Seers of Verde: The Legend Fulfilled: Book One (18 page)

13

The little man sat hunched over a dilapidated desk, scrutinizing an old document. The yellow parchment crunched as he ran his fingertips across it ever so lightly while struggling to interpret the almost-forgotten language.

Two men stood patiently in the doorway watching the seated fellow study the paper while mumbling to himself. Focused on his work, he did not notice when the visitors rapped on his door then opened it. Hearing someone clear his throat behind him, the man in the chair impatiently waved at the noise without looking up.

“Yes, yes, Kunser. I know it's time for third meal, but I'm in the middle of something fascinating here,” he said, not bothering to mask his irritation at being disturbed. “I'll be along shortly. Go on without me.”

One of the two men chuckled then admonished the reader. “Ah, cousin, are you still forgetting to eat? Some things haven’t changed since you were a youngling.”

Startled, Rajeef Nezdan swung around in his chair to see who dared to disturb him. He was quite the sight, with large bushy gray sideburns that swept down his face and curled under his jowls. His unkempt curly light brown hair stuck out in all directions.

“By Holy Mother Verde is that you, Osmar?” he asked, a look of shock on his face. Osmar Nezdan laughed and approached Rajeef, holding his arms out. The cousins greeted each other with a warm hug.

“This is a sight I thought I'd never see, Osmar Nezdan finding his way to the College of Ancient Arts and Languages,” Rajeef said, chuckling and poking his rotund relative in the stomach.

Not to be outdone, Osmar shook his head in mock sadness. “Ah, but cousin it is you I fear who has gotten lost. It has been nine harvests since you've been back for festival. Have you forgotten the way to the village where you were raised?”

Rajeef stared, his mouth wide open. “Nine harvests? That cannot be! I'm sure it's only been five, no maybe six harvests at the most since I've been home.”

Osmar guffawed. “Corya is twenty harvests. She was bonded two harvests ago and has presented me with a beautiful granddaughter.”

Rajeef sputtered at the realization. “But, but little Corya? She was only seven, no, no, maybe eight harvests when I last saw her. Oh my, my, that can't be. Nine harvests?”

Osmar nodded, chortling at Rajeef's absentmindedness. “You have not changed, cousin. Remember how you would be so intent on reading a story you would forget to eat for a whole day? Your mother always worried we would find you withered away under a tree with a scroll still clutched in your hands.”

Rajeef blushed at the memory, then nodded. “Yes, my colleagues would attest to my being slightly absentminded.” Neither cousin had noticed the third man walk in quietly behind them. He picked up the scroll Rajeef had been studying and began to easily read it aloud.

“On this day, let it be known to the witnesses and parties involved that Taspard Najparti has fulfilled his obligation of three thousand goldens and now is rightful owner of the ale house known as Taspard's Inn, three hundredth sector and ninety-second crossroads, Verde City. Why, it's nothing but a bill of sale,” the young man said, laughing. “This is what you were studying so seriously?”

Rajeef whirled around, stunned at hearing someone speak the ancient tongue so fluently. He then noticed the stranger’s odd animal-skin clothes and long hair. Osmar put his arm around his cousin's shoulder.

“Please forgive an outlander's manners. Let me introduce you to my friend, Juban Caleria. He and ten others have traveled a great distance to find us. The only problem is we are having trouble understanding one another. I thought you might know of a good translator.”

Drawing close to Rajeef's ear, he whispered. “The prophecy has come true, cousin. The lost ones have found us.” Rajeef looked at Osmar, then at Juban, who continued reading other bills of sale with great amusement. Then Rajeef fainted.

¶ ¶ ¶

Raaf Vonn and his nine circle brothers sat patiently on benches as they listened to Rajeef try to translate their cryptic Earth Espan-Anglo into the Verdan tongue, which had evolved from a blend of mostly Anglo, Chinese, German, Japanese and Hindi.

Verdan Corya Nezdan and Nuven Darya Vonn had proven to be invaluable. Both were accomplished artists — Corya as a painter and Darya as an illustrator. The two young women would draw an object to help explain what their fellow Verdans or Nuvens were trying to say.

Although Rajeef was an accomplished scholar in the old languages, even he stumbled often when trying to translate. The two parties started simply, identifying common objects such as trees, household objects, colors and animals. The process was agonizingly slow because even their common words were pronounced differently or the meaning had changed over the centuries.

Corya and Juban proved to be quick studies. They often were the first ones to grasp a meaning and explain it to the others. However, many of the finer nuances of each other's tongue were proving to be difficult to grasp. After three days of intense lessons, the Nuvens and Verdans could only greet each other by name, remark at the pretty bird and ask for food or drink.

During a welcome break, Juban strolled to the well. He was looking forward to splashing some cool water over his throbbing head. Seeing an old woman drawing water ahead of him, he sat down to wait his turn and rubbed his temples in an attempt to relax. After taking her bucket off the crank, she turned around and uttered a curse.

“Young master, strangers come. Danger to you. They be Tarylan troopers,” she said in a low hiss. Juban blinked in surprise at being able to understand her, but before he could utter a word, she thrust the bucket his way and commanded him to follow her.

A quick glance confirmed the old woman's warning. Three riders wearing the same gray uniforms as the men the Nuvens had killed were making their way through the street. The strangers stopped to talk to everyone they saw.

Juban grabbed the bucket and quickly followed the old woman into her home before the riders could question them. The two watched the Tarylans ride past, but it was obvious the troopers were searching for something.

After the strangers were out of sight, Juban shook his head in wonder as he accepted a loaf of bread and a mug of cool water from his hostess. “How can you speak my language and the others cannot?” he asked between mouthfuls.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “The others do not understand you? What have you been talking about for all these days?”

Juban just shook his head in amazement. He could understand her even with the Verdan accent. “We have been trying to learn each other's language, but it has been difficult,” he explained. “May I have the honor of your name, good lady?”

A cackle erupted from her, half-cough, half-laugh. “Bless Mother Verde, no one has called me good lady as long as I can remember. Pardon, young sir. I am Sarlen Alator. My family has always spoken old Espan-Anglo.

One of my ancestors insisted his line keep the tongue alive so we could speak to the lost ones when they found us, according to the prophecy.” Sarlen flashed a toothless smile and playfully pinched Juban's cheek. “And so young master, you have found us. I am honored to speak with you.”

Juban shrugged. “Why did you not come forward to speak to us before this?”

She looked at him with a smug smile. “No one asked me.” The Nuven started to laugh at the irony of the moment when someone loudly banged on the door. Sarlen darted to the window and gestured for Juban to hide.

Opening the door a crack, she peeked out and demanded to know who was bothering her. Juban could not understand the Verdan words, but he could tell the strangers must have come back and were going door to door.

He heard Sarlen snarl, “No,” and slam the door shut. She called for him. “The Tarylans are asking for you and the others. Quick, go out the back window and warn your friends.”

But before he could move, Sarlen swore violently as she peered out her window. Looking over her shoulder, Juban saw the three troopers talking to a young boy who was excitedly nodding and pointing to Osmar Nezdan's cabin, where the other Nuvens were gathered. One of the troopers leaned over and patted the boy's head, and then the three riders wheeled their horses around and left at a hard gallop.

Juban waited a moment to make sure they did not return and bolted out the door to alert his fellow Nuvens. Halfway down the street, Juban met Raaf and Ganick Nels, who were racing toward him. Raaf tossed a bow and quiver to Juban and gestured for him to follow.

“They won’t get far on those animals. It’s almost nightfall.” The Nuvens quickly set out in fast-paced pursuit of the Tarylans.

Halfway through the night, Osmar Nezdan was awakened by a rap on his door. Opening it a crack, he saw the three Nuvens who had set out in pursuit of the Tarylan scouts.

“Have no fear of being reported by those men,” Raaf said. Oscar shook his head to show he did not understand. Raaf's hair was matted down from sweat and his face was streaked with dirt. Osmar thought he saw bloodstains on his clothes.

The young man held up three fingers and with his other hand swiped it across his throat. Osmar let out a heavy sigh and nodded. The three somber Nuvens then bowed to the elder and departed for their beds.

14

Wojaht Gafla scowled as he read the scouting reports. There had been no sightings of the murderous intruders or even rumors of sightings. He murmured an oath when he was informed scout party seventeen had not reported in.

“Three days since seventeen has returned to camp?” the Verdan captain asked the nervous-looking lieutenant.

Koriz Arillo saluted. “Yes, sir. Seventeen is one day overdue.” The young officer hated to disappoint his captain. Wojaht had given four lieutenants responsibility for commanding the twenty groups of scouts. Koriz had been honored to have been given the assignment.

“Well, Lieutenant what are you going to do about this truant group? We need these scouts to report on time or else we won't know what area has been covered.”

Koriz nodded. “With your permission, sir, I propose taking a trooper each from sixteen and eighteen to find the missing party. These men are familiar with the surrounding territory and should be able to make good time.”

Wojaht drummed his fingers on his makeshift desk, a large wooden plank set atop two sturdy logs, that was set up for him wherever the strike force camped for the night. “I hate breaking up our scouting parties. Lt. Arillo, I want you and whichever trooper you deem fit to find the missing party,” he ordered.

“Move quickly. Just question each village elder. Missing Tarylan troopers cannot be that hard to find.”

Relieved at being given the chance to redeem himself, Koriz saluted briskly and hurried out of the tent to prepare for his mission. Wojaht waited a few seconds, looked at his aide, and then let out a hearty guffaw.

Lt. Uson Stadova shook his head sympathetically. “A bit hard on Lt. Arillo, perhaps?”

The captain chortled. “Ah, Arillo doesn't know this is the seventh or eighth party that has failed to report on time. The three other lieutenants have had to pull a scouting rotation. It's Arillo's turn.”

¶ ¶ ¶

Trooper Hubart Avery could not believe his bad luck. He and his scouting party had just returned to the strike force camp late in the evening after two hard days of riding and no success. It was barely past first meal, when his lieutenant ordered him to find a fresh mount and be ready to go on a fruitless search mission without the customary half-day rest.

He was now cursing his misfortune at having grown up in a village on the border of sectors seventeen and eighteen. “With all due respect, sir, those missing troopers are probably drunk and have found girls,” Hubart said.

Koriz stood with his arms crossed. “Captain's orders. He wants those men found. Be ready to leave within the hour, trooper.”

Hubart saluted. “Yes sir, within the hour.”

¶ ¶ ¶

Osmar Nezdan welcomed the two troopers and listened politely as Lt. Arillo explained their mission. “Yes, Lieutenant your men traveled through here maybe two days ago. They asked the villagers something about strangers, but found nothing here then rode off.”

Koriz sighed. It was the same answer he had heard in the last three villages. “Did you see the direction they were traveling or hear where they were headed?” the exhausted officer asked as he leaned against his froth-caked horse.

Osmar smiled. “Why, yes. I believe one of the villagers heard them say something about taking a swim in Lake Nandez.”

Hubart groaned. “Lake Nandez? That's a half-day's ride from here.”

Osmar shrugged. “Yes, that sounds about right. You will have plenty of light to travel tonight. Luna Primo is full and Luna Nino will be almost half-full.”

The lieutenant shook his head at the thought of riding more that day. Hubart slumped in his saddle, also exhausted from their hard ride. “Our horses need water and rest, as do we,” Koriz said.

Osmar nodded. “Of course. Help yourselves to the well, troopers. There are troughs nearby to water your horses, too.”

“Ah, water and some grazing sounds good for the horses, but I could use a bit of ale and perhaps a meat pie,” Hubart said, perking up at the thought of sitting down on something that wasn't moving.

The elder shook his head. “I'm sorry, troopers, but our tavern is closed. The keeper had business elsewhere for a few days. You are welcome to rest yourselves and your mounts at the well.”

Koriz mumbled a thank you and led his horse toward the well. Hubart dismounted and looked expectantly at Osmar, but the elder just smiled, wished him good luck and walked away. The trooper stared at Osmar, then turned to follow his lieutenant. Something troubled him about this village.

The townspeople were quietly going about their business, basically ignoring the Tarylans. The usual curious mob of children was missing.

While they were attending to their horses, Hubart quietly got Koriz's attention. “Something is wrong here, sir,” he whispered. The lieutenant raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“It is tradition in these villages to invite strangers into their homes to feed them if other means are not available. We Tarylans are always treated as honored guests, but these people are acting oddly aloof.”

Koriz nonchalantly looked around as he watered his horse and washed the caked sweat from its coat. “Perhaps we need to observe this place from afar,” he said quietly. “Let’s ride out, then double back.” Feigning gratitude for the “hospitality,” the two troopers took their time and rode out of the village.

Ganick Nels stared from a hidden vantage point on a rooftop. “The older trooper was acting strangely,” he said to Raaf Vonn who crouched next to him. “He was looking as if he lost something, then spoke quietly to the other man.”

Raaf agreed. “We will follow them until we're satisfied they will not come back. I hope we do not have to kill more of them.”

Ganick shrugged. “It may be too late to stop the killing. These Tarylans seem intent on finding us.”

Raaf grinned. “Perhaps we don't have to kill them.” He then gestured for Ganick to follow him.

Koriz and Hubart rode away from the village for about half a kilometer and then turned around and eased their way back in an effort to approach without being seen. The troopers tied their horses to a tree in a draw and slunk forward, hoping the night would hide them.

“You take the far end and I will work around the other side,” the lieutenant ordered. “Meet back here when Luna Major has traveled three hours.”

Hubart grunted an affirmative and slunk off to find a spot where he could observe the villagers. Koriz darted from tree to tree as he neared the village. After racing to the last tree before entering the village, the lieutenant heard a soft rustling behind him. A quick glance assured Koriz nothing was there, but when he turned back around, a figure flashed forward, knocking him down. The young officer tried to get up, but a sharp crack to his head quickly quelled his attempt to escape.

¶ ¶ ¶

Both Tarylans were unceremoniously revived by buckets of cold water poured over their heads. Hubart awoke with a start and tried to fight out of his bonds. Koriz sputtered and coughed as if he had just been saved from drowning.

“Now, now, troopers, no harm will come to you,” Osmar Nezdan tried to reassure them. “Quiet down so we can talk to you.” Blinking through the drops of water on his face, Koriz saw the village elder, an old woman and eleven young adults, about his age, wearing strange garb, mostly animal skins.

A sickening feeling swept through him as he realized who these people must be. “I command you to release us immediately,” he shouted. “You are interfering with official Tarylan business.”

Seeing they had no bargaining power, the more pragmatic Hubart tried to convince the lieutenant to quiet down. The trooper was a bit more roughed up than his officer. Hubart had been attacked, too, but he had put up a respectable fight until finally being overpowered. He sported black eyes and a cut lip after the tussle.

The old woman shuffled over to Koriz and slapped his cheek, much the same way a mother might discipline an unruly child. “Be quiet, young man, and listen to what our guests have to say,” Sarlen Alator scolded him. The stunned officer stopped struggling and slumped back in his chair.

Sarlen patted him on the head. “Good pup. There you go. Now, I want to introduce you to Raaf Vonn of the Nuven Valley. He and his people have finally crossed the mountain to find us.”

Hubart perked up at her words. “They crossed Mt. Kiken?” he asked reverently. “Mother Verde are you telling the truth?”

Sarlen smiled, “Yes, it's true. They call the mountain Barrasca. Ah, this one appears to have been raised by a good Verdan family who remembered our ancestors' promises to welcome the lost ones home.”

Chuckling, she told the Nuvens what Hubart had said. With a nod from Raaf, Ganick walked over to Hubart, pulled out one of his knives and cut the Verdan free. The two former combatants grinned broadly at each other and embraced in friendship.

Raaf stood up, spoke briefly, and stared sternly at Koriz. The lieutenant looked puzzled then turned to Sarlen. “What did he say?”

The old woman shook her head then jabbed the lieutenant in the chest with a sharp fingernail. “He says his people have been trying to cross the mountain for two hundred years. And when they finally find us, we try to kill them. Why?”