Rogue Legacy: The Secret History of Issalia

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Her gaze shifted to the mountains beyond the river, a towering wall between the valley and the eastern half of the continent. Dark green pines covered the lower half of the mountainside, growing increasingly more sparse at higher elevations. The white-capped peaks cut into the sky and skewered any clouds that dared to attempt passage.

  Cal stepped off the bridge and took her hand, leading her along the trail that meandered along the valley floor. They soon reached a cluster of four buildings nestled beside the river: a mill, a house, a barn, and an inn. Anxious for a real bed and a hot meal, Lyra pulled Cal toward the inn.

  “We’re staying the night.”

  “How are you going to pay?”

  “I have this gold.” She patted her pack.

  “You might want to chip a bit off first. One chunk is enough to buy this entire village, and then some.”

  Realizing that he made a good point, Lyra pulled the smallest chunk of gold out and pounded it against a small boulder, taking three strikes before the chunk broke into five pieces. She slid them back in her pack, save the smallest piece.

  Holding the gold in her palm, she glanced toward Cal. “We’ve been traveling for almost three days. Have you decided where we are going?”

  Cal shrugged, “I’m not sure yet. I still believe in what I’m doing, but I would like to reinvent the Ministry. To do that, I want to find a place of peace, someplace that corruption hasn’t touched…someplace where we can create a better tomorrow.”

  She stared at him with a sense of pride. This was the Cal she had grown fond of…the man who believed in something larger than himself.

  “Very well. Come along, then.”

  Lyra led him into the inn and found it dark and empty. Unsure of what else to do, they entered the kitchen and found the back door open. Beyond the doorway, a woman stood in the back yard, hanging clothes on a line. Hearing them emerge from the building, the woman turned toward them.

  “We’re looking for a room and a bite to eat,” Lyra said.

  The woman smiled. “It’s about time.”

  “You were expecting us?” Lyra thought of Duratti and his prophecy.

  The woman lifted an empty wicker basket and turned toward Lyra. “Not expecting. Just hoping. Not for you, for anyone.” She stepped closer. “You see, Sar built this inn two years ago, right after he finished the mill. Other than the two men who work with him, nobody ever comes here.”

  “Sar?”

  “My husband.” The woman held out her hand and Lyra grasped it, finding it firm and calloused. “I’m Ruth. Sar and I run this place.”

  Ruth led them inside and Lyra gave her the small chunk of gold in return for a room, dinner, breakfast, and food for the road. Explaining that the inn was empty, Ruth told them to make their way upstairs and choose any room.

  Lyra climbed the stairs with Cal a step behind. Turning down the hallway, she opened the first door and found that it contained a bed large enough for two. Her mouth grew dry as she stared at the bed, her stomach twisting as she considered what to say, what to do.

  “I’ll take one of the other rooms,” Cal said.

  She grabbed his arm, swallowing hard as she fought her nerves. “You don’t have to do that…unless you want to.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Lyra shrugged. “We’ve slept together in the forest for the past two nights. I dare say that this is a sizeable improvement.”

  “True.”

  “Besides…I enjoy having you beside me.”

  He smiled and slid close to her, his hand sweeping stray black strands of hair aside as he caressed her cheek.

  “I like being with you, too.”

  Lyra knew that the kiss was coming. Her pounding heart warned her of it and demanded that she respond. He leaned close, his breath tickling her neck and causing her pulse to quicken. The tension increased as his lips brushed across her cheek, holding a hair’s width from her lips for a moment. Unable to resist any longer, she pressed her lips into his and was overcome by a warm rush, beginning at her head and rapidly expanding until even her toes tingled. His hands gently gripped her hips and eased toward the small of her back, pulling her body against his. Lyra lost herself in the moment, deciding that she’d happily have it last forever.

  43

  Lyra moved past the tree line and stopped to stare at the scene before her. The glass-like surface of the lake reflected the snow-capped mountains and clouds above – a mirror of beauty reflecting beauty. She kicked a small stone into the water, sending a series of ripples across the surface, moving outward in a circle until they collided with land or faded into the distance.

  “This is perfect.” Cal announced. “This is where we need to be. I know it.”

  “This place is certainly pristine. We haven’t even seen a trail for two days. Not much corruption happening here.”

  “Exactly.”

  He took her hand, and they walked along the western shoreline that was covered in long grass and forest undergrowth. Lyra’s boots were wet, as they had been for days. Dew on the shrubs, grass, and ferns that covered the forest floor remained for most of the day, unable to dry with the canopy above blocking the sun. Lyra’s attempts to avoid it ceased days ago.

  She spotted something dark in the woods to the north, her eyes narrowing as she tried to discern its nature.

  “There’s something ahead.”

  Cal turned from the lake, facing toward where she pointed. “Let’s check it out.”

  As they drew closer, she realized that it was a building, set in a small clearing just west of the lake. Built from logs, aged and gray, the cabin appeared long-abandoned by the way the forest undergrowth surrounded it. A windowless door faced the lake, the wood weathered to match the logs. The window beside the door was intact, but caked in splotches of dirt and forest debris. Heavy green moss covered the north side of the roof and clung to the wall on that side.

  Cal pushed his way through the undergrowth and approached the door, his knock echoing in the glade.

  “Why did you knock?”

  “It never hurts to be polite.”

  “I’m not so sure. I’ve always considered politeness overrated.”

  “Really? I’ve never noticed.” Cal grinned at his own sarcasm.

  Lyra hit him in the shoulder.

  “Ouch.”

  “Stop your bellyaching and open the door.”

  As instructed, Cal turned the knob and opened the door. A drawn-out creak from the hinges reverberated in the peaceful setting, protesting the interruption of a dormant existence. Morning sunlight streamed into the cabin, a beam of light that revealed a sitting room with a sofa, a table, and a rocking chair. A thick layer of dust covered everything, marked by tracks from rodents that had recently occupied the space. However, what drew Lyra’s attention was the rocker, or more specifically, the cobweb-covered skeleton that rested in it.

  Old and tattered clothing clung to the dead man, his tunic gray and colorless; his trousers might be black beneath the dust. The man’s crusty skull was tilted to the side.

  Cal set his pack down beside the door, along with the axe he had purchased from Sar. He approached the skeleton and gently took the man’s bony hand in his.

  “I don’t see any weapons or wounds. It looks like he just fell asleep in the chair and never woke.”

  A nod was Lyra’s only response. She turned from the dead man and surveyed the rest of the building.

  Perhaps six strides across and twice the length, the cabin consisted of a single room, its only walls those that separated the interior from the exterior. The ceiling was open, vaulted at the apex with rounded beams running the width of the cabin to support it. A fireplace stood at one end of the room, built of rounded stones mortared together, its arched opening black with soot. An iron poker leaned against the fireplace. On the hearth beside the poker, stood a black kettle, empty save for a layer of dust. Tall shelving ran along the wall to one side of the fireplace, filled with plates, bowls, towels, and vari
ous tools. A table with two chairs occupied the space before the shelves. Pots and pans dangled above the table, hanging from hooks secured to the beam that ran overhead.

  A bed and a nightstand stood to the other side of the fireplace. Despite the dust that covered the quilt the quilt atop the bed, it was pulled tight and clear of wrinkles, as if the owner had expected company. A chest stood at the foot of the bed. Built from dark red wood panels held together with copper brackets, now tarnished to a milky green.

  “I think this man has been dead for a long time,” Lyra noted.

  “Yes, but the place appears to be in good shape. I think we can make it work.”

  She turned toward him. “You want to live here?”

  He smiled. “Its good place for a new start.”

  Exhausted, Lyra sat on the front step and dried her brow with the back of her arm. She felt thankful for the clothing Ruth had allowed her to purchase. Despite the loose fit, it enabled her to work without dirtying her Tantarri outfit, which sorely needed washing anyway.

  She surveyed her work, the glade surrounding the cabin now clear of brush, replaced by rows of churned earth. It had taken two days, but she had finally planted every seed they had purchased from Ruth. It being mid-summer, Lyra just hoped that the vegetables had enough time to grow before the first frost. At their elevation, it would get cold in the fall, and snow in the winter. The thought of snow excited her, having never lived with it. At the same time, she knew that cold weather made life difficult, sure to slow any travel and forever laced with the danger of freezing to death.

  Cal approached, carrying a dead crowster by the feet, the large bird swaying to the beat of his stride.

  “The trap worked. I caught us dinner and then some.”

  Lyra stood. “Good. I welcome the idea of a hot meal.”

  He passed her, entering the cabin. She followed, closing the door behind them. Her gaze swept around the room, recalling how it had looked four days past.

  They had buried the man’s skeleton, marking his grave with a pile of stones. The dust was now absent, the cobwebs as well. Even the window had been cleaned, exposing the amazing view of the lake and mountains beyond. Lyra had washed the bedding using a bar of soap and cold lake water, while Cal cleared away the foliage that had filled the glade surrounding the cabin. Within two days, it began to seem like a home.

  “I’ll get the fire started, and we can fashion a spit to cook the bird.”

  Lyra thought back to the conveniences of her previous life with Cal. “When are you going to make a magic oven, like the one we had at Mystic Manor?”

  He glanced toward her as he set the bird down and shoved some bark beneath the wood stacked in the fireplace.

  “I’m not.”

  “What? Why?”

  “No more Infusion.” Cal pulled the flint out and struck it twice before a spark ignited and the bark began to smolder. “Think about what happened with The Hand. Look at the monsters they created with it.” He blew on the bark and a flame appeared, flickering as it grew larger. “I don’t think the world is ready for the responsibility of permanent augmentations.” He stood and turned toward her. “Everyone else who knew how to perform them is either dead or banished. Perhaps things will be different one day, but for now, it seems best to allow the knowledge to fade from existence.”

  “Wait. So no cold box to keep food fresh? No floating pack to help carry heavy goods?”

  He shook his head, appearing quite serious. “Nope.”

  Lyra sat on the sofa, collapsing in defeat. “Fine. You might be right, but those things made life…easier.”

  “That’s why I made them in the first place. Things are different now, so we’ll just have to live with the same daily difficulties as everyone else.”

  A sigh escaped as she resigned herself to his plan. However, what other plans does he have? What is he not telling me?

  “Cal.”

  “Yes, Lyra.”

  “I need to know. What’s next? This place is livable now, but that doesn’t address the bigger picture.”

  He sat in the chair, facing her.

  “I’ve been thinking about that. I’d like to start a school, where I can teach others magic and share Issal’s message. I just need to figure out how to make it happen.”

  Lyra nodded. “You need gold. I have gold, remember.”

  “You’re right, but I’ll need more. I need to pull a lot of people here. We need enough gold to build a village. And with the village, I’ll build the school.”

  Lyra smiled. “I know where we can get more. Lots more.”

  “The cave?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I can find it. I know it. There, we’ll have enough gold to pay for anything you need.”

  He sat back, rubbing his chin in thought. “That might work. If we get started this summer, we can add a few buildings before winter hits. Next year, we can bring more people and begin on building the school.”

  “And, while we’re at the cave, we can gather more of this glowing stone. With it, we can make and sell glowing lamps…lamps that shed light without the need for fire.” Lyra thought of her own home burning down after tipping a candle. “No more home fires from candles. No more torches. No more smoke.”

  Cal laughed. “Glowing lamps.” He nodded. “That’s good. That’s the kind of thing we need to make the world a better place.”

  He stood and took two steps, kneeling before her. “I can’t do any of this on my own. Even while we were apart, your memory was a source of stability and strength for me. You are my foundation, Lyra. I would collapse without you.”

  Lyra’s heart quickened as she stared into Cal’s eyes, sensing the direction of his words.

  “Despite my abilities, I find that your beauty, your wit, and your spirit are the things that make my life magical. Lyra, I would consider myself blessed by Issal himself if you would agree to be my wife.”

  Lyra bit her lip, trying to contain the emotions stirring inside. A tear tracked down her face and a giggle slipped out before she could form words.

  “I would be honored to be your wife, Cal.”

  His eyes lit up and he hugged her tightly while she returned his embrace. Relaxing his grip, he gave her a tender kiss and stood, extending his hand toward her.

  “Before Issal, I pledge myself to you, to love you and to support you, for as long as we live.”

  He pulled her to her feet.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “As a minister of Issal, I’m marrying us.”

  “You can do that?”

  He shrugged. “The Ministry is gone. I’m about to start it anew, but as its only member, nobody can tell me that I can’t declare us married.”

  A smile spread across her face. “I’ll play along.” She dropped the smile, donning a serious expression. “I, Lyra Jane Tascalli, pledge my love and support to you for as long as we live.”

  Cal held her face and gave her a tender kiss, smiling as he pulled back and stared into her eyes. Lyra had never been happier. Despite the loss of her father, the deaths of Garrett and Tallinor, and numerous trials along the way, her path had led her to this. To spend the rest of her life with Cal and help him make the world a better place, she would have traded anything in the world. His dreams inspired her and had become her own dreams as well.

  He took her hands in his and stood tall and proud. “As a minister of Issal, I formally declare us Mister and Misses Pascal Harman Fallbrandt.”

  “Wait,” Harman interjected, leaning forward. “Mother told me that I’m named after Grandpa Harman. Is he named after this Pascal guy?”

  Jane laughed. “Sort of. You grandfather is this Pascal guy.”

  “What? But I thought his name is Harman.”

  “His middle name is Harman. I started calling him that shortly after we were married. At the same time, he began calling me Jane.” She shrugged. “Cal and Lyra were a bit too famous, and we feared that trouble might follow them. When your grandpa founded the
Academy and restarted the church of Issal, he told others that he was Pascal’s brother, since the name held sufficient notoriety to help gather Issal’s followers. He told everyone that Pascal was the founder, and that he was helping him. Despite never actually seeing this mythical brother, nobody suspected that Pascal and Harman were actually the same person.”

  “You’re telling me that this entire story was about you, Grandma?”

  Jane smiled and stood, gathering the empty plates. “I never said it wasn’t about me.”

  Harman stared at his grandmother, thinking back on the story. He began to see her in a new light, noticing her wit, her youthful attitude, tempered by wisdom. It finally clicked. She was Lyra.

  Breaking from his reverie, he turned toward her. “So, what happened next?”

  She glanced up as she rinsed the plates in a pot of water. “We soon made a trip south and found Wayport under Kalimar’s rule. Other than having a different man in charge and finding armored soldiers patrolling the streets, not much had changed. It took little convincing to gather a handful of families to journey north with us. We soon had six buildings built beside the little cabin we called home.”

  Using a towel, she dried the plates and set them on a shelf. “The following spring, I convinced Cal to visit the Tantarri with me. Gar, now called Garamon as some sort of vaunted title, offered us two horses as a wedding gift. It took us some time to become proficient riders, but the added speed completely changed our ability to travel and greatly expanded our range. Over the next few years, we made trips to Vinacci, Kalimar, and even Hurnsdom, recruiting families to join us in Fallbrandt. Soon, the village grew to a town, and the pace of construction at the Academy increased. Even so, the building that stands now is the result of decades of work. I believe it is large enough for hundreds of students and faculty to live there. Someday, we hope to fill those rooms, but progress remains slow.”