by N M Zoltack
“Are you all right, My Queen?” Thorley Everett asked.
Sabine did not turn away from the window that overlooked the courtyard. All signs of the battle had been cleared away, but she swore she could smell blood yet.
“My Queen?”
“Why hasn’t that guard returned yet with a report?” Sabine muttered to herself. She lowered fists onto the windowsill.
There had been whispers about a few small attacks here and there but nothing major. Just what were the Vincanans planning?
So much time had passed that the guard and any others who had gone with him to spy on the invaders had been killed. Sabine hoped that was not the case. Having so little information made her feel ignorant, helpless, and trapped.
“I am fine, Thorley,” Sabine said. She turned about and favored him with a wide smile. “Do you think it possible that I could have a quill, ink, and parchment? I have a letter to write.”
The guard bowed. “Certainly, My Queen. May I inquire who is to be the recipient?”
“You may inquire,” she murmured, still wondering if the guard, who had originally been Rosalynne’s, was more loyal to the other queen, “but I do not have to answer.”
He bowed again and left the room.
Thorley, Rosalynne, her mother… no one needed to know that Sabine intended to speak with the Prince of Vincana. No one.
62
Cateline Locke
A few days had passed, and the Vincanans could not stop arguing. Vivian shared their frustration but did not dare voice her opinion. She had been lucky enough to be sent on this trek, but she was not one of them, and although she had no reason to suspect that any realized this about her, she could not worry that some suspected her to be an outsider. Thankfully, her friend Caelia had called Vivian Cateline enough time that Vivian now answered to her alias as readily as she would her given name.
“We were supposed to launch an attack against Atlan from all angles,” one Vincanan female warrior complained.
“It would have taken us a long while to march from north Tenoch all the way to Atlan,” a male said.
“What does that matter?” the female gripped. “All angles. As many warriors as possible. We needed the people from Xalac.”
“Where do you think they may have gone?” another female asked. She had half of her head shaved, the other half twisted into a long braid.
“They may have died at sea. They may have fled to Tenoch. They may have found an even smaller isle that isn’t on any of the maps.” The first female threw up her hands. She flared the nostrils of her oversized nose. “Trying to find them would be a waste of time.”
“As you said, though, we need warriors. We need the islanders,” another male spoke up.
“There are other islands.” The female with the large nose grinned, her teeth long. “Out of the ships sent, ours is the fastest by far. I would not be surprised if we can reach Zola Isle before the other ship.”
Vivian cleared her throat. “Maloyan. We should set a course for Maloyan.”
All eyes turned toward her, and she lifted her chin. All of them sat around a massive firepit. Although it was not that cold on the island, they numbered so many they needed a large fire to prepare all of their food.
“What do you know of Maloyan?” the large-nosed female asked with a snort.
“It’s the closest point on Tenoch to Xalac Island,” Vivian explained. “It’s the most logical place for the islanders to have gone to.”
“We don’t even know if they had enough ships for them all to sail away.” The female snorted again.
“If they died because of a storm, at least some of the bodies would have washed ashore,” Vivian said quietly.
“Perhaps they have. There is a fair amount of coastline we have not searched yet,” a different female said.
“I think we have searched—” Vivian started, but some of the others began to speak over her, and she fell silent.
The Vincanans talked and argued and counterargued, and eventually, her plan was agreed upon.
Vivian sighed. They would have to sail northward around the northernmost tip of Tenoch and then east before south to reach Zola Isle. She would be even farther away from Atlan.
She had no choice but to sail with them. Why could they not see reason? Any refugee would have certainly gone to Maloyan, including a possible long-lost Li princess.
But her quest was not the quest of the Vincanans, and the distance between Xalac and Tenoch was too great for her to swim. For now, she would remain with the Vincanans, but Vivian certainly hoped her time with them would come to an end soon and not because she had met her end.
63
Garsea
The city of Cilla was unlike any Garsea had ever seen before. Then again, most cities would be completely foreign to him as he had never traveled much. He had been raised as a Keeper as his father had been one before him and his father and his.
Cilla was partially forested with the southeastern edge the last mountain of the Olacic Mountain range. The Black Forest was so named because of the black bark of the trees or perhaps the black sap one could tease out of the tree. The animals seemed to like the sap well enough, but Garsea had not dared to sample it.
It had taken him over a day to trek through the Black Forest to reach the city, and he had to spend a single night there. The black trees had looked like giant black sentinels or wraiths, and Garsea had not slept well at all. He was beyond exhausted as he had entered his destination, and he stumbled to the ground, unable to prevent himself from falling.
He woke sometime later, on his back. Either he had rolled over in his sleep, or else someone had pushed him. As he sat up, he groaned and realized several children were staring at him.
Garsea opened his mouth to speak to them, but his stomach churned painfully, demanded sustenance. “Where is an inn?” he gasped out, his mouth parched.
The children gaped at him as if he were a monster they hadn’t expected capable of speech, and they fled.
Groaning again, Garsea stood. He stumbled a bit the first few steps, but he managed to right himself, and after a good bit of searching, he located the inn by himself. Unsurprisingly, almost all of the buildings in the city were made from black bark.
Unfortunately, this inn did not have a dining area, and Garsea held up his hand as the innkeeper began to launch into a speech as to why Garsea should stay there instead of the other inn in the city.
“It’s all the way across the city,” he was saying.
“I just need something to eat,” Garsea interrupted. “Where might I be able to find some? A tavern?”
“Yes, yes. If you go up the street, make a right, head down that street, make a left, it will be three buildings down. The Wooden Owl. Mention that you’re staying here, and you just might get yourself a free glass of sap wine.”
That sounded disgusting, but Garsea nodded and left the inn before the innkeeper could press him to stay the night again.
Garsea felt so exhausted that he almost fell twice on his trek to the tavern. Inside was hardly a soul, not in a serving wench. Garsea plopped onto the bench nearest the door and waited. After a minute, he crossed his arms on the table and laid down his head.
“If you start asnorin’…”
He snapped his head up to see a young man before him.
“Do you have coins?” the youth asked.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you work here.”
“I do.”
“And whether the food is decent or not.”
The youth laughed. “It’s decent enough! If the cook weren’t so lazy, I would make him come out here and show you his big belly, but he sticks to the kitchen. My pa had to add on a room for the cook. He didn’t like having to walk a few streets over to reach the tavern, but he’s the best cook in all of Cilla, so Pa had to make him happy, ya know?”
"Indeed. I'm glad to hear this." Garsea reached for his coin pouch and hesitated. He did
not know how long it would take for him to locate the bones, and then he had the return trek to take into consideration too. He had laid a few traps overnight and caught some animals that way, but he was much too hungry for that, and the night in the Black Forest had been rather frightening. He hadn't remembered to set out any traps that night.
“Are you all right?” the youth asked.
Garsea sighed and then nodded. He slowly opened his pouch and deliberately selected a single coin. With a slight amount of hesitation, he held it out for the youth.
The boy examined it and nodded, disappearing without even asking what Garsea wanted to eat. The youth returned a few minutes later with honey glazed carrots and parsnips, roast duck with apples, and some kind of fish.
The Keeper gaped at the spread. The coin he had given wasn't worth all that much and certainly could not have afforded him a meal like this.
The youth sat across from him. “Where are you from?”
“Olac.” Garsea hardly knew where to start and opted to try the fish. The flavor was light, the sauce tangy, the combination strikingly appealing.
“I’ve never been there. Climbed the mountains some though. Did you see…” The youth glanced away.
“See what?” The duck melted in Garsea’s mouth. He never had more tender meat.
“It’s just… Some of the people coming ‘round lately… They claim they’ve seen something strange.”
“Strange in what way?” Garsea asked, his mind racing. He did not wish to put words in the youth’s mouth, but Garsea had some suspicions.
“A body without eyes, without skin. Just bones. It wears a cloak. That’s what they’re saying. Some kind of creature like a man but not human. Did you see anything like that?”
Garsea sighed heavily and shoved some of the vegetables, seasoned to perfection, into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to answer.
“I don’t want to see it,” the youth said, “and what if there’s more than one? I guess that’s possible. It’s enough to make a person want to stay at home, you know? But this place is home for me, so I guess I’m safe enough.”
The Keeper ate, maintaining his silence. The very thought of wraiths repopulating throughout the world was troubling even if it did suggest that the time of the dragons return was nearly at hand.
But what if he could not locate the bones? What if he failed and the dragons did not come back? Would the wraiths still be able to create more wraiths? Would they eventually take over the world?
Perhaps that would serve as a just punishment for the race that thought themselves above the need for a governing body of peace and order in the dragons.
After locating the stable and sneaking inside to rest only to have the stable owner, a pleasantly plump woman wake him, scold him, and insist that she sleep at her place, Garsea finally began his search for the bones.
It wasn’t an easy task. For all he knew, the bones might actually be somewhere within Black Forest rather than the city, but at one point in time, Cilla had been covered in those black trees. Once he searched the city over, if he did not find the bones, he would have to investigate the forest.
A day, two, three, five passed, and Garsea was beginning to admit to himself that he would have to return to the forest to find the bones when he spied the children who had greeted him with stares when he had first arrived. They were covered in dirt, laughing and giggling. He followed them, but they went to small houses, and he had to wait to seek them out the next morning.
The children were digging near the edge of the city nearest the forest. He approached them, and they stared at him with wide, dark eyes.
“Have you found anything?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
The children glanced at each other and then back at him. One by one, they left, most looking back at their rather deep hole.
The last child, a young girl, stared at him. “The creature told us to.”
“What creature?”
“The strange man with no skin.”
“He spoke to you?”
The girl grimaced. “Yes. No. Not with his mouth. He was just bones. But… we heard something when he was there.”
“The creature told you to do what?”
“To dig.”
“Here specifically?”
The girl nodded. “We don’t really want to, but…”
“I will dig for you,” he offered.
“You will?” Her eyes lit up.
And so Garsea dug all day long. The children took turns bringing him food or drink or even asked him to kick a ball around with them. Now that he had taken the task from the scary creature away from them, the children loved him.
But it wasn’t until the third day of digging that Garsea located a bone. Another day to uncover another. And three more days to find several more.
The hairs on the back of Garsea’s neck rose, and he knew he wasn’t alone. He glanced up to see a wraith. The creature nodded, turned about, and disappeared into the Black Forest.
Garsea breathed easier, his heart rate already returning to its normal pace recovering from the fright and shock of seeing the wraith. Now, all he had to do was return home safely, and the dragons could be reawoken. Garsea was certain the Keepers could fulfill their most epic quest at long last.
Epilogue
Queen Rosalynne Rivera
The younger queen had not been in her quarters since before the attack on the castle. Even though it had been some time since the Vincanans had retreated from the castle, she still had not returned there. Even so, Tabes had managed to find her every night, and now, most days, he spent by her side.
She held the growing pup in her arms. Soon enough, he would be too large for her to hold like this, and she could not help scooping him up whenever he would allow her to.
It was perhaps ridiculous, but she shifted the puppy, who truly wasn't a puppy anymore, in her arms, so she was cradling him as if he were a baby.
Bates. Rosalynne missed the babe, and she blinked back tears, wishing for a time when life had been easier.
A soft knock at the door had Rosalynne blinking several more times before she looked up to see a young maid standing there. Rosalynne had tried on numerous times to convince the maids to leave the castle and find a safer place, that she and the queen could manage to dress themselves. Who cared if their hair wasn’t perfect? Or if they had to wear simpler dresses because Rosalynne had no doubt that Sabine would not have the patience or the desire to button the hundreds of buttons on some of Rosalynne’s gowns.
The maid said nothing, just looked in and saw Rosalynne with the dog as if he were a baby, hesitated, and then turned to leave. Although Rosalynne could not recall the maid’s name, the young woman looked familiar.
“Come in,” Rosalynne said gently, uncertain why the maid seemed to be so on edge. “Do you happen to remember Bates? You were a maid then, weren’t you?”
The maid nodded. Her large eyes grew weepy.
“Oh, dear. Please, no. Don’t cry,” Rosalynne pleaded. “If you cry, I will cry. It’s hard. I know. Believe me, I know. My father, Noll, Bates…”
A sob escaped from the maid, the sound muffled from a hand covering her mouth.
Rosalynne let Tabes jump down from her arms, and she crossed over to the maid, wondering if the dear girl would jump if Rosalynne tried to hug her. “You don’t need to cry. Loss isn’t easy, but we can manage. The war will not last forever, and then, there will be peace. There will be no more deaths. I promise.”
She shouldn’t have made that vow, but the young maid was weeping. If Rosalynne didn’t hold the maid, she would have collapsed to the floor.
“You do not understand,” the maid said, sniffing.
“Make me understand,” Rosalynne said gently. “Have you lost someone close to you?”
“No, no, nothing like that. It’s… Death is one thing.”
Rosalynne furrowed her brow and then nodded. “You mean Noll being murdered.”
“He… He wasn’t the o
nly one.”
“What do you mean?” Rosalynne asked, confused, worried. Her stomach twisted into knots. The particular dress she wore this day Rosalynne had taken in herself, twice now. She had actually felt hungry before the maid had come here, but her appetite had once vanished. In fact, she actually felt nauseated.
The maid said nothing and tried to ease away from Rosalynne.
“Please,” Rosalynne pleaded. ‘Tell me what you meant.”
“I… I shouldn’t have said.”
“I wish you to tell me, but if I must, I will command you to.”
The maid inhaled sharply. “I know the baby was killed,” she confessed.
Without hesitating, the maid bolted for the door. Rosalynne dashed after her, Tabes giving chase. The castle, once full of life and brimming with people at all hours of the day or night, was so very empty now that Rosalynne could listen for the maid’s quick, hurried steps.
The maid bounded over to the stairs—the stairs, the ones Noll had been pushed down—and she whirled around to backtrack, but it was too late. Rosalynne was there.
“Tell me what you know,” Rosalynne demanded. “Who killed Bate?”
The maid shook her head, her eyes closed, chin tucked nearly to touch her chest.
“You must tell me,” Rosalynne said. “I am your queen.”
“You do not understand,” the maid murmured again. She opened her eyes, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.
“Make me understand.”
“You love him!”
“Of course I do. Bates… He may not have been my father’s, but he was still—”
The maid lifted her head and flinched.
Rosalynne stilled, not breathing, not moving, her mind racing. “What do you mean to say?” she asked, her voice so cold she barely recognized it.
“As you said, Bates was not your father’s,” the maid said, her words hardly a whisper.
“Say it!”
