fish and cream sauce, and fresh baked bread, making Veria realize that she was starving and probably should have taken Virro's offer for some food.

  “I apologize, I did not mean to interrupt your dinner,” Veria said.

  “I am quite used to it! Being a dock messenger is a never ending job,” the man smiled politely. “What can I do for you?”

  Veria dropped her voice. “I would like to send a message to Virro Ladny.”

  The man's smile vanished, replaced by a somber, contemplative look. He surveyed her, and she knew what he was thinking. How would this young woman know anything about one of the world's greatest Wind Magers?

  Since he seemed too busy trying to decide who she was and what he was going to do about her, Veria gave her message without being prompted: “Please tell him that I am about to board a carriage, and I will have my Master relay my return home at the earliest convenience. And tell him he was right, about everything. Especially the food.”