Chapter 2. Ojaveda
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As the last rays of the Azure Sun faded away, Aramara crested the hill towards Ojaveda. Torches marked the entrance and impacted her night-vision, making the periphery almost pitch-black in comparison. No matter, she had reached her destination, and Ojaveda was well lit for the late-evening citizens to go about their business. Max approached the entrance and the guards nodded politely acknowledging them both. This was the night-shift, and Bhurral Vasheen, the trainer in staves, among other things, was not at her post.
Once past the gate, Aramara and her trusty rivnak were greeted by no one. Though, Ojaveda was considerably quieter than Hydlaa, so this came as no surprise. Off to the right, kikiri were clucking softly as they settled down for the night. Over by Trasok, a faint, deep red glow of the nearest furnace could be seen as its heat faded from nonattendance. At the opposite furnace, however, was a lone smith, hammering away in the dim light, working that last piece of steel before he called it quits. The ringing, methodical "clang clang" of metal on metal echoed through the city, but it was a familiar sound; the sound of industry, the sound of honest, hard-work.
And of course, there in front of the duo was Brado's tavern, The Broken Door. The golden glow of lantern light and the multifarious aromas of Reffitia's exotic cooking offered a warm invitation. Not much else could be discerned from this distance; the place was quiet otherwise. That was a good change from the frequent quarrels that occur at Kada-El's. Just then a cool breeze picked up, swirling the dirt in front of the tavern and bringing the pungent odor of metal work from the smith to both rivnak and rider.
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The Crystal was at its brightest when Aramara made her way down Hydlaa's Octarch Way, around the plaza and stopped at the smithy to make repairs on the small saber she had been traveling with. Harnquist gladly took her small coin and gave her the repair kits with a small chuckle, knowing full well this fenki had little experience working with metal and weapons.
Hydlaa sure has a way of teaching them, he thought smugly to himself,
she'll come to learn eventually.Sure enough, the fenki sat in the grass and spread the tools and her weapon out before her, staring wide eyed, head askew, puzzled over where and how to begin when a shadow cast down upon her vision. She raised her eyes to look upon the back-lit silhouette of a Blikau menki, looking about just as lost as she was. He looked down upon her and smiled, "Hello."
"Hello," she answered right back, tilting her head and raising her paw to shield her eyes from the Crystal's light, "You look puzzled."
The menki raised his vision to look out across the broad plaza before returning it to meet her eyes, "Yes indeed. I am quite puzzled."
Aramara's innate curiosity and eagerness to aid took over, "What about?"
"I have been through quite an ordeal as of late ma'am," The menki explained as he took a seat beside her, resting for a bit.
Aramara turned her head away from the menki as he sat near her, staring clueless at the sprawled tools of the repair kit lain in the grass before her. A feeling of helplessness rose from within as she knew this repair was above her. She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, turning her attention back to the menki, "Would you like to tell me about it? Maybe I can be of some help."
The menki took his time before answering, he seemed to be catching his breath. He was adorned in a suit of armor, well worn and a few cycles out of date by the look of it. His fur where it was bare showed scars and signs of combat experience. Aramara thought to herself he looked as if he was covered in a fine film of dust. He turned to her and spoke, "I was down in the Death Realm for 3 cycles up to... yesterday, and the world is quite a different place than I remember it."
Aramara caught a glimpse of movement out the corner of her eye and looked to see a female Dermorian speaking with the smithy, her ear twitching at the mention of the Death Realm.
"A lot changes in 3 cycles," the menki went on.
Aramara caught herself staring at the Dermorian. Embarrassed, she looked down at her paws as they rested in her lap. "The world is mostly new to me..." she softly spoke, "I left my village only a few days ago."
The menki turned to look upon her. She could feel his eyes tracing every curve of her frame, every line in her fur. Still she did not look at him, but kept her gaze on her folded paws.
"Hmm... well then you and I are very much in the same situation," he observed.
"So it seems..." she hesitated, looking for a difference between them, for a way in which they did not relate, "Only... I couldn't imagine being in the Dark Realm for so long."
The menki smiled proudly, but there was a flash of pain in his eyes, "It was a trying time; I was lucky to escape. I lost all my knowledge and power down there; I am not even half the warrior that I was." His voice trailed off into sadness at this last part.
Aramara was listening attentively, her gaze fixed on her paws, away from the menki as he spoke. The nearby elf finished her business with Harnquist and approached the two Enkidukai with a slight hesitation, "Umm, can I help you? Either one of you?" Aramara raised her eyes just in time to see her ear twitch.
The menki was first to answer, "If you want to sit and talk you are more then welcome."
The two smiled at each other in politeness, but Aramara took this interjection of silence to speak up, looking for a way to take this Dermorian up on her favor, giving her a chance to take leave of this menki. There wasn't anything wrong with him, no, he was strong, handsome, open, and polite, but Aramara felt an uncomfortable nervousness creep up on her. She couldn't allow herself to know this menki. She could feel it in his lingering gaze his interest in her. But she had come to Hydlaa to hide, not to be exposed. Aramara looked to the Dermorian and spoke up eagerly, " I am looking for a gold ring, If you know where I can find one."
The elf hesitated, caught off guard by the inquiry, "Ah..."
"Hmm yes I do," the menki spoke up, "or at least I know who can get you one for a small favor. If you want to come with me to Ojaveda I can show you."
Aramara felt herself caught in a trap of her own design. She couldn't refuse his offer of assistance. It was true she was looking for a gold ring and had no idea where to find one. If there was one to be had in Ojaveda, she hadn't the slightest clue how to get there. With a gulp of reluctance she accepted, "I will."
The Menki looked back towards the elf, " Anything I can do for you?"
"Ah, no, thank you," she answered with a smile.
The menki nodded gruffly, "Okay, by the way, my name is Leonodm, my friends call me Leon."
Not to be rude, Aramara introduced herself, "A pleasure to meet you Leon, I am Aramara."
The elf too made her introduction, "Pleased to meet you..., I am Sanrai."
Leonodm nodded his head to both ladies and addressed Sanrai, "Did you want to come with us to Ojaveda?"
Aramara smiled softly at the Dermorian, in hopes she would join them on the journey.
"No, Leonodm, thank you," the elf replied kindly, "I need to smelt some."
Aramara tried to keep her disappointment hidden.
"Okay, well safe smelting," Leonodm mustered as he lifted himself off the ground, dusting off his battle-worn armor.
Aramara hesitated some more, "Let me repair some things before we go."
Leonodm smiled at her and replied kindly, with patience, "Okay, I am in no rush."
The elf waved goodbye and turned back to discuss some things with Harnquist again. Leon gazed longingly into the fires of the forge, as Aramara returned helplessly to the sprawled out tools of the repair kit, at a complete loss what to do.
"You from Ojaveda Aramara?" the menki spoke, his voice smooth and relaxed, with a hint of a secret burden.
Aramara glanced in his direction, long enough to see his gaze was entrapped with the fire. She replied in partial truth, "No, only small village."
"Sounds great," he answered, his voice seemed lifted by her answer, yet sank back into its tone of yen, "I don't know where I am from, but my earliest memories are of Ojaveda... How's the weapons coming along?"
Aramara sat and stared once again at the unused kit. With a sigh of frustration she quickly and haphazardly repacked the tools, "We can go now... please, lead the way."
She stood up and shouldered her bag of belongings. Another Dermorian, this one male, quickly approached the smithy on rivnak.
Leon turned from the fire and began to walk away, muttering softly to Aramara, "I wish I had one of those Rivnaks."
Aramara shuffled up along side him as they departed, "That is why I need this ring."
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It was the tinge in her nostrils, the sharp odor of smelted metals drifting from Trasok's forge which brought Aramara back to the present. Max shook his head free of flies next to her. She smiled lovingly at him and patted his thick neck with tenderness. "Back you go friend," she whispered as her ring of familiar flashed in color, Maxayuavi now vanished from this realm. She didn't look at her ring of familiar, instead her mind was on another ring, one made of bronze, in the form of two enkidukai tails twisting around each other, but never fully touching. She focused on it, searching her heart and mind for any sign of her beloved, but felt nothing.
Aramara then raised her awareness on the furnaces outside Trasok's to see if she recognized the lone worker, but found his face hidden behind the fluke. It didn't matter. If Miomo was still in Ojaveda, she didn't expect to find him working at the forges. So forward she stepped, towards the warm hospitality of Brado's, hopes high to find Miomo sitting at a table quietly sipping on a mug of red liquor, a plate of fish delight set before him.
Upon entering the bar, the only signs of life were from Brado and Fruntar. Sadly, Miomo was not there, nor in fact were any patrons. The delightful smells of Reffitia's cooking were more prominent now, and the two menki made a few glances towards the kitchen, hoping she would bring them out a bowl of the spicy stew. Brado nodded in acknowledgement of Aramara's arrival, "Grrensholo, miss." he said warmly.
That warmth was mirrored in the soft amber glow of the tavern's lanterns. Flames flickered lazily in their cases, casting dancing shadow patterns around the room. Those shadows shied away from Aramara, as her ring flashed white for a brief instant. Fruntar busied himself wiping down the nearest table. He wasn't in a rush, as it seemed that table didn't even need a wiping. Similarly, Brado was washing a mug. "It's a quiet night...for a change." he said, offering small talk, "May I get you something?"
An old menki walked in quietly and sat himself down in a chair as though he owned it. This kore enkidukai had scraggly fur which had fallen out in clumps. He was rather thin, but not frail. The years where not too kind to him, but he seemed in reasonable health. He wore an off-white button-up shirt and brown cotton pants that ended, frayed, at his hocks. He carried a walking cane with him which he favored in his left paw. A pair of glasses sat on the end of his nose, and looked like they were on the verge of falling off. Brado nodded at the menki and started pouring a drink.
There was something else here, something Aramara's five senses could not pick up, but she felt nonetheless. Was it the ring, or the flames, or the menki in this room? Was it something else entirely? One thing could be certain, something happened in this tavern.
Her heart sunk deep within as Aramara entered the tavern and her hopes were not met. She sighed; her ears and shoulders sagged, but her eyes lifted towards the bar at Brado's greeting. She forced a polite smile and a nod of her head to both the barkeep and Fruntar, if anyone had seen her dear Miomo, these two had. She made her way to the bar, a passing realization sparked in the periphery of her mind as the meandered her way past the tables and chairs, the lantern and candle flames flickering briefly as if from a slight wind blowing through the tavern.
She paused briefly as Brado asked for her order, hesitated when she noticed the presence of the aged menki hobble in. She stood at the bar and considered the gentleman as he took his seat, smiled and bowed her head towards him respectfully when he looked her way.
Aramara felt her senses blur, a quick resonance between realms. The spirits were telling her something, she knew. She would take the time to listen to them, but not now. She shook her head to clear her mind and lifted her clear blue eyes towards Brado. She spoke in a declarative tone, loud enough so all three menki in the room could hear, "I am looking for my lost beloved, a blind clamod named Miomo. He is known to have been here. Have you seen him?
A sudden, chilling wind blew through the tavern just as Aramara said the name "Miomo." Lanterns flickered but did not extinguish. Brado handed the full mug of ale to Fruntar who walked it over to the old menki. All eyes were on Aramara, however, and likely not just because of her radiant beauty. Brado hesitated a moment, and a look of concern flashed across his face. Though he was quick to hide it and do his best to not upset the lady before him. "Yes, I remember Miomo." he began. "The gentleman was only here a few times, and that was several weeks ago. I'll not forget the last night I saw him, either..." he pauses in the retelling of his story and motions to a chair near the counter. "Please, have a seat, and would you like something to drink? it's on the house.."
Brado continued his recalling of Miomo's last night there, "Well, your beloved was just sitting there, in that very chair in fact, quietly sipping his red liquor. It was a quiet night, much like this one. I thought I noticed a bit of agitation at first, and my suspicion was confirmed when he suddenly jumped out of his chair and ran off. I called out to him that he had forgotten his staff." Brado gave a quick laugh, "I didn't think a blind menki could get too far running around without any way of knowing what's in front of him."
"I didn't have to wonder though, because shortly he returned carrying some parchment, a pen, and a blotter of ink. I can tell you I was quite surprised that he was able to dash off and not trip, let alone write something. But that's just what he did. One second." Brado slipped down below the counter, "Now where is it? Reffitia likes to clean up my bar and throw away things without askin...aha, here it is!" The bartender stands back up, holding onto a tri-folded parchment. "He asked me to give this to you. Aramara, is it? He said you were easy to recognize..." he paused as yet another cool breeze drafted into the tavern and muttered to himself, "I've got to get that door fixed one of these cycles."
All the while Fruntar and the old menki were watching Aramara intently and listening to Brado's story, though they've heard it before. There's rarely any excitement in this tavern, and any peculiar activity spreads like wildfire through the town. Brado leans over the counter to hand Aramara the letter, "You have my bartender's honor that I have not read it." and then he glances over at Fruntar quickly, suspicious of the other menki's ethics. The old man caught Brado's action and chuckled a bit before finally taking a drink of his ale. Fruntar missed it, and continued watching Aramara, as did the other two while she read the letter, intent on learning of its contents.
Aramara shivered due to the chill wind, her fur bristling on end along her neck. She briskly rubbed her upper arms with her paws and used her Red Way knowledge to raise the temperature of the air around her. Her focus stayed with Brado as he began to speak, gratefully accepting the seat at the counter but refusing the drink. She listened with rapt attention as he related the tale, her eyes wide in disbelief as he told her of Miomo's actions. She had seen him navigate without his staff before, but the fact that he had written out a note she found hard to fathom.
She followed him closely with her eyes as he retrieved the note and received it with some trepidation. Her heart beat loudly in her chest as she held the letter gently in her paws. As one who has seen visions of the future, nothing frightened her more than the unexpected. She gulped but her mouth and throat were dry. Maybe she'd take that drink after all. Clawed fingers delicately unfolded the thin parchment, blue eyes darted back and forth, reading each line over and over again.
FATE. I have ignored it for too long. I must follow it now, my love. If it weren't for my stubborness, perhaps we could have travelled this path together. It's too late now, and how I wish I could have your pyric insight to guide me, to guide us. I won't tell you not to look for me, you will do as you must. I wish I could tell you where I was going, but i do not know myself. I'm sorry for leaving you without warning, and I look forward to our reuniting, whenever and wherever that may be.
All my love,
MiomoThe first word struck her like a chord, resounding throughout her being, bold letters spelling out emphatically "FATE". Many times over she had traced their lines of fate, how they twisted and spiraled around each other like twining threads. She thought back to one of the steps Miomo had lain out for their courtship, the intertwining of their tails, symbolized in the bronze rings they shared. Her heart now was beating in her throat. She placed her paws flat on the counter surface to stop the room from spinning.
The letter contained no answers, only more questions.
Where had he gone? Why had he gone? How had Miomo written it at all? He was admittedly illiterate, had no way of knowing how to write or spell out the words. But, perhaps there was an answer hidden in the letter after all. If he had truly written it, it may be key to guiding her to him. Suddenly she became aware that all eyes in the room were on her, waiting for her to act. She raised her eyes to Brado and with weakened voice said, "Excuse me."
She lifted herself from the seat and took the candle from the nearest table. Returning to the seat, the very one Miomo was last seen sitting in, she placed the candle on the counter before her. Holding the letter, she folded her paws in her lap and stared directly into the flickering flame, softly whispering the ancient mantra she knew would awaken the spirits in the room, praying to them to reveal to her Miomo's path.
Brado caught himself staring at Aramara and tried to busy himself, though he didn't have much to do except stand there and wash the same mug over and over. He flashed a glance at the other two menkis to try and get them to give her some privacy as well. None of them were able to act casual for long. Not with this humble, yet attractive fenki staring into a candle flame before them.
That flame danced to Aramara's will it grew larger and larger, if only in her head, and in it's center swirled a multitude of shades of orange, red, and yellow. These colors coalesced into a form, an image that this pyromancer has seen before, though incomplete. As soon as the image was recognized, it was gone, and in it's place could be scene this very tavern, and Miomo was there, with his staff leaning against the table and his courteous shades perched on his nose. He was in the middle of writing a note, and was doing so with great speed.
Just then a flash appeared and a bright figure could be seen standing behind him. It's body radiated light, and it had a hand on Miomo's shoulder. Elongated fingers wrapped around the joint and seemed to dig into his flesh, though there was no obvious wound, nor did the menki even seem to notice.
Again the image changed abruptly, and this time it showed Aramara herself, right there were she was at this moment. A quick flash and another figure stood behind her. This one was engulfed in flames. It, too had its hand on her shoulder.
A cool breeze blew in and extinguished the candle's flame before anything further could be gleaned. The menki who where gathered hadn't seen this vision, just a woman scrying in a flame. The old man took another gulp of his beer and Fruntar went back into the kitchen to see what Reffitia had cooking. "Miss Aramara, if there is anything I can do to..." Brado began, but was cut off by the old man, "Oh, a blind menki did you say? Now I remember." He's lucky to remember anything at all at his age. "He must have been the one that saved me from those thugs."
Brado shot an incredulous glance over to the menki, "Come now, Graedol, surely your memory is faulty."
"No, I'm as sharp as a tack, Brado." he looks over at Aramara, "I was attacked by two thugs a few weeks back."
"The same night Miomo left," Brado interjected.
Graedol nodded, "The very same. Those fools thought I had some trias on me. But of course I don't. Brado can attest to that."
The bartender shot him a cold glance.
The old menki chuckled to himself and continued, "This here blind menki strode right up to the three of us, and offered some trias to the thieves. The greedy bastards thought that wasn't enough. Then they got the bright idea of trying to ransom his hide for more trias." The old man paused to take another gulp of his drink and motioned to Fruntar who by now was returning from the kitchen.
"Well I posted their ransom letter on the billboard, but nothing ever came of it as far as I remember." he finished as Fruntar set his second mug of ale down.
"You're memory doesn't go far, Graedol" quipped Brado.
The physical reality of the tavern flickered back into Aramara's mind as the flame of the candle flickered out. She slumped forward as her body was drained of strength, struggled to lift her eyes to Brado as he addressed her. But it was the interrupting old menki who won her attention in the end. Wearily she listened as he recanted Miomo's heroic and selfless deed.
Miomo was being held for ransom, according to the old menki's tale. Her fears that he was in danger had been met, but this was the answer she had prayed for, the spirits had shined a light on her path. Aramara bowed her head and whispered a prayer of thanks while the tavern menki bantered. When they had grown silent once again, she gathered her strength and rose from her seat. With reverence she bowed to them, "Thank you for your help."
Still the meaning behind Miomo's note weighed on her mind.
Was saving the old man the fate Miomo had meant to face? What spirit was guiding him? Was he safe? Hurt? "Time," the words she had often repeated to others now came to her lips, "all things will be revealed in time." Quietly holding herself, she walked out the broken door into the night, across the dusty road to the billboard. Whoever these kidnappers were, she would contact them.
The crystal was nearly extinguished by now, and the only illumination was from the street lanterns and the light pouring out from a few homes. No one was around save for the guards, who watched Aramara intently partly because they had nothing else to do and partly, well, because no one else was out at this late hour. The light from a lantern cast onto the billboard obliquely, creating eerie shadows, and giving the notes the appearance of more depth than they had. This also made it difficult to read them.
The standard messages were tacked onto the board: the safety of yliakum, the merchant market, the champions cup. Then there were a few advertising for some guild or other, and a couple for traders and miners. Searching through the messages and hastily tacked up notes, none of them pertained to any kidnapping or ransom. There were no pieces of parchment or vellum lying on the ground either. Was this the end of the line already? What foolish kidnappers could they be who can't even get a message to anyone who might actually pay for his release?
The sound of someone walking down the street with a cane could be heard. It increased in volume as the person made his way closer to Aramara. The figure stepped out of the shadow and into the lantern light beside the billboard. It was Graedol, the old menki from the bar. He cleared his throat to alert Aramara to his presence, and recognized the concerned look on her face as she searched the billboard for that ransom note.
"I thought I might find you here," he began. "I forgot to mention, but you wont find the note on the billboard now. It was taken down...was it two or three? weeks ago." The old menki leaned on his cane, and kept his focus on the fenki. "Those fools don't even know how to plan a ransom right. If I were going to ransom someone..." he trails off thinking about it for a few minutes. Eventually the senile menki snaps back to the present, "What was I saying? Oh yes, those whippersnappers. I'm afraid it's not much, but I can take you to where they accosted me." he offers.
Aramara stood reading the posted notices, finding none pertaining to the kidnapping or ransom. Again her heart sunk, the trail gone cold already. Her eyes flicked back and forth as her mind raced back across the events that had led her standing there in the chill, dark night. Something she had missed, somewhere. The mysteries of Miomo's note, the beings of light and flame in her vision. Thoughts of her father arose, the lessons in hunting and tracking he had taught her. "If you lose a trail," he once told her with a chuckle, "best bet is the beast is behind you."
The sound of a cough pulled her out of her memories. The old Menki Graedol stood behind her and explained the missing ransom note. Something in his explanation gave Aramara a burst of hope, if these thugs were incapable of correctly holding someone ransom, perhaps Miomo was safe in the refuge of their ineptitude. Then, as the hobbled menki lost his train of thought, the sinking feeling once again crept up from within.
She swallowed and again found her throat dry. With a nod of her head, she accepted Graedol's offer. Perhaps something was left behind at the scene of the encounter.
