Rogue Legacy: The Secret History of Issalia

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  A long field stretched before her, filled with tall grass bounded by a forest to the north and far to the south. Miles to the west, the white walls of a city rose above the fields, with squat cylindrical towers jutting above them. Beyond the city, the Sea of Fates stretched across the horizon, its blue waters rippling and shimmering in the hazy mist that hovered over the bay.

  Turning around to get a view of what lay behind her, she found fields stretching into the distance, encircled by trees. Squinting, she could just make out the walls of Mystic Manner nestled along the tree line. Her gaze shifted beyond, and she spotted a herd of cattle many miles to the east, which reminded her of Gar and their conversation, just hours earlier.

  “If you never returned to him, what of it? He doesn’t know where you are, who you are,” Gar protested.

  “I promised, Gar. I cannot…” She shook her head as she recalled her father just before his murder, remembering what his broken promise had rendered, the last promise he would ever make.

  Lyra doubted Cal would kill her, but it would be wrong to break her vow. Besides, she wanted more information about The Hand. She owed her father that much.

  “I’ll not break my promise. He held up his end of the bargain, and I will do the same.”

  Gar stepped closer and wrapped his arms about her. Lyra found her heart racing as she gazed into his dark eyes. He pressed up against her, the warmth of his body making her breath quicken.

  “You’re special, Tali,” Gar whispered. “I want you to stay.”

  Their lips met, and Lyra’s eyes widened, flicking side-to-side before drifting closed. His lips were soft, dynamically opposed to his firm body. She somehow swam her way through the pleasure of the kiss until she found the surface and was able to push him away. He looked at her with confusion on his face as she reclaimed her breath.

  “I’m…only fifteen summers, Gar. I’m…too young for you.”

  “Nonsense.” Gar shook his head. “I’ll not deny a five-year gap seems significant now, but when I’m thirty summers and you’re twenty-five, you will think it as natural as rain.”

  Lyra gazed into his dark eyes, the brown pools that consumed her very soul. It took everything she had to resist him, to turn and open the door to the wagon. She stepped outside and pulled her floating pack through before turning back to face him.

  “I must do this, Gar. Once my promise is fulfilled, I will return.” Lyra nodded to herself. “We can resume this conversation at that time.”

  When she turned to leave, he followed, closing the door behind him.

  “We Tantarri leave this place in three months, heading north for the summer.” His voice took on a pleading quality. “Please, Tali. Please return to us before we are gone.”

  Lyra stopped and stared down at her boots, finding them dusty from the dry gravel of the campsite.

  “I’ll be finished with my commitment in three months. I will join you then.”

  The pain of the bittersweet farewell returned. Lyra closed her eyes and found herself sighing as she refocused on the present.

  She turned back to face west and began walking downhill, toward the city.

  Lost in her own thoughts – thoughts mostly of Gar and her time with the Tantarri – the distance to the city closed without notice. She looked up to find the white walls suddenly looming over her.

  Lyra stared at her surroundings in wonder as she passed through the open gates of Sol Polis, each step of her boots clicking on the stone-paved streets, busy with foot traffic. Men in black cloaks strode past Lyra while women in various dress colors purchased bread, meat, and produce from bakers, butchers, and farmers’ carts. Clay-tiled roofs capped the pale buildings along the thoroughfare that lead toward the heart of the city. Lyra slowed as she approached a white building that towered over the narrow street, finding herself enthralled and almost losing grip of the floating pack. In awe, she stared at the gilded carvings beside the stained-glass window above the entrance. The engraved message within the alabaster plaque beside the double-doors read Temple of Issal, Established in 1102.

  A passer-by collided with Lyra, knocking her forward and breaking her from her reverie.

  “Watch where you’re going,” Lyra snapped.

  The man stopped, his brow furrowed as his gaze swept over her. “A girl?” He appeared aghast. “Why are you dressed like a boy?”

  As he turned and continued down the street, Lyra frowned and pulled Cal’s list from the side pocket of the floating pack. She read the first item again and continued down the street. Upon reaching the next corner, the view opened to a massive square occupied by a castle surrounded by pale brick walls.

  Three squat towers hovered above the walls, while a fourth appeared in mid-construction. A structure of wooden poles and platforms encircled the tower, with men stationed at the top of the scaffolding. Distant pulleys squeaked as ropes hauled heavy stone blocks to the top, where men disconnected the blocks before securing them to the wall in a bed of mortar. Lyra watched the stonemasons for a few minutes before breaking from her trance. Recalling the list of errands Cal had assigned to her, she set off to find a tailor.

  The sun was well into the western sky by the time Lyra reached the gate to Mystic Manner. She pushed the gate open and closed it, securing it in place by dropping the thick wooden bar into the brackets along the door. Turning about to find the yard empty, she walked to the courtyard and circled around the pit before entering the house.

  A bark sounded, and Cal popped his head around the corner as Gilo came running toward Lyra. The dog slowed when he neared her, his tail wagging eagerly as she scratched behind his ears.

  Cal eyed her, his gaze sweeping the length of her body. “You’re back. The dress looks nice on you, too.”

  Glancing down at herself, she eyed the dark red dress she bought while in Sol Polis. With it only requiring a few modifications, the tailor had it ready by the time she had completed her other errands.

  “Thank you.” Lyra swung the full pack around, it weighing a fraction of what it should, considering the contents. “The mason said he would have a team here in the morning to repair the pit. I also got everything you requested, but it will take a while for the two of us to eat this much food. How do you expect to keep it fresh that long?”

  Cal accepted the pack and spun about, speaking over his shoulder as she followed him into the kitchen. “Don’t worry, it will keep just fine.”

  After setting the pack on the table, Cal pulled two carafes of milk from the stuffed pack and held them toward Lyra.

  “Open the coldbox door and start loading it up as I hand things to you.”

  Lyra glanced toward the cabinet Cal had indicated. It appeared large enough for her to fit inside, and it had odd symbols carved into the door.

  Her brow furrowed. “Um, you plan to store a side of beef in a cabinet uncooked? It will go bad in a day.”

  He chuckled. “Just open the cabinet. You’ll see.”

  Shrugging, Lyra grabbed the handle and snatched her hand back, looking down at her fingers. She bit her lip and reached for the handle again, the metal feeling ice cold. As the door opened, frosty air seeped out, sinking toward the floor. Curious, she put her hand inside and touched one of the shelves, finding it cold.

  “How…how is this possible?”

  He laughed. “I keep telling you. I can do magic.”

  8

  Using a pair of metal tongs, Lyra picked the sizzling beef strips off the cast iron stovetop and dropped them on the plate held in her other hand. She set the plate down and used her gloved hand to pull the oven door open, the wonderful scent of baked bread wafting out. Reaching in, she used the tongs to remove a hot loaf of bread before closing the door.

  Discarding the leather gloves, she set the plate of meat and loaf of bread on the table, joining the bowl of fresh vegetables already waiting there.

  With another glance toward the oven and stovetop, Lyra found herself surprised at how quickly she had grown accustomed to somet
hing that seemed unbelievable just days prior. She still didn’t understand Cal’s magic, but the fact that the stove and oven were always hot made life incredibly convenient.

  The sound of whining carried through an open window, followed by barking. Lyra sighed.

  “Has that dog gotten himself locked outside again?”

  She emerged from the kitchen and crossed the sitting room. Opening the door, Lyra noted the newly installed stone tiles where the pit had been. It felt odd to cross them, since the fall she had endured remained fresh in her mind. However, that area was solid after being filled-in and paved over. Cal claimed that he no longer had need for it, since he possessed a new trick for would-be intruders.

  When Lyra emerged from the courtyard, she found Gilo at the gate, sniffing and pacing.

  “What is it, boy?” she asked as she drew near.

  The dog grew more excited, panting and dancing in anticipation. A whine came from just beyond the gate. Lyra’s brow arched as she raised the bar that locked the gate, easing it open to discover the source of Gilo’s excitement.

  A medium-sized dog darted past her and ran toward the house with Gilo in pursuit.

  “Wait!” she shouted as she locked the gate.

  She ran into the courtyard and found both dogs sniffing each other, moving in circles as they sought each other’s tail end.

  Upon further examination, the dog appeared underfed, her spine and rib bones showing prominently. With short tan hair and droopy ears, the newcomer was a contrast to Gilo’s pointed ears and dark brindle coat.

  Apparently finished smelling Gilo, the other dog ran toward Lyra and rubbed against her legs, apparently seeking Lyra for protection. Lyra squatted to pet the new dog and received a series of rapid licks on her chin and cheek.

  “Oh, you’re a sweetie.” Lyra crooned, scratching the new dog behind the ears.

  As she pet the stray, Lyra considered her own life and the similar nature between her and the new canine – both homeless, skinny, and forlorn. She felt an instant connection.

  Standing upright, she walked to the door, opened it, and waited as Gilo and the other dog ran inside.

  “Let’s get you two some dinner. Cal should be home soon.”

  The front door opened and Lyra craned her neck around the wall between the kitchen and sitting room as Cal stepped into the house. Gilo heard the door as well and scrambled to greet his owner while the stray trailed close behind. Lyra finished drying the plate and set it atop the stack of clean plates resting on the open shelf. She walked into the sitting room to find Cal frowning at the new dog while he pet Gilo.

  “Who’s this?”

  “I named her Striah. I found her whining at the gate,” Lyra said with a shrug. “She seemed lost and hungry, so I brought her in and fed her. Gilo appears to like her, too.’

  Lyra bit her lip as she waited for Cal to respond, fearing what he might say.

  Cal sighed, “Fine.”

  He set his pack on the small table near the door and plopped down on the sofa. The stray immediately jumped up beside him and climbed into his lap.

  Lyra laughed. “She’s a bit large for your lap, but she appears to like you.”

  Cal gave a sad smile and shook his head. “I’m glad somebody does.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He sighed again. “I met with Ministry leaders to present my discoveries, but they’re not satisfied. They demand that I push forward and ignore my concerns. I can hold them back for a bit, but I know where things are headed, and I’m just not ready yet.”

  Lyra arranged her skirt and sat in the chair across from Cal. Gilo settled at her feet, leaning against her shins as she absently pet him.

  “After working here for almost two weeks, I still know little of what you do. You call me your assistant, but all I do is run errands, clean, and cook.” She paused. “By the way, you missed dinner. What’s left is in the kitchen, wrapped in a towel.”

  “I’m not hungry. And regarding your other question, I agree. You deserve to know something of what I do.” He looked at Striah, petting her while the dog’s eyes drifted open and closed at the pleasure of his attention. “I’m a member of the Ministry of Issal. They brought me here from Sol Gier and put me up in this house as a quiet place to conduct research, research on magic. The manor is quiet enough for me to do my work, yet is close enough to Sol Polis that I can visit them at any time to report my progress.”

  “What is this Ministry of…what did you call it?”

  “If you don’t know about the Ministry of Issal, you must not be Kalimarian.”

  Lyra shook her head, hesitating a moment before replying, “I’m from Vinacci.”

  Cal nodded. “You still hold to the old gods then. If The Hand has its way, that will soon change, and you will follow Issal instead.”

  Lyra’s heart quickened with anticipation as the conversation turned in the direction she desired. “You’ve mentioned The Hand before. What is it?”

  “The Hand is really more of a who. It is a shortened version for The Hand of Issal, a sect within the Ministry. There are other sects, each having their own views of how to best enlighten the people about Issal’s teachings. The Hand recruited me from Sol Gier when they learned about my discoveries – about the unique abilities I developed using Issal’s magic. I agreed to come because I believe magic can be used to make people’s lives better.”

  “So, this magic of yours…you’re some kind of witch, then?”

  He laughed. “There’s no such thing as a witch. Witchcraft is a label created by ignorance and fear. My abilities come from Issal. Some of those who follow him can do magic. There are two types to his magic though: one magic is connected to life, and it includes abilities such as healing. The other magic is related to change and can be used in powerful, and sometimes practical, ways. The coldbox, the oven, and the floating pack are all examples of this magic.”

  Lyra nodded slowly. “You also said that each sect has its own views. What are the views of The Hand?”

  “Like me, they believe that as people come to understand the things we can achieve using Issal’s magic, they will recognize him as the one true god. Unlike the Ministry, the old gods don’t have followers who can perform magical feats like we do. That’s why they funded my research and is why they continue to push me to work faster.”

  Frowning in thought, Lyra sat back in her chair. The man named Rainer had mentioned The Hand. After her father refused to betray the Queen of Vinacci, the man killed him. If The Hand believed that magic was the way to convince people to follow Issal, why force her father to betray Queen Iglesia? Something was still missing. Lyra hoped that the answers would become clear before her time with Cal was finished.

  9

  Soothing heat enveloped Lyra’s body as she lay in the tub with only her head and shoulders above the water. A sliver of morning sun streamed through a crack in the curtain, accompanied by the pleasant tweeting of a starfetch from somewhere nearby. Lyra found herself completely at ease, feeling safe and content. For the first time in months, she felt like herself. Inspired by the small bird outside, she began to sing, her voice reverberating within the barren confines of the bathing room. With her eyes closed, she gave herself to the song, allowing the emotional expression to consume the sorrow she had buried deep inside.

  As her song ended, she held the last note for an undetermined amount of time, slowly feeding it until she had no remaining air to give. Remnants of the chord still flitted about the room as she opened her eyes and sat up.

  A gasp escaped her lips when she saw Cal standing in the open doorway. Her hands went to her chest to cover herself as she sank back into the water.

  “What are you doing in here? Get out!”

  He shook his head, his face reflecting awe. “You have no idea what you have done. I…I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve given me.”

  “What?” She dug the bar of soap from the water and whipped it at him. “Go away, you letch!”

>   The soap hit him in the head. “Ouch.” His hand rubbed his forehead. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

  He ducked out the door, leaving her behind.

  Lyra grabbed her towel, climbed from the tub, and dried off. She dressed herself and exited the bathing room while she was still brushing her hair. When she entered the kitchen, she found Cal bent over the table, busily drawing symbols on a sheet of paper.

  Frowning, she waited for him to look up at her, for him to apologize for violating her privacy. He appeared oblivious, completely focused on the figures he was tracing. With her patience expired, she broke the silence.

  “Well…don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

  He looked up at her, blinking in confusion. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I…just found your singing so lovely, like another kind of magic. It drew me in against my will.” He leaned back. “When I saw you singing, the magic materialized right before my eyes. Never before have I seen anything so beautiful.”

  Lyra’s face grew flush, her heart racing as her emotions teetered between the embarrassment of the moment and the flattery of the compliment.

  Cal stood, appearing passionate. “You showed me something, Lyra, something I’ve been seeking for a long time, but I didn’t know it until I saw it.”

  Lyra swallowed hard as she stared into his intense blue eyes. She stepped toward him, unable to do otherwise. Likewise, Cal stepped closer and lifted his hand toward her. Lyra blinked in surprise when he shook the sheet of paper in front of her face.

  “Emotions! Your singing enabled me to visualize emotions!” He pointed at the symbols on the paper, as excited as a five-year-old with a captured firefly. “Before, I had only been able to read physical effects. But now, I can do it! I can see emotions!”

  Lyra’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  His finger pounded on the paper again. “These symbols. They’re emotions! This changes everything!”

  The passion-driven heat within Lyra began to stir. “Are you talking about your stupid magic again?”