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NEWS FROM THE EAST
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THE WINDS DIED IN THE small area surrounding the tent, setting it apart from the rest of the camp. The feeling of springtime dissipated somewhere between the main path and the entrance, as though it were something separate. A low pulse emanated from within, beckoning her forward.
Savara placed her hand gently on the mesh, afraid something might jump out and bite her. It’s just a tent, she reminded herself, and yet, her chest rose and fell faster in its presence. Behind its doors lay real answers. I need real answers, she affirmed, taking a deep breath before forcing herself inside.
The mesh closed with a heavy sweeping noise behind her, blocking all light from seeping through. It took a few moments for her eyes to properly adjust to the new darkness. Savara blinked until the picture became clear, breathing a wary sigh of relief as she noticed the small precipice not more than two steps in front of her. She scanned the room for any other precarious pathways when she stifled a small gasp.
The outside of the tent had done little justice to its contents. The floor had been carved into in the form of a rectangular pool to create the effect of grand, lofty ceilings. On every wall, shelves and shelves of books, each one yearning to be touched by those who dared seek their contents. Savara likened the room before her to a darkened chapel, before noticing the stars above. They shifted and danced with all the grace of fireflies in an open field. Real stars. Galaxies even. No roof in sight. Surely this had to be magic.
Savara managed to free her eyes from the enchanted ceiling and cast them downwards to a small trail of steps to her right that led down into the centre cavity of the tent. There, bathed under the light of floating blue orbs, sat a large table that reminded her of the story with the knights. Maps of all shapes and textures were strewn across it haphazardly, along with figurines and antique measuring equipment. The whole tent buzzed with an energy that made the feeling she’d noted earlier of the grass beneath her feet pale in comparison. Lost in wonder, she hardly noticed the three figures debating nearby.
***
“TRADESMEN FROM THE east bring word of trouble within the Ur provinces,” she said coolly. Her fingers rapped on the hilt of her sword, something Griffin noticed she did when things felt amiss.
Judging by how his friends positioned themselves on opposite ends of the table, Griffin knew the two of them had gotten into some sort of spat while he’d been away. They always find something to argue over.
“Great, more parties,” replied their other companion sarcastically, picking ashes from his nails. “And who would be at the receiving end this time?”
“The Harri,” she replied, directing the answer to Griffin, ignoring him entirely.
Definitely a fight, Griffin reasoned, but even without looking at Sebastian in the dim light of the room, he knew his friend’s eyes were on her.
“They seem to be rekindling old hatreds,” she added.
“They have too many of those already,” Sebastian mocked. “They collect them like Si collects pets. I mean really, they can’t be serious.”
Griffin noticed a small purple mark under his left eye. Either she’s hit him, or Simon has, and knowing him, he probably deserved it. He is always looking for attention in the wrong places.
“It’s not a joke, Sebastian,” she scolded. “The Ur claim their feuds with the Harri should have been settled the old-fashioned way...” She softened her tone but gripped the hilt of her sword tentatively. “They are preparing for war.”
“That’s ridiculous. Even they know they can’t take on the Harri. They’d be crushed as soon as they crossed inland.” Sebastian tried to make light of the situation, but doubt tugged at his words. “Didn’t they learn from last time?”
“They think that last time wasn’t settled the way it should’ve been... That the Izar should have stayed out of it.” She lowered her voice. Griffin knew what she was about to say before the words left her lips, but it didn’t make the blow any less wounding. “And they’re probably right.”
“That kind of brooding is dark and stormy even for you, Stormy my dear. Don’t your people try to avoid confrontation?” Sebastian replied, raising a flirtatious eyebrow, tired of dancing around her attention. “Sitting high and mighty on those clouds of yours...”
“Test me, Sebastian. I’d slit your throat in a heartbeat.”
“Oh yeah?” Sebastian replied, a provocative smile growing on his lips.
Griffin ignored their current spat. He was more interested in the ramifications of a war between the Ur and the Harri than yet another quarrel between two people who somehow couldn’t keep their hands off each other’s throats but never quite managed to kill each other. Storm is right, he thought. The Ur stand no chance against the Harri troops on land and they know it, so why the risk? Unless they think there’s some way they could win...
A stray insult snapped him back to the meeting at hand. Griffin realised it was time for him to intervene before they mucked up his floors with blood and ash. “That’s enough,” he called, still unfazed by their bickering and death threats.
“Grif, I don’t think you truly appreciate the irony of your moderating,” said Sebastian, referencing the way the Izar seemed to moderate global affairs.
“Oh, believe me, Sebastian, I appreciate it, but Izar or not, I’m still in charge of your sorry carcasses, and I’d rather not have to clean your blood from my floors,” Griffin replied with a soft smirk.
“Who said it would be my blood?” Sebastian scoffed, but a simple glance in Storm’s direction—and her murderously cold glare—made him relent.
Griffin rested a pensive finger over his mouth and chin to stifle a proper smile. “That’s why.”
“That’s fair.” Sebastian shrugged.
“Now, if the two of you don’t mind, I’d still like my report,” said Griffin as he gazed at the maps before him.
Sebastian picked up from where Storm left off. “The Ur may have ties to the Argia mafia, meaning they wouldn’t stand alone, but anything that comes close to Zerua territories would bring them in, and your Izar friends in Yozora would jump at the chance to assert dominance. Let’s face it, Grif, if they do decide to make good on their threats, the entire world will go to war.”
“The world is already at war, Sebastian,” Storm growled. “Or maybe you Argia don’t see much from behind your pint glasses.”
“Very funny, Stormy my dear. Tell me, did the wind decide to ruffle your feathers today?”
“You forget, Sebas, that the uprisings began after what happened at the palace, by no fault of my own or my people.”
“Forget, Storm?” He stood up forcefully. “You forget that it was my people whose homes were destroyed, whose crops were burned, and whose palace was laid siege to...” As he counted them off, little flames shot from his nostrils with each forceful exhale.
“Don’t get hot-headed with me, Sebas,” she threatened, hand readied on the hilt of her sword.
He ignored her and continued his rant. “Or were you Zerua too high up in the mountains with your heads in the clouds to notice?” A bright burst of yellow light appeared, and from within it something twinkled. Sebastian shot her a coy grin under the new and shifting light. His accusatory tone became provocative. “Drop it, Anika. You don’t want to start something you can’t finish.”
Storm had drawn her blade. The refined piece of metal glinted under Sebastian’s throat, reflecting in the cloudy grey of her irises. The movement had been too swift to notice, as easy as a breath.
But he too was swift.
Sebastian had drawn a dancing yellow flame that burst into life in the same instant she’d moved. It hovered gently above his right palm, illuminating their faces: hers, as though begging for a reason to let the blade slice through him; his, egging her on with yet another unnecessary smirk.
“Sebastian, so help me I—” she began.
“If you two have finished your lover’s quarrel,” Griffin interrupted, his voice mildly irritated. Storm snarled at the words, but he didn’t care. His tone sliced easily through the tension of the room, silencing the war being waged before him as it had done many times before.
Storm pressed the blade a little deeper into his neck in warning. Sebastian winked, teasing her efforts. They both knew that Griffin would not allow spilt blood in his room. Storm rolled her eyes and stowed her sword. Sebastian’s flame evaporated into nothingness, taking the light with it.
“Good,” Griffin continued. “I apologise for having kept the two of you in the dark, but I had to take care of this business on my own.”
The two shared a glance of irritation.
“We aren’t stupid, Griffin,” Sebastian pointed out. “There had better be a good reason you didn’t want us involved.”
Griffin nodded. “I got word from an old contact of my father’s that he was in possession of something that might explain the current state of the world. I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a trap, so I said nothing. I managed to get my hands on some travelling dust, and crossed...”
Smack!
Griffin raised a hand to his throbbing jaw. He smelled the sharp, metallic tang before he saw the red droplets on his hand. At least she’s as quick a hit as ever, he thought, knowing both his silence and his actions had earned him Storm’s strike. One of the rings on her fingers had drawn blood—the same finger she now wagged disapprovingly at him.
“If you ever try something like that alone again, you’ll be lucky if all I do is break your jaw,” she hissed.
I know, he thought, holding back a smirk that would’ve earned him another whack to the face. He cast a glance over to Sebastian, who only shrugged.
“If she didn’t, I would’ve.”
“I know what the consequences would have been, but I didn’t cross entirely,” Griffin clarified.
“Do you mean to say there are still gates?” asked Sebastian. The little flames in his eyes glinted in the darkness. “I thought they were all sealed up.”
“Not gate. A prison of sorts, belonging to our world, but residing in theirs. Fair game for jumps, though technically still illegal.”
Sebastian took a seat, staring up at him concerned and intrigued, while Storm continued to brood silently.
Griffin knew it would be hard to convince them of the necessity of his actions. Expecting their resistance, he pulled a glistening dagger from his coat and embedded it easily into the wooden tabletop. The blade was made of hardened shadow, the white-gold hilt bedecked in blood-red diamonds. Storm and Sebastian held their breaths as they stared at the glittering marker of death.
“I believe there are other players in this game. Thankfully, my efforts were not in vain, though sadly I lost the contact,” continued Griffin, ignoring the luring calls for attention from the ornate dagger. Trinkets like this one—the ones from the old world—played their own games, conduits for Iturri that lusted after blood.
“Them?” asked Sebastian tensely, pulling his eyes away from it. “Are you sure?”
Griffin nodded.
“How can that be?” asked Storm. A frightening realisation crossed her face. “I thought they were a myth.”
“I thought they died out...” added Sebastian.
“Neither, I’m afraid,” Griffin replied. “They are very much alive. From now on, we must be twice as vigilant. I don’t know how they managed to escape, or why, but I can’t help feeling they are responsible for the recent massacres.”
“Grif...” Sebastian began cautiously. “What exactly did you retrieve from the other side?”
Storm nodded in agreement and added, “What was so important that you’d risked your life in crossing?”
“I,” he began, but paused, finally noticing her lingering presence near the entryway. How long has she been here? And what has she heard? Griffin wondered. “Not a what, a who,” he said finally, still ruffled by the fact that he hadn’t noticed her enter. Griffin recomposed himself and inclined his chin towards the entrance. “Nice to see you’re up and walking. How are you feeling?”
As the three of them turned to face Savara, he rested a steadying hand on Storm’s sword, advising her that the girl in the doorway was a friend—or at very least, a guest. He knew Storm would be hard to sell on the idea of a newcomer, but that wasn’t a battle for now.
