Ecliptica Page 5

  Tre'larr was on his usual mid-day scout around through the market searching for new supplies. His route led him through the bustling square to the fruit merchant first, then the cured meats and cider until finally ending at his usual antiquities seller. He floated through the square without paying much attention to his surroundings. People jostled by and shouted around him, yet he made no real contact until he reached the fruit merchant.

  “Ah, good morning Tre'larr. How are you on this fine day?” Jev welcomed him as he picked out five someli fruits.

  “I am well, thank you Jev. How is your young Sei? Still looking to take on the family trade?”

  Tre'larr had found that being interested in your merchant’s life often came with the reward of a pretty discount on wares.

  “Sei is well and she has a good eye for the best pickings. Same as usual today?”

  “That would be most welcome, thank you.” Tre'larr took out a small pouch from his sleeve. He had learned very quickly that, in Gol, one keeps one’s money well hidden and safe from the cutpurses. Opening the pouch he took out a small collection of coins, already guessing the amount.

  “Five levens is it?” Tre'larr asked, knowing all too well that his hand only held three.

  “For a friend I won't hear of it. Make it three Tre'larr.”

  He smiled as he handed over the coins to Jev and placed the fruits in his satchel. The aging sandy brown bag had seen better days, but this made it a much less appealing target for the cutpurses.

  The rest of his stall visits were the same as the first: smile and greet the merchant and make some small talk. As he finished his route, he headed to the antiquities seller at the quayside stall. The tall pale woman greeted him softly, “Good day to you Tre'larr. How is young Nethalie fairing?”

  He looked over the various trinkets and gems that were on display. “She is well thank you, as am I.” This was usually the extent of the small talk he would permit himself, but he felt the woman’s gaze remain fixed upon him.

  “I have a gift for you to pass on to your daughter Tre'larr, one which I believe will be most useful in her life soon enough.” The woman ducked through the back of the store, the cloth walls betraying her movements to onlookers. After a few moments she reappeared holding a small sheathed blade. It was barely larger than his outstretched hand from thumb to little finger. He took the blade from its sheath; the cool metal glistened in the warm midday air. The handle was a twist of gold and silver, with a large obsidian gem set in the hilt.

  “I cannot possibly accept this..,” Tre’larr muttered gazing into the gemstone.

  “You can my friend. It is but a trinket to me and a fitting gift to yourself and your daughter for all your business. I’ll hear no more about it.”

  Tre’larr swung his satchel from his shoulder and opened the top to place the blade inside. As he did so, a familiar yet strange feeling washed over him and he froze for just a second. As the feeling passed, he blinked and then continued. Tying up the bag, he rose and bid the woman farewell. He could not place the feeling that had swept over him, yet a lingering familiarity remained with him as he made his way home.

  . . .

  Nethalie was all packed, well, Rossa had packed for her, but the point was she was ready to leave. She had been preparing, in her head, what she would say to her father. The explanations she came up with did not seem quite right. Rossa was of little help; it turned out that she had spontaneously decided to go on this grand adventure, so had said a quick goodbye to her family as she left home.

  Tre'larr had been his usual absent self most of the day, having left early to take a trip to the market. He returned with his satchel of items and a slightly disconcerted expression.

  Rossa bowed as he entered, “Your majesty,” she chuckled quietly to herself. This gained no reaction from Tre’larr apart from a passing glance in her direction. His attention was drawn to the pack that sat on the table: Nethalie’s pack.

  “Planning a trip?”, he asked, not taking his eyes from the pack.

  “I’m pursuing a thief,” Nethalie said with a practised tone “one who stole...”

  “I know..,” Tre’larr quickly interrupted her “the piece of the Ecliptica.”

  Nethalie stood in silence. Rossa too, her usual cheery look gone, as she stared at the aging man. The same thought crossed both their minds: how had Tre’larr known what was missing from the shop and why had it been left so carelessly on show if he knew what it was?

  “Sometimes, the best hiding place is in plain sight. I had thought it was so obscure no one would know what the piece was and would think it a weight for parchments.” His logic was sound; Nethalie realised that she had never given it a second glance on its shelf. “I knew that someday, someone would come looking for it, I just thought I might be in the shop when they did.” He looked at his pack on the floor and gave a sigh.

  Tre'larr reached into his pack and pulled out the short sheathed blade. “If you are to undertake this adventure, please, take this with you. I know you have your mother’s spirit of adventure within you, I saw it in your eyes on the day you were born.” A small smile crossed his face. Nethalie took the blade and examined it. The sheath was a simple leather, but the handle of the blade caught her eye. The working of the metal was incredibly intricate; a central core was surrounded by a trail of spun gold and silver. The handle had a small black gem inset into the base of the pommel.

  “That’s an elvish blade,” Tre’larr began, breaking Nethalie’s gaze, “you won’t find a stronger blade or a finer crafted handle.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Nethalie muttered.

  “Well, I think a thank you would be a good start,” Rossa spoke up, reminding the pair that she was also standing in the room. She took a few steps to Nethalie and inspected the blade. “It is a very fine blade, probably one from the upper families from the looks of the metal work.” The awkward silence followed, one that had become all too familiar between Tre’larr and Nethalie in recent years.

  “Thank you,” Nethalie said as she went to her pack and placed the blade inside.

  “Do you have a direction to head in?”

  “Well, I hear rumours that he has headed south towards Isimir, so that seems to be the best way to go,” Rossa piped up again. “The longer we wait though, the further ahead he will get.”

  “Well…travel swiftly and travel safely…Nethalie.” Tre’larr said awkwardly. “Be safe,” he ended, looking down. For the first time Nethalie could almost sense the welling emotion in her father.

  Nethalie moved to him and embraced her father. “You too father,” she said, her eyes stinging slightly with salty tears. Tre’larr’s arms wrapped around his daughter.

  Nethalie quickly turned and collected her pack. “We should get going Rossa if we want to catch up to our thief.” She wiped her eyes before turning to Rossa.

  “Well then..,” Rossa gave Nethalie a smile as she picked up her own pack and moved towards the doorway to the street and the beckoning adventure beyond. As she reached Tre’larr she stopped and turned. “It has been my pleasure,” she beamed, “your highness.” With that, she gave Tre’larr a wink and shot out of the open door and into the bustle of the street.

  Nethalie swung her pack onto her back and moved to the door. “I will see you soon,” she said, hesitating in the doorway before following Rossa outside.

  The silence of the empty shop descended as Tre’larr stood, alone for the first time in almost twenty-five years. He gave the shop a look over before moving to the table and opening the inventory tome to take stock.

  ~ 9 ~

  Zeek and Drake travelled the open plains towards Isimir. The days were passed almost uneventfully. Zeek’s thoughts were haunted by the memories of his past: travelling through familiar lands was stirring memories that had not surfaced for many decades. Details, sights and smells came trickling back to him, as though a tiny crack had managed to find its way into the surface of a dam. Through the day, Drake kept pretty much t
o himself, trialling a few spells and ideas when the mood took him.

  As dusk struck each day, the strength of the memories flooding Zeek began to lessen.

  “My apologies youngling,” he suddenly said while Drake was simmering his evening stew, “memories are often a very powerful force that can be difficult to control.”

  “I’m just glad that you found your way out of them. I was starting to worry you would never get back to the present and I would have to make another attempt at levitating to grab your attention.”

  Zeek chuckled at this, which brought the first smile of the day to Drake. “So...do we have any kind of a plan here for what we do when we get to Isimir? I know we need supplies and a noble steed, but what then? Do we just head over the border and hope for the best?”

  Zeek took a few moments before responding. “The Shadow Realm is vast young Drake, with many possible ways to cross its borders. The small pieces of information that have managed to flee that scarred land, give me hope that our passage will be difficult, yet successful. It seems that another is also seeking as we do, but is not adopting a 'quiet' approach to their intention. I believe that our entrance will go somewhat unnoticed.”

  “Do you know any more about who this other is, or why they are seeking...well...you?”

  “Whispers must be listened to carefully youngling; they float on the back of magic.”

  “Sorry, and whispers would be? I’m guessing it’s not a case of a little magical bird passing secrets?” Drake asked.

  “Indeed they are not. Whispers are what those with magical ability refer to as the stray thoughts of others. These can be unintentionally released or can be used with the purpose of passing on information to those great distances away. It would be of great benefit for you to be able to hear these whispers also. The magic from the land around us carries these thoughts, much like a leaf caught in a stream. Draw your focus to the magical energy that currently surrounds us,” Zeek instructed, “allow part of your consciousness to float upon it. The feeling will be like the perfect moment when you are falling, when your body is still and the pull of the earth has yet to overtake you.”

  Drake did as he was instructed and strained to hear, but no words, or even mutterings, came to him.

  “The key is to hold a word in your mind you are searching for. Whispers will then flow to you, one at a time. Whispers float for many moons, growing fainter with the passage of time. Thus, the age of a whisper can be determined.” Zeek finished and fell silent, giving Drake time to find the focus needed. Drake decided upon his own name as his first whisper to search for. He focused.

  “Drakkkeeee...Isimirrr..,” The sound of his own name shocked him; he had expected to hear nothing at all. After all, why would anyone know his name or be talking about him. The voice that spoke was clear, with a familiar tone. He relaxed his focus.

  “Someone knows who I am, where we are..,” he said, somewhat flustered by what he heard.

  “I heard it also, though I cannot say from whom the original was from.” Zeek was calm as he spoke, with not a hint of concern. Drake took comfort from that.

  The rest of that evening was spent eating a rather salty stew and tough, dry bread he had acquired in Port Gol. Of course, no evening would be complete without a lesson from Zeek and more practice. A pattern which was also followed the next night, but without any more clues as to who knew about Drake and his location.

  Isimir drew into view towards the end of the third day and Drake welcomed the thought of a soft bed to lie in. The Sundown Inn door swung inwards and the building breathed out a sigh of warmth that enveloped Drake as he stepped inside. The building was old, but well maintained and clean. The current clientele was much as you would expect; men and women looking to travel across the border, seeking vast fortunes. Here and there were local people, trying to sell maps or offering themselves as guides, for the right price of course. Drake made his way confidently across the stone floor towards the serving hatches at the far end.

  “What’s a strapping young man like you doing in a place like this?”, a woman heckled him mid-way across the inn, “clearly you were looking for me. I was certainly looking for you,” she purred with an air of certainty.

  “I’m afraid you are mistaken. I am merely passing through,” Drake tried to end the conversation quickly. He had never felt comfortable around the men and women who offered these kinds of services. He had known a woman back in Picinto, Mira she was called. Almost twice Drake’s age, she had looked out for him after he had been caught stealing a cured ham from the market. She had charmed the members of the Blackbird to let him go with a warning, followed by giving Drake a lecture on how to be more careful and subtle if he didn’t want to get caught again. She had been like a sister to him, teaching him to read and write.

  The woman currently standing before Drake, however, was not like Mira. She was attractive and well groomed, but Drake could tell she was after the coin in his purse, not to give him a helping hand, so to speak.

  “Well, if I’m not to your taste pretty eyes, then my friend Mikel here would be more than happy to see to your whims,” it was at that point that a slender young man appeared at the woman’s side and gave Drake a smile.

  Drake quickly decided upon a lie that he hoped would get him free of this pair, “I thank you both kindly and I am flattered by your offers, but I do in fact have a young lady waiting for me in my room at this very moment, and she would be rather cross if I were to bring company back for the night.”

  The woman sighed and ran a finger across her friend’s chest, “what a pity. Should you tire of her, or even her of you, you’ll know where to find us,” and with that the pair left to seek out other willing prey.

  “That was rather awkward. I’m just pleased my rouse worked,” Drake said to Zeek as he hastened towards the far end of the room.

  “Let us hope they do not come looking for you in the night, as they’ll find your bed empty save for you.” Zeek replied, sounding mildly amused at the potential predicament.

  Finally making it towards the serving hatches, Drake coughed as he approached, drawing the attention of the innkeeper.

  “Good eve'nin young sir. What might we be able to do for you after your brief encounter with Reina and Mikel?” the woman’s accent was strong and rather unusual.

  Drake gave a chuckle, “I take it that happens to every newcomer?”

  “That it does. Those two are always on the prowl around here. I should give them the boot, but they’re nice enough and don’t cause trouble. ‘Sides, we get some returning customers thanks to their services,” the innkeeper gave Drake a smile, “a tankard of ale is it?”

  “The local brew please, and a hot meal if your kitchen is still serving,” he asked, his stomach rumbling at the idea of a decent meal.

  The innkeeper pushed though a large door behind her and bellowed at someone who, Drake hoped, was not the cook; “Jonn, will you put the damned bottle down,” Drake heard a muted voice reply to the woman, though he could not make out what was being said.

  “…yes strangely enough you might need to do what I pay you for and prepare some food, rather than drain my liquor supply dry…I know there are no other cooks willing to work here…I understand your talent is beyond measure…yes if you use your talent and send out a roast fowl you can certainly finish off that bottle…no, put that other talent back in your slacks until later, you cheeky man.”

  The innkeeper came back to the hatch with a smile on her face, “my husband works in the back preparing the food, he is a great cook but is a little fond of testing all the drinks before our customers do, for ‘safety reasons’ he assures me,” she chuckled seeming to have accepted his ways long ago. “He’s a good man. Now will you be looking for a room for the evening as well?”

  “If one was available that would be perfect. I don’t suppose you have one free with a washroom as well?” Drake hoped the answer would be yes; after several days on the road he longed for clean fresh water to bathe in.
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  “You are in luck; we have just two rooms left. I can have hot water sent up along with your food should you prefer. Just the matter of payment to settle up now; we take half now and then you settle up your bill when you leave us.” She took a more serious tone as she continued “no special exceptions or promises of payment once you return from whatever your business is. Twenty levens this evening will cover what you’ve had so far along with half the cost of your room, another twenty tomorrow should you leave us”

  Drake removed the pouch containing his coins from within his robe. “I can understand that,” he smiled taking out a handful of coins, “I imagine many a treasure hunter has snuck out of paying a bill and then not returned with the riches they had promised”.

  “We’ve certainly had those types, but we quickly changed the policy on payment. People just end up missing once they go across that border. If I might ask, that’s not your business here as well?”

  Drake considered his answer carefully, not wishing to throw his lot in with the wrong crowd. “Believe it or not, I’m actually a cartographer’s apprentice. The old man sent me here to produce a map of the current border. Whether it’s a punishment or a final test of my skill I’ll never be sure. I certainly have no intention of crossing over into that place and being killed!”

  “I didn’t think you looked like the type to walk into certain doom. Besides, the last troupe that crossed over eight days ago still haven’t returned from their two day excursion. I’d say they are going to be extremely overdue on their return.”

  The coolness with which she spoke told Drake that it was a very regular occurrence for parties to never return. “Surely some do return?”