These Doors Are Made Of Stone

Wed, 31 Jul 2024 23:01:00 GMT

Previously on Saga of the Jewels…

The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. Ryn discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. He sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, VISH the poppy-seed-addicted bounty hunter, and HULD the fighting monk. Together the companions decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the evil EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where under the guidance of the Farrian fighting monk HULD they have entered the Earth Temple in order to attempt to find the EARTH EMERALD…

EPISODE TWENTY-SEVEN: THESE DOORS ARE MADE OF STONE

“At least no more of those golem things appeared when you pushed the doors like last time,” Ryn called up to Sagar where the skypirate stood at the top of the flight of earthen stairs.

“Yeah, that’s something…” said Elrann nearby.

“Sure,” Sagar called down, “but how are we going to get through these doors? They’re shut fast, I tell you!”

“Maybe Huld can try them?” Ryn suggested.

“Rrrr,” came Sagar’s growl of irritation from above, echoing through the large hall. Despite himself, the side of Ryn’s mouth twitched up into a half-grin. “Fine! I wouldn’t say he’s much stronger than me, though!”

Ryn turned to the monk, who wore his usual blank smile.

“Do you mind having a go, Huld?”

“I will try.”

The monk plodded up on the steps and stood next to Sagar. He put his hands on the doors and pushed.

“No,” he confirmed, “I am not strong enough to move these either.”

“See?” said Sagar, holding out his hands sanctimoniously.

“Why don’t you try your special technique thingy?” yelled up Elrann.

“You mean The Strike That Moves Mountains?” Huld said.

“Yeah! That one.”

“Hang on,” Sagar called down, “the last time he did that, those golem things appeared and attacked us! We don’t want that to happen again!”

“I’m ready with my fire,” Ryn said.

“Yes,” said Nuthea, “but you are meant to be conserving your mana.” She shook her head at him like he was a naughty child. Annoyance tightened Ryn’s mouth, but it quickly turned to a suppressed laugh. Nuthea could be so bossy sometimes he just had to laugh at her.

“Right,” said Elrann, “that could happen, but this is the best bet we’ve got at the moment.”

“So would you like me to try?” said Huld deferentially from the top of the steps. He was the picture of politeness, but Ryn wondered if underneath that gentle giant exterior the monk was experiencing any irritation with them.

“Yeah,” said Elrann. “Go for it!”

“Rrrr,” growled Sagar.

Huld set his feet, pulled back his hands behind his body and breathed in loudly, sucking in the stale air.

Ryn braced himself. His fingers tingled, ready to summon flame if need be.

Huld drove his open palms into the stone doors. 

An almighty boom resounded throughout the chamber, followed by...

…cavernous silence. 

“Well that’s done absolutely nothing,” observed Sagar. “Again.” 

The skypirate marched back down the stairs. Huld followed.

“Anyone else got any smart ideas to try?” Sagar said in exasperation as the two of them re-joined the circle of the group in the faint glow-worm light.

“It’s another puzzle…” said Cid, stroking his beard. “Like the last floor. Although it seems we may not be able to solve this one just by blasting through it, since these doors are made of stone.”

“Rrrrr!” growled Sagar loudly, turning purple in the light from the glow-worms as he lost his temper. “This is a load of chocobo-poodoo! I’m sick of puzzles! There must be a simple way through!”

All of a sudden he turned and ran back up the stairs, so fast he must be calling the wind to assist him, and indeed Ryn felt his hair flutter. When Sagar reached the top, this time he shouted “WIND!” and flung his hands forwards at the doors.

The party didn’t see the gust but they felt the disturbance in the air even from where they were sitting on the floor. 

The back-blast of his own wind attack off the doors knocked Sagar backwards, and he flew into the air away from them. His hands waved around frantically for a moment, but then he managed to convert his momentum into a backflip and put them out on either side of him to raise a smaller gust below himself and float to the floor more slowly. 

Sagar touched down on the ground almost gracefully.

“Godsdammit!” he yelled all the same, most ungracefully, frustrated that his attack hadn’t done anything to the doors. Ryn wasn’t sure why he evoked the gods, or the hells, so often when he didn’t even believe in them.

“That was pretty cool, too,” said Elrann.

That seemed to calm Sagar down a bit. He sighed, and let his hands drop to his sides. “It didn’t work, though...”

“Of course not,” said Cid. “We’ve established that the element of Earth is highly resistant to the element of Wind.”

“Yes thank you, old timer,” said Sagar, completely unthankfully. “I’ve had just about enough of you stating the bleeding obvious. I’d figured that out by now. So how are we going to get through them? Hey—you should try your fire, pup.”

“You reckon?” Ryn said. For once the skypirate had spoken to him almost like he was an equal, even if he still used the same term of address as for a baby dog. 

“Well why not?” Sagar said. “The old timer says earth is supposedly ‘weak’ to fire, isn’t it?”

“But they’re made of stone.”

“Have you got any better ideas?”

Ryn shrugged, and walked up the steps to test out a small fire attack on the stone doors.

It didn’t even mark them. They remained exactly as they were, indifferent and immovable.

Next Elrann tried shooting them with one of her pistols. Then Cid tried saying some more magic words and passwords. Even Vish, under coercion, had a go at trying to work his blade into the very thin crack between the two doors and prise them open, but to no avail. For some reason Nuthea refused to even bother to try a lightning attack, though Ryn supposed that was fair enough. It made sense to him that lightning was likely to be completely ineffective against earth as an elemental pairing.

Eventually they all found themselves sitting or lying in a circle on the worm-lit floor, tired, fed up and at a complete loss about how to get past the doors.

“Welp, this is fun,” Elrann said sarcastically. “I guess we’re going to have to retrace our steps and find a way back, or else we’re going to die of starvation or thirst in here. Or boredom.”

“Raarrrrr!” Sagar said. That was a really big one, Ryn thought. “There’s got to be a way through!” He slammed his fist onto the floor next to him where he sat.

As he did so, Ryn noticed that the floor got a bit darker for a moment where he had hit it. 

“Hey…” Ryn said. “Do that again, Sagar…”

“Do what?” said Sagar.

“Hit your fist on the ground.”

“Why? Are you going loopy, pup?”

“Just do it,” Ryn said impatiently. Then he thought he better add, “Please?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Sagar hit the ground with the side of his fist again, even harder than the last time. “There. Happy?!”

This time Ryn saw them. When Sagar’s fist connected with the floor, the glow-worms inside the floor nearest the place that he hit wriggled quickly away from the point of impact for a moment, then slowly came back to it.

“They’re moving!”

“What are moving?!”

“The glow-worms are moving away from your hand when you hit the floor!”

Sagar thumped the floor again to test this.

“...so they are. Who cares?”

“That must be the key to solving the puzzle!”

“What good is that going to do us, pup? It’s just moving some worms around.” 

“No, don’t you see?” Ryn said.

He stood up, and then tried stomping his foot on the ground. The glow worms wriggled away from the spot where he stomped, taking their light with them. He stomped again, somewhere else nearby, and some of the worms that had moved away from his first stomp kept going, moving away from this one too, so that it got a little darker around his foot.

“We can affect them!” Ryn said. “We can move them, herd them!”

The others were frowning at him.

“What good is that going to do us?” said Sagar. “It’s a nice trick, but it’s not going to get us through those doors, pup, is it?”

“No,” said Cid, standing up too, “I think young man Ryn might be onto something. The boy is right—the worms are the only things in this room that we can affect. It’s the best lead we’ve had so far. Come!”

He started to stomp on the ground too and, while Ryn had to admit that the two of them looked quite silly taking big exaggerated steps around the darkened hall together, the worms moved for Cid as well.

Nuthea joined in, then Elrann, then Huld (he got a lot of worms moving), then at their request even Vish. And at last Sagar breathed another big sigh and joined them too.

The worms were definitely moving, only they were wriggling around inside the floor all over the place in random directions away from different people’s feet.

“Hey!” Ryn called over the noise of their galumphing feet. “If we all stomp in the same place, we might be able to make them go in the same direction!”

They all clumped together and began to stomp near each other, their footwear illuminated by the glow worms that fled their feet: Ryn’s brown leather shoes, Nuthea’s golden slippers, Sagar’s steel-capped boots, Elrann’s simple laced plimsolls, Cid’s simple sandals, Vish’s black shoes with upturned toes, and Huld’s bare feet. Combined, they made a tremendous racket, like the sound of drums being beaten very fast and erratically, that echoed throughout the hall.

Thudthudthudthudthudthudthud. 

Sure enough, the glow-worms fled through the floor away from the vibrations of their feet, faster than Ryn had seen them move yet, and many of them all in a group together, taking their light with them in a moving puddle of luminescence.

“It works!” proclaimed Ryn in jubilation.

“Yes, this is all well and good, pup,” yelled Sagar, ever persistent in his antagonism, “but what’s the point?! Where are we going to herd them?!”

The answer seemed obvious to Ryn. “Up the stairs, of course!”

“This is ridiculous!” Sagar yelled.

Neither Ryn nor the others bothered to contradict him, but he joined in all the same. Ridiculous it may be, but this was the only action that had changed anything in this room thus far, so Ryn reasoned the worms must have something to do with the doors at the top of the steps.

Under his direction, they began to stomp their way over to the foot of the steps. As they stomped, more glow-worms got caught up in the big group that they were pushing towards the step, and now they were shepherding a big mass of them about three measures across. The light from all of these worms collected together to form a shimmering pool, and they seemed to be emitting it more intensely as they moved away from the party’s thudding feet.

They reached the steps. A few of the moving worms broke off from the main pack and moved around the bottom step, but most of them went into it.

“Keep going!” Ryn spurred the others on over the sound of their stomping feet. “Get them up the steps!”

Once most of the worms had burrowed into the earth of the first step, it lit up white with their glow. This must be the key to progressing through this room. They waited until the worms had moved a little way along the big step, away from their footfall, and then, Ryn leading, they all hopped up onto the step and continued to stomp.

The worms continued to flee, quickly, across the first step and into the earth of the second step.

“Keep going!” Ryn called again.

They carried on like this, driving the worms up another step, then another, another, another.

Thudthudthudthudthud went their feet on the earth below them.

And then they were at the top of the steps, driving the worms they had collected towards the doors of stone, all stood in front of them together and jogging on the spot like idiots.

The mass of glow-worms moved along the top step and arrived at the doors.

Then they disappeared underneath them.

“Huh?” Ryn exclaimed aloud.

Everyone stopped stomping.

“Well, that’s bloody brilliant,” said Sagar. “We’ve chased them into whatever room’s beyond the doors. Now we’ve lost them and it’s even darker in here than it was before. Great work, pup.”

“No,” said Ryn, at the situation. He had been sure they had been onto something. Cid had said so as well.

One God, he found himself saying inside his head. Show me the way through.

Keep stomping! he thought.

“Keep stomping!” he said out loud. He didn’t know why he said it; he just did, and started to stomp again, his eyes fixed on the immovable stone doors.

Nuthea joined in again. Cid. Elrann. Huld. Vish. Thudthudthudthudthud. Sagar didn’t bother this time.

“What’s the point, pup?” Sagar yelled. “This is a waste of time! You’re just driving the worms further away!”

And then the doors began to glow.

The grey stone of them started to turn white. As Ryn’s eyes stretched wide, he saw hundreds of tiny worms burrowing out of the front of them, coming up through their surface.

“Of course!” Cid yelled. “The worms eat earth, and that’s what makes them give off the light! We could see them before because some of their light got through the earth near its surface! But stone is more opaque, and blocks it out! They’re eating through the stone now, so we can see them as they reach the surface!”

Cid was right. Not only were the doors glowing, hundreds of small white worms poking out of them in different places, but they actually seemed to be shrinking too. 

They stomped harder. Ryn noticed that Sagar had joined in again, and gone uncharacteristically quiet.

And now he noticed something else too. The worms were still giving off their light, and when they reached the surface of the doors they were poking their little squidgy glowing ends out, but then they were stopping still, not eating any more of it.

Apparently stone was more filling than soil, or whatever the floor and steps were made out of.

“We need more of them!” he cried. He took charge. “Cid, Nuthea, Vish, you stay here and keep stomping! Huld, Elrann, Sagar, come with me! We need to herd more of the worms up the steps!”

Sagar actually did what Ryn suggested without protest this time and came with him, Elrann and Huld down the steps. 

Together, they chased down the remaining glow-worms in the floor of the hall, stomping and stamping and cooperating together to herd them back towards the steps and up them, a group at a time. Each time they got to the penultimate step, Cid, Nuthea and Vish would stop stomping for a moment to let the new batch of worms pass under their feet, and then resume again, driving them into the doors, then up and through them.

At last, Ryn and the others managed to sweep up the last of the glow-worms from the floor and herd them up the steps and into the doors. They had caught every single last one now, and the only light in the hall came from the glowing doors where they all stood at the top of the steps. 

The last worm disappeared into the stone doors.

They all stamped together in front of them, willing the final batch of worms up through the doors.

The doors flared with bright, white light, the brightest yet.

Ryn put his hand over his face to cover his eyes.

The party stopped stomping.

Ryn took his hand away from his eyes.

The doors just weren’t there anymore. The worms had eaten through the entirety of them.

Instead they could now see another cramped, darkened, rectangular, earthen corridor, to which the doors had been barring access.

They could see the shape of the corridor because the worms had apparently all dropped back into the earthen floor, though all Ryn could see of them was a pool of white light now coming from the floor in front of them; a wide disc of brightness.

The disc shot forward, along the floor, taking its light with it, threatening to leave them in darkness.

“Come on!” Ryn yelled to the others. “We need that light!”

He shot forwards too, pursuing the pool of light across the floor, and the others ran with him without hesitation.

The light-pool led them down the corridor, left at a turn, around a bend, right at another turn. If they ran at full pelt, they were just able to keep up with it, sometimes even to run into the encirclement of its glow below their feet, though it was moving fast now, and they never kept this up for very long.

It was as though they were making their way through another version of the ground floor they had gotten lost in before, only this time they had the disc of light to guide them and illuminate their path.

Though that didn’t turn out to be the only thing that was different about this floor.

Ahead of them, in this latest corridor that the light had led them into, running at the front of the pack Ryn could see that the floor dropped away.

He stopped just in time, pulling up and halting his run, and the others crashed into the back of him, and would have knocked him forwards into the pit had he not braced himself for the impact. 

“Oi!” said Sagar.

“Hey!” said Elrann. “What gives?”

Ryn recoiled from the edge of the pit even more when he saw, as the pool of light moved down the side of the pit and passed underneath them, a few metres below at the bottom of it, row upon row of sharpened, earthen spikes.

“Wow,” said Elrann when she looked over the edge and saw them too. “It’s a good thing you did stop.”

On the other side of the pit the pool of moving light came up and reached the floor of the corridor again, and carried on moving quickly away from them.

Their part of the corridor got darker.

“Quick!” Ryn said desperately. “How are we going to get across this gap?”

“We’ll have to jump again,” said Sagar. “I’ll boost us over with a gust. Come back a bit, everyone; you’ll need a run up.”

They ran back a few paces away from the pit. It was still getting darker as the light moved away from them—they could only just see where the pit started now.

“One…” said Sagar, “two... three... run! Jump! WIND!”

Ryn took his running leap over the lip of the pit with the others and felt Sagar’s wind blast rush into him from behind, picking him up and carrying him through the air above the spikes.

A brief sensation of weightlessness, and he landed clumsily on the other side of the pit, lost his footing, put his arms out to break his fall, rolled and came up again, then carried on dashing forwards to try to catch up with the rapidly receding pool of light.

The pool of light which reached the end of the corridor and turned left, deepening the darkness once again.

Ryn hit the end-wall and went left too. He pushed himself to keep running, his lungs and legs burning, and began to gain on the pool of light.

“Ryn!” called Nuthea from behind. “Which way? We didn’t see!”

“Left!” Ryn shouted over his shoulder. “Hurry!” He must not lose the light.

When he had looked round briefly he had seen Sagar, Vish and Huld’s faces lit up in the worm-light behind him, but he couldn’t wait for them to catch up. He must keep pace with the light.

The light which he had nearly reached again, which was moving down the corridor, past a thin tubular protrusion that stuck out about a hand’s breadth into the middle of it, at around chest-height. That was weird. What’s that for? Ryn thought as he ran following the light towards it.

Hands grabbed hold of his shoulders.

“Get down, you stupid boy!” shouted Vish.

The hands forced him down with ferocious strength, but he kept his momentum so that he ended up diving to the floor and skidding along it for a few metres on his stomach. It was only a hard earth floor, but it knocked the air out of Ryn and grazed his belly.

Above him, a sound like someone rapidly chopping vegetables—thunkthunkthunk.

“Hey!” Ryn said to Vish, who had forced him down and ended up on the floor with him, his masked face only inches away from Ryn’s own. “What was that for?”

Then he saw. A couple of metres back, a number of feathered darts stuck out of the wall on the opposite side from the tube.

Sagar reached the tube, but instead of diving under it as Vish had with Ryn, he made a wind-assisted jump over it, and three more darts shot out of the tube and thunked into the wall on the other side.

“Watch out, you lot!” Sagar called back the way he had come as he ran past Ryn and Vish on the floor. “There’s a tube about halfway down this one that shoots darts!”

Ryn scrambled to his feet. He wasn’t about to let Sagar get ahead of him.  

Run, Ryn, run, he thought, an old rhyme coming back to his mind as he hurtled after Sagar and the light. But he would have to change the words now. Run, Ryn, run away, live to fight another day, live to train another way, live to find the Jewels and make the Emperor pay.

The pool of light reached the end of the corridor and went right, deepening the darkness again. Sagar followed it. 

Behind Ryn the others were calling and shouting about something, but there wasn’t time to worry about them. He must keep pace with the light.

“Swinging axe!” yelled Sagar from somewhere up ahead.

Huh?

Ryn pulled up just in time, and a huge curved-bladed axe moved across his vision perpendicular to the corridor, inches away from his nose. It swung from the corridor ceiling, and as it reached one wall with the tip of its blade it hung suspended in stillness for a moment, then swung back the other way.

Ryn took a deep breath and waited for his moment, hearing Vish and Huld arrive behind him.

“Swinging axe,” he informed them matter-of-factly.

Vish grunted his acknowledgement. Huld didn’t even bother to do that.

The axe reached the apex of its ascent again and hung.

“Now!” Ryn yelled, and the three of them shot past the axe, further down the corridor, after Sagar, after the light.

“Swinging axe!” Ryn called back one more time as he heard the others arriving in the corridor behind them.

“Slow down, would ya?!” Elrann called back. 

Ryn couldn’t slow down or he might lose the light. “Stay together!” he called back, still without looking. “We’ve got to keep up with this light or we’ll lose our way! We’ll keep telling you what the traps are up ahead as we reach them!”

It got darker again as the pool of light turned down yet another corridor, Sagar hot on its tail.

Ryn, Vish and Huld reached the corner and turned too.

This time they were greeted by Sagar running towards them in pursuit of the pool of light, which was now moving very quickly back along the corridor it had apparently just gone down. Behind him, something stirred and grumbled in the shadows.

“ROLLING BOULDER!” Sagar cried, even as the pool of light passed underneath Ryn’s feet and the skypirate pushed past him in the opposite direction.

“Oh, poodoo,” Ryn swore as he saw the giant grey boulder that filled the entire width of the corridor rolling rapidly towards them.

He turned with Vish and Huld and ran for his life. 

They rounded the corner they had just turned down.

In the distance, beyond Sagar and the light-pool, Nuthea, Elrann and Cid were stood on the other side of the swinging axe, waiting for the right moment to dash past it.

“What’s going on?” said Nuthea when she saw the light moving towards her.

“At least now we can see again!” said Elrann.

“Turn around!” yelled Sagar. “There’s a massive rolling boulder behind us!”

A tremendous crash sounded from behind them.

Ryn dared to hope that the boulder would stop in its tracks now that it had hit a wall, and looked round.

Nope.

“Damned magical shrine-temple!” Sagar cursed in exasperation.

They kept running, barely avoiding another swing of the axe-blade in their mad rush, following the light-pool as it shot back the way it had come, sweeping Nuthea, Elrann and Cid into their wake.

They were all near to the moving light-pool now, as they ran together, Ryn back at the head of the pack next to Sagar and Vish.

They turned a corner as they heard a sound of snapping metal. That must be the boulder smashing its way through the swinging axe-trap.

Back they went, back past the shooting dart trap, which they all ducked under or jumped over. 

The boulder rolled after them.

Back they went, back over the spiked pit, which they flew over again with a quickly coordinated jump and wind-assistance from Sagar.

A little way on the other side of this pit, they all stopped and turned, convinced that the boulder would fall into the pit, and stop.

Instead, the spikes at the bottom of the pit rose up to meet the boulder, and it continued to roll over the tips of the spikes, over the pit.  

“Oh, come on!” cried Ryn as they all turned and continued to run.

The boulder rolled after them.

Back they went, back to the first fork they had reached when they had got past the stone doors at the start of this floor.

The boulder rolled after them.

This time the light-pool moved straight on past the turning to the doors, in the other direction from which it had initially taken on their arrival on this floor.

“Stupid bloody glow-worms!” Sagar cried. “It’s like they’re teasing us, leading us into all these traps!”

“We’ve got to keep following them!” yelled Ryn. “It’s our only option!”

“I know, pup! Do you think I don’t know that?”

“It’s not a tease!” yelled Cid, “It’s a test!”

“Shut up, old timer! I’m starting to get testy with you!”

Another turn at the other end of this corridor, more corridors, more turns.

But no more traps, for now.

And yet still the boulder rolled after them. Never more than a corridor behind. If anything, it seemed to be getting faster.

Ryn began to pant and wheeze as he ran, and his chest burned.

“Huld, do you have any idea how much further we have to go?” he gasped to the monk.

“I am sorry,” said Huld as he ran, almost breathless too, exasperation in his voice. “I do not. Just to remind you: I have. Never. Been. Here. Before!”

“Hey, look!” Elrann called out.

The light-pool had stopped. It had gotten some length ahead of them in their exhaustion from sprinting so long, but about twenty paces away at the end of this corridor it had stopped at last in front of a solid wall that seemed to be made out of something shiny which shimmered as it reflected its glow.

It was probably because Ryn was trying to work out what this wall was made of that he didn’t notice the new pit in front of him, into which he fell.

“Oomph!”

He pushed himself up and rubbed his arms where he had landed on them.

There was another thump from nearby.

“Stupid pup!” Sagar said next to him.

“What did I do?” Ryn said.

“You didn’t look where you were going!”

“Neither did you!”

Thank the One, at least there were no spikes at the bottom of this pit, just a cold, flat, earthen floor about ten feet down and a few feet long. 

There was, however, still a giant boulder in the corridor above, rolling towards them.

The heads of the others appeared at the lip of the pit above.

“Quickly!” said Nuthea. “Captain Sagar, we need you to boost us over this pit as well!”

She still manages to add the honorific to his name, even at a time like this…

Sagar wind-boosted himself and Ryn as they jumped back up to the corridor, on the side that they had fallen down from.

The boulder had nearly reached them.

“Hurry!” Nuthea cried.

“Windaaaaaaarragggaaaahh!” Sagar shouted, as he and everyone else were thrown through the air above the pit by the great gust of wind that he summoned.

This time there was no question of a smooth landing. They all crashed into each other in the corridor on the other side of the pit, banging limbs and heads and collapsing in a bug jumbled heap, then disentangling themselves from one another and scrambling up cursing and bickering.

A massive boom issued.

Ryn got up to see that the boulder had fallen into the pit after them.

It rolled forwards a few paces in the pit, then sank down a little and came to a halt, where it made a clicking sound, pressing on some sort of mechanism that he and Sagar hadn’t noticed had been built into the floor of it when they had been down in it.

A creaking noise followed, this time from behind Ryn.

He spun to see the steel doors at the end of the corridor, which apparently the glow worms were not able to eat through, opening.

Opening onto glorious blue sky and sunlight which lit up the corridor completely, dimming the glow from the worm-pool on the floor ahead.

A flood of warm air from the world outside filled the corridor, pleasantly caressing Ryn’s face.

At last; they had made it to the top of the Shrine.

To be continued…

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The Earth Temple

Mon, 01 Jul 2024 11:45:52 GMT

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Huld, The Monk

Sat, 01 Jun 2024 06:00:00 GMT

Fantasy book news:

-The Locus Award shortlist is out. The fantasies are:

* To Shape a Dragon’s Breath, Moniquill Blackgoose (Del Rey)

* The Keeper’s Six, Kate Elliott (Tordotcom)

* Emily Wilde’s Encyclopaedia of Faeries, Heather Fawcett (Del Rey; Orbit UK)

* Dead Country, Max Gladstone (Tordotcom)

* The Water Outlaws, S.L. Huang (Tordotcom; Solaris UK)

* Paladin’s Faith, T. Kingfisher (Argyll)

* He Who Drowned the World, Shelley Parker-Chan (Tor; Mantle)

* My Brother’s Keeper, Tim Powers (Baen; Ad Astra)

* City of Last Chances, Adrian Tchaikovsky (Ad Astra)

* Witch King, Martha Wells (Tordotcom)

The YA fantasies are:

* The Sinister Booksellers of Bath, Garth Nix (Tegen; Gollancz)

* Divine Rivals, Rebecca Ross (Wednesday; Magpie UK)

* The Siren, the Song, and the Spy, Maggie Tokuda-Hall (Candlewick)

-The Bookseller has announced the winners of the 2024 British Book Awards, also known as The Nibbies. Here once again we see the trending dominance of Romantasy and in particular Rebecca Yarros. The fantasies that came up were:

* Iron Flame, Rebecca Yarros (Piaktus)

* Fourth Wing, Rebecca Yarros (Piatkus) [winner in Page Turner category]

* Impossible Creatures, Katherine Rundell (Bloomsbury Children’s) [winner in Children’s fiction category]

* Powerless, Lauren Roberts (Simon & Schusters Children’s)

* Skandar and the Phantom Rider, A.F. Steadman (Simon & Schusters Children’s)

For the complete list of winners, see the official website.

-Not strictly book news, but you’ve probably heard that they’re making a new Lord of the Rings film about Gollum. I’m not very hopeful after the messes that were the Hobbit films. On the other hand Andy Serkis is a genius. We’ll see…

Your free and discounted fantasy ebook and audiobook sales for this month:

And a little Romantasy one I snuck in to see if any Romantasy readers are interested in jumping on to the story of Ryn and Nuthea… \/ \/ \/

What I’ve been reading:

I like to read something similar in form to whatever I’m working on, and I started out this month editing and submitting some short stories so I thought I would read some too. One of the stories I had was comedy-fantasy (see below), so I decided to read Terry Pratchett’s short stories. I’ve not read any Pratchett for a while, but I spent most of my teens working through the Discworld novels. I realise now just how much Pratchett affected my writing style—which I think is good and bad! Lots of these were not that memorable. On the other hand, one or two were absolute gems, but they did depend somewhat on prior knowledge of Discworld characters. Pratchett was the king of comedy-fantasy, but seemed (by his own admission) to do best with novels…

What I’ve been listening to:

To be honest I’m still listening my way through THE LIES OF LOCKE LAMORA since it’s so massive, however in the meantime here’s a hot audio tip: If you haven’t discovered the free fantasy short stories podcast PODCASTLE yet (from genre stories podcast group ESCAPE POD), you should check it out! In particular I recommend their full-cast recording of IN THE STACKS, a hilarious short story about some students returning a book to a vast magical library, also written by Scott Lynch.

What Jo’s been reading:

What I’ve been working on:

I edited and submitted three fantasy short stories to different venues this month for something different before editing SAGA OF THE JEWELS VOL. 1 in response to the professional editorial feedback I paid for. I’ve got one request for a full story from a partial sub so far, so that’s something! I’ve only aimed relatively low because it’s been a while since I sold any short stories, but we’ll see if anything comes of them.

Then I got to editing something I wrote at Christmas—a short story about a teacher in a magic school, rather than a student, for once. I’d already written a second follow-up scene, and I had a few more ideas, so I just kept going—and now I have 16,000 words of draft of a novel. Whoops. It may be total garbage, but I just wonder if this might be the mansucript that I work and work and work on until I get it house-published…

I think it has potential, but I need to know if there are any other fantasy novels out there about teachers in magical schools. I’ve done some research and so far found two, both indies: A DREAM OF FIRE by J. R. Rasmussen and TEACHING MAGIC by Amy Cocke. I’ve not read these yet, though now I’m going to have to:

Does anyone know of any other fantasy novels about magic school teachers?

If you do, please let me know in the comments or by email reply!

In other news

This newsletter is being scheduled from The Past because at the time it goes out we will be traveling back from Bavaria! (Knowing my luck lots of important fantasy books news will have dropped in the interim…) We were given some money by the parents of a friend to go on a holiday after Jo’s cancer treatment, but she hadn’t been well enough to go before now. She had carte blanche to pick anywhere she wanted to go, and this is where she chose: a retreat centre in the Bavarian Alps! If you’ve read or listened to Saga of the Jewels Season One, this is a bit how I imagine the Zerlanese town of Nevva in the episode ‘Rest Stop’. It’s meant to be family friendly, but I’m a little wary of how it’s going to be with a 6yo and 1yo… Nonetheless, we are super grateful and excited. See you on the other side!

Previously on Saga of the Jewels…

The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. Ryn discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the Fire Ruby. He sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted assassin. Together the adventurers decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the evil EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where they are on their way to the ‘Earth Temple’ in order to attempt to find the EARTH EMERALD under the guidance of Farrian monk HULD…

Saga of the Jewels Episode 25. Huld, The Monk

Huld made his way through the undergrowth of the Farrian jungle, leaning on his staff, pushing a particularly big, leafy branch out of the way and taking care not to snap it.

He held it back for the foreigners to allow them to get past and continue further along the trail, which also gave him an opportunity to count them off in his head as they walked by.

He was having trouble remembering their names. There was the red-brown-haired fireboy, who didn’t say much. Huld liked that, though he was highly cautious of the boy’s flame-projection powers. One.

There was the long-golden-haired girl who talked too much. It was her fault that this whole mission was happening, really. He wasn’t sure what he thought about her, though he guessed her intentions were probably noble and she was probably harmless. She hadn’t shown if she really had any ‘powers’ yet. Two.

Then there was the boy with the silly coat and the ponytail. He talked far too much, and didn’t know when to hold his tongue. Huld was sure that this one’s intentions were not noble. This was definitely one to keep an eye on. He smiled at the boy as he walked past.

“Stop grinning at me like that,” the ponytail-boy said as he went by. “You’re giving me the creeps.”

“My apologies,” said Huld, without meaning it.

Three.

Next there was the engineer boy with the short purple hair. No, wait, this was a girl, he had now established. Actually, he still wasn’t entirely sure, to be honest. She was nice enough and had been quite friendly to him so far. She seemed as though she was simply going along with the rest of the group in order to help them out, without being especially invested in their goal. Huld could understand that. Four.

Then there was the old man with the beard. The only one with any sense in the whole group, as far as Huld could tell. He spoke carefully, thoughtfully, and did not rush into things. Very sensible. Five.

And lastly, bringing up the rear, was the supposedly ex-Imperial masked Shadowfinger, dressed all in black. Huld was deeply suspicious of this one. He could sense a fearsome strength sealed up in this man’s body, in his tense poise and the way he carried himself so deliberately as he walked which showed that he knew how to use it. This was the one to really watch. Six.

And I make seven. All present and accounted for. Huld let go of the big branch, allowing it to snap back to its original place, and followed after the group.

Really, this whole mission was a bad idea. It was a bad idea for anyone to be trying to interfere with the Earth Emerald, let alone a band of filthy foreigners. It had caused enough trouble the last time it had been in possession of the Republic. The previous Governor, Lord Restra, had been very sensible to have it sealed away in the Shrine to Eto. Where it should stay.

But Huld lived to serve, and his life was service. If he wasn’t loyal to the Republic of Farr and to his Lord Governor, then what was he?

Nothing at all.

So he had received his orders cheerfully with a smile on his face, as usual, and set out obeying them cheerfully with a smile on his face, as usual.

The Governor’s instructions had been very clear:

“Make use of the foreigners’ skills in order to retrieve the Earth Emerald from the Shrine, and then take it and bring it back to me”

“How much further to this place anyway, baldy?” called ponytail from up ahead in the line of walkers, derailing Huld’s train of thought.

“Not much further,” the monk called back. The boy was rude, but Huld didn’t mind the insulting term of address, really. His head had been shaved to show his devotion to Eto and the Republic. Better a ‘baldy’ than having that stupid long hair tied back like a woman’s. “Just keep to the trail,” he said pleasantly, “it will not be long from here.”

They hadn’t been able to land any closer to the Shrine in the party’s airship due to the dense jungle they were now making their way through. Still, Huld was glad to be off the airship sooner rather than later. He hated the things. They were unnatural contraptions.

He much preferred being here, on solid earth. He much preferred being here, hiking through the undergrowth, feeling the grassy ground through his bare feet and with the base of his straight wooden staff, surrounded by a panoply of green life, listening to the noises of buzzing insects and croaking frogs and chirping birds, breathing in the thick, warm air, smelling the refreshing fragrance of recent rain, keeping his attention on one step at a time, because that was all you could do. This was his home. This was where he belonged.

Huld bumped into the Shadowfinger in front of him.

The man spun round in an instant, lifting his hand to the hilt of his blade which was sheathed on his back. When he saw that it was only Huld, he relaxed again.

“Look where you are going,” said the Shadowfinger cooly.

“My apologies, Master Vish,” said Huld, bowing his head slightly. He had remembered this one’s name. It was the only one he had. “A careless accident.”

It turned out the Shadowfinger had stopped because the rest of the group had too; Huld hadn’t been paying proper attention to their progress.

The obscure flattened grass trail that they had been walking through the trees had come to an abrupt end, and all of a sudden the tall, densely packed trees opened up into a massive clearing.

And there, looming up in the middle of the clearing, was the Shrine to Eto.

The Earth Temple.

“Well, that’s something, I suppose,” said ponytail.

Ignorant foreigner, thought Huld. It’s more than ‘something’. It’s one of the great wonders of Mid.

The shrine was enormous, built of bricks of baked, brown earth arranged in layers one on top of another that got narrower with each layer, much like the way that Shun Pei had been built. Except unlike Shun-Pei, the layers here were square, not round, and there were no peaks or points—instead each layer was flat, creating the effect of a series of steps on four sides that climbed to reach a single cubic grey-stone summit with a flat top. Though ‘steps’ was probably not the right word. You would have to be a giant to ascend these steps.

It wasn’t so much that the Shrine reached up to the sky, but that it reached down from the sky into the earth, widening out and fusing with it, and yet also made of it and already part of it, a vast, monolithic monument to Earth herself. Huld approved.

“Where’s the entrance?” asked the fire boy.

“We have approached from the east,” Huld said. “I believe that the entrance is on the western side.” He had never actually visited the Shrine before, only heard stories about the ancient abandoned Shrine to Eto. The stories were surpassed by the real thing, however. Excitement fluttered in his chest at the prospect of actually going inside, though he just wished that he wasn’t visiting it for the first time under these circumstances.

They walked round to the western side of the Shrine, which took them a good ten minutes, such was its size.

“Here we are,” said the golden girl.

In the middle of the wall of the base layer of the Shrine on this side were two gigantic doors, each twice the height of Huld, which was saying something. They were made out of the same baked brown earth the colour of fertile soil as the rest of the Shrine, but you could tell that they were doors because they were cut slightly differently from the rest of the wall, three vertical lines presumably hiding hinges and the space where the doors met, and had two huge circular bronze handles hanging from halfway up each of them. The handles had to be just for show though, because they were so big, and impossible to reach.

“How are we gonna open those?” said the engineer girl.

The foreigners all looked at Huld with stupid expectant stares.

“I am not sure…” he said after a moment. He hadn’t been briefed by the Governor about this. He genuinely didn’t know what to do.

He walked up to a door and placed a hand on its surface. The earth it was made from was strangely warm to the touch, like it was being fed by some inner energy.

Huld pushed, but the door did not budge one inch.

The old man appeared at his side. “Perhaps there is some sort of password?”

“Perhaps,” grunted Huld. “Though I have never heard of such a thing.” They had never had anything like that at any of the shrines or temples where he had trained. Normally doors just...opened. Like they were supposed to.

“Are there any particular words or phrases that you would associate with this place?” said the old man. “Or with the worship of Eto?”

Huld thought about it. “I suppose that there are.”

“Perhaps you could try saying some of them out loud?”

“Alright then…” Huld felt foolish, but he tried saying some of the phrases out loud anyway in his most confident, clear voice.

“Hail Eto, our Mother the Earth!”

Nothing.

“Strength in numbers! Freedom in service! Glory in sacrifice!”

Nothing.

“When we strike as one we will move mountains!”

Nothing.

The massive door just stood there still, unmoving as the earth.

“Open Sesame!” someone shouted behind him.

Huld looked round and raised an eyebrow at the purple-haired engineer girl.

She shrugged. “What? I heard it in a story somewhere. It was worth a shot.”

Huld sighed.

“Well this is going well,” said ponytail.

“There must be some way in,” said goldengirl.  

“Perhaps a physical technique, instead?” the old man suggested.

“Hmmm,” rumbled Huld. “Yes.” This was more his language.

He laid his staff on the grass and searched in his mind for a technique.

Of course. Why did I not think of it before?

He dropped into chocobo stance, spreading his legs just over shoulder-width apart, bending his knees, keeping his back straight, and also bending his arms but turning his palms upwards like he was holding two eggs in line with his hips.

“What are you doing?” said fireboy.

“Hush, if you please,” said Huld. “A fighting technique. It is called ‘Moving the Earth,’ appropriately enough.”

He focused on his breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He gathered the energy inside himself on his next breath in, willed it to transfer from his chest, down his arms, and into his hands, then drew his elbows back, and as he breathed out—

“HA!”

Huld thrust his hands forward, twisting them round as he did so, slamming his open palms into the earthen door, putting all the energy and strength of his being behind them.

His palms stung at once from the impact as they met the door’s resistance. They made a dull slapping noise as they connected. Huld fancied he felt the door tremor, ever so slightly.

He took a step back and looked up, rubbing his tingling hands, then frowned.

Nothing had moved.

Someone screamed behind him.

Huld span round and back into his chocobo stance.

On the grass in front of the entrance to the Shrine, figures were sprouting from the ground, composed of it, literally climbing out of it. Brown figures of soil and stone with bits of grass and tree bark and foliage on them.

Figures of earth.

*

Nuthea screamed shrill and high on reflex.

A creature made of earth and soil had just risen up out of the ground next to her. It was humanoid in shape, with no facial features, but it had crude hands bunched into fists.

It took a swing at her and Nuthea jumped back out of the way, screaming again.

“Bolt!” she yelled, instinctively reaching for her lightning projection, and thrust her hand out.

But no bolt came. She didn’t even feel the play of energy along her arm.

No! Not again!

The creature ran towards her, pulling back its earthen fist for another strike. She wasn’t going to have time to get out of the way.

Earth clanged against metal as Sagar interposed one his blades between Nuthea and the attack.

The skypirate pushed the golem (now Nuthea remembered the proper name for these magical creatures) away with his sword and it stumbled back a couple of paces.

“Wind!” Sagar yelled, thrusting his other hand forwards.

Air rushed from Sagar’s open palm at the golem, but it just dug its feet into the ground, fusing with it. The wind rippled over the golem, riffling the leaves that were stuck to some of its body, but it remained completely unmoved, unharmed.

“Uh-oh…” said Sagar when his wind attack was spent.

Sense returned to Nuthea and she drew her own sword from its sheath at her side--a straight Manolian blade with a golden hilt and a wicked point. If lightning and wind weren’t going to work on these creatures, they would have to resort to steel.

The golem ran at Sagar, its feet easily detaching from the earth when it needed them to, and this time it was Nuthea’s turn to step in and block its punch with her sword.

Her blade bounced off the golem’s fist, each knocked away by the other, sending a shudder of vibrating pain down Nuthea’s arms. Whatever combination of earth and stone it was made of was tough, tough enough even to turn away Manolian steel.

The others were yelling and shouting behind her. In her peripheral vision she could see more golems moving around, but for now she had to focus on the one in front of her and Sagar.

“Thanks for the save, princess,” Sagar said. Did he have to make it sound so sarcastic? The pirate lunged forward, pressing the attack against the golem, trying a thrust with his swordpoint.

The golem didn’t respond quickly enough and this time Sagar’s sword went into its chest area, puncturing it and sticking out the other side…

...and not slowing it down at all.

The golem punched Sagar in the face with a clay fist and he fell backwards with a shout, losing his grip on his sword and landing in a heap on the floor. He did not get up.

“Sagar!” Nuthea called in concern.

There wasn’t time to tend to him now. The golem kept its momentum and strode towards Nuthea, throwing more punches at her, Sagar’s sword still embedded in its torso.

Nuthea blocked the blows, but it was so strong, and now that she saw no way of fighting back her heart began to thump rapidly in her chest as she began to panic.

“Someone! Help!” she cried.

The golem forced her backwards. She lifted her sword to block a particularly vicious strike, and the golem hit it so hard that it knocked it spinning out of her hands.

Nuthea stumbled from the impact and fell backwards.

The golem stood over her and raised its two big earthen fists above its head, about to crush her.

Nuthea raised her hands to cover her face on reflex and winced, crying out in terror.

“Fire!” yelled Ryn from somewhere nearby.

A blast of orange flame engulfed the upper part of the golem. It immediately started batting at itself to try to extinguish the flame, but its hands only caught fire too. It collapsed to the ground, black smoke pouring off it, burning rapidly and writhing about. In a matter of moments it was a pile of smoking ash—entirely consumed by the fire.

Nuthea sighed with deep relief, then retrieved her sword and stood up.

“That worked well!” she said, turning to where she thought Ryn was.

But Ryn wasn’t there anymore. He was ten paces away, manically throwing fire at more golems, shouting focus-words one after another but sometimes not even having the time to do that. There were so many of them, closing in in a circle around the party and, apparently seeing Ryn as a threat, now the majority of them were advancing on him. He was struggling to keep up with the onrush of earthen warriors, blasting them with fire one by one, some of them getting dangerously close to him before he sent a barrage of flickering red and orange into them. Nuthea was sure he would not be able to keep this up forever.

She looked for the others. Elrann was unloading her pistols at the golems one by one, blowing chunks of earth out of their bodies, but the holes she left only reformed and the golems came on. Huld was fighting a pair of golems with his hands. Cid had his sword drawn and was desperately trying to fight his way to the fallen Sagar, whom the golems now ignored. And Vish was currently occupied with fighting four golems at the same time, slashing and cutting but unable to do any lasting damage to any of them.

Ryn was the only one who seemed capable of halting the golems with his fire projection. But he couldn’t fight them all on his own, and he would surely run out of mana soon.

Nuthea had an idea.

“Ryn!” she yelled.

The young man turned his head to look at her as he continued to throw fire at the onrushing creatures.

“Can you localise some flame projection around my blade?”

“What?” Ryn called back.

“Can you hit my sword with a fire spell so that it lights on fire?”

“What?!”

“Just do it!” Nuthea called impatiently. “I know you can do it!” She held out her sword to him with one hand, blade pointing up.

Ryn’s brow furrowed, but all the same he pointed two fingers of one hand at her. “Fire!”

Flame leapt from Ryn’s outstretched fingers—two pointed fingers, in this case, rather than a whole thrust-out hand, perhaps because he was holding back, or perhaps because this is how his body instinctively shaped and controlled the fire to aim it more precisely.

The flames hit Nuthea’s raised swordblade…

...and settled on it. Her whole blade became enveloped in flame and glowed red hot. The fire stopped leaping from Ryn’s fingers, but it continued to burn on her blade, red and orange, covering it in a blazing, incandescent aura.

“You did it!” she called. “I knew you could!”

A golem was coming for her.

Nuthea sprinted towards the golem, meeting it head on, and brought her flaming blade down and then up in a deadly arc from right to left across its torso, orange trailing in its wake.

The blade tore through the golem’s body with barely any resistance at all and passed out the other side of it, severing it in two. At the same time, the golem caught fire.

It collapsed to the ground in two halves, and both halves thrashed around uselessly while they burned.

“It worked!” Nuthea cried in elation. She turned. Ryn was still desperately throwing fire at the golems, sometimes missing, sometimes hitting, while the others were struggling to fend them off. “Ryn!” she shouted. “It worked! Do the same thing for the others!”

“They’re a bit busy right now!” Ryn called back.

Nuthea looked for them. They were losing ground to the golems, getting forced backwards and closer together. Huld was now dealing with three at once, catching their fists with his palms or blocking them with his forearms, throwing back punches and kicks of his own but with little effect. Elrann stood behind and to the side of him, still desperately trying to slow their advance with her pistols, apparently not knowing what else to do and unwilling to try her whip on them. Cid was now fighting off two together with his sword, only barely managing to defend himself, but not to retaliate. And Vish had about six on him now, dancing and weaving around them as he held them at bay.

Him first.

“Shadowfinger Vish!” Nuthea cried. “To me!”

The Shadowfinger looked up from his combat, saw her, then bent his knees and kicked off from the ground, executing one of his astonishing leaps, soaring upwards, twisting round in midair, and landing smartly next to her.

“What?” the Shadowfinger said irritably, as though he had been interrupted in the middle of doing something he enjoyed, though it may have also been from frustration at the golems.

“Hold up your blade! Let Ryn season it with fire!”

“What?!”

Why don’t people just listen to me? Nuthea thought. I’m clearly the most intelligent and knowledgeable member of this adventuring party. And I’m royalty.

“It won’t hurt you,” she explained hurriedly. “It’s a cooperative elemental projection technique. I’ve seen it done with lightning back home in Manolia, though I’ve not learned how to do it yet. But it works with fire too. Look.” She held up her own flaming sword by way of explanation.

Vish slitted his eyes at her, but then held up his black sword in front of him without saying another word.

“Ryn!” Nuthea called. “Over here! Do Vish’s sword too!”

Ryn looked over mid-spell, then hurriedly threw a hand out to perform the same technique on Vish’s sword that he had done for Nuthea’s.

Fire jumped from his pointed fingers to set Vish’s blade alight, too.

The Shadowfinger’s eyes went wide as he held it up to inspect it, the fire now continually burning on his blade reflecting in his grey irises.

“Try again now!” said Nuthea.

“Argh!” Ryn cried out.

He dropped to his knees and doubled over, putting both hands out on the ground. He must be out of mana, or almost out of it. His eyes were shut in pain or concentration.

The flames coming from Nuthea’s and Vish’s swords died down momentarily, but then Ryn grunted with exertion and they returned to their former intensity.

Of course. He needs to concentrate to keep the flames burning on our swords.

“Hold on, Ryn!” Nuthea called. “We’re coming!”

She ran towards the golems about to plough into Ryn, even as Vish leapt into the air.

The Shadowfinger came down before she reached them, setting upon them as a vicious streak of black and orange, slicing earthen arms and legs from bodies, severing their heads, cleaving them in half.

Nuthea joined him, and together the two of them tore through the golems, their swords leaving trails of fiery colour in the air.

In no time at all they had fought their way back to Ryn and the others, and Nuthea pierced the back of the golem that was nearest to Cid, then ripped her sword out of it by kicking it to the floor. Vish made quick work of the golems besetting Elrann and Huld.

A matter of moments, and all the remaining golems lay in pieces on the ground, burning up into nothing but dust and dirt.

Nuthea and Vish had defeated them easily with their flame-assisted weapons.

Cid ran over to the fallen form of Sagar at once and knelt down next to him, placing both his hands on the skypirate’s head. “Cure,” he said.

“Urrrrrrrggghh,” said Sagar as he came back to consciousness. “What the hells happened?”

“One of them got you,” Nuthea called over from where she stood. “I don’t think wind attacks are going to be very effective against earth elementals.”

“Rrrrr,” Sagar growled quietly.

“That’s a cool trick, princess-girl,” said Elrann nearby, pointing at Nuthea’s sword with one of her pistols.

Nuthea looked at the still flaming blade. “Wait...Ryn!”

Her eyes found the flame-wielding farmboy a little way away, still kneeling on the ground with both hands on it, hunched over, his eyes scrunched shut, concentrating hard.

She sprinted over to him.

“Ryn, it’s alright!” she said between pants. “We defeated the golems! That cooperative technique did it! You can quench the flames on my and Shadowfinger Vish’s swords now!”

Ryn whimpered, and the flames around Nuthea’s swordblade died down. His arms trembled, then gave way completely, and he fell face down onto the earth, lying flat on his front.

“Grandfather!” Nuthea called out at once. “Ryn needs your help too!”

Cid was already running over. He knelt next to Ryn and put a hand on his head.

“He’s spent all his mana…” Cid said. “Cure.”

Ryn sighed a note of relief. He opened his eyes, and shakily pushed himself up, then rearranged himself so he was sitting on the ground.

“That’s better,” he said, rubbing his hands. “Why did that hurt so much?”

“If you keep projecting when all your mana is spent, it causes you physical damage and pain,” said Cid. “The element-magic draws its energy directly from the body’s physical resources, rather from your spent mana pool. I will need to give you some of my mana too. He placed a hand on Ryn’s shoulder. “Syphon.”

Ryn shut his eyes again for a moment and his head rocked back. “Woah. I can feel my projection powers are back. Thanks, Cid.”

“That’s alright, lad. It seems that we are going to be relying on your abilities quite a lot to retrieve this particular Jewel… I have a larger mana pool than you do, as I’m more experienced and have been at this game for longer, but I still only have a finite supply.”

“It feels like I have...more than before,” said Ryn. “Is that because of you?”

“No,” said Cid, “that’s because you just pushed your mana beyond its limit, so your capacity has grown now that you’ve been healed. It’s a very dangerous but nonetheless, aha, very sure-fire way to increase your mana capacity. It’s a bit like forcing a sustained limit break. I just topped up your newly increased reserves, but I can’t increase your capacity for you.”

“What’s a limit break?”

“...I’ll explain another time.”

“What are you lot waffling on about?” asked Sagar as he walked over.

“Oh, nothing,” said Cid, “just some of the ins-and-outs of elemental projection.”

The others came over to join them too.

“That was good thinking there, princess-girl,” said Elrann. “Your little trick probably saved our lives.”

“It was nothing,” Nuthea said with complete sincerity. “I’ve seen a similar thing done with lightning in Manolia, so I just had the idea to repeat it with fire.”

“Yeah,” said Sagar, “well done and everything, I’m sure we’re all glad that’s over, but it doesn’t actually help us get into the Shrine, does it?”

“Er,” said Ryn, “actually it does.”

He pointed.

At some time while they had been talking, the doors to the Earth Temple had opened inwards, revealing an earthen corridor beyond which receded into darkness.

“Well that’s creepy,” said Elrann.

“Most peculiar…” said Huld.

“They must have opened when we defeated the earth elementals…” said Cid.

A heartbeat.

“Looks like we’re going in then,” said Sagar.

“Wait!” said Nuthea, not wanting them to get ahead of themselves. “We need to talk about our strategy. It would appear that wind and lightning attacks were ineffective against these golems.” No need to tell them that I didn’t even get a chance to test my lightning on them. What’s happening to me? I’ll have to ask Grandfather Cid about it later.

“Where did those things come from, anyway?” said Ryn. “Huld?”

“I… I’m not sure,” said the monk slowly. “I have never encountered such creatures anywhere in Farr before…” He seemed somewhat shaken.

“Cid?” said Ryn.

Grandfather stroked his beard. “My best guess is that they were created by the Earth Emerald itself. The Jewels have a...habit of making themselves difficult to be found. It doesn’t mean that they are impossible to obtain, as we know, but they can be very difficult to get hold of. My guess is that the Emerald quite enjoys being shut up here, surrounded by all this earth, and so raised those guardians with its magic to try us before granting us entry to the Temple. This sort of thing does happen from time to time. But we appear to have passed the test, because they have stopped appearing.”

“Great,” said Sagar. “Well, thanks for the warning, old timer.”

“I did not know if such things would happen here or not…” Cid said, a touch defensively. “I have only ever encountered them happening on a few other occasions before…”

“Never mind,” said Ryn, “like you said, we’ve beaten them now. Let’s go inside and get this Jewel.”

“That’s easy for you to say, farmboy,” said Elrann. “Your fire worked well on them. The rest of us are a bit more defenceless.”

“That’s a good point,” Nuthea said. “Ryn, it seems we will need to rely on you if we encounter any more...earth enemies. You should conserve your mana as much as possible.”

“That’s right,” said Grandfather. “I topped you up, and I have a bigger mana pool than you do due to my experience, but I don’t have infinite reserves and I can feel that I’m starting to run low. Make sure you don’t burn through yours too quickly, or we might really get into trouble.”

“That cooperative technique you had him perform was useful,” said Vish unexpectedly. The Shadowfinger almost never spoke up in group conversations. Everyone else looked just as surprised as Nuthea felt. “Make sure you save enough ‘mana’ to do that again if we need you to, boy.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Ryn with unforced earnestness. Nuthea decided she liked that trait of his. It was growing on her, anyway. “Come on. It’s time to enter this ‘Earth Temple’.”

And in they went.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

Direct MP3 link

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Call for a narrator

Mon, 01 Apr 2024 14:20:48 GMT

Dear reader,

I’ve decided to switch this newsletter to being all about Romantasy and change its name to ‘Romanon’s Romantasy Ruse-letter’.

Happy April Fool’s.

Also, Happy Easter Monday (a rare lunar-related coincidence). Last weekend the Western Church celebrated the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the greatest fantasy story ever told, so great that it might actually be true fantasy, as Tolkien might have said.

FANTASY BOOK NEWS (not April Fool’s):

More awards news from the last month…

First, the SFWA’s annual Nebula awards finalist list has been posted. Some really cool stuff in there, including lots of fantasy and awards for game writing.

Of the nominations for best novel, here are the fantasies:

* The Saint of Bright Doors, Vajra Chandrasekera (Tordotcom)

* The Water Outlaws, S.L. Huang (Tordotcom; Solaris UK) ←looks especially cool

* Shigidi and the Brass Head of Obalufon, Wole Talabi (DAW, Gollancz)

* Witch King, Martha Wells (Tordotcom)

Second, a new set of librarian-run book awards called the ‘Libbys’ has debuted, and it has a fantasy category (and a romantasy category, naturally!). Here were the fantasy finalists for this year (links are to ‘libby’ pages, because Libbys):

Libby Award Finalists for Best Fantasy:

A Day of Fallen Night by Samantha Shannon 🎧Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros 🎧Hell Bent by Leigh Bardugo 🎧To Shape a Dragon’s Breath by Moniquill Blackgoose 🎧Witch King by Martha Wells 🎧

How many have you read? I’ve read…none. But two are on my huge TBR list! Maybe three, now!

YOUR FREE INDIE FANTASY EBOOKS FOR THIS MONTH*:

*Note: I’m aware that a couple of newsletters ago these banner links didn’t work because I’d just moved this newsletter over from Mailchimp. Sorry about that. They all work now. Please tap/click away!

MY WRITING NEWS

In terms of my own writing news, my YA superhero novel WEAKLING won a thing! More precisely, it got a ‘top 10 finalist honourable mention’ in the ‘BooksShelf Awards’:

I have no memory of submitting WEAKLING to this contest. It does not fill me with confidence that these people cannot spell the word ‘bookshelf’ and that their website looks horrendously amateurish, however…it’s something! Assuming the judges actually read it, WEAKLING beat a bunch of other books to a top 10 spot! Every little bit of encouragement counts for something…

Also, I’m spending the last of the money I earned for writing CLARENT SAGA: CHRONICLES on getting a professional edit for SAGA OF THE JEWELS VOL. 1 and commissioning a new, professional cover for its free taster short story PRELUDE: THE FINAL BATTLE. One of the advantages of being indie is that you can choose your own cover artists. The draft sketch for the cover from my artist at miblart came back, and I love it! See below.

WHAT I’VE BEEN READING:

Last month I finished SWORDS IN THE MIST (Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser 3, continuing my late sword-and-sorcery education), carried on with a bit more of and gave up on SUFFICIENTLY ADAVANCED MAGIC (perhaps more on that in a future newsletter) and most recently I’ve been reading PALADIN’S GRACE by T. Kingfisher. This is a beautifully written quirky contemporary fantasy (er, and maybe actually a romantasy too…) that deals with themes of faith and duty, and so far it’s excellent.

WHAT I’VE BEEN LISTENING TO:

Now this is a very, very guilty pleasure and a deep cut. Did you ever play Warhammer/Games Workshop as a kid? You may or may not remember that in a previous newsletter I mentioned reading TROLLSLAYER by William King, first in the massive GOTREK AND FELIX series which is set in the old Warhammer World. I recently read the second book SKAVENSLAYER as well, and enjoyed it so much I just wanted to keep going…

I read that the audiobooks are excellent, so I picked up the audiobook of DAEMONSLAYER and, well, they are! Jonathan Keeble gets the narration just right, employing fantastic character accents with exactly the right dose of humour—for example, posh British for Felix the human warrior-poet, a hardy northern for Gotrek the slayer, a thick Scottish accent for mad Dwarf airship engineer Malakai Makaison, eastern-European for the ‘Kislevites’, chittering and squeaking high-pitched voices for the Skaven ratmen, and so on…

I’ve gone on to DRAGONSLAYER now too. These books are not great Shakespearean literature by any means, but they are extremely easy reading/listening as you don’t have to concentrate too hard (great for listening while doing mountains of washing up and housework) and lots of fun, with lots of easter eggs hidden in them for fans of sword and sorcery. Sword and sorcery with a healthy dollop of not-taking-itself-too-seriously! Also they allow someone who was very much into Warhammer as a kid to explore that world again. Recommended, with added nostalgia value!

WHAT I’VE BEEN WATCHING:

Speaking of nostalgia, I’m a big fan of the original 90s X-Men cartoon, so I’ve been waiting a long time for its contemporary continuation ‘X-Men ’97’ to come out on Disney Plus. Now it has, and I’m happy to report that it’s awesome. Watching it makes me feel like a kid again, but it’s also more grown up this time round in a very pleasing way. I would argue that the ‘superhero’ genre is a sub-genre of ‘fantasy’ (as Amazon categorises it too, incidentally), hence my mentioning of this here even though it’s not a book. This show may just motivate me finally to write the sequel to WEAKLING (i.e. the next book in my MIRACLE FORCE series). Recommended!

WHAT JO’S BEEN READING:

Jo finished the KETTY JAY series last month and asked me for another book recommendation, so I suggested to her a book that represents a lacuna in both of our fantasy reading (I sometimes get Jo to check out books that I have been meaning to read to see if they are any good): Scott Lynch’s very famous grimdark adventure tale THE LIES OF LOCKE LAMORA. Scandalously neither of us had ever read this, although we saw Lynch and his wife Elizabeth Bear at a comic-con panel a few years ago. Jo is happy to confirm that this book is absolutely awesome, as most of the readers of this newsletter probably already know, and has gone straight on to the second one. Recommended!

IN OTHER NEWS…

Life isn’t all reading and writing fantasy books (in fact it’s sometimes not very much of that at all, believe it or not), but it is packed full of glory, and one of the best things we did this month was go to Woburn Safari park with the kids, taking advantage of the 6yo’s slightly longer school holidays to have it largely to ourselves! We saw rhinos, lions, a bear, zebra, a red panda, and more, oh my! (Sadly the 6yo’s photos were not quite up to scratch so here’s one from google images instead…) If you have kids, or even if you don’t, and live in the UK, this is a good one. Recommended!

CALL FOR A NARRATOR!

Sadly there is no new SAGA OF THE JEWELS episode going out this month because it introduces a new POV, and I had a new narrator lined up to record the podcast version of it, but unfortunately he can no longer do it. Therefore, I am on the hunt for a new narrator for my fantasy serial podcast! If you are male and would like to read for the POV of the character of Huld the warrior monk, please get in touch with me by comment, direct message, or carrier pigeon.

No previous narrating or recording experience is necessary. You don’t even need to have read or listened to the serial before. This is a podcasted fantasy serial, not a professional audiobook, so you just need to be able to read aloud and have a simple headset or USB mic you would use for Zoom. Once I’ve sorted out a new narrator I will get the next written and audio episode out.

According to my stats there are about 18 people consistently reading the serial and about 29 people consistently listening to it, so you will be enabling the story to continue being narrated for them!

By the way, here is Huld. He’s a deeply disciplined, dedicated warrior monk from the land of Farr. He’s cool in a crisis, he has names for all his martial arts moves, and he’s secretly quite racist, but he has room to grow. There will be quite a lot of his POV in SOTJ season 2 (about 2 hours’ worth), but it can be chunked and recorded on an episode-by-episode basis, so it won’t be too big of a commitment.

Anyway, that’s all from me for this week. TTFN, and please check out the indie fantasy ebook sales copied again below,

-Faenon

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

Direct MP3 link

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The Crossroads of the East

Fri, 01 Mar 2024 16:34:48 GMT

Dear reader,

The big fantasy book news from the last month all has to do with the annual Hugo Awards. Last year they happened in China, but some emails were recently leaked showing that the nominations were influenced by consideration of the ideology of the host nation. Controversial!

News to me also is that ‘romantasy’ (romance combined with fantasy) is now being discussed as a genre in its own right. Your romantasy exemplar authors would be Sarah J. Mass and Rebecca Yarros. SAGA OF THE JEWELS does have some (albeit very slow-burn) elements of romance in it, so I am wondering if I can cheekily piggyback on this label myself…

What I’ve been reading

One of the books I’ve read since my last newsletter is COLD IRON, the first fantasy by historical novelist Miles (Christian) Cameron. It was fun, with fantastic worldbuilding, if a bit ‘male’ and thinly sketched, for me. My slightly longer review here.

What Jo’s been reading

Some of the books that Jo’s read since I last wrote are the rest of the ensemble-cast multi-POV steampunk noblebright KETTY JAY series by Chris Wooding. She had already read RETRIBUTION FALLS and THE BLACK LUNHG CAPTAIN and she went and finished THE IRON JACKAL and THE ACE OF SKULLS. I have read these too and agree with her that they are absolutely awesome: fun, full of heart, meticulously clever plotting, vibrant three-dimensional characters, humour, emotion, and a hopeful core. This newsletter sometimes becomes the Chris Wooding Appreciation Society newsletter, but I’m ok with that… Recommended!

In other news…

Jo had her first book traditionally published! And by Bloomsbury, no less! This is her Cambridge (UK) Theology PhD thesis, now published as a hardback and an ebook. She wrote it while simultaneously training to be and then working as an Anglican vicar (that’s ‘cleric’ for you fantasy fans) and putting up with an unstable husband, and in the course of writing it had two bouts of hyperemesis gravidarum and gave birth to two children! She then passed her viva voce exam for it with no corrections!

If you don’t know, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a 20th-century German theologian who was imprisoned and executed by the Nazis for his involvement in a plot to assassinate Hitler. ‘Polyphony’ is a musical term to do with multiple mutually complementary melodies in a piece of music and a ‘pneumatology’ is a conceptual system for talking about the Holy Spirit, the third person in God, in Christianity.

If that doesn’t convince you to buy this book (or at least ask your local academic institution to buy it), then nothing will I don’t know what will! An absolute steal currently on sale for £76.50 in hardback or £61.50 for the ebook!

That’s all for this month, though as ever do check out the indie fantasy book sale of the month and this month’s SAGA OF THE JEWELS episode below or on the podcast.

TTFN,

Faenon / Luke

Your indie fantasy FREE ARC book promotion for this month:

Click here or the picture below \/

Now, on with the Saga…

Need to catch up? The WHOLE of Book One (Episodes 1 to 21) is available bundled together as a FREE AUDIOBOOK here.

Previously on Saga of the Jewels…

The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. Ryn discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. He sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted bounty hunter. Together the adventurers decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, now borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, now borne by Nuthea. They now find themselves traveling by airship to the distant land of FARR in order to seek out the next Jewel of which they have become aware, the EARTH EMERALD…

SAGA OF THE JEWELS EPISODE 24: THE CROSSROADS OF THE EAST

Ryn stood at the rail of Wanderlust’s maindeck and looked out onto the sea of clouds.

The clouds were thick here, on their fourth day of travel, allegedly somewhere over Farr and nearing Shun-Pei every moment. Interlacing strands of white and grey dashed past beneath the ship, mostly obscuring the pale blue of the Farrian sky.

Just occasionally, he imagined for a brief moment jumping over the rail and into them.

Sorrow still weighed down Ryn’s heart. It had helped, forgiving Nuthea, General Vorr, and himself, for everything that had happened. Even killing Vorr had helped, in a way, though it had been the forgiveness that had really helped him, in the end...

But in his dreams he still saw the faces of his parents, his friends, the other people of his hometown. The dreams were less vivid and, damn it, he was even beginning to forget exactly what their faces looked like. But he imagined them anew each night in the dreams and in the flashbacks that still came to him unbidden throughout the day. He heard their screams, felt the heat from the burning wood of the houses of Cleasor, saw Vorr’s sword sliding out of his mother’s chest…

And in forgiving, then accidentally killing Vorr, he had lost the goal that had been driving him forwards for the past however many months. With Vorr forgiven and dead, Ryn had found he no longer had a purpose.

In his previous life, as he had come to think of it, he had had a clear enough purpose: Finish school, take over the farm from Dad, marry Carlotia, read books and go exploring in the woods on Seventhdays.

It had been a trivial purpose, perhaps, but it had been his purpose. And after finding and killing Vorr, the person who had taken it away from him, it remained unavailable for him to return to.

The emptiness between his ribs ached.

Sometimes it was tempting to want to escape from the flashbacks. Sometimes the sadness was so thick and heavy that it was tempting to want just to be free from that too. Forever.

But there was something that held him back, that stopped him from throwing himself over the rail into oblivion.

What?

Of course, he knew what it was, really. But at times like this, left to his own devices, looking out over the ship’s rail onto the sky below, he had to deliberately call it to mind and hold on to it.

What was keeping him going now was that he had a new purpose.

His new purpose was to find the rest of the Primeval Jewels with this crazy collection of miscreants. His new purpose was to find the rest of the Primeval Jewels in order to keep them from the Emperor of Morekemia and stop what happened to him and his hometown from happening to anyone else. His new purpose was to find the rest of the Primeval Jewels and see if the ‘legend’ was true, to see if when they were all gathered together they could be used to bring back his mother, his father and his hometown.

Oh, and of course, his new purpose was also somehow to get Nuthea to fall in love with him. Carlotia had only been a crush, after all. Nuthea was a golden-haired princess who could sling lightning, and whenever she spoke to him lightning struck Ryn’s heart too.

Mother. Father. Hometown. Found Vorr. Got Vorr. Forgave Vorr. Killed Vorr. Stay with Nuthea. Win Nuthea’s heart. Find the Jewels. Protect the world. Try to bring back my mother, father, hometown.

That was a pretty long list. He wasn’t sure that he would be able to keep reciting it in his head at that length. He would have to work on an abbreviated version.

But the thing was, he realised, looking down into that rushing sea of cloud, while he did have a new purpose, at the same time he had to choose it. Each day, each hour, each minute, each moment.

It didn’t just come to him automatically, like the purpose of finding and killing Vorr which had come to him each morning bright and hot and angry like the fire that had leapt from his hands and consumed the Imperial soldier in Cleasor after he had first touched the Ruby.

Instead, moment by moment, he found himself faced by a choice: throw himself over the rail into sorrow, despair, and death, or choose his purpose.

And sometimes it felt hard to choose it by himself. So sometimes, just sometimes, he had started to dare to reach out for help in achieving this purpose, though he hadn’t yet told anyone else about this.

One God, Ryn prayed as his eyes scanned the clouds, help me in this purpose. Help me to find the Jewels. Help me to—

“We’re here!” shouted Nuthea, running up onto the deck in a lilac dress. “We’ve reached Shun-Pei!”

Ryn’s stomach lurched as the ship immediately began to descend. Nuthea must have been down in the viewing bubble and already told Sagar over the speaking tube.

She joined him at the rail as they punctured the topmost cloud layer. Cold and white and moisture washed over them for a few moments, obscuring their vision, and Ryn almost put his hand out to hold onto Nuthea’s arm, suddenly fearing that he was going to pitch over the rail into the clouds by accident.

But then Wanderlust came out the bottom of the cloud layer and the light changed from bright and golden to grey and faded, filtered by the clouds above.

And then they saw it.

Green, jagged mountains rose to greet them in the grey below the clouds, but one mountain rose higher and greater than all of them.

One mountain thrust out of the earth twice as tall as its nearest neighbours.

And this mountain seemed to be covered in hundreds of smaller mountains which dotted it in layers; myriad spikes reaching upwards from its surface.

As they flew in closer, Ryn saw that the spikes were actually buildings with pointed roofs. Not hundreds, but thousands, perhaps millions of them.

“There she is,” said Elrann, joining them at the rail with Cid and Vish. “Shun-Pei; ‘the Crossroads of the East’.”

Ryn could see now why the mountain-city was called a Crossroads. Hundreds of other airships flew towards the mountain, or took off from it. Their own ship was coming in from particularly high up above the cloud layer, but as they came lower Sagar had to steer a path through the other airships to avoid collision.

Most bore blimps like their own, but there were other styles of ship Ryn had never seen before: ships with great spinning blades holding them aloft; ships with no outside deck where the hull seemed to be built into the blimp itself; ships with only single small baskets for a hull suspended underneath gigantic, colourful balloons.

Sagar took Wanderlust down further still, joining a stream of inbound ships that seemed to be heading for the base of the mountain.

As they drew closer, Ryn saw that the mountain was actually arranged in concentric circles, the base layer being the largest, progressing upwards in smaller and smaller layers. This was no purely natural feature. The mountain was either man-made, or it had been shaped by some sort of human design, with what kind of power he could only guess at.

Lower still, and now Ryn could see the tiny dots of people moving to and fro between the mini-mountains, the pointed buildings, swarming in what must be the streets around them. There were too many to count.

Shun-Pei wasn’t so much a city as an enormous ant-hill.

They reached an airfield and did some manoeuvring and at last Sagar set Wanderlust down. The thrum of the turbines ceased and they touched down.

Ryn breathed a sigh of relief, and noticed Cid doing so too. It had been a long time in the sky.

At once they were beset upon by all manner of street-sellers and peddlers, just as they had been those months ago when they had landed in Ast.

Only this time, there were a lot more of them.

“Carry your luggage?”

“Where are you staying?”

“Rat on a stick?”

“Come with me; I will show you the best inn in the lower circles.”

“Best deal for a pull-cart. You stick with me.”

“How much for your ship? She’s a beauty.”

“Rat on a stick? It’s good!”

The words came from men and women of all different colours and shapes, but Ryn observed that the majority of them had tan skin and eyelids that were slightly taut, like they had been pulled to each side. He assumed that these must be the native Farrians, born here before the advent of steam travel a hundred years ago.

“I take you to massage parlour, hmm? Sexy sexy!”

“No, no, you want a hot bath, I can see it. Come with me.”

“These rats on a stick are really good!”

“Tour of the city for six gold pieces.”

“Need to refuel? I’ve got you covered.”

“How much for the purple-haired boy? I’ll give you a good price.”

“You sure you don’t want a rat on a stick?”

“NO THANK YOU!” shouted Nuthea at the top of her lungs.

Ryn half expected her to produce a little flourish of lightning to underscore her refusal, but on this occasion she held back.

The street-peddlers fell quiet for a moment even without it, miraculously.

“That’s better,” said Nuthea, nodding and peering down at them like a Queen addressing her court. “We do not require any of your services just now. We seek an audience with the Governor of Farr.”

The street-peddlers were quiet for a moment.

Then they burst out laughing, erupting into a chorus of guffaws, giggles, shoulder slaps and belly shakes.

“What is so funny?” Nuthea asked, turning to Cid and screwing up her forehead.

The old man stroked his beard. “It would appear that getting an audience with the Governor of Farr may not be so easy…”

Once the street sellers had calmed down, they moved on to the next airship that had just landed. If nothing else, Nuthea’s request had served to get rid of them, at least.

Something slammed onto the maindeck. Sagar had vaulted down from where he had been steering the ship up on the forecastle, not bothering to use the steps.

“Well, princess,” he said, “it looks like we’re going to have to go and find this ‘Governor’ guy by ourselves. Let me lock up here and then we can make our way.”

They climbed down the handholds from the ship to the dirt floor below, taking only some coin which Cid kept in the common purse, as they had eaten lunch together relatively recently. Cid and Elrann reported that the Governor resided in the structure at the top of the city, so they began their trek up the mountain to try to see them.

It took a long time to walk together up to the top circle of the city. Their path consisted of finding the road that led from the airfield to the main road that wound its way round the lower circle, until they got to the place where it led up the massive ramp to the next circle. They proceeded in this way, progressing upwards through the circles of the mountain-city by finding the road that led to the next level each time.

As they walked, Ryn couldn’t help from staring at the people they passed. Many of them were tan, tight-lidded Farrians, but there were also people with very dark skin; people with slightly less dark skin like Vish’s; very pale people with white eyes; people with hair that was black, brown, blonde, red, blue, green, purple or white; men with long bushy beards that came down to their feet; men with no facial- or head-hair to speak of; women in long flowing elaborate floral dresses; women in tunics and trousers; men and women wearing nothing much at all; children of all colours and kinds scampering around underfoot; single or conjoined parents trying to catch or control them.

The world is so vast, Ryn thought. And there are so many people in it, each with their own dreams, desires, hopes, fears, sorrows, each with their own story. And I am just one more person in it. Who am I to think that I could have any special significance? Who am I to think that I could do anything ‘great’?

With each new circle they ascended to, the earthen streets became a little cleaner and clearer and calmer, the hangings decorating the pointed dwellings became a little more opulent, and the people walking the streets became a little more polite and—apparently—wealthy. Their clothes were smarter and the jewellery at their fingers and throats glittered. Although Shun-Pei was the tallest mountain in this range, it must still not be particularly tall, Ryn judged, because there was still no snow on it.

To get onto the third-last circle, of ten, they had to queue.

A Farrian official flanked by two enormous but seemingly unarmed shaven-headed guards in green robes was inspecting people, sometimes turning them away if they didn’t meet whatever criteria he was assessing them by.

It was fortunate that they had been kitted out with new clothes (even changes of clothes!) in Manolia. Ryn was wearing a smart shirt and wool breeches. Nuthea wore her lilac dress with the purple sash. Sagar wore his high-collared brown leather skysailors’ jacket, as ever, but now with a much cleaner undershirt. Elrann looked particularly impressive in her new yellow-dyed overalls. The Manolians really did love the colour of gold. Cid was smart in a close-fitting grey tunic and cloak. Vish was the only exception, still wearing his usual black outfit which covered everything except for his eyes, but he looked pretty smart at the worst of times anyway.

When they got to the front of the queue the official gave the party a quick look over and let them in straight away.

When they got to the entrance to the second-last circle, things weren’t so easy.

The queue for this circle was much shorter, and ended in front of another Farrian official, this one flanked by four large Farrian guards in green-robed uniforms. The guards all had shaved heads. None of these carried weapons either, but they gave off the impression that they didn’t need to.

The official was short and spindly and had a face like a mule, with a patchy moustache above his overbite.

“State your business, foreigners,” the official snapped when they got to the front of the queue.

Nuthea spoke for them. “We seek an audience with the Governor.”

“Ha! What are you really here for?”

“Just what she said, butt-pimple,” said Sagar.

Nuthea facepalmed.

The guards rumbled and took a half step forward.

Ryn thought he had better intervene. “Apologies for my friend’s rudeness,” he said, ignoring Sagar when he said “I’m not your friend.” “We’ve had a very long flight. But we really are looking to talk with your ruler.”

“That’s right,” Nuthea joined him. “I am Princess Nutheanna Kaleutheanna of the Queendom of Manolia, and my companions and I seek an audience with the Governor of Farr.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the official. “We don’t have time for jokes. Next!”

“No!” protested Nuthea. “I’m serious! Why don’t you believe me? Look, let me prove to you that I’m a member of the Manolian royal family.”

Nuthea held out her hand, palm up.

Ryn expected some lightning to leap from it, or crackle around it, or at least for some sparks to jump off it.

Nothing happened.

“That’s strange…” said Nuthea, holding her hand up to her face to inspect it like a piece of broken equipment.

“Move along please,” said the official irritably. “Take your jokes somewhere else, we’re very busy here.”

“But you don’t understand…” said Nuthea. “I am Jewel-touched...”

“Move along now or I will have you forcibly removed from the premises.”

Nuthea turned to her side. “Ryn, as I’m having some temporary difficulties, would you do the honours?”

It took him a moment to realise what she meant. “Oh. Sure.” He stepped forward and held out his own hand, willing fire. To his relief, but not surprise, an orange flame appeared, hovering above his own palm. Thankfully whatever was inhibiting Nuthea didn’t seem to be a problem for him. Maybe she was just really tired from the journey.

The official’s thin eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Ah. I see,” he said, his gaze finding the fire, then darting quickly around the courtyard. “Put it away, boy, or you’ll cause a disturbance.”

Ryn allowed the fire to disappear.

“Manolia, you said?” the official asked.

“Yes,” said Nuthea. “I am a royal emissary from Manolia. Ryn here is from Efstan; Sagar from Imfis; Elrann from Zerlan; Cid from Erm; and Vish is from Aibar. We are here to talk to the Governor about some matters pertaining to the Primeval Jewels, as just evidenced to you by my companion Ryn. We have flown a long way to get here, and we have important news for your Governor concerning these Jewels and the Empire of Morekemia. May we have an audience with him?”

The official sighed. “You had better come with me.”

He beckoned, turned, and led them at last through the entryway of the huge earthen structure that stood behind him, the mountain on top of the mountain.

The building was windowless, but rather than being lit by torches it was lit by amber bars. It really was like walking into a giant anthill that had been colonised by humans. The walls were largely bare, but adorned at intervals with hangings like those that decorated many of the houses in the city below, only these were even more intricate in design. The Farrians had a very particular art style, of painting in earthy colours like browns, reds and greens, but with meticulous attention to detail in subtle brush strokes.

The hangings depicted various green-robed figures passing through the motions of different complex, elaborate poses. Sometimes there was more than one figure and the poses interacted with one another. Whether they were meant to be dancing or fighting, Ryn could not work out. On some of the hangings the figures carried weapons—swords or staves or whips or clubs, pretty much every weapon imaginable, some he didn’t know the names of—but on most of them they didn’t.

They wound their way down a series of passages and up staircases, passing rooms in which more officials sat at round tables holding forth with each other, or in which others sat at rows of desks and poured over reams of paper. The whole place was a hub of activity, but it was a focused, disciplined kind of activity entirely undertaken by native Farrians, in contrast to the chaos of buying and selling and arriving and departing undertaken by both Farrians and travellers from all over Mid in the city outside.

Eventually they came to a large, circular chamber where the high ceiling sloped inwards to a single point far above their heads.

They had reached the peak of the mountain upon the mountain, Ryn realised.

He couldn’t help comparing the chamber of the Governor of Farr to Nuthea’s mother’s throne room in Orma. Aside from the fact that each was a large room, the two couldn’t be more different. Instead of a throne on a raised dais at the back of the room, the Governor sat at a wide wooden desk in the centre of it. Instead of rows of chairs, only two wooden chairs were positioned in front of the desk. Instead of being flanked by guards on either side, only one guard stood at the entrance to the chamber to let them in, another unarmed hulk of a man with a bald head and a smiling face, dressed in the green robes that seemed to be the uniform here. The whole place reminded Ryn more of the office of the clerk in the Healing House in Nont where he had first met Cid than of the palace of the ruler of a country.

The man who Ryn assumed was the Governor of Farr stood up at his desk as the official walked them over to it. A squat, rotund man in a brown robe, clean-shaven with an expression like a constipated bulldog. Not a crown, nor a circlet, but a large, cylindrical brown hat sat atop his head.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Governor barked. “This is highly irregular!”

“I’m sorry, Lord Governor,” squeaked the official as he led them in. “But these foreigners have something important to tell you.”

“What could they possibly have to tell me that’s important? I’m in the middle of my morning auditing!” 

Nuthea spoke up. “Governor, I apologise for the unusual and unannounced nature of my visit, but the news I bring is sensitive. My name is Princess Nutheanna Kaleutheanna and I am an emissary from the Matriarchy of Manolia. I come bearing news of the Primeval Jewels.”

The Governor had opened his mouth to speak again, but now he paused a moment and his frown deepened, suspicion wrinkling up his fat forehead. “What do you know of the Primeval Jewels?” he said much more quietly.

“We know that they exist, we know that we have two of them, and most importantly we know that the Emperor of Morekemia has learned of their existence and has begun to look for them. We also know that you have one of them.”

“Ah.” The Governor sat back down in his chair. He looked up at the official who had brought them in. “Leave us, Yal.”

“But Lord Governor—” the official began in protest.

“Leave us!” the Governor barked.

“Yes, Lord Governor,” said Yal, and left. The guard in green closed the doors after him and stood in front of them.

The Governor of Farr spoke more slowly now. “First of all, do you have any proof of what you claim? I suppose you must have in order to have been granted entrance to see me.”

“Ryn?” invited Nuthea.

Ryn stepped forward and showed a flame on his hand again.

“Alright, alright!” said the Governor. “Put it away, boy! You might cause an accident.” He sighed. “Well, that shows you are Jewel-touched, at least. But what of the Emperor in the West?”

“He has learned of the Jewels,” said Nuthea without pausing. “He desires them, and has been moving to seize them, wherever he can find trace of them.”

The Governor nodded. “Yes, that does explain reports we have been receiving of goings on in the West. Thank you for the warning, Manolian. You may leave me now.”

“Hang on!” said Sagar. “Aren’t you going to hear what we want?”

“What you ‘want’? You are in no position to be making demands of me.”

“Forgive my companion’s rashness, Governor,” said Nuthea, “but it is true that we did not just come here to give you information, but to make a request.”

“Well, spit it out then. What is it?”

Nuthea hesitated very slightly. “The six of us are seeking to gather the Jewels together, to protect them from the Emperor. We would ask that you give us the Earth Emerald to look after for safekeeping.”

“Ah. I see. Well, the problem in that case would be that we don’t have it.”

“What?!” said Nuthea, breaking character from that of a calm, composed negotiator to play the part of a flustered only-child.

The Governor shrugged, making a triple chin for a moment. “We do not have the Earth Emerald. Well, that is to say, it is in Farr, but it is not in our possession.”

“Where is it then?”

“Why would you think that you have the right to know?!”

“Lord Governor, I respect your concern for your own country’s interests, but I cannot impress upon you the seriousness of this matter enough. There is an ancient Oneist prophecy which states that if the Primeval Jewels are all gathered together, astonishing power will be unleashed. The Emperor of Morekemia has been operating according to a policy of aggressive expansion of late, and were he to obtain all twelve of the Jewels there is no telling what havoc he would be able to wreak upon the world. He could enslave the whole of Mid under the banner of the Empire.”

“Young lady, I am not a Oneist. I worship Eto, god of the earth. I have never heard of this prophecy before. Why should I have any reason to believe it?”

“Well…” started Nuthea, but then abruptly ran out of steam. “Um…” She didn’t appear to know how to handle people who didn’t believe in the One and in Oneism.

Cid took over for her. “Lord Governor, that is entirely understandable, but you must concede that even if this prophecy does not turn out to be true”—Huh? Ryn thought. Did Cid just say that?—“the Jewels are still extremely powerful ancient artefacts. When the Empire had just one Jewel, for a time, they were able to invade an entire continent and steal a second Jewel before my companions and I fought them and took them back. It would be a terrible thing for any more of the Jewels to fall into the hands of the Empire, whatever the full extent of the power they bestow.”

The Governor raised an eyebrow at Cid. “That is a more persuasive case, old man, but I still see no reason to turn the Earth Emerald over to you. Anyway, you seem to be doing pretty well for yourselves, if you already have two Jewels.” He said this last with a sardonic sting in his voice. “Why should I trust you? How do I know that you are not seeking to do the same as the Emperor of Morekemia?”

“He does have a point…” Ryn whispered to Nuthea. He could see where the Farrian Governor was coming from. They had never really cleared up what they would do with the Jewels themselves if they collected them all, apart from keeping them away from the Emperor. Nuthea had been vague about that. Maybe she secretly harboured dreams of using them to resurrect her deceased family, like Ryn did, too...

“Shhh,” Nuthea chided him irritably out of the corner of her mouth. “We’ve been over this, Ryn…” She spoke to the Governor again. “Our motives are pure,” she announced confidently. “My...my mother was killed by the Empire in their pursuit of the Jewels. Both of Ryn here’s parents were killed by them. We only seek the Jewels so that we may keep them from the Emperor and prevent others from coming to the same harm that our families did.”

The Governor narrowed his eyes at the princess. A ponderous noise escaped his mouth. “And what of the rest of you? You’re a bit of a ragtag bunch, aren’t you?”

Cid stepped up. “I, like the Princess, am a dedicated Oneist and a Healer. I believe in the Oneist legend of the Jewels and I believe it is of paramount importance that they are found.”

“What about the rest of you?” the Governor asked, glancing down the line.

Sagar shrugged. “I’m just the pilot. I’m only flying them around in exchange for being paid with gold, gemstones and beautiful women. You wouldn’t happen to have any of those knocking around here, would you?”

“No. Not for you, anyway.”

“Damn.”

“I’m the engineer,” said Elrann. “I hooked up with these guys when Imfis, where I was living, got invaded.”

The Governor’s gaze fell on Vish.

“Vish, say something!” whispered Nuthea.

“What?” The Shadowfinger blinked with surprise; his mind had been somewhere far away. “Oh. I suppose I am their bodyguard. They pay me too, with other things…”

“Well, this is all highly suspect,” said the Governor. “I am amazed that you have even been able to obtain two Jewels at all. How have you?”

“Um,” said Nuthea, “well… My country were already in possession of the Lightning Crystal…” It glittered where she held it up for a moment on its chain. “I inherited it from my mother. Though we did have to win it back from an Imperial General after he stole it. And Ryn was given the Fire Ruby by his father. Show him, Ryn.”

Ryn held up his left hand, where the Fire Ruby sat on its ring around his middle finger.

“Though that was stolen,” Nuthea continued, “by the same Imperial General, so we had to get that back too. Ryn did that really, with his flame projection powers. But the rest of us helped fight off the Imperials. Captain Sagar here actually has wind projection powers, since he was given a fragment of the Wind Shell by...um...his father. Show him, Sagar.”

Sagar obliged happily, holding out an open palm in front of himself as Ryn had. A gust of air rushed upwards from the floor around him, making his jacket and ponytail flap for a moment.

“And as well as being a pilot, Sagar is also a highly skilled swordfighter. And Grandfather Cid has already mentioned that he is a Healer. And Lady Elrann, as well as being an engineer, is highly proficient with pistols and whip. And, um, Shadowfinger Vish was once, um, a Shadowfinger…”

“What?!” said the Governor. “One of the elite bounty-hunter assassins of the Empire?!

“Um. Yes.”

The Governor held up a palm. “Don’t worry, I’m quite capable of defending myself.”

Ryn turned his head. The guard by the door had started forward, but now reluctantly resumed his original position, his smile replaced by a tightly-clenched jaw.

“How did you end up traveling with this party?” the Governor said to Vish.

“They made me a better offer than the Empire,” Vish said matter-of-factly.

“Oh?”

“They keep me supplied with poppy seed. The Healer keeps them in his bag.”

Ryn assumed that this would seal the Governor’s disapproval and that the man was about to dismiss them again, even more forcefully this time. But instead of shouting them out of his audience chamber, the Governor went quiet again, then made another pondering noise.

“Hmmm. You do seem to have some talents after all.” He put his fingers to his lips for a moment, and rubbed them, apparently in thought. After a while he said, seemingly to himself, “Defeating an Imperial General and winning back two Jewels is quite impressive, I suppose. Maybe there is some sense in trying to reclaim the Earth Emerald, especially if there is a chance of you actually doing it…”

“Lord Governor,” said Nuthea, “where is the Earth Emerald?”

“Hm? Well, if you’re going to have a go at retrieving it, I suppose you do need to know where it is. It was placed by my predecessor in the Shrine to Eto, the earth god.”

“Well, that’s not too much of a problem,” said Ryn. “We can just go and retrieve it from there for you.”

The Governor gave Ryn a withering look. “He placed it there so that nobody would be able to retrieve it. The Shrine to Eto is a labyrinthine temple now filled with traps, obstacles and monsters.”

“Ah.”

“That’s nothing we can’t handle!” spoke up Sagar. He counted their feats off on his fingers. “As a team we’ve already successfully escaped from an invasion, infiltrated the Imperial ranks, fought off an Imperial battalion, and defeated an Imperial general. Four of us are jewel-touched. And all of us are deadly fighters. Well, most of us,” he corrected himself, looking sideways at Ryn. 

The Governor tapped his lips. “Are you sure? Are you telling me that you are really prepared to attempt to enter the Shrine to Eto and retrieve the Earth Emerald yourselves? Facing the prospect of vicious monsters, deadly traps, and the high likelihood of injury and death?”

“We have no other choice,” said Nuthea. “Either we do it or, sooner or later, the Empire will be here doing the same thing.”

“Huld!” the Governor shouted suddenly.

“Pardon?” said Nuthea. “What would you like us to hold?”

“My Lord Governor,” said the soldier who had been standing guard at the door, now appearing alongside the companions, at the end of the line next to Vish. It hadn’t been a command; it was a name.

“Huld,” said the Governor, “I want you to take these six foreigners to the Shrine to Eto and bring the Earth Emerald back from there with them.”

“I live to serve, Lord Governor.”

“Woah!” said Sagar, instantly protesting. “We never agreed to that! Why do we need to take a bald Farrian along with us? We can do it just fine by ourselves!”

“Why do you think; you loose-tongued Imfisi?” snapped the Governor. “You will need a Farrian guide both to lead you to the Shrine and to help you navigate it. And nobody is better suited to helping you in your task than Huld. He is my best monk. He is extremely well trained in the fighting arts. He will be able both to guide you to the Shrine to Eto and to assist you in retrieving the Emerald. I trust him implicitly.”

Ryn looked at the soldier. No...the Governor had said monk. The man’s massive smile was back on his face again. It was so wide it pushed his cheeks up into his already narrow eyes, making them look as though they were shut.

“Hello,” said Huld, in a controlled, polite voice.

“Er, hello,” said Ryn.

“Good,” said the Governor, apparently seeing this as some kind of successful assimilation of Huld to the group. “That’s settled then. Huld will assist you in retrieving the Earth Emerald. I have some matters I will need to discuss with him now. You will leave at first light tomorrow.”

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Aboard the Good Airship Wanderlust

Thu, 01 Feb 2024 00:00:00 GMT

Previously on Saga of the Jewels…

The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. He discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the Fire Ruby. Ryn sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted bounty hunter. Together the adventurers decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. The companions now find themselves traversing the skies of Mid in Sagar’s airship, heading to the land of FARR to attempt to retrieve the EARTH EMERALD…

SEASON TWO EPISODE 23:

ABOARD THE GOOD AIRSHIP WANDERLUST

Elrann hated to admit it, but pirate-man’s airship was an absolute beauty.

She strode out of the doors of the captain’s chambers in the forecastle and onto the main deck. Rushing air immediately greeted her, whipping her purple hair around her face, and she pulled her goggles down over her eyes. The skyscape, pale orange and blue and white, was decorated with the fluffy clouds of a dawn somewhere over Aibar, above which they were currently flying on their way to Farr.

“Ah…” Elrann exhaled after taking a drink of the cold crisp air. It’s good to be alive.

Ryn, Vish and Cid were already up, she was surprised to see, stood together looking out over the prow of the ship, yapping about something or other and taking turns to point at the clouds and scraps of desert visible below. They hadn’t heard her come onto the deck.

“‘Bout time you got up, woman!” someone called out over the wind from behind her.

Elrann whirled on her heel. Above her, atop the ship’s forecastle, underneath her black blimp from which the body of the ship hung suspended by steel ropes, behind the ship’s wheel, stood Sagar.

“I never got my wakeup call!” Elrann yelled back.

“Ha!” the pirate scoffed, his ponytail flapping in the wind behind him. “You’d be lucky! Where’s her majesty--still sleeping?”

Always with the asking about princess-girl, Elrann thought. “Yeah,” she said, “for the meantime. She needs her beauty sleep. I don’t need so much ’cause I’m more beautiful.” She grinned and winked at him.

“Ha!” Sagar laughed again. He seemed happy at the helm of his ship--literally in his element. “Listen, woman; go do a check over the engine for me. She’s flying fine--but you might be able to get a little more juice out of her.”

“Where d’ya think I was going?” Elrann shot back. “I’ll go of my own accord, not to obey an order, thank ya very much. You might be the pilot of this ship, but you ain’t her captain any more, whatever princess-girl calls ya.”

She turned away from the faint sound of Sagar’s “Rrrr,” hiding her smile, and paced across the deck to steps that led below. That’s for calling me ‘woman’ twice already today. She waved a good morning to Ryn, Vish and Cid before descending.

Belowdecks were five main rooms: a hold which had been stuffed full of food supplies by princess-girl’s ‘countrywomen’ before they left, a very small brig, a very small mess with chairs and a card table, the sleeping cabin, and the engine room.

Unfortunately, you had to go through the sleeping cabin to get to the engine room.

The sleeping cabin was filthy, the walls that enclosed its rows of hung hammocks scrawled with lewd paint graffiti or knife-scored with tallies of how many days the original crew had been in the air at a particular time. Even the Imperials hadn’t bothered to clean it up when they had occupied the ship for a while. All the same, Elrann wouldn’t have minded sleeping in the main cabin, and had done so on many other airships.

But on their first night in the air, when they had opened the door to the cabin and been hit by a wave of the stink of...boys, Nuthea had spoken up.

“No,” Nuthea had said, wrinkling her nose. “Absolutely not. This does not befit a Queen.”

“But you’re not a Queen,” Sagar said. “You weren’t coronated.”

“It does not befit a princess either. I am not sleeping in here. I am not having you men leching over me and Elrann while we get undressed.”

Sagar’s face fell. “Well, where do you suggest that you sleep? You can’t exactly sleep up on the deck, and the other rooms aren’t really big enough.”

“Elrann and I will sleep in the captain’s quarters.”

Sagar’s face lit up. “An excellent idea! I’ll be able to keep you both company.” His wolf-grin gripped his face.

Nuthea’s expression could have curdled milk. Nuthea’s expression could have boiled milk. “No, Captain Sagar: Elrann and I will sleep in the captain’s quarters by ourselves.”

Sagar’s face turned as purple as Elrann’s hair. “But it’s the captain’s quarters! That means it’s for the ‘captain’! The clue is in the name!”

“My mind is made up,” Nuthea said. One of her catchphrases, Elrann noticed.

“Rrrrr.”

They had argued some more, but eventually Sagar had been forced to back down when Nuthea had reminded him that he was in her pay, since she was funding this little Mid-trotting Jewel-hunting escapade and keeping him in coin to be the pilot for it.

Poor moronic pirate-man… Elrann thought as she opened the door to the engine room at the back of the ship, having successfully navigated the gauntlet of the vacant sleeping cabin. You just don’t have a clue, do you?

Wanderlust’s engine was a big, shining, black, iron beauty that filled the whole of its room. The main chamber, effectively a massive tank, had a door built into the front of it into which fuel could be shovelled--coal, usually, but this was a Class One Steam Engine made in Erm, which meant that she could run on pretty much whatever you put in her—coal, wood, oil, grass, leaves, poodoo, metal if it was hot enough, animals, even people… Elrann blinked away that particular memory from the one time she had worked on a ship with a Class One before. As long as the fuel burned or evaporated and produced some kind of smoke or gas to fly up the feeder pipe, into the engine’s compression system above and then eventually along the two fuel lines to the two air turbines that sat at the underside of Wanderlust’s bow, it would work.

She opened the door of the main chamber, its heat immediately warming her skin, and shovelled in some more coal from the nearby bag on the floor. The furnace inside glowed as it swallowed the fuel, and the whirring of the ship’s turbines from outside picked up in pitch a fraction.

She shut the door and took a spanner out of one of her utility pouches, relishing the feel of the cold metal as it sat comfortably in her palm, read the gauges on the top of the engine, and set to work on it.

A Class One engine was effectively a heart, except that instead of pumping blood it pumped smoke, or steam. The ship’s engineer’s main job was to fine-tune the compression and decompression system in the upper chambers of the engine, built above the feeder pipe that came from the fuel tank, so that the gas in it was expelled at maximum speed and efficiency along the two fuel lines to power the turbines which propelled the ship through the air. This was largely achieved by tightening and loosening various screws, knuts and bolts attached to the chambers to shrink or enlarge the different ‘ventricles’ of the engine system.

As she did this now, Elrann lost herself in her work. For a time there was only the engine and she only had space to think briefly that the place where she was happiest and most in her element was in front of a metal machine, preferably an engine, tinkering and investigating and adjusting, being warmed by the heat from its burning fuel, savouring the burnt taste of smoke on her tongue, listening to the industrious hum of the turbines.

Eventually she got the engine pretty much where she wanted her and her mind became free to wander again.

What had she been thinking about before she got to work on the engine? Something had been bothering her…

Oh, yeah. Pirate-man.  

She was fairly sure that, as well as obviously ‘leching’ after Nuthea, Sagar had been sending some meaningful glances her way lately as well. It seemed that, after he had gotten over his initial shock at her short hair, tomboyishness and the facts that she was an engineer and could both drink and swear better than him, he had become interested in her as well. It seemed that his lechy-ness knew no bounds. He wasn’t very good at either hiding or showing it, though in different ways.

Little did the stupid man know that rather than letting him into her overalls she was much more interested in trying to work out whether or not he was actually her half-brother.

Truth be told, she reflected as she continued to tend to the engine, making some perfectionist and entirely unnecessary tweaks, Sagar had made her think of her father the very first time she had met him, in the Traveller’s Rest in Ast. Of course, she had never actually known her father, but he had been described to her as a dashing skypirate with a brown leather jacket with a high collar, a rugged beard, baby blue eyes and...a ponytail.

She turned a screw on the engine with her spanner, listening for the subtle change in the turbine’s hum, trying to get exactly the tone she wanted. She knew that her obsession with skypirates, airships, and eventually airship engines had originated from being told about her father, a skypirate who had landed in Zerlan once and got her mother pregnant from a single amorous encounter, but she didn’t care. She could no more change her love for them than she could change the colour of her purple eyes or her supernatural ability to hold her drink. They were a part of her.

Early on in her acquaintance with Sagar, when they had been escaping from Ast and then trekking across the Imfisi plains, she had developed a small crush on him. Her cheeks warmed now at the memory, and it wasn’t just the warmth of the engine. It was embarrassing to see now how obviously that had been connected to her longing for her father, but at the time she had just fallen right into it. It had been so scary being in Ast when it was invaded, and Sagar had taken charge and been so confident

She tightened another knut. But, the thing was, as time had gone by, slowly the crush had morphed into something else. She had begun to notice some little things, and some big things. The big things were so obvious that she hadn’t noticed them at first, thinking them too common not to be coincidences: the brown leather jacket with a high collar, the blue eyes, the handsome features, and that ponytail. But it was the little things that had begun to stack up and eventually make her wonder about the big things: The way his wolf-like grin sometimes reminded her of her own when she caught it in a looking glass. His slightly larger than normal front canine-teeth. His own love of airships, and all things to do with them. Even the way he growled when he got frustrated or irritated, though thankfully Elrann had so far managed to keep that particular trait of hers hidden from the other members of their traveling party. Too many coincidences had mounted up for her to continue to doubt that they were just coincidences with as much conviction.   

The clincher had been when Sagar had revealed that he was in possession of the ‘Wind Shell’ and that his father was Captain Edbin Figaro. Elrann’s mother hadn’t even known the name of the man that had swept her off her feet and impregnated her on the same evening, but she had told Elrann that he had been a captain of a ship, since she had seen him sail off piloting it the next day. Elrann worried that her mother, and now she, had romanticised the man, wanting him not just to be some regular old scummy skysailor or randy cabin boy. But it was what her mother had told her.

So, gradually, little by little, she had pieced together the idea that maybe, just maybe, she and Sagar might share a father.

Maybe, just maybe, Sagar might be her half-brother.

And if Sagar was her half-brother then, maybe, just maybe, he might be able to help her to find her father.

That was a good enough reason to hang around with this crew a little longer—at least until she worked up the courage to tell him.

Of course, there was also the pay (courtesy of princess-girl), the protection, and the general sense of meaningfulness now that they were questing after these magical Jewel-thingamys to save the world or what have you. And the company was alright, she supposed. Princess-girl could talk like anything when she got going, though she was pretty interesting to listen to.

But yeah, the main reason she was still here was to see if she could get a shot at finding her father, she reminded herself. If he was still alive, that was.

She walked over to the bronze speaking tube set into the wall and put her mouth to it.

“Hey pirate-man!” she said into it. “What d’ya think?”

For a moment there was no reply, just the gaping protrusion of the speaking tube.

Then: “She’s sounding alright, woman.”

Elrann’s lip curled up at the corner. She knew well enough not to expect a ‘thank you’ or a ‘good job’. But she also knew that she had the engine functioning damn near perfectly. She had heard the reluctant acknowledgement of that in Sagar’s tone.

“You coming up for breakfast?” said Sagar’s voice through the speaking tube.

“In a bit,” Elrann answered. “I want to tend to her a bit more for a while.”

“Suit yourself.”

Elrann went back to the engine. There was absolutely no reason to do anything with her right now, but she liked being here, and she could always play with trying to get her functioning even more near perfectly.

She set about the screws and knuts again, and thought about how and when she was going to bring up her theory about their parentage with Sagar.

*

Sagar couldn’t decide who he was more attracted to, the princess or the engineer woman.

He checked the red needle of the compass built into the centre of Wanderlust’s wheel and adjusted her slightly to keep on course. It was pretty easy to navigate to Farr. He had never been out all that way before, but he knew you basically just had to head east for a long time. That was the direction he was flying them in now, into the bright Aibarian sunrise.

Of course, both ladies came with their problems. The princess was an obvious choice, what with her being drop-dead gorgeous, with that golden hair and slender face and full bust. And she had a lot of money. But she was a handful and a half—no, two handfuls, if not more. A right royal pain in the arse. Almost literally. She was basically mad. And being hit by lightning from her hurt. A lot.

So then there was the engineer woman too. Sagar had been almost embarrassed to admit to himself that he was attracted to her at first, and truth be told, he sort of still was. She looked too much like a boy with her short hair and engineer’s overalls and laddish way of speaking. Being attracted to her made him feel all sorts of uncomfortable feelings that he didn’t like to acknowledge. That was why he called her ‘woman’—to reassure himself that he was being attracted to a woman. For attracted to her he was. Something about her strut, something about her self-assuredness, something about the way she held a wrench and tended so well to his ship’s engine, got his winds gusting.  

He licked his lips, enjoying the play of rushing air moving over them and cooling them where he wet them.

Yes, he promised himself, I’ll get one of them before this ‘Quest’ is done. Maybe both of them. Maybe both of them at the same time. They are sleeping in my quarters after all. How hard could it be?

Never mind that he had never actually slept with anybody before.

Never mind that he was hopelessly, desperately insecure and under-confident on the inside.

Never mind that his brash skypirate demeanour was just a persona he had had to develop fast when he had inherited this ship and its crew from his father much earlier than he had expected to.

The women didn’t need to know any of that.

None of the others needed to know any of that.

He tried to push these thoughts away, but they just came back stronger.

A great job he had done of looking after this ship and crew her… Things had started well, sure, with a few very successful early raids, and then taking down that Imperial ship.

But then it had all gone wrong. Not only had he lost the ship, for a time, but he had also gotten the whole of his crew killed. He winced at the memory, and almost choked up a little, but forced the sob down hard. No way anyone was going to see him cry up here. It was a good thing he hadn’t been too attached to the crew. It was a good thing he hadn’t been with them that long. But he still felt guilty that they had been killed. He had left them unattended, right after taking down an Imperial warship, and then that Imperial General had specifically attacked him in revenge.

Damn that General. If Ryn hadn’t killed him first, Sagar would have liked to have been the one to do it. 

His eye itched underneath his eye patch. He did a quick scan of the deck. The pup, old timer and scumsucker were still yammering on about something or other at the prow. The woman was still in the engine room, for now. And the princess had not yet graced the morning with her presence.

Quickly, before anyone had a chance to turn around and see, he slid one hand up underneath his patch and gave his left eye a good old itch, then withdrew it again.

None of the others needed to know that he only wore the eye patch for show, to pretend that he had lost his eye in a battle and look tough.

He would never have lost his eye in a battle. Fighting was the one thing he was genuinely good at. He was good at it because he had practiced at swords with his father’s crew ever since he was young enough to hold one. And he was good at it because he cheated. He used his air projection abilities to throw his opponents off and give himself an unfair advantage.

Below him, the princess stepped out onto the main deck. She was wearing a pale lilac dress with a purple sash that wove around her chest and waist, and long purple gloves. She had had a chance to restock her wardrobe before they left her home country. Damn, but she’s looking good this morning, Sagar thought.

“Morning, princess!” Sagar called down at her before any of the other men got a chance to greet her. “So good of you to join us!”

Nuthea turned and looked up at him with a scowl that creased her exquisite forehead. “I did not sleep well,” she said over the wind and engine noise. “Your bed is not comfortable.”

“Works fine for me.” Sagar said, not able or wanting to stop himself. “I’m sure it would be a lot more comfortable with me in it. You should let me show you how to use it sometime.”

Casually, almost absent-mindedly, the princess raised a finger in the same gesture with which she had nearly singed him with lightning when he had been rude to her on his ship before.

Sagar let out a little yelp involuntarily and jumped from fright, losing control of the wheel for a moment, and the ship lurched to one side. He put out a foot to steady himself, got his grip on the wheel back and righted her.

“Rrrr,” he growled.

“What happened?” said the pup, who had run over to see what was going on.

“I was just reminding Captain Sagar here not to overstep his bounds and to speak respectfully in the presence of a princess. Everything is fine now.”

Ryn frowned up at Sagar, as if to say ‘Control yourself.’

Sagar wanted to blast the boy with a barrage of air, but he bit back his spellword. He was trying to get on better with Ryn. Particularly after that incident when the boy had horribly burned his face. Things would probably go better on this Quest if they could get on with each other.

Why am I on this stupid Quest again, anyway?

Oh yeah, that’s right. To see if I can get laid with the princess and/or the engineer woman. That’s not going too well so far… But also because I’m going to get paid a tonne of gold for going on it. And because I don’t have anything better to do.

And I suppose that saving the whole of Mid from the Emperor of Morekemia is a relatively worthwhile thing to do as well... 

“Sagar,” Ryn called, “now we’re all awake, shall we have some breakfast?”

Sagar blinked, shaken out of his rare moment of self-reflection.

“Whatever,” he said. He turned to the speaking tube that rose out of the floor nearby and put his mouth in front of it. “Woman, it’s time for breakfast! Come on up, and bring some waybread with you from the hold while you’re at it!”

“I’m coming, but you can get your own damn waybread!” Elrann’s voice hollered back at him through the speaking tube. “Pilot, not captain, remember?”

“Rrrr,” growled Sagar as he locked the ship’s wheel in place with its mechanism and stomped off to go and find some food.

*

The open sky, wind caressing his skin, glimpses of cloud rushing past below.

Cid hated flying.

He had hated it when he had been part of his previous adventuring party years ago, and he hated it now. The back of his throat was moist, and he kept having to swallow, worried that he would be sick at any moment. Butterflies not only fluttered but crashed into each other in his stomach. He wished he knew a spell to cure him of his nausea. If there was one he hadn’t discovered it yet. Esuna didn’t work.

He hated flying, but he knew it was a necessary evil. It was the fastest way to get where they needed to go.

He tore a chunk of waybread from the communal plate that lay in the middle of them where they all sat in the centre of the main deck and tried to pay attention to what the young ‘uns were saying.

Sagar was speaking. “What were you three yammering about up there at the front of the ship for so long, anyway?”

Cid’s eyelids fluttered, and he tried to make it look like it was from offense and not from queasiness. “If you must know, we were talking to young man Vish here about his poppy addiction.”

“Ah, that old chestnut again,” scoffed Sagar. “What about it? You ready to come off the scum yet, scumsucker?”

Vish said nothing. He didn’t even favour the pirate with a look.

“As a matter of fact,” Cid said, “he is. He had a double hit recently and he’s still feeling some of the negative after-effects. The headache, the mind fog, the despair... He says he’s ready to start spacing out the hits for longer, and perhaps to stop them completely.”

“Ha!” said Sagar. “I’ll believe that when I see it!”

Now Vish did look at Sagar and his eyes slitted to tight grey lines behind his face covering.

“Alright team, so what’s the plan?” said Ryn, changing the subject.

Cid was grateful the boy was taking charge. Someone needed to lead this group, and Cid judged Ryn was the one to do it. Though the boy would have competition from his Grandaughter and the young pirate. And true, each of the two of them were good leader material, too. His Granddaughter was brave, fierce and knowledgeable. But she was also impetuous and condescending and had a tendency to fly off the handle. And the pirate was highly skilled with his blades and wind-projection, not to mention at piloting the ship, and he seemed to have a lot of adventuring experience. But he was also completely in this for his own personal gain, at least at this point in their Quest.

Cid himself was not the one to lead. That had not gone well for him before. The One wanted him here just to guide, to advise, to help, this time, he was sure.

“Well,” said Nuthea at length, “it will take us about another four days’ flying to reach Farr.”

“Four days!” said Sagar. “That’s ages!”

“Well, yes, it is a long way away.”

“We’ll have all killed each other by then!”

Vish looked at Sagar again, Cid noted.

“Let us hope not,” said Nuthea.

Cid really hoped not. If this party was to succeed where his previous one had failed, they would need to all get along with one another. He couldn’t face a repeat of what had happened the last time he had been part of a group trying to gather all the Jewels together…

“Actually,” Nuthea continued, “we will get to Farr a bit before then, but Shun Pei is in the extreme east of Farr, so it will be four days before we get there.”

“And what will we do when we get there?” asked Ryn.

“We will land Wanderlust and seek an audience with the Governor of Farr, who resides in Shun Pei. He should know where the Earth Emerald is kept.”

“That’s your plan?” said Elrann. A favourite question of hers. “Just walk in and ask for the shiny rock?”

“Yes. I am sure that once I explain the situation–that the Emperor of Morekemia is seeking the Jewels and that we are collecting them to keep them safe–the Governor will see that the most reasonable course of action is to entrust the Jewel to us.”

“Sorry, princess girl,” said Elrann, “but that’s just wishful thinking. I’ve been to Farr. The Farrians are a proud, stubborn, reserved sort of people. They ain’t going to give ya the rock just because ya march right in and ask for it.”

Cid stroked his beard. He was, of course, inclined to agree. There was no way that the Farrians were going to hand them the Jewel just because they walked in and asked for it. But don’t say that. Let them work things out for themselves. Guide, don’t lead. Influence, don’t control. It’s the only way they’ll end up doing the things they need to do.

“Well, we’ve got to at least try,” said Nuthea. “It’s the only other Jewel that we know about at the moment. We’ve got to make sure that it’s safe.”

“What makes you think that if the Farrians have it it isn’t safe already?” asked Ryn.

“Perhaps it is, but then we can at least warn them that the Empire might be coming for it. And…” Nuthea turned to Cid. “Grandfather, when it comes to the elemental ‘strengths and weaknesses’ you discovered, how does earth interact with fire?”

Cid searched his memory, glad of the distraction from his skysickness. “Hmmm. If I recall correctly, we can’t know for sure yet, but it seems likely that earth-aligned people would be either partially or highly vulnerable to fire attacks. Fire consumes and ravages the earth, after all. And fire burns up wood, leaves, grass, which are all associated with the element of earth.”

“There we are,” Nuthea said conclusively, folding her arms. “We may have the Fire Ruby now, but we don’t know if there are any remaining Imperial soldiers or officers who still retain any fire affinity from it. If there are, then they will be dangerous to any earth-aligned Farrians. I’ve made up my mind. The Earth Emerald will be much safer with us than remaining with them, as is the case for the Fire Ruby and the Lightning Crystal.” She fingered the glittering crystal that hung on the chain about her neck.

Cid agreed. He was utterly convinced that their task from the One was not only to find the Jewels, but to gather them together. The scriptures, his dreams, and his own sense of inner direction from the One all confirmed this to him. He was convinced that the Emperor of Morekemia was going to rise up to become a threat to the whole world and that the Jewels needed to be gathered together in order for him to be stopped. But don’t say that. Just guide, advise, gently encourage. Nothing too forceful. No matter that these weren’t the only things he was convinced of, either…

“There’s just one thing I want to ask,” said Ryn. “The same thing came up at your Council at Orma.”

Uh-oh, thought Cid.

“Yes?” invited Nuthea.

“I know we’re a long way off from this, as there are twelve jewels and we only have two of them–”

“--two and a bit,” interrupted Sagar, holding up his white fragment of the Wind Shell on its necklace.

“Right...two and a bit. So I know we’re a long way off, but let’s say, down the line, we do succeed in this crazy ‘Quest’ to gather all of the Primeval Jewels together. What then? You say there’s a legend which says that whoever does this will be granted unbelievable power. What would we do with that?”

The boy is clever, thought Cid. Definitely leader material.

“I know what I’d do…” said Sagar, licking his lips and getting a far-off look.

“That doesn’t matter at this stage,” said Nuthea. “The important thing at this stage is simply that we gather the Jewels together to keep them safe from the Emperor.”

“I know,” said Ryn, “but...you know…what if we actually manage it? What could we do with the Jewels? Do you think...do you think they would be powerful enough to do something like...bring people back from the dead?”

Ryn’s question stunned the whole group into temporary uncharacteristic silence. Even Sagar didn’t mock it.

Nuthea looked over at Cid again, deferring to him. “Grandfather?”

All eyes were on him.

Cid’s mind recoiled from what he was convinced he had worked out about the Jewels. He couldn’t even let himself think about it, let alone tell the young ‘uns about it. He spoke slowly and as plainly as he could, selecting his words with great care.

“Of course, nobody has yet actually succeeded in gathering all of the Jewels together, as far as we know. So I don’t know for certain. But the Jewels were made by the One, the Creator of Life itself. So it seems possible to me that, if the One made them, they could grant the power to restore life.”

Sagar groaned. “Urgh. There you go with your ‘One’ stuff again. What a load of nonsense.”

The pirate’s atheism was irksome, but not intolerable. Cid must tolerate it. It was also understandable, given what Cid knew of his life, but Sagar didn’t know what he knew. 

“How do you even know this ‘legend’ about the Jewels is true, anyway?” Sagar said. “I mean, sure, there are Jewels and they do give people special elemental powers, I’ll grant you that much, but how do you know they were made by a ‘One’ and that something wacky will happen if you put them all together? Where does this legend come from, anyway?”

“It comes from earliest time, time before memory,” said Cid. “It comes from the earliest humans who saw the One face to face and walked with him at the Making of Mid. It comes from a time before writing and reading were invented, but the legend was passed down by word of mouth from generation to generation, and when writing was invented, it was set down.”

“Where?” asked Ryn.

“Well,” Nuthea joined in. “There are a number of different texts. We have one in Orma, known as the Book of the Crystal, because it was kept with the Lightning Crystal.” She touched the Jewel at her chest again. “They are all copies of the originals, which have long been lost, but they were copied faithfully.”

“Oh,” said Sagar, “well that’s very convenient, isn’t it? How do you know that they were copied faithfully, and things weren’t changed?”

Cid took over again. “Because the copies all ended up in different places, many a long way away from each other, but they all say the same thing. Or essentially the same thing, with only minor divergences. I have seen many of them on my travels. There are texts in Manolia, in Imfis, in Umbar, in Farr…”

“Say what, pops?!” butted in Elrann. “You’ve been to Farr before as well?!”

“Yes.”

“Well why didn’t ya say so?”

Cid shrugged. “I hadn’t seen it necessary to mention it.” Guide, don’t lead.

“Alright, alright,” said Sagar, “so these copies of Oneist texts that are supposedly scattered around the place. What does this legend about the Jewels written down in them actually say?”

Cid recited the scripture he knew best:

“Twelve Jewels there are

For the Twelve Peoples of Mid:

Ruby, Crystal, Sapphire,

Emerald, Onyx, Diamond,

Beryl, Meteorite,

Chrysolite, Chrysoprase,

Pearl and Carnelain

Whenever they are gathered together,

The power of the One will be there,

To save Mid in her greatest hour of need.”

For a moment, only the rush of wind and the hum of Wanderlust’s turbines.

“What a load of hokey,” said Sagar.

Cid smiled at him. The boy would come to see in time.

His Granddaughter was not so accommodating. “Captain Sagar, you are being very rude. The legend has been passed down for generations. What is ‘hokey’ about it?”

“Well for a start, it only mentions eleven Jewels. Didn’t you spot that? Some ‘prophecy’. ‘The One’ can’t even count properly!”

“That’s easy to address,” said Granddaughter, holding her head up. “The twelfth Jewel is for the element of Void. The texts list the twelve elements elsewhere, and it’s not difficult to figure out there must be a twelfth Void Jewel. Just because they don’t mention it explicitly doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist.”

“What about ‘Stone’?” said Ryn. “That isn’t even a Jewel?”

“Yes,” said Nuthea, “not a lot is known about the Nature Stone either, but the texts do mention it. It may be that it is another kind of jewel, since jewels are kinds of stones, after all.”

“Well it’s still nonsense,” said Sagar. “There ain’t no ‘One’ who made the Jewels. They are just part of nature, a quirk of Mid. All this stuff about a One and gathering the Jewels together is just stories that people made up to try to explain things they don’t understand. One day we’ll be able to explain it properly.”

Nuthea’s jaw tightened and her eyes grew in size. “Captain Sagar—” she began, but for once Cid thought it was time to intervene.

“Granddaughter,” he said gently, “there is no use in arguing further. We have our gamble on what we believe is true, and young Sagar has his. In the end, either we will turn out to be right in our beliefs, or he will. And before the end of our Quest, he may change what he believes too, though not likely through argument. Or he may not.”

“Whatever,” said Sagar. “You know what? So long as I get paid, I don’t really care.”

The party got on with their breakfast, drawing ever closer to Farr.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Saga of the Jewels Season Two Premiere: Episode 22. The Council of Nuthea

Mon, 01 Jan 2024 11:01:00 GMT

To read the Fantasy Fiction newsletter that goes with this podcast, head to sagaofthejewels.substack.com

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Coming soon: Saga of the Jewels Season 2

Fri, 01 Dec 2023 23:55:00 GMT

Hello subscribers!

-In the attached podcast episode you will find some news and a sneak preview of Season 2 of SAGA OF THE JEWELS, which will start releasing soon :)

-Just as a reminder you can now also download or stream the WHOLE of Season 1 as a single audio file (a free 9 hour fantasy audiobook!) at this link.

-You will see above that the new cover for the Saga has been finished, which is very exciting! This cover was paid for entirely using money I earned by writing fiction. Yay!

-I recently made a free optional short story Prologue to the Saga called ‘The Final Battle’ available to new subscribers to this newsletter, but since you may have already been subscribed I’ll share it here as well: To download your free mp3 file of the optional short story Prologue to the Saga, which also acts as a sampler for the Saga, click here. For the e-reader or text version, click here.

-One more thing. You may not know that under my real name I recently published an audiobook of my superhero novel WEAKLING. The reviews that have been coming in for it are really good! You can listen to the novel for free if you sign up for Audible and use your first free credit on it (you can also then cancel your subscription immediately, so you don't ever have to pay anything). To do that, go here. If you don't want to do that or already have an Audible account, you can also get a free review copy here or by clicking on this picture:

That’s all for this month. TTFN, and happy listening!

Faenon

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Free complete fantasy audiobook

Wed, 01 Nov 2023 00:00:00 GMT

This is the whole of Season One of Saga of the Jewels bundled together in a single 9 hour audio file of epic fantasy goodness. To download this free audiobook as an mp3 file for offline listening, either use ‘Download episode’ in iTunes or head to https://drive.google.com/file/d/1WiolkCScTJd4aB447SSBNTR1kgJxCqMz/view?usp=sharing

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Season One Epilogue: Battle With Myself

Sun, 01 Oct 2023 07:43:19 GMT

Author’s note: Greetings, listeners and subscribers!

Very excitingly, this month’s podcast episode has a new narrator (thanks, Dritëro!), since it has a different POV character to the rest of Season One! I won’t spoil things by telling you who…

This also wraps up the audio to Season One, so look out for a special treat coming soon—a free audiobook of the whole of Season One! Not to mention…the start of Season Two!

Previously on Saga of the Jewels…

The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. He discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. Ryn sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted bounty hunter. Together the adventurers decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. The companions now find themselves recuperating in Nuthea’s homeland, where after much travail they have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, now borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, now borne by Nuthea…

SEASON ONE EPISODE 21: EPILOGUE: BATTLE WITH MYSELF

Vish sat on the end of the bed and stared at the two black poppy seeds in his open palm.

Why wasn’t he just taking them? This was his chance. Dinner, which he grudgingly admitted to himself had been quite good—what he could taste of it, that is—with its roast pig and truffles and little birds marinated in wine, was over. Everyone else had retired to their chambers too. He had all night to enjoy the sweet delights of the not one, but two poppy seeds he had taken from Elpis before he killed her.

A double hit. The hot fast rush as he first swallowed them, the building intensity in his head as his body processed them, the wave upon wave of pleasure that would gradually overwhelm his entire being, the warm afterglow he would eventually bathe in afterwards, the loosening, the calm, the relief. This was his chance.

So why hadn’t he taken them yet?

The old man.

Damn the old man! The old man had planted a different kind of seed in his mind. A different kind of seed that had slowly been growing, and had now produced a small shoot that was big enough to notice.

If you space out the hits far enough and start to come off it, you can start to feel other things too. It is possible. I’ve seen others do it. I’ve helped others do it.

The old man had planted the seed of the idea in Vish’s mind that it was possible to come off the poppy and learn to enjoy other things again. But he didn’t really want to do that, did he? The poppy was his life. The poppy was pure joy. The poppy was the greatest thing it was possible to experience. He didn’t want to ‘come off’ that. He didn’t want to lose that. He didn’t need to be ‘free’ from that.

But then why hadn’t he taken them yet?

He put the poppy seeds down on the nightstand next the bed, stood and began to pace the room. The floor was made of white marble shot through with wisps of black. The walls were of white stone, hung with tapestries and paintings that in the light from the candle on the nightstand he could see depicted long-haired Manolians winning battles over other nations, or successfully defending their realm from invaders. There was no god on any of them. A strange people, these warrior-women who made the men do all the women’s work in their country, who worshiped a single invisible God who made everything, and who didn’t acknowledge any of the other gods. Though not uniquely strange, he supposed. The old man worships this ‘One’ as well, after all...

The curtains were thick and made of purple velvet. Vish drew one back to look out of the window, but only found the blackness of the night beyond, except for his reflection which looked back at him, lit up in the candle glow. He pulled off his head scarf, revealing the branded ‘X’ scar on his forehead, his thick, cropped black hair, the black discoloration around his mouth.

Someone glancing briefly at him might be forgiven for thinking it was a beard. But if they looked for any length of time, they would see that, no, in fact it was the skin around his mouth and the lower part of his nose that had turned from barky tan to black–deep black, black as a poppy seed, black as the darkness of the night outside. It was almost as if the flesh itself had died, and indeed Vish had much reduced sensation in those places. Why did the poppy do that? Yes, it went into his body through his mouth, or sometimes crushed up through his nose, but then it went into his stomach or his brain. Vish supposed that the poppy was so powerful that it simply had this effect on his body at the point where it entered him. There were probably parts of his insides that were discoloured black and had reduced sensation as well. He had often wondered if it would eventually turn the whole of him black. Then he would truly have become a creature of darkness; his transformation into a Shadowfinger would truly be complete.

He turned and looked back at the nightstand where the two poppy seeds lay, two inky dots staining the room, marring it. Wasn’t there a life that he had once had before that Imperial agent had got him hooked on the poppy and recruited him for the Emperor’s Hand? Of course, it had been a hard life, working as a personal assassin for the Leader of Aibar, and he hadn’t known the poppy. But he had had a measure of freedom: the ability to do what he wanted between jobs, his own dwelling. He had been able to fully enjoy the taste of food, the touch of a woman, the feel of the breeze on his face…

The poppy had taken all of that from him. It had enslaved him, made him only want it, only really able to feel it. The times in between the hits had just become times when he was waiting for his next hit, or doing something to enable himself to get his next hit. They had become times when he wasn’t really alive or tuned into the world, just drifting or trudging through a pale grey landscape questing for the next poppy seed.

That was no way to live, was it?

Vish walked back over to the nightstand and picked up the poppy seeds. He was going to throw them away. He had lived in this bondage for too long.

He walked back to the window and slid it up and open. He barely felt the chill of the night air on his body.

He was going to throw them out of the window.

Come on. Throw them out of the window.

Only...only what had he gained by taking the poppy? What would he lose if he threw it away?

The greatest pleasure he had ever felt. Pure, all-encompassing, ecstatic sensation washing over every inch of his body. Thrill. The ability to be completely focused on and lost in something that wasn’t pain, self-hatred, regret and bitterness.

How could he throw all that away?

No, he wouldn’t throw them away, but he would wait a while before he took them. That way he would be ‘spacing out’ the hits a little more, and maybe he would be able to come off it eventually like the old man said.

He shut the window, walked back to the nightstand and put the poppy seeds down on it.

He sat on the bed and looked at them.

The thing was, it had been a fair while since his last hit. Not since that Zerlanese village they had stopped in to rest and stock up on supplies.

Just one now, and one later.

He picked up one of the seeds and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. A little black orb that encompassed a world of pleasure.

But if he was going to have one hit now anyway, why not have two? A double hit. How often did he get the chance to have a double hit? Even the old man only gave him one poppy seed at a time. There was no way that he would ever give him two at once, especially with his talk of spacing out the hits and coming off them.

Vish picked up both poppy seeds and chucked them into his mouth, swallowing them in one gulp.

Pleasure exploded in his body, starting in his mouth, his head, and then spreading down through his neck, his chest, his arms, and the rest of him.

He lay back on the bed, falling into the poppy trance.

In his poppy trance, Vish got up off the bed.

He looked around the bedchamber, working out where he was.

Manolia, he surmised from the white marble. The home of the Crystal-keepers.

He padded to the door of the chamber and turned the bronze knob gently till it clicked.

He eased the door open slowly and silently.

Only the glow from the wall-mounted lights lit the long corridor. The Shadowfinger looked both ways down it. Wall hangings, a wooden chair, a table with a vase atop it. Not just Manolia, but the palace in Orma, the capital. He had been here once before. He could not believe his good fortune.

He shut the door quietly and made his way down the corridor, sticking to the candle-thrown shadows, as was his way, and taking care that his footsteps did not make a single sound on the carpets or marble floor, his poise and focus only enhanced by the poppy trance.

Which chamber would hold what he was looking for?

There were several other doors that led off from this corridor.

None of these.

He continued to make his way through the palace, allowing his intuitions to lead him to its most opulent area, a wide hallway bedecked with more huge versions of the ridiculous tapestries, up a flight of stairs, and…

There.

Vish drew back from the corridor into which he had just peered, concealing himself around the corner on the landing at the top of the steps.

There were two guards posted outside of the door that he wanted, of course. The Manolains, though they were stupid, would have to be colossally stupid not to guard her. And it.

He could use his talents in this state to slip past them, but they would be alerted by the sound of him opening and closing the door to the chamber.

No matter. He knew what he needed to know now.

Vish walked back to the first bedroom, keeping silence. As he did so he paid close, poppy-enhanced attention to the exact route he was taking, to the descent of the stairs, to the particular twist and turn of the corridors he took, to the number of steps.

He shut the door to his room carefully behind him.

He walked over to the window and slid it open. Cool night air blew in.

He took off his black gloves and let them drop to the floor by the window.

He reached into a pocket stitched into the inside of his robes in the left breast and drew out another pair of gloves, slipping these on instead.

He held up his fingers and gave them a little wiggle. Ten small, vicious, gleaming points twinkled back at him in the moonlights from the tips of his fingers.

He turned round and climbed out of the window backwards, shoving one clawed hand into the wall on the outside of the window.

Vish smiled. The points on the end of his gloved fingers stuck fast in the stone of the Manolian palace, giving him a purchase.

Slowly, carefully, the Shadowfinger made his way along the outside of the wall in the direction of the chamber he had identified, crawling across like an oversized, four-legged spider in the darkness. He drew on his considerable strength, honed by all those years of training, and held himself up with his arms alone as he crawled, though when he could find a ledge or a slant he allowed it to take his weight.

He traversed a route along the walls to the chamber, making use of the mental map he had formed in his mind when he walked to and from it on the inside of the building.

He arrived at the outside of the chamber.

Not just one or two windows here but a whole wide wall of them, looking out on the courtyards below which were, thankfully, empty at this hour.

Many windows, but they looked to have the same design as the one in his room, and would therefore open the same way. Vish supposed the Manolians had never counted on anyone being able to infiltrate the palace in this manner.

He crept over to the nearest window, got level with it, and then took off one glove by pulling it off with his teeth as he hung from one hand.

He pressed the palm of his now gloveless hand to the window, cold to the touch, and slid it silently up and open.

He swung himself underneath a curtain into the chamber, crouching as he landed to take his weight and muffle any sound, and was still.

Darkness cloaked the chamber. But darkness was Vish’s element. His eyes grew accustomed to it even more quickly than usual, helped by the poppy, and he saw that the chamber held two large cupboards against the wall, a dressing table with mirror and chair, a nightstand, and bed.

He remained crouching, listening.

No sound came to break the stillness of the room, even to Vish’s poppy-enhanced senses. Only, perhaps, if he strained his hearing to its limit, the rhythmic rises and falls of a sleeping breath.

Good, the thought echoed in Vish’s entranced mind.

He took a step.

The person in the bed grunted in their sleep, and Vish froze ice-still again for a moment, but then they rolled over and the rhythmic breathing resumed. Vish exhaled noiselessly.

Vish moved to the bedside like a cat closing in on its prey.

It was not on the nightstand.

It hadn’t been on the table either--Vish would have caught its glint from the candle-glow in the brief moment the door had been open.

That must mean the girl in the bed—the princess of this land and the heir apparent, now that her mother had been disposed of—was wearing it.

Fortunately, the girl was sleeping on her back, where she was breathing heavily. Quilts and blankets covered her up to her neck.

Vish slipped his hand around the hem of the blanket, paused, then ever so carefully folded it back, making no sound.

A chain. The girl was indeed sleeping with the crystal in its setting in the pendant about her neck.

Unfortunately, she was also clasping the Jewel tight in one fist.

What to do?

Vish put his finger underneath the girl’s left ear and tickled it very gently.

When the girl did not respond, he tickled it slightly less gently.

The girl grumbled in her sleep and let go of what she was holding to itch her ear, then let her hand lie flat on her pillow. The rhythmic breathing resumed again.

There it was. A pendant and, set into it, a crystal which even now glowed faintly with the silent crackle of pent-up lightning.

Vish’s mouth made a smile underneath his face covering. Too easy.

The Shadowfinger reached inside the fold of his uniform to another of its many inner pockets, the one sewn into the right breast, and found there a small implement which he retrieved, and a small hessian bag.

He reached over the girl with his gloved hand and used the implement, a small steel rod that came to a thin sharp line at a right angle at its end, like a miniature pick, to scrape the crystal slowly once, twice, thrice.

The girl stirred and murmured, and Vish stayed still again a moment, but then her sleep-breathing restarted.

He held up the implement, and when he was satisfied that it had enough minute glittering crystal scrapings on it, he deposited them carefully in his bag.

The Shadowfinger left the room by the way he had come in.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 20. Season One Finale Part 2: Now What?!

Fri, 01 Sep 2023 14:15:28 GMT

Author’s note: Some substack subscribers have read this chapter before. This is because I am re-publishing it and next month’s chapter as podcast episodes so I can include some fantasy book sales promotions with them, which are here:

PREVIOUSLY ON SAGA OF THE JEWELS:

Seventeen-year-old RYN’s hometown is attacked by General VORR of the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before Ryn’s father dies, he gives Ryn a ruby which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess NUTHEA, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain SAGAR, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit an engineer called ELRANN. Ast is then attacked by the Empire, who are using the Fire Ruby to invade the continent and search for more of the Jewels. Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann flee the city together, but are then attacked by a bounty hunter, VISH. They manage to subdue the bounty hunter but Nuthea is gravely wounded in the process. Ryn beats Sagar to the hunter’s mount and rushes Nuthea to the nearest town where he finds a healer, CID, a mysterious old man who saves the princess’s life with his arts and asks to join the traveling party, saying that he believes it is the purpose of ‘the One’, the God that he and Nuthea each worship. On leaving the town the party is pursued by an enormous monster driven by a troop of Imperial soldiers. The party manage to escape with the help of Vish, who fights on their side in exchange for Cid supplying his poppy-seed habit. Cid reveals that he was once a member of another adventuring party who set out to find the twelve Primeval Jewels, but failed. The party press on to the capital city of Sirra, where they ambush some Imperial soldiers and steal their uniforms in order to sneak onto a sleeper train bound for Nuthea’s homeland. They make it aboard successfully, but then Ryn gives them away when he comes face to face with General Vorr on the train and is unable to prevent himself from attacking him. The party are thus forced to escape from the train by leaping into a river it is passing. But there encounter with Vorr has revealed two things: that the Fire Ruby-touched Imperials are invulnerable to Nuthea’s lightning attacks, and that Nuthea was the person who once accidentally gave Vorr the location of the Fire Ruby, thus leading to the destruction of Ryn’s hometown and the death of his parents. After a brief rest stop, the party press on towards Manolia in order for Nuthea to warn her people of the Morekemian Empire’s new knowledge of the Jewels. However, when Nuthea speaks with her mother, the Queen, and reveals that she knows of the whereabouts of other Jewels, the Queen is assassinated and Vorr appears from behind her throne with a battalion of soldiers—he has been waiting to entrap the companions and was holding the Queen hostage A vicious battle ensues, in which Ryn touches Vorr with the lightning crystal, stripping him of resistance to fire, and kills him, and with the help of the Fire Ruby the companions and Manolians overpower the soldiers.

Episode 20: Now What?!

Ryn stood panting halfway up the balcony steps and surveyed the aftermath of the battle in an exhausted trance.

It was almost entirely black-armoured bodies that lay about the floor, though there were a handful of golden-armoured Manolians too, who Cid had not been able to save since he had used up the last of his mana reserves for the time being healing Ryn’s leg. But most of the Manolian guards had survived. Ryn was surprised to see that, in fact, not all of them were blonde, but some had brown, dark, even red hair underneath their golden helmets.

Elrann, Vish and Sagar were up here with them too. Smoke coiled up from the barrels of Elrann’s pistols and Imperial blood dripped from Sagar and Vish’s swords. All of them were panting. Even Vish.

Everyone seemed to be looking at Ryn

“Well…” said Sagar, then paused for a moment. “...well done, pup. I hate to say it, but you got us out of a sticky situation there. If you hadn’t got the Ruby off that Imperial officer and got it to the ladies, then boosted up here to distract the soldiers until they arrived… Well… thank you.”

A ‘thank you’ from Sagar. Anything was possible… Ryn was too battle-fatigued to appreciate it properly at the moment though.

“Yes, thank you...young man,” said one of the Manolians who had long brown hair. She sounded almost as reluctant to say it as Sagar had been, if not more so. “If it hadn’t been for your intervention, we might have lost our princess, as well as our Queen.”

Princess?

“Nuthea!” Ryn said, realising she wasn’t up here with them.

She was still down on the ground floor of the throne room, next to the throne, kneeling on the dais, her face buried in her mother’s neck.

When they got down there they all stood in a circle around her.

Nobody said anything for a while. Nuthea stayed where she was.

Ryn knelt down next to her and tried a whisper. “Um, Nuthea… I’m… I’m really sorry you lost your mother…but…are you going to get up?”

No response.

Kathuna came and knelt with them too, and spoke equally quietly.

“Princess… Our grief is great, and there must be time for mourning. But now that the Queen has died, the throne will pass to you. You must be strong for the Queendom.”

At that Nuthea raised her face. It was tear-soaked, her blue eyes bloodshot.

“You are right,” she said resolutely, seeming to harden all of a sudden. “I must compose myself. It is what she would have wanted.”

She wiped her face with both hands. Then, without warning she stood up and addressed the ring of adventurers and her guardswomen.

“The Manolian throne now passes to me,” she said to them. “And already it is fixed in my mind what I am to do with it. Never in our long and glorious history has an adversary infiltrated this palace and assassinated a Queen. We must make sure that nothing like this ever happens again. That’s why I am leaving tomorrow on a quest to find the rest of the Primeval Jewels before the Emperor of Morekemia.”

“What?!” said all of the other Manolians at once.

“Do not forget yourselves in the presence of your new Queen-to-be,” Nuthea said sternly, her eyes flashing. “The whole reason this came to pass is because the Morekemians were after our Lightning Crystal. As long as it remains here, Manolia is not safe. You heard that Imperial General. They know of other Jewels already. The Emperor will clearly stop at nothing to get his hands on them. But we have the advantage now. We have two Jewels, and two more who are Jewel-touched. The Emperor must be stopped, not only for the sake of Manolia but for the sake of the whole of Mid itself. We must find the remaining jewels before he does. That is why I am leaving with the Lightning Crystal, to do just that.”

As he listened to her, Ryn was surprised to discover that he was inclined to agree. What Nuthea was saying felt...right. And once he knew that, he also knew right away that he must join her. What else was he going to do with his life now? His hometown was still destroyed. There was nothing left for him to go back to in Efstan. And he had finally achieved the goal that brought him here. Mother. Father. Hometown. Found Vorr. Got Vorr. Forgave Vorr. Killed Vorr. Stay with Nuthea. Find the Jewels. Save the world.

“But princess,” one of the Manolians was saying. “If you leave us, who will govern the Queendom?”

“Kathuna will serve as regent while I am away,” Nuthea said without hesitation. “She has been a strong and loyal friend to me for a very long time. I trust her judgment implicitly.”

“But princess,” said Kathuna, “I want to come with you.”

“Yes,” said another of the guards. “We all want to come with you.”

“We will muster a mighty Manolian army, and make war on Morekemia!”

“For Queen Nuthea!” said another, and raised her weapon.

“Queen Nuthea!” they all said together, and raised their spears in unison.

“No!” Nuthea said, and they lowered their spears again, looking like chided children. “First, I have not been coronated yet. And second, this quest does not call for an army or a great show of strength. I will need to operate covertly, seeking out the Jewels one by one and warning their owners of the Emperor’s intent, without being detected by him.”

“Then who will you take with you?” said Kathuna.

“I would take those who helped me to return here, and who made it possible to defeat the Imperials who infiltrated the palace.”

She turned to Sagar, Elrann, Cid and Vish, who were all standing next to each other in the circle. She did not look at Ryn.

Sagar was the first to respond, and held up both his hands in front of him. “Woah, now! Just wait a second here. I believe I was promised gold, jewels and beautiful women in return for bringing you safely back here, isn’t that right, princess?”

“Yes, I suppose I did promise you those things…” Nuthea said with a sideways glance, to a chorus of gasps from her assembled countrywomen. She gestured with her hands for them to calm down. “Let’s see then…” she said pensively, and Ryn detected just the faintest note of mockery in her voice. “Well, gold we have aplenty in Manolia, and we shall be taking lots of it as we shall need lots on our journey, to look after our airship and stay stocked with supplies. Jewels, we have two: the fire Ruby, and the Lighting Crystal. And as for beautiful women--well, I am not unattractive in appearance, am I?” Understatement of the century, Ryn thought. Though he didn’t like that Nuthea was pointing this out to Sagar. “And Elrann is beautiful too, in her own special way.”

“Thanks, princess-girl,” said Erlann. “I think.”

“So really you will have everything you were promised as a reward if you come with us on this quest.” Ryn noticed how she said ‘us’. Who did she mean when she said ‘us’? Did she mean him and her, or the others, or all of the above?

“Now hang on,” said Sagar, getting worked up, pointing a finger at Nuthea. “This is not what I signed up for. That is not what I thought you meant when you promised me ‘gold, jewels and beautiful women’ and you know it.”

“Well,” said Nuthea thoughtfully again, biting her lip, “I suppose you could stay here if you wanted. As I said, there is a lot of gold in Manolia, and there are some jewels of the non-Primeval variety here as well. I would even give you some to send you on your way with, skycaptain. But with regards to the beautiful women…” She became more serious for a moment. “Well, yes, I am afraid to say I may have misled you there somewhat. My apologies.”

Now Nuthea was apologising for something. This truly was a day of impossible happenings.

“I mean,” Nuthea went on, back to her slightly more playful tone, “there are lots of very beautiful women in this country too, but they won’t allow themselves to just be ‘given’ to a man. I suppose you could commit yourself to the service of a woman who would have you and see if you could win their affections over time, but there is no guarantee there, I’m afraid.”

Sagar looked from Nuthea to the Manolian guardswomen that stood assembled with them. One of them winked at him. Another made a little meowing noise and playfully waved a hand at him like a cat pawing at a toy.

“Rrrrr,” said Sagar as he turned back to Nuthea. He had turned purple.

“What’s more,” said Nuthea, “I would really rather prefer it if you came with us, seeing as in order to get around on our quest we will be needing your airship.”

“My ship?!” exclaimed Sagar. “What about my ship? How do you know where my ship is?”

“Well, you heard Vorr, didn’t you? He managed to get a single ship into Manolia to get his audience with my mother. He stole your airship, didn’t he? I assume that it is therefore somewhere around here.”

“My ship… said Sagar quietly, looking off into the distance.”

“Furthermore, if you come with us, although I can only promise you at present the company of two beautiful women, I will pay you monthly for the use of your ship, in addition to the substantial fee that you are due for safely delivering me back to my homeland.”

Sagar continued to stare at nothing for a while. Eventually, slowly, his eyes came back to the princess. “In that case… I can’t believe I’m saying this but… alright then. Rrrr. I must be crazy. I want a lot of gold for this.”

“You will have it,” said Nuthea. “An excellent choice, skycaptain.”

Her eyes moved one person along the circle. “Elrann, will you come with us too?”

The purple-haired engineer shrugged. “Sure, I’ll come. I’ve got nothing else better to do, what with Imfis being invaded and all. Er, I wouldn’t mind taking a cut of that gold, though. For serving as the ship’s engineer, like.”

“Consider it done,” said Nuthea.

“Hey--” started Sagar.

“Don’t worry, skycaptain, that is, of course, in addition to what you will be paid for navigation and the use of your ship.”

“Oh,” said Sagar. “Well I guess that’s alright, then...”

Nuthea beamed at Elrann. “Good to have you aboard, Engineer Elrann.” Her eyes moved one person along again. “Grandfather?”

“Of course I will come with you,” said Cid straight away. “There is nothing that I want more. Except at present possibly a hot meal and a warm bath. But to quest with you in this way has been my intention from the start, as you know, Granddaughter. It is the Will of the One.”

“It is the Will of the One,” agreed Nuthea, nodding. “Shadowfinger Vish?”

“I will come with you so long as you keep me supplied with poppy.”

“I can do that,” said Cid. “And slowly we will work at weaning you off it and getting you clean.

Vish just grunted. He didn’t seem all that keen on the idea of being ‘weaned off’ the poppy, but he had said he would come with them all the same.

“Good,” then it’s settled, said Nuthea. Huh? Isn’t she going to ask me? “Guards, have chambers made up for my companions. I want them in the finest guest rooms, the ones in the east tower. Rest well, my friends. I will see you at dinner in the feasting hall. I have business to attend to.” Her voice trembled very slightly as she said that last sentence, but Ryn wasn’t sure anyone else noticed. “You will be provided with food, drink, and new clothing. We leave at first light tomorrow.”

The circle broke, her guards taking this as a signal to get to work, to move about and start talking to one another, to begin clearing the bodies from the hall.

Nuthea had gone back to her mother and was looking down at her, one hand over her mouth. She was managing to hold back the tears, for now.

Ryn couldn’t hold out any more.

“Nuthea…” he said gently.

She turned to him at last, and her eyebrows rose above her pale blue eyes, as if she was expecting him to say something to her.

“I’m…” said Ryn. He broke under her gaze and had to look at the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for behaving like such a...like such a b*****d and being so horrible to you for the last part of our journey. I was mixed up and confused and full of rage and hate.” He looked up at her still-expectant face. “But I’ve dealt with that now--I’ve gotten rid of it. I’m sorry for holding onto it for so long.”

Nuthea held his gaze, held him in agony as he waited for her response.

“It’s alright, Ryn,” she said finally. “It was unpleasant, but I forgive you. The Way of the One is to forgive.” She moved close to him all of a sudden, and gave him a delicate kiss on the cheek. “You can spend the rest of the quest making it up to me,” she whispered quietly into his ear. “Thank you for saving us from the Imperials, and from Vorr.”

She walked past him, away into the crowd of guardswomen rushing to and fro, and began to issue them with commands--the first, to have the body of her mother removed from the throne room.

Ryn stood watching her go. The small place on his cheek felt on fire with sensation, and he had to put a hand to it to make sure that it was not, in fact, actually on fire.

“Well, pup, you did it,” said a voice from someone stepping up next to him. “You finally killed the General. I suppose I’m actually a little bit impressed. But only a little bit.”

Ryn turned and looked down at Vorr’s body with Sagar. The General’s corpse lay flat on its back, its flesh abnormally red and brown and charred. Its eyes were closed. It was beginning to stink.

“You know,” said Ryn. “In the end, I didn’t even want to kill him any more. But strangely, letting go of my hatred for him, and for myself, was what gave me the power to beat him.”

“You what?” said Sagar, uncomprehending.

“Well done, Ryn,” said Cid, stepping up to join them too. “You’ve taken your first steps on the Way of the One.”

Ryn didn’t reply, but he thought I suppose I have. And that may not be a bad thing.

“Er, guys…” said Elrann, looking up at them on the dais from where she stood on the floor next to Vish. “What do we do now?”

“I am going to go and take some poppy,” said Vish, turning away.

“Wait!” said Cid to him. “Can’t you hold out a little longer?”

“No,” said Vish.

Ryn spoke up now. “We’ll come with you. What we do now is find our ‘guest rooms’ and get some good rest before dinner is served. You heard Nuthea--we’re leaving on our quest at first light tomorrow and we want to make sure that we’re all well fed, watered, washed and rested.”

“Pup, that’s the most sensible thing you’ve said all day.”

And off they all walked together, to find a Manolian to show them to their chambers.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 19. Season One Finale Part 1: Vorr

Tue, 01 Aug 2023 20:18:55 GMT

The General’s gleeful laughter filled the hall.

Vorr stepped around from behind the Queen’s throne, big and black-armoured and red-haired, unable to contain his mirth.

Ryn’s blood ran cold.

          “Mother!” Nuthea cried at the top of her voice, and shoved past the two Manolian guards, shooting up the steps of the dais to kneel next to the fallen Queen. “Cid! Heal her!”

          “Not so easily done!” Vorr laughed. “You are quite surrounded!”

          On the balcony level that ringed the hall above them, soldier after black-armoured soldier stood side by side, each with a crossbow levelled at the party. They must have been hiding behind the guard rail when the party had entered the hall.

          Ryn looked back at the dais. A deep red puddle seeped out from underneath the Queen where she lay on her front. Nuthea knelt with her hands thrown over her mother’s head, her face buried somewhere in the Queen’s shoulder as she sobbed uncontrollably. In between sobs, she whimpered, “Mother! I’m so sorry! I’m so so sorry! Please! Cid! Please heal her! Someone heal her!”

          Ryn stood watching all this like a statue, numbing cold spreading in his belly.

          Vorr calmed down from his outburst of laughter and spoke over Nuthea’s whimpers. “Nobody’s going to be healing her, unless they want a crossbow bolt through their neck too. Pitiful girl. Do you realise that you gave us the key to taking Manolia, to your own downfall? Once we discovered thanks to our little brush with you on the train that as Ruby-touched we had some immunity to the Lightning Crystal, everything was easy! We didn’t even need to carry out an invasion! All I had to do was request a single diplomatic meeting, show your ‘Queen’ our immunity, and then I could force her to do whatever I wanted, without any fear of your little lightning tricks. Telling her that I knew where you were and would kill you on sight when you arrived here if she didn’t comply with my commands made her submit quickly enough. Most of her ‘guards’ have been following her orders for the last few days without even knowing that we were still here! In fact, the vast majority of your ‘Queendom’ doesn’t even know it’s been occupied by the Empire! After I’d got in here, all I had to do was wait for you to show up with your pitiful little ragtag band of vagrants--”

“--underestimated me,” someone else was whispering nearby, Ryn became aware. Sagar. “I can take them. I can create a wind gust that deflects their arrows.”

“Don’t,” Cid hissed back. “You’ve seen how many of them there are up there. You saw how fast that arrow flew. You can’t take all of them, Sagar. Stand down. We’re better off letting ourselves be captured.”

“He’s not going to capture us,” whispered Vish in turn. “Once he has gloated over us and explained how he beat us he is going to kill us anyway. I have seen him do it a hundred times before. This could be the only chance we--”

Vorr paused mid-speech and frowned at them. “SILENCE!” he shouted, his voice cracking for a moment on the second word and going incredibly high, spittle flying from his mouth. “Listen to me when I’m telling you how I defeated you!”

Nuthea suddenly cried out in a high-pitched wail, but not at Vorr. She was still kneeling over her mother, her face soaked with tears. “She’s stopped breathing! You killed her, you monster, you killed her!”

Ryn stared at the lifeless body of Nuthea’s mother sprawled humiliatingly face down on the dais, her long dark hair a mess around her head, her blood starting to drip slowly down the steps.

          Vorr had killed her, just like he had killed Ryn’s own... Mother. Father. Hometown. Found Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. Avenge Nuthea.

          “VORR!” Ryn felt himself light on fire as he ran up the steps towards the General and drew his sword, the cold in his belly suddenly replaced by heat.

          Somewhere behind him he was vaguely aware of a rush of air and the sound of arrows pinging off the stone floor. But only vaguely.

He ran past Nuthea and her mother and swung his blade with all his might at Vorr’s head, holding and moving it as Cid had taught him to.

This time Vorr caught the hilt in one hand and the blade in his other, snapping his gauntleted fingers onto it and holding it in place.

Ryn’s fire went out from the shock.

Vorr twisted his arms, and snapped Ryn’s sword in two as it came out of his hands. The General flung the useless pieces of the broken weapon away, sending them to clatter on the ground.

Before Ryn could recover from his surprise, Vorr reached out and grabbed him by the neck, lifting him up off of his feet.

A tight band of pain constricted around Ryn’s neck at once. He gasped for air, but found none.

Ryn clutched at Vorr’s fingers and looked in horror into the man’s bulging, sadistic, red-veined eyes. The General was crushing his windpipe. All that came into his head were words of despair.

All that preparation, all that training in swords with Cid, and I still couldn’t beat him. I didn’t even have a chance. I just did exactly the same thing again. I just lost control and threw myself at him. Now this is it. I’m going to die. I’ve failed. I’m a failure.

“Miserable whelp,” Vorr was saying to him. “Don’t you ever learn? For the hundredth time: I am touched by the Ruby and so invulnerable to fire like you, you utter idiot. You didn’t change your plan of attack once. I guess you just couldn’t resist me!”

“Boltaaaaagggaahhh!”

Ryn felt a surge of shock pass through him, but then it passed, leaving only the ever growing pain around his neck.

It was growing harder to think with every moment that he was unable to take a breath, but he realised that Nuthea had hit Vorr with a lightning attack.

Vorr’s gaze shifted down and to the side beyond Ryn. “Stop that, girl. Haven’t you learned your lesson either? I have resistance to lightning too! You just stay there and wait your turn. I knew that you knew more about the Jewels than I got out of you in Imfis. I’ll happily torture you to get the rest of that information, if you just wait a moment. Let me deal with this mongrel first.”

The pain around Ryn’s neck was tight as death.

He’s going to kill me and kill Nuthea too.

Darkness prickled at the corners of Ryn’s vision. He was passing out. He was going to die.

He was going to die bitter, unavenged and unfulfilled, full of hate and anger and misery.

As his vision faded, Ryn’s eyes drooped. The last thing he saw before they closed was a pair of short silver chains that hung around Vorr’s neck, over his armour.

          One chain had a ruby-set ring on it.

          The other chain had a crystal pendant on it.

Behind his closed eyes, with the last thoughts of his life, Ryn found himself remembering something Nuthea had said to him once, on the train to Manolia.

The Way of the One is to forgive, her words echoed in his mind.

Fine, Nuthea, I’ll try it your way. I’m about to die anyway. I’ve got nothing left to lose any more. I forgive you for revealing the location of the Fire Ruby to Vorr. I...I forgive Vorr for killing my parents and burning down my hometown. And I forgive...I forgive myself for failing to save them.

And then fire exploded all around him.

The grip on his neck loosened slightly, and some breath came back into Ryn.

He opened his eyes and looked up.

Bright white and orange heat enveloped him; a glowing ball of incandescent flame that grew from his heart and enshrouded all of him, all of Vorr. Unhindered by unforgiveness, Ryn’s fire burned brighter than it ever had before.

Through the fire, he saw fear in Vorr’s irises.

It was clear what he must do.

The Jewels.

Ryn reached out his hand to touch the small translucent round jewel which hung from one of the silver-chained pendants around Vorr’s neck.

It was still too far away.

He concentrated, willing the fire radiating out of him to burn brighter, hotter, and focused it in one particular place.

The chain turned red, then orange, then white, then…

...melted.

Ryn caught the Lightning Crystal as it fell.

As he closed his hand around it a strange tingling sensation ripplied down his arm and through the rest of his body for an instant.

The fire around him disappeared.

If you touch a jewel you gain affinity with that element.

Before Vorr could react, Ryn had just enough time to lift the crystal up a few inches from where it hung around Vorr’s neck.

He touched it lightly to Vorr’s face, which had contorted into a puzzled frown, and let go.

At the same time, with his other hand he reached out and touched the Fire Ruby where it hung from Vorr’s neck, felt a familiar rush of warmth flow down from his hand…

...and flared.

His whole body lit on fire again, and fire leapt from his hands and blasted forwards into the general, hitting him directly in the chest where he lay and spreading out over the rest of him.

“Aaaaaaarrrgggghhh!” screamed Vorr as Ryn’s fire flashed over his body, no longer invulnerable to it because of his new lightning alignment.

Ryn landed on his backside on the dais with a thump as the General dropped him.

He gasped for air, and at last he found it, taking it in in a huge hungry gulp.

His neck still hurt like hell as he rubbed it, but at least he could breathe again. Vorr hadn’t completely crushed his windpipe.

He got to his feet.

He was dimly aware of the sounds of a battle still going on all around him, but only dimly. He remained focused on Vorr.

 He took the few steps to where Vorr lay and stood over the General.

Steam coiled up from the General where he lay on his back. The man’s eyes were shut in his round face. His skin was charred, red, even black in places, from where Ryn had burned him. He lay still, and Ryn couldn’t see his chest rising and falling.

I did it. He had finally killed General Vorr. And in the end, he hadn’t even meant to.

He reached down and grasped the Fire Ruby on its ring, then tore it from its chain. Links of metal scattered around the dais.

The other sounds in the room came back to him.

“Ryn, help us!” cried Nuthea.

Ryn’s head snapped round to see what was happening in the rest of the hall.

Streaks of orange filled the air, deflected away from Ryn’s friends and the two Manolian guards as Sagar stood at the centre of them and flung his hands around like a madman, drawing huge gusts of air across the hall that buffeted Ryn’s face and made his eyes water. The soldiers had given up on shooting arrows and chosen to throw down fire at the party instead. Vorr must have touched them with the Ruby too. Sagar was doing a good job of turning the fireballs away, but sweat was streaking down the back of his head and he was having to move his hands incredibly fast. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever.

          Ryn didn’t even have time to properly acknowledge his own feelings at his victory over Vorr--a battle had begun, and he was needed.

          Found Vorr. Got Vorr. Killed Vorr. Avenged Nuthea. Now what? Stay with Nuthea. Protect Nuthea.

          Nuthea, who was about to be blasted by fire from the hands of an Imperial soldier who had somehow made it down to ground level, out of Sagar’s line of sight, about twenty paces away from her to the side of the hall...

          Ryn sprang from the dais, clearing its steps in one leap, and pelted for Nuthea, getting in the way of her just in time for the soldier’s fireball to hit him instead of her, right in his chest. Ryn felt the flames ripple over him and spread out to the sides as his body took their full force.

He remained standing, unscathed.

          The soldier’s mouth dropped open in horror.

          Energy rose up from Ryn’s stomach, and the top of his head tingled.

          He ran at the soldier.

          The soldier thrust out both his hands on reflex and yelled in desperation, pouring a jet of flame at Ryn.

          Ryn took the flame-jet head-on, which did nothing to him, and kept on running, right through it, to the soldier.

          By the time Ryn reached him the terrified man had finally thought to stop trying to fight fire with fire and was reaching for his sword, but Ryn got to it first. Still clasping the Fire Ruby in his left hand, he spared some fingers from it to grab the soldier’s arm, then reached and grabbed the soldier’s sword hilt with his other hand. He drew the sword in a swift, clean motion, then stabbed it into the soldier’s neck before the man even had a chance to react, pushing into the soft resistance of his flesh, which gave way at once.

          Ryn slid the blade out of the neck of the man, who fell back to the floor. He looked at it for a moment, decorated red. The second time he had killed. Vorr, and now this man. Sickness turned over his stomach. He didn’t like it. But it had been necessary. This was life or death. He needed to protect his friends. He needed to protect Nuthea.

          He looked back at the battle.

          Sagar still drew the air around the room in a frenzy, pushing oncoming fireballs away. Cid had his eyes shut and was chanting something with a hand outstretched towards Sagar. Elrann, Nuthea and Vish were launching gunshots, lightning bolts and throwing stars up at the soldiers above, when they could. The Manolian guards stood among them, trying to hide behind Sagar. They must not have lightning-projection like Nuthea did.

          Ryn had an idea.

          He charged back into the fray, unafraid, impervious as he was to fire.

          “Here, take this!” he yelled to the first of the guards he came to, Kathuna, and threw the Fire Ruby to her.

          She caught it deftly with her spear hand.

          “What’s this?” Kathuna called over the noise of the battle.

          “It’s a Primeval Jewel. It will make you safe from fire, and able to project it yourself. Go--get out of here! Touch all the other guards in the palace with it, and bring them back here to fight! I’ll cover you!”

          Kathuna didn’t need telling twice. She nodded at Ryn, then turned and began to run in the direction of the hall’s entry doors.

          At the same time, Ryn sprinted back to join the party, yelling “Watch out! Sagar, take a break!”

          The pirate snapped his head round to look at him, mid-wind-projection.

          “What?!” he yelled.

          Ryn didn’t bother explaining further, but just stretched out his open palms towards the balcony.

          “FIRAGA!” was the sound that he found himself shouting.

          A few feet in front of Ryn, in the air, a huge sheet of fire appeared and leapt upwards at the soldiers on the balcony. It obscured them completely, hurtling over them in a mass of orange and red heat that made the air around it shimmer.

          Ryn kept up the stream of flames for a long count of five, then dropped his arms and exhaled. An ache throbbed through them at once. The flames subsided, revealing the soldiers blinking in confusion for a moment.

          “What was the point of that?” Sagar snapped. “They have fire! They’re invulnerable to fire, you moron! When are you going to learn this?”

          “I wasn’t trying to hurt them,” said Ryn calmly. “only to distract them for a moment.” He pointed towards the doors of the hall. Kathuna and the other guards were just reaching them. “I gave them the Ruby.”

          Sagar frowned. Then, “Oh. Not bad, pup...”

          Ryn watched as the guards wrenched open the double doors…

          ...and found Elpis, the lady Shadowfinger, stood waiting for them, dressed all in black, with her horrible painted-lady mask on, twirling a length of chain with a metal ball on the end covered in sharp spikes.

          The Shadowfinger’s arm twitched, and all of a sudden the spiked mace shot out of its rotation at a tangent, pulling the chain along with it, and flew straight into Kathuna’s face. The Manolian screamed and dropped to the floor.

Nuthea cried out with grief.

Ryn sprinted for the doors, the sword he had stolen from the Imperial still in his hand, calling over his shoulder, “Just hold them off for a bit longer while I take care of this!”, even as new fire came down from the balcony, and Sagar threw up his hands to gust it to one side. I’ve come so far. I’ve killed Vorr. I’m not about to let the Empire kill all my friends and me now.

As he approached the Shadowfinger, who had been rounding on the next guard, he flung fire at her, but she saw him coming and leapt to one side, out of the way of it.

Before he knew what was happening, her mace hurtled out towards him, hitting him in the stomach.

Pain sang from Ryn’s abdomen from uncountable needle-points as the spikes pierced it.

Stupid boy, Ryn thought to himself as Elpis yanked back her chain and he put his hands to his stomach to clutch at his bloodying tunic, you’re invulnerable to fire, not metal. This is really dumb way to die.

He sat down on his backside, stunned by the wound.

Elpis twirled her chain and brought her arm up and round again, about to whip it out at Ryn again for the finishing blow.

Ryn shut his eyes.

Metal clanged loudly against metal.

Ryn opened his eyes.

Vish stood in front of him, black sword drawn and out to one side. The spiked ball of Elpis’s flail lay a little way away at the end of its chain. Vish must have deflected it with his blade.

A frustrated growl came from behind Elpis’s mask and she flicked the ball back towards her along the chain, then span it back into its deadly dance, around her head, then flung it back out again, not at Vish this time but at one of the Manolian guards who had made another run for the door. She caught the woman on the side of her helmet this time and the ball bounced off without sticking in. The Manolian cried out and hit the floor, but then rolled and came back up on her feet. She backed away from the door, wary, but still alive.

Elpis wasted no time and pressed her attack. No sooner than the ball had rebounded off the Manolian’s helmet, she pulled back on the chain and spun, bringing it around herself and back at Vish, who had been running towards her, but now had to duck and roll to one side to avoid being impaled by the spikes.

A dance had begun. The lady Shadowfinger fought like some sort of demon, shouting with rage as she leapt and spun and flung her spiked ball at Vish, the guardswomen, Vish, the guardswomen, never letting up, not letting them get any closer to the doors. Her opponents were managing to dodge or deflect the attacks, but they couldn’t keep this up forever. She was so vicious, so wild, so persistent.

The pain throbbed in Ryn’s stomach and he let out a moan. He doubled over, and looked down, unable to concentrate on the battle any more. Blood was leaking through his fingers, running down over his hands. Cid. I need Cid.

He managed to twist his head round, then grimaced at a protest from his stomach muscles. Cid and the others were still clustered at the centre of the hall, pinned down by a barrage of fireballs from above which Sagar held off with gusts of wind. Cid had his eyes shut and a hand held out towards Sagar, his lips mumbling something. Ryn had no idea what he was doing, but it must have something to do with the reason that Sagar was able to keep up this defence for so long.

“Cid!” Ryn called out in a weak voice, but just loud enough to make Cid open his eyes and look over. The healer’s mouth dropped in concern and he started out in Ryn’s direction, then stopped when a fireball crashed down in front of him, missing him by inches.

“Wait!” a female voice cried out from somewhere behind Ryn.

Ryn looked back round.

A Manolian guard lay in an unconscious heap on the floor by the doors, her breastplate cracked, blood trickling out from underneath her.

A few paces in front of her stood Vish, his sword held out straight, pointed at Elpis. The lady Shadowfinger’s spiked ball was on the floor next to her, severed from its chain, which lay like a sleeping snake at her feet. Vish must have cut the ball from the chain. Instead of it, Elpis now held a black-bladed sword of her own in front of her face in a defensive stance.

“Wait!” the lady Shadowfinger said again. Her voice sounded surprisingly delicate, almost like Nuthea’s. “Don’t do this, Vish.”

“You may be skilled with that flail of yours,” Vish replied, “but I’ve bested you now, and I was always your better at swords. Give it up. You can’t win.”

“You don’t know that,” said Elpis. “You may favour blades, but you didn’t beat me every time we trained. And...I can give you poppy.”

Vish hesitated a moment. “So what? This traveling party have poppy too. And they give me it whenever I want.”

“Yes,” said Elpis, “but they will all be dead in a moment and their poppy will belong to the Empire. I can give you two poppy seeds right now, if you put down your weapon and return your allegiance. Come back to the Empire, Vish. All will be forgiven. Whatever led you astray temporarily, the Emperor will understand. He is most merciful.”

She held out her hand. Two small round seeds lay in the centre of it, even darker than the black of her glove.

Vish didn’t reply.

“Oh no,” Ryn said aloud. “Not this again.” His stomach hurt so much, and it hurt to talk, but if he didn’t he feared he would bleed out soon, so he had nothing left to lose. “Don’t listen to her, Vish! You’ve been here before! You’ve resisted before!”

Vish threw him a quick glance, grey eyes unusually wide with anxiety, then returned to facing Elpis. He was still for a long moment, and for a while Ryn could only hear the shouts and cries and gusts of wind behind him.

Vish put down his sword and held out his hand.

“No!” Ryn whimpered.

The lady Shadowfinger handed Vish the two seeds. He put them in his mouth, then fell backwards with a moan of pleasure.

“YES!” Elpis let out a cry of glee from behind her mask and leapt over Vish’s body towards Ryn, raising her sword high.

As she did so, Vish’s hand shot out and grabbed her leg, pulling her down to land face-first on the floor with a smack.

In the same movement, he stood up with his sword and thrust it down through Elpis, literally stabbing her in the back.

Elpis screamed, twitched a couple of times, and then abruptly went rigid.

“How…?” Ryn said to Vish as the Shadowfinger ran over.

Vish showed him the two black seeds in his free palm. “I only pretended to ingest them. I will save them for later.” He stowed them somewhere in the folds of his garments.

“Vish, quick!” Ryn said, the urgency of their situation pulling him back to it. “There’s no time! The guard--take the fire ruby from her and get it to the other Manolians.”

“You are hurt,” Vish observed.

“Yes! You can’t do anything about that now! Go!”

Vish nodded, sprinted to Kathuna, picked up the ruby ring from where she had dropped it, then pelted out of the double doors.

One God, please let him find help quickly, Ryn found himself praying.

He wrenched his head around again and black spots filled his vision; the pain in his belly screamed.

“Cid!” he called again, with everything he had left.

This time Sagar heard him too, catching a quick glance at Ryn in between blowing back the fireballs.

“Hold on, pup!” he shouted back.

Sagar bit his lip, then made a jump to one side, away from Ryn’s direction.

What’s he doing? He’s going to leave the others exposed if he goes that way!

Sagar thrust out his hands…

...at Cid, Elrann and Nuthea.

“GO!” he shouted at the same time, and blasted the trio with air.

Ryn’s eyes watered as the healer, engineer and princess were swept off their feet by the blast of wind and sent flying down the hall towards him.

Nuthea put her hands out and managed to ride the wind more or less gracefully, her dress billowing up behind her. Elrann curled into a ball and shot past Ryn, tumbling and cursing as she went.

Cid turned head over heels in the air and crashed right into him.

Excruciating pain in Ryn’s stomach as something tore.

He was on his back, but he barely knew that, the pain was so bad.

“Cure!” Cid’s voice said.

Oh, thank the One, Ryn thought as the pain finally ceased, replaced by soothing warmth as the wound in his stomach closed up.

Cid helped him sit up.

“That was a close one,” Ryn said, “Again.”

Cid’s brow remained knotted in concern. “Quick, lad! I don’t have much mana left; I was lending mine to Sagar, he can’t have much left either!” He pointed back towards the centre of the hall. “You’ve got to help him!”

With only Sagar left as a clear target, the soldiers on the balcony above were focusing all of their fire attacks on him at once, pouring a series of flame-jets at him.

Sagar was on his knees, both hands held up, holding back the flames with air, his jaw clenched tight, a vein bulging in his forehead.

Ryn wasted no more time.

He dashed back across the hall, leapt in front of Sagar, facing him, and stood with his arms held out in the air to either side, taking the flame jets on his back. Again, he actually felt them replenishing him and giving him energy.

Sagar groaned and lowered his arms, at last able to drop his defence. He was red-cheeked and drenched in sweat, his ponytail clinging to his neck.

“Thanks, pup...” Sagar gasped, with just a hint of reluctance.

The flames at Ryn’s back subsided. The soldiers must have realised what was happening. Shouts of “Get down there! Find a way down!” from the balcony.

Ryn had an idea.

“You got anything left in you?” he asked Sagar.

The pirate frowned at him. “Maybe a little. Why?”

“Could you do what you just did to the others to me, to get me up to the balcony?”

“What, like a wind-assisted jump?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

The pirate’s eyes glinted. “Now you’re talking.”

“Do it.”

Ryn spun to see the soldiers above turning and running up the sloped balcony, making for exit doors in the far wall.

He crouched.

“Now!” he yelled.

Ryn jumped, and hung in the air for a moment, propelled only by the meagre strength of his legs.

“WIND!” shouted Sagar.

The air beneath Ryn rushed up to meet him, so forcefully that it lifted him up further, his body going weightless, his stomach dropping out below him, as he flew upwards towards the balcony rail.

Only he wasn’t quite going to reach it…

He was going to fall short of it, and fall back down!

Acting on instinct, Ryn focused on the soles of his feet and willed fire from them.

He felt his feet catch alight and project jets of flame downwards…

...with enough push-back to get him up over the rail.

He landed on the balcony level clumsily, smacking into one of the benches and taking a nasty hit to the shoulder, then bouncing off it and rolling on the floor between them.

He came up as quickly as he could.

The soldiers who had seen him threw fire at him on reflex.

Ryn simply absorbed it. It made the top of his head and his fingertips tingle as it gave him more ‘mana’, as Cid called it.

He held out his sword and rushed at the nearest soldier.

“Cleasor!” he yelled.

He parried away the soldier’s first blow, knocking it to the side, then followed up with a thrust to the soldier’s neck where he knew the Imperial armour had a gap.

He withdrew his sword and the soldier toppled over.

All that practice with Cid was finally paying off.

Another soldier was on him at once, making him raise his blade and block high, middle, low, high again. He saw an opening and tried a slash at the man’s chest, more to drive him back than anything, but the soldier blocked it in kind, and Ryn was forced to respond defensively to the counter-attack.

Another soldier joined the fight.

And another, and another.

Ryn had to move faster to block and parry more cuts and thrusts from each side as more soldiers got near to him, driving him back towards the balcony rail. He could barely keep this up.

The soldiers pressed in on him together, collectively targeting him as a priority threat to eliminate.

Panic seized Ryn’s chest, and he began to block and parry more manically, backing closer and closer to the balcony rail.

There was no way he could defeat all these soldiers at once. What had he been thinking? When he had absorbed the fire attacks aimed at Sagar it had given him a surge of energy, but he had gotten carried away. How had he thought he could fight all of these soldiers by himself in weapon to weapon combat?

He needed the others. He needed Vish. But the others weren’t fire aligned--they were still vulnerable to the soldiers’ flame attacks.

“Argh!”

A flash of pain in Ryn’s leg, and he dropped his sword and went down, rolling down the last few steps of the balcony and thudding into the rail at its edge.

He clutched his leg tight. One of the soldiers had finally found his mark and caught him with a vicious cut to it.

Probably the same one one that was standing over him now, desperate hate in his eyes visible through his black helmet-visor, pulling back his sword for the killing thrust.

“For the One!” shouted a chorus of furious female voices.

The soldier above Ryn froze, then turned to see what was happening.

Ryn stumbled up as a wave of gold crashed into the soldiers on the balcony.

A stampede of Manolian guardswomen coming through the balcony entrance.

The Imperials tried to hurl fire at them at first, but their fireballs simply dissipated on contact, without causing any harm.

A stampede of Manolian guardswomen invulnerable to fire coming through the balcony entrance.

He did it, thought Ryn. Vish followed my plan. He gave them the Ruby.

Ryn heard pistol-shots. Elrann was with them as well.

The soldier who had been standing over him screamed as he flew off his feet, through the air, then over the balcony, pushed off the balcony by a targeted gust of wind. And there’s Sagar.

And that black streak of black death was Vish.

The others had found their way up to the balcony, and now in the chaos the Imperials couldn’t work out who was invulnerable to fire and who wasn’t. All Ryn needed was…

“Young man, do you think you could just stop yourself from being grievously wounded just for a few moments?” said Cid as the old man arrived at his side.

Ryn chuckled, but then stopped and closed his eyes at another wave of pain from his leg.

Cid crouched next to him and laid a hand on the leg, whispering a cure, and the pain departed.

“Well, I think that’s about all I had left in me,” Cid said. “Come on, we better make sure nobody else gets wounded, as I won’t be healing anybody for a while.” He drew his own sword, then helped Ryn up by the hand.

Ryn retrieved his dropped blade from nearby and rejoined the fray with Cid, charging into the battle.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 18: Manolia

Fri, 30 Jun 2023 23:00:00 GMT

PREVIOUSLY ON SAGA OF THE JEWELS:

Seventeen year old RYN’s hometown is attacked by General VORR of the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before Ryn’s father dies, he gives Ryn a ruby which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess NUTHEA, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain SAGAR, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit an engineer called ELRANN. Ast is then attacked by the Empire, who are using the Fire Ruby to invade the continent and search for more of the Jewels. Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann flee the city together, but are then attacked by a bounty hunter, VISH. They manage to subdue the bounty hunter but Nuthea is gravely wounded in the process. Ryn beats Sagar to the hunter’s mount and rushes Nuthea to the nearest town where he finds a healer, CID, a mysterious old man who saves the princess’s life with his arts and asks to join the traveling party, saying that he believes it is the purpose of ‘the One’, the God that he and Nuthea each worship. On leaving the town the party is pursued by an enormous monster driven by a troop of Imperial soldiers. The party manage to escape with the help of Vish, who fights on their side in exchange for Cid supplying his poppy-seed habit. Cid reveals that he was once a member of another adventuring party who set out to find the twelve Primeval Jewels, but failed. The party press on to the capital city of Sirra, where they ambush some Imperial soldiers and steal their uniforms in order to sneak onto a sleeper train bound for Nuthea’s homeland. They make it aboard successfully, but then Ryn gives them away when he comes face to face with General Vorr on the train and is unable to prevent himself from attacking him. The party are thus forced to escape from the train by leaping into a river it is passing. But there encounter with Vorr has revealed two things: that the Fire Ruby-touched Imperials are invulnerable to Nuthea’s lightning attacks, and that Nuthea was the person who once accidentally gave Vorr the location of the Fire Ruby, thus leading to the destruction of Ryn’s hometown and the death of his parents. After a brief rest stop, the party press on towards Manolia in order for Nuthea to warn her people of the Morekemian Empire’s new knowledge of the Jewels…

In the morning it was time to be moving on. 

They rose at first light, dressed, and ate a quick breakfast of bread and cheese in the inn’s common room. Ryn made sure to sit at the opposite end of the table from Nuthea. She didn’t say anything to him, and that was fine by him.

Before they left the town they stopped by some shops to stock up on supplies, buying enough provisions for their trek through the mountains, and taking the opportunity to furnish themselves with some new cloaks. Cid had all the coin for it and didn’t seem to mind spending it--apparently he had done quite well for himself working as a healer in Nonts. They bought cheese--this place was big on cheese--salt beef, and some hard waybread that the shop vendor promised them would keep over their journey.

Then they set off. Back the way they had come, South and East, to the river they had jumped into from the train, and then alongside it, towards the Pelnian mountains. For a while they discussed the idea of following the train track, but in the end decided against it. That would be a foolish move when the Empire would probably be sending more trains up and down it to transport troops. So they stuck by the river instead, which had its source in the Pelnaian mountains, taking them towards Manolia as they walked upstream. 

As they walked, their conversation grew stilted, then non-existent. Ryn was still sulking with Nuthea, he knew, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t sure if he would ever speak to her again. He just wanted to find General Vorr, kill him to avenge his parents and hometown, and then be done with this whole group of travelers. He had no idea what he would do after that, but he didn’t need to think about that now. 

All the same, he continued to practice his flames by himself and his swordfighting with Cid in any spare moments available. The healer said he was improving fast. Maybe he would finally be good enough to best Vorr the next time he met him. Or maybe Vorr will finally kill me instead, he thought once in the depth of the night when he was on watch, and then at last I’ll be free of this pain and grief. 

They kept an eye out for Imperials, but never spotted any. Apparently none had bothered to follow them, not even the lady Shadowfinger. They relaxed a little at this discovery, but Vish didn’t let them stop keeping their eyes out for Imperials, just in case. 

A strange sense of foreboding seemed to hover over the party, Ryn thought, but foreboding of what he could not be entirely sure. The end of their journey together, perhaps, which they all must know was coming now they were so near to Manolia, but never spoke of. Or maybe it was the prospect of crossing paths with General Vorr again. Or maybe it was a premonition of something...even worse? Were that possible...

Once, in the light from their evening campfire, Nuthea approached Ryn while he sat a little way off from the rest of the group.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice her until she was standing a step away from him, casting a shadow over him from the firelight.

Her lips were tight, her face solemn and ringed by an orange halo that blended with her golden hair.

Surprise embarrassed Ryn into talking to her, something he hadn’t been accustomed to doing lately. 

“Er, hello. What do you want?” Damn him if he didn’t sound like a child. But gods, damn me if I don’t care.

Nuthea crouched so that he was on his level; a rare condescension that presumably showed she was trying not to talk down to him. For once.

“Ryn,” she said softly, inaudible to the others who still sat or lay nearer the fire. “I… I wanted to apologise to you, again. I’m so sorry for what happened between me and Vorr. I never intended to tell anyone about the location of the Fire Ruby, let alone someone who would go there and destroy a whole town to find it. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how he got it out of me. I never meant to cause any harm. But I know I have, and I know I didn’t tell you earlier because...because I was ashamed. But I’m sorry for that, too. I’m so sorry, Ryn. I’m so sorry for all that you lost. But we can’t go on like this, with you not speaking to me. Can you ever forgive me?”

Irritation had been burning in Ryn’s belly the whole time Nuthea had been giving him her token apology and even as the tears had started to slip down her cheeks, but when she said the word ‘forgive’ a memory suddenly shone in his mind. The Way of the One is to forgive, she had said to him as they lay next to each other in the darkness aboard the Sirran train bound for Manolia, before he had found out about what she had done. 

For a moment, just a moment, another path opened up to him in his imagination, a different path to the wide, dark, thorn-littered road of bitterness and hatred that he was currently walking; it was an unfamiliar path, a narrow but smooth and straight path paved with bright white stones. Maybe I could forgive her, he thought. Maybe I could let her off the hook. Maybe I would feel better. Maybe that would be better. Maybe I could even forgive the Empire, and the Emperor, and Vorr...

But then, as quickly as it had appeared in his mind, the path disappeared, replaced by an image of Vorr’s fat, grinning face. No. The thought of Vorr triggered the thought of his mother’s death, his father’s death, of the roofs of Cleasor burning, and the flames burned in his belly too. Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. Get away from Nuthea.

He shot Nuthea a scornful frown and, without saying anything more, turned his back on her, shuffling around so that he had his back to the fire, and her. He pulled his cloak around him and lay down on his side to go to sleep, still facing away from Nuthea.

What had he been thinking? How could he forgive her? She had done him too grievous an injury. She had been responsible for the death of his mother, his father and his entire hometown, all because she had been attracted to the monster who had ended up killing them.

After a while, in the darkness behind his closed eyes, he heard the soft squelch of Nuthea’s feet walking over the ground away from him, back to the others.

*

It took them three days’ hike to reach the Manolian border. 

First the rolling foothills of Zerlan rose to mountains. These were actually easier to cross because instead of having to climb every single mountain they simply used the position of the sun to make sure they were still heading south-east, and kept to the lower slopes, cutting a path through them that wove below the summits. They soon parted ways from the river, which at one point turned abruptly north in a small valley and up towards the snow-dusted higher slopes, but this didn’t matter as they had filled the water flasks Cid had bought them in Nevva and they were nearing their destination anyway.

Although they would not need to traverse any snow themselves since, as Elrann explained, they were cutting across the south-westerly edge of the mountain range where it was not quite so cold at this time of year, things became more difficult when the mountainsides grew wooded. For in time they reached a place where a blanket of tall pines covered the slopes; a beautiful convergence of mountains and forest that they had no choice but to plunge into since it lay between them and Manolia. 

The unharvested, dense trees hid the sky, throwing them even harder onto their trust in Elrann’s sense of direction, but now and again they opened up into a clearing, or the rise of an incline offered them a gap in their covering, and the party was able to check the position of the sun again as its rays slanted down to greet them for a few moments. The forest also had the benefit of concealing them from any Imperials who might be around.

Proceeding thus, on the afternoon of their third day walking, they sighted Manolia.

They saw it even before they saw the station-town that the Sirran train they had been on had been heading towards. As they came to the edge of a rocky crag where the ground suddenly fell away in a vicious drop, and the treeline with it, taking care not to stumble over the edge they were given a glimpse of the space between the lower slopes of several mountains. And there, beyond them, beyond where the mountain range ended, in the distance, was a gigantic, grey, stone wall.

Ryn thought it was a natural feature at first, so vast was it. He thought that the earth must have pressed together from two sides and, with nowhere else to go, pushed up into the air to form an enormous cliff shelf. But as he looked more closely he saw that the edge of the shelf was entirely straight, and all the same height along the top, and that it stretched out of sight on either side--it could not be natural; it had to be man-made. Or ‘woman-made’, Ryn supposed, from what he had heard from Nuthea about Manolia back when he was still talking to her. It was impossible to tell how tall the wall was from this far away, but it looked to be at least the height of a mountain.

“There is the border wall of my homeland,” said Nuthea as they all stood side by side staring at it. “Our journey is nearly at an end.”

“Treasure, glory and beautiful women, here I come,” said Sagar, and licked his lips.

“We need to stay out of the way of the Imperials,” said Cid.

“That will be easy,” said Nuthea. “We can avoid Plessa, where the train will have stopped, entirely, and make for the secret passageway in the north-eastern tip of the wall. It is not actually all that far away, as the wall is not as wide as it would seem, since the land contracts here as it forms the Manolian peninsula. And it should be easy enough to stay out of sight of any lurking Imperials in this tree cover. Let’s go.”

They set out then on what Ryn hoped was the very last leg of their journey before they reached Manolia, turning from the crag to descend the last part of the slope they had been walking on, then turning north-east to walk in parallel with the wall. Nuthea seemed to know this part of the world well enough to be able to guide them confidently without Elrann’s help any longer.

As if in assistance of their plight, when dusk began to fall a thick mist began to spread over the mountains. It started high up, around the peaks, glimpsed as roiling white fingers reaching through the gaps between the trees, and then rolled slowly down to meet them, cloaking the wooded slopes in fog. If there were any Imperials out looking for them, it would be even harder to spot the party now. 

The only drawback of the mist was that it limited their own view as well and meant that they had to walk closer together to keep from losing sight of each other, so Ryn was no longer able to hang back from the group and walk at a distance from them. He heard every word of their occasional, nervous conversation.

“How do you know this land so well, princess-girl?” Elrann asked her, apparently impressed. In spite of the fog, Nuthea still seemed to know exactly where she was going.

She did not answer straight away, but when she did she said “I used to gaze out at these mountains every day from my bedchamber in Orma, the capital city of Manolia, where we are heading--it is not far from the border wall, on the other side. I know them well. I know their names. I know where Plessa sits in relation to them.”

“It’s a good thing, too,” said Sagar, “or we’d be fodder for the Imperials by now.”

And sure enough, when Nuthea announced that it was time to walk all the way to the far foot of the mountain they were on, and keep walking until they came out from underneath the trees to a plain where the forest ended, there in front of them, suddenly looming like a visitor they had not known had been at their door, was the Manolian border wall again.

It was even more immense up close. Now Ryn could see for sure that it wasn’t a natural feature of the landscape, but hewn out of a smooth, grey stone: If you looked closely enough, you could see the weathered lines in the places where massive rectangular blocks of it had been joined together. It must have taken an age to build. 

And what was that noise? A gentle susurrus, rising and falling to and from a larger swell from moment to moment, not unlike the wind and yet not the wind. He looked to his left, north-east along the wall, and there, just visible through the descending dusk and lingering mist, was the dark blue shimmer and crashing white foam of the sea.

They walked the last stretch of misty land that lay between them and the wall.

“What are we looking for, then?” said Sagar. “A secret door?”

“You will know it when you see it,” said Nuthea.

They drew up to the face of the wall near its extreme north-eastern tip. Here its edge suddenly stopped and fell away to a rocky coastline where the white spray of the crashing waves glittered in the air. A vertical pole about as tall as a person came into view. It stood a little way away from the wall, and near enough to its edge that they got a bit wet from stray droplets of the seaspray. It had the sheen of metal rather than stone, though it had been camouflaged against the wall from a distance so you would not have known it was there if you were not looking for it. It was thin and straight, except for its tip, about head height, which ended in a metallic sphere that was slightly wider than the pole itself.

“Is it this?” said Sagar.

“Yes,” said Nuthea. “This is the lock to a secret passage through the wall. Only Manolians with the Gift can use it. Stand back.”

They did, and Nuthea spread her feet and opened her hands.

“Bolt!” she yelled. 

Bright white lightning leapt from her open hands to the sphere at the top of the pole, a single shock of discharge. In the same instant that it hit it ran down the length of the pole into the ground, and the whole pole shone white for a moment, then returned to its metal colour.

Silence, but for the foaming sea.

Of course Sagar broke it first. “Well that was a pretty trick, princess. But how does that help us?”

Even as he spoke, two upright rectangular sections of the wall in front of them slid backwards with a rumbling scrape, revealing a dark, person-sized opening in the stone. 

“That’s quite clever, I suppose...” said Sagar.

The party followed Nuthea into the darkness of the passageway.

Once she had stepped inside the wall and gone a few paces, she checked that everyone else was in, then turned to her left and pressed her hand against a certain place in the stone that she knew to look for. The stone she had touched depressed into the wall of the passage and the doors behind them slid shut all of a sudden. They were plunged into dimness, lit only by a blazing torch that was mounted on the wall of the passageway a few steps further in. 

“Princess Nuthea!” exclaimed a female voice.

Ryn almost jumped out of his skin. Sagar and Vish put hands to their swords.

In front of them stood a tall, broad-shouldered woman clad in a golden breastplate over a gold-dyed tunic and skirt. She wore a golden helm too, with a guard that came down over the bridge of her nose. Like Nuthea, she had long, golden hair. All the gold on her glittered in the flickering glow from the torch on the wall. She carried a metal spear, taller than herself, with a vicious, twinkling tip. Her approaching footsteps had been masked by the sound of the tunnel doors sliding shut.

“Kathuna!” Nuthea said, and ran forwards. They embraced and kissed one other on each cheek.

Sagar, who had stepped forward when the woman had appeared, turned round and gave Ryn a leering smile. He mouthed the words “Beautiful women!” and his eyes flashed mischievously before he turned back round. 

Urgh. How can he be thinking about that now? He’s got a one track mind. He could see what Sagar meant, though… But the woman wasn’t as beautiful as Nuthea. Her jaw was wider, and she didn’t quite have the same striking angular cheekbones, Ryn could see even under the helmet she wore. Also she just wasn’t Nuthea. Not that any of that mattered. Why was he thinking this? He wasn’t even interested in Nuthea any more.

The two Manolians had begun a rapid interchange.

“You’ve come back!” the woman called Kathuna was saying. “And you’ve brought these...people with you?”

“Yes, these are my friends, Lady Elrann, Grandfather Cid, Captain Sagar, Master Ryn and Vish.” Why did she say Elrann first? Why did she say Sagar before me? “I...well, there’s no time to explain now--Kathuna, the Morekemian Empire is seeking to invade our country! I must see my mother to warn her!”

“Calm down, calm down!” said Kathuna, putting out her hands in a steadying gesture. “We know. We’ve been watching the Imperials for a few days now. They have been mustering troops at Plessa on the other side of the border for some time, bringing them in by train. It’s fortunate that you chose to come back this way, the same way you left. But maybe you knew to avoid them?” 

“You mean they’ve been mustering troops but haven’t attacked yet?”

“That’s right. I’ve been here at the passageway on guard duty for a week and I’ve had no word or sight of an attack, only that the Morekemians have been gathering in Plessa.”

“Oh, thank the One! I’m so glad we’re not too late!”

“Too late for what?” Kathuna tilted her head to one side. “Where have you been all this time, Princess? What have you been doing?”

“I’ll explain everything in time. I must get to my mother as soon as possible all the same--I have some other information that I need to share with her.”

“Of course. Follow me.”

Kathuna took the torch from the wall and they followed her down the passageway. 

“I’ve got so much to tell you,” she said to Nuthea. “So much has happened while you’ve been away.”

“Oh? Such as?”

“Well, as I’m sure you expected, the Queen was furious when she discovered that you’d left the country. I was questioned thoroughly as Guardswoman In Charge of the Border Wall, but you’d given me enough information to construct a sound alibi, so thank you for that. House Aluna were furious as well. Vivenna vowed to go and find you and bring you back to Manolia herself, but her mothers wouldn’t let her. They were so offended that you’d run away from the wedding that they withdrew their proposal altogether.”

“Oh, thank the One!” said Nuthea. That is a relief!”

In spite of himself, Ryn had lots of questions. But he couldn’t voice them what with his pact of silence with regards to Nuthea.

Fortunately Sagar voiced them for him. “Huh?” said the pirate. “Who’s this ‘Vivenna’ person?”

“Vivenna Aluna,” said Kathuna, “is the woman Princess Nuthea was engaged to be married to.”

“You were engaged to be married to a woman?!” Ryn could not help himself from blurting out, breaking his pact of silence without another thought.

“She was,” Kathuna answered for her. “By the arrangement of their families, as is our custom. I have heard this is not so common in the primitive lands, but this is how we do things in the Motherland. In the Motherland, women rule and reign supreme while the men serve, as the One intended, rather than the other way around. We have little need for men, except as servants and surrogates.”

Ryn’s throat went dry, and for the moment his questions dried up too.

“Hang on a moment,” said Sagar, suspicion suddenly seeping into his tone, “you’re not about to try to enslave me, are you? I was promised gold, gemstones and beautiful women in return for escorting the princess back here!”

“You were promised what?” said Kathuna.

“Never mind that just now,” said Nuthea, and laughed nervously, a sound that Ryn had never heard before. “The promises I made to you will be fulfilled, skycaptain. And do not worry, Ryn, Vish, Grandfather. You will not be made to be servants here either. You are here as my guests. Manolia knows that not every country in Mid follows her customs, and my mother should be able to tolerate men in her presence--so long as you behave yourselves and are polite.” She shot Sagar a pointed glance. 

“Okaaay then, princess…” said Sagar warily.

Vish grunted the barest acknowledgement.

“I’m starting to like this country,” said Elrann.

“I did warn you,” Cid said quietly to Ryn and Sagar while Nuthea and Kathuna continued talking with each other, “on our journey from Nevva, ghat Manolia was a Matriarchy.” Ryn supposed that the old man had, but he hadn’t really been paying attention--he had been too preoccupied with his thoughts of revenge, as usual. “I should hasten to add, not all Oneists take this view of the roles of the sexes--that men should be subservient to women. I, for example, do not... It is a doctrine that is peculiar to the Manolians. So you will need to...tolerate a certain amount that you are unfamiliar with while you are here, too.”

Ryn didn’t really care that much. Why should he?

At last they reached the end of the passageway. It had gone on for a surprisingly long amount of time--the Manolian border wall must be massively thick. This time Kathuna was the one to depress a small place in the wall, and two hidden doors in the stone that barred their way swung open.

Bright sunshine greeted them as they stepped out into Manolia and were hit by a wave of warmth. At the same time, the air felt clearer, crisper here, as Ryn sucked a big gulp of it into his lungs.

Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. Get away from Nuthea.

Built into the border wall on this side near the edge of the passageway was a small stable that jutted out from it, hewn from the same grey stone. Here they were greeted by two more female guards wearing the same tunic and armour as Kathuna, and again with the same golden blonde hair. Ryn supposed that Nuthea wasn’t that special after all.

Although they don’t wear that royal circlet, and their hair doesn’t shimmer quite like hers does, and they’re just not her… Urgh, why am I thinking this? Shut up, Ryn!

Kathuna introduced these guards to them as Rana and Thula. They each went wide-eyed with recognition of Nuthea at once, but rather than peppering her with questions as Kathuna had done they looked away or down at the floor, seeming to go bashful in her presence. 

The stables held yellow chocobos and chariots with curved silver fronts and big golden wheels. Was everything made out of gold in this country?

They were able to fit four to a chariot, so they took two, with Kathuna and Rana driving two chocobos each, while Thula stayed behind to take her turn on duty guarding the Border Wall passageway. Ryn made sure to take a different chariot from Nuthea, and held on to the side of one with Cid and Vish as Rana lashed the reins and the chocobos cawed and began to run.

And then they were galloping over the Manolian plains, plains of lush green grass, out of the shadow of the Pelnian mountains, towards Orma, which Rana announced as Manolia’s capital. The bright sun’s rays blazed down from a clear sky. It was definitely hotter here than in Imfis, but the breeze from rushing along in the chariots whipped at their clothing and kept Ryn cool.

White buildings rose up in the distance, gleaming in the sunshine. Ryn squinted. He could see the vertical lines of pillars, rounded domed roofs. Orma was built somewhat differently to the towns and cities he had visited on his journey thus far. Instead of tall towers, the buildings here were all wide rectangles and domes, which must be why they hadn’t seen them sooner. 

Soon the chariot wheels were clacking over streets of paved white stone. But not dirty, off-white like the stone that Sirra had been built out of. The road and buildings here practically shone, and almost hurt Ryn’s eyes to look at. He supposed that the stone must be quarried from the Pelnaian mountains, but the Manolians seemed to take better care of it than the Imfisi in Sirra.

Indeed, now and then they passed someone scrubbing at a wall or a patch of floor with a mop, or lifting one to clean a window.

That was when Ryn realised that all of the people doing these things were men. Men dressed in simple, dirty, servants’ clothing--brown breeches and overalls, or just rags. Cid hadn’t been joking when he said that the women were in charge here…

The women, for their part, appeared to walk the streets at leisure, and were dressed either in flowing white togas or, occasionally, the same tunic and armour that Kathuna, Rana and Thula wore. Some of them did double takes when they saw four foreign men riding along in a couple of military chariots. Some noticed Nuthea and gasped and muttered to each other, turning their heads to watch her pass and pointing after her. 

 The chariot turned onto a much broader road which led up a small hill to a domed palace.

Ryn knew it was a palace for its opulence and position. Three white buildings sat next to each other at the top and centre of the hill, sunlight blazing off their many windows and their domed roofs, making the air above them shimmer.

Of course, the domes were made of--

Gold. Like Nuthea’s hair.

“Shut up,” Ryn mumbled to himself.

“What was that?” said Cid next to him.

“Sorry, nothing…” Ryn said, his cheeks heating.

They drew up in front of the palace, and the Manolians reined in the chocobos right in front of its massive golden doors. Another pair of guardswomen ran forward and began to protest, but then Nuthea jumped out of Kathuna’s chariot.

“Hush!” she commanded the women. Suddenly Ryn saw where her air of regal authority had come from. “It is me, Nuthea.”

“Princess!” the guards exclaimed at once, halting in their tracks just as Kathuna had done. 

“What do you wish of us?” one of them said when she had re-gathered herself.

“That is more like it,” said Nuthea with a curt nod. “Escort my companions and me to my mother at once.” 

The guards looked at each other, then at Ryn, Sagar, Cid and Vish.

“But princess,” said one, “there are...men with you...”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” snapped Nuthea. “You heard what I said!” 

“Yes, princess!” the pair yelped in unison. 

“Please, come this way!”

“Your mother’s council has just been in session, so you should still be able to find her in the throne room!”

One of them knocked a short, particular rhythm on the massive doors to the palace and they eased open.

Ryn barely had time to take in the splendour of the palace’s rooms and corridors as they were swept down them by the guards in the wake of Nuthea, who paced through them like a woman possessed by some maddening spirit. The floors and walls were polished white stone, the ceilings held up by pillars of blue marble. As they ascended a curved flight of stairs, a huge, gold-framed mirror reflected the dishevelled forms of Ryn and his traveling companions back at themselves. They looked severely out of place in such an impressive palace. Several more guardswomen posted at key points frowned quizzically at the party as they approached but then inevitably deferred and allowed them passage as soon as they recognised Nuthea.

Eventually, Nuthea shocked one final pair of guardswomen into letting them through another huge set of doors that opened into a wide, oval chamber walled with the same white stone as the rest of the palace.

A second balcony level ringed the room too, built a little over half way up the high wall, with a rail to stop people falling off of it.

On this balcony Ryn could see rows of wooden benches which extended from the wall of the chamber presumably to behind the guard rail, out of sight from ground level.

Light came into the room through tall, high windows on the balcony level. 

The light fell on a raised, stepped dais with a tall stone throne set into the centre of it that stood at the far end of the chamber.

Two more guards holding spears stood in front of the dais, to either side of it.

Facing the dais were arrayed, in square blocks, rows of smaller, wooden chairs.

All of the benches and chairs in the throne room were empty.

All save one.

In the centre of the dais, on the throne, sat a figure.

As big as the room was, it was hard to make out the figure’s features at first, but as Ryn walked towards it with the others, the sounds of their footsteps echoing around the vast, eerily quiet chamber, he saw more.

Of course, it was a woman.

This must be Nuthea’s mother.

The Queen stood. The first thing that struck Ryn about her was how big she was. Even as they approached her throne from across the hall, Ryn could see that the Queen was exceedingly tall--a good seven feet, he reckoned, much taller than Nuthea. 

Rather than the metal breastplate and tunic of the Manolian military, the Queen wore a floor-length white dress interwoven with patterned gold thread, much like Nuthea’s dress had looked before it had been torn, bloodstained and bespattered with dirt, mud, river water and all manner of other things on their journey to get here. 

The Queen’s white feet were bare where they peeked out from under the hem of her dress. Her hips were very wide indeed. Her bosoms were gigantic underneath her dress. Her shoulders were broad.

He had expected her hair to be golden, like Nuthea’s and apparently everyone else’s here, but instead a waterfall of straight, dark hair fell down her back, stopping at her waist. She had something of the same obvious beauty in the lines of her nose and cheeks as Nuthea did, only it was a more taut, strained beauty, a crueller beauty.

On her head she wore a simple, shining, many-pronged golden crown.

In short, she was majestic, and Ryn found her utterly terrifying.

As they arrived in front of the dais the Queen fixed the party with two piercing blue eyes with crystals dancing in them--those eyes were almost exactly the same as Nuthea’s--and Ryn felt as though she was looking directly at him.

Silence, for a time. Nobody announced them or said who they were. It must be obvious, or the Queen must have already been told, Ryn supposed. Sweat moistened his forehead. He couldn’t meet the Queen’s gaze. He wished she would stop staring at him.

As if hearing Ryn’s thoughts, the Queen transferred her stare to Nuthea at last. Her expression was hard, her mouth a thin line. She drew in a deep breath.

“Why?” the Queen said in a clear, proud voice that was deeper than her daughters, and had a very slight tremor in it. 

It was an odd sort of greeting. The silence lingered on for a moment longer.

“Mother, I’m so sorry!”

Nuthea suddenly broke out into a run towards her mother’s throne, moving as if to climb the steps, but when she was still yet ten paces away her mother held up a hand. The two guardswomen on either side of the dais stepped forwards and crossed their spears in front of Nuthea, barring her way forward.

“Stop there, child,” said Nuthea’s mother. “You do not so easily approach my throne.” Her motions and speech seemed stiff and restrained, as if she was dealing with some great inner conflict or holding some force of emotion at bay. “You had the favour of this throne once, Nutheanna, but you discarded it carelessly, and your actions...your actions have had consequences.”

“Mother, I’m so sorry for the pain that I’ve caused you,” Nuthea said, her own voice trembling a little. “And the Aluna family. But I couldn’t marry Vivenna. I didn’t love her. And anyway, that is not what I have come back to Orma to talk to you about. Mother, I have important information to share with you about the Primeval Jewels--”

“Speak carefully!” the Queen interjected all of a sudden. Was she shaking very slightly? Ryn could not tell why, whether it was anger or some other emotion that she was holding at bay. “We are in the presence of servants and...foreigners.” She glanced ever so briefly at Ryn and the other members of their traveling party, then quickly looked back at Nuthea.

“We can speak freely in front of these people, mother. They are my friends, and they know everything that I have to tell you anyway--well, most of them know almost everything...” Huh? What does that mean? “They helped me return here after I was captured by a Morekemian officer.”

There was an intake of breath, including from the guards in the room.

Tension radiated from every line of the Queen’s body. “You were already… you were captured by the Empire? How did you escape?”

“That doesn’t matter just now, mother, what matters is what I have to tell you, and my friends can hear it because they helped me get back to Manolia.”

“Yeah,” said Sagar, “about that--some of us were promised a reward--”

“Not now, Sagar!” Nuthea snapped without even looking at him. “You will get your reward in due time!”

Sagar turned a very pleasing shade of purple.

The Queen sat tight-lipped a moment longer. What was she holding back? Why was she sitting so tensely? “Say what you have to say, and take care over your words.”

Now Nuthea seemed to struggle to get the words out in turn. “Mother, I am so sorry. An Imperial Officer called Vorr captured me because, while I was traveling outside Manolia after I ran away, I inadvertently revealed to him my knowledge of the Primeval Jewels. I told him that we had the Lightning Crystal, and I told him where the Fire Ruby was hidden. He captured me and took me to Efstan to find the Fire Ruby, which he...which he did successfully. Mother, the Morekemian Empire know about the Jewels, and they have the Fire Ruby. I’m so sorry. The One forgive me, I’m so sorry...”

Silence.

The Queen’s face remained tense, but unmoved, her eyes on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” Nuthea said again after a while. “I know I let you down. Please, say something, mother!”

The Queen lifted her eyes to regard her daughter with such an intense stare Ryn wondered if lightning was suddenly going to manifest from them. 

At last she spoke, in a hushed voice, the tremor now barely concealed. “Is that all you have to say to me, child?”

Huh?

“Yes…?” said Nuthea.

At that the Queen’s tight shoulders slumped ever so slightly and she seemed to relax a little.

From the way she lifted her face and smiled sheepishly, Nuthea seemed relieved too. “At least I didn’t tell them where the Earth Emerald was hidden,” she said quickly.

“NO!” yelled Nuthea’s mother out of nowhere, high and shrill, her face going bone-white. “DO NOT SPEAK OF THAT! YOU ARE IN DANGER!”

Something shot down from above like a diving swallow and hit the Queen in the front of her neck. She fell forwards at once, making a horrible choking sound, and writhed on the floor, clutching at the arrow that protruded from it.

Ryn looked around and up in horror.

The arrow had come from the balcony.

A score of black-armoured Imperial soldiers clutching crossbows looked down on them from where they had been hiding behind the rail.

A deep, sadistic laugh rang out through the throne room.

From out behind the ivory throne, where he must have been hiding all this time, stepped General Vorr.

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Episode 17. Rest Stop

Wed, 31 May 2023 23:01:00 GMT

PREVIOUSLY ON SAGA OF THE JEWELS!

Seventeen year old RYN’s hometown is attacked by General VORR of the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before Ryn’s father dies, he gives Ryn a ruby which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess NUTHEA, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain SAGAR, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit an engineer called ELRANN. Ast is then attacked by the Empire, who are using the Fire Ruby to invade the continent and search for more of the Jewels. Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann flee the city together, but are then attacked by a bounty hunter, VISH. They manage to subdue the bounty hunter but Nuthea is gravely wounded in the process. Ryn beats Sagar to the hunter’s mount and rushes Nuthea to the nearest town where he finds a healer, CID, a mysterious old man who saves the princess’s life with his arts and asks to join the traveling party, saying that he believes it is the purpose of ‘the One’, the god that he and Nuthea each worship. On leaving the town the party is pursued by an enormous monster driven by a troop of Imperial soldiers. The party manage to escape with the help of Vish, who fights on their side in exchange for Cid supplying his poppy-seed habit. Cid reveals that he was once a member of another adventuring party who set out to find the twelve Primeval Jewels, but failed. The party press on to the capital city of Sirra, where they ambush some Imperial soldiers and steal their uniforms in order to sneak onto a sleeper train bound for Nuthea’s homeland. They make it aboard successfully, but then Ryn gives them away when he comes face to face with General Vorr on the train and is unable to prevent himself from attacking him. The party are thus forced to escape from the train by leaping into a river it is passing. But there encounter with Vorr has revealed two things: that the Fire Ruby-touched Imperials are invulnerable to Nuthea’s lightning attacks, and that Nuthea was the personwho once accidentally gave Vorr the location of the Fire Ruby, thus leading to the destruction of Ryn’s hometown and the death of his parents…

When Ryn’s grief had subsided a little, it left only anger at Nuthea. 

He lost track of the time he spent by himself on the side of the Zerlanese hill brooding on the revelation that Nuthea had been the person who had told Vorr where the Fire Ruby has been hidden.

Part of him wanted to walk away now, to abandon the group and strike out on his own. A large part of him wanted to get away from Nuthea. He felt so much anger at her for what she had done. Hot, roiling anger that choked his lungs and made it hard to breathe whenever he thought of it.

But something held him in place. Over the last few weeks--months? How long even was it?--he had grown extremely fond of Nuthea, and he knew he was extremely attracted to her. This new revelation had brought with it a deep ambivalence about all of that. Why did have to have been her who had betrayed his hometown to the Empire? He was extremely attached to her, but now he wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive her, either. That just made him all the more angry.

The sun climbed higher in the sky. Nobody came to fetch him or check on him. Maybe they had moved on already. No, Cid wouldn’t do that. Nuthea wouldn’t do that either, damn her. Perhaps they were letting him have some space...

In the end, he knew he only had one choice.

The thing that he knew he wanted to do more than anything in the world-- and he only knew that he wanted to do it more than ever now--was to continue to practice in the use of his flames and of a sword, to find General Vorr again and to kill him, to avenge his family and hometown. To continue to train with a sword, he needed to stick with Cid. To find General Vorr again, he needed to finish making his way to Manolia, where the General had gone. And the best chance he had of doing all of that was if he stuck with the traveling party. He needed their money, the supplies that it would buy, their guidance, their ability to teach him, and their protection on the way.

That means staying around Nuthea, for the time being. Damn it. 

He supposed he would just have to tolerate being around her for a bit longer. But he didn’t have to enjoy it, or to talk to her, did he? 

Oh how he hated Vorr. Oh how he hated him all the more now. It was Vorr who had given Nuthea the opportunity to betray her homeland. It was Vorr who had gotten her to reveal the location of the Fire Ruby to him. It was Vorr who had...seduced her…

“Raaargh!” Ryn punched a fist into the sky, and a jet of flame shot from it up into the air, disappearing somewhere above the clouds.

That made him feel a little better. But only a little. 

He got to his feet and began to make his way back up and round the hill that he had been sitting at the foot of, back to the top of it where he had left the group.

They hadn’t gone anywhere. They had just stayed there and waited for him, apparently.

When Ryn arrived back at the group, everyone was sitting down, except Vish and Cid, who were standing up facing each other, having an argument.

“I’ve told you,” Cid was saying as Ryn came into earshot, his face red, clutching his bag of Healer’s supplies tight to himself, “you’ve got to space out the hits, or they’ll diminish too much in intensity, and it will be harder for you to eventually come off the poppy.”

“And I’ve told you, old man,” Vish growled, “I don’t want to come off the poppy. The poppy is what makes me feel good. The poppy is what makes me feel alive. The poppy is my life.” His fingers twitched. 

“But don’t you see?” said Cid. “That’s no way to live. There’s so much more of life to experience, to be alive in. The poppy doesn’t make you more alive. You’re losing your life to it.”

Vish went silent. Dangerously silent. He stared death at Cid. Now his hands bunched into fists, and Ryn fancied they were trembling ever so slightly.

“I don’t care,” he said at length. Ryn couldn’t see his teeth under his face covering, but he was pretty sure they were gritted. “Taking Poppy makes me feel better than I ever do any of the rest of the time. It’s the greatest feeling in Mid. Nothing else compares to it. It’s the only thing that makes me feel anything. I want it, old man.”

“Be that as it may,” said Cid, “you need to space out the hits or the next one won’t even feel as good as the last. And, if you space them out far enough and start to come off it, you can start to feel other things too. It is possible. I’ve seen others do it. I’ve helped others do it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie to you?”

“Because you’ve only got a limited supply of poppy and you need to keep me under control with it to keep me around.”

“I can see why you’d think that, but that’s not what’s actually going on here. And I...I actually have quite a large supply of poppy in here…”

“Then give me my poppy, old man.”

“No.”

Silence, full of intent. 

Vish leapt at Cid. 

“GIVE ME MY POPPY!” he shouted, and he was on top of the Healer, grabbing for his satchel, trying to rip it out of his hands.

“Oh!” Cid exclaimed, clutching the satchel even more tightly and trying not to let Vish get it as the Shadowfinger knocked him to the ground.

“Hey!” said Ryn, running forwards to help. “That’s not okay!”

When he reached them Vish’s elbow shot out into his face. Pain flared in Ryn’s nose and he staggered back, putting his hand to it. He stared at the blood on his fingers.

The others ran to Cid’s aid too. Ryn blinked the shock away, then joined them.

More elbows, fists and feet flew, and Ryn took another two strikes to his arms. But eventually between the four of them, he, Nuthea, Elrann and Sagar managed to wrestle Vish off of Cid and pin him to the ground, taking a limb each.

The Shadowfinger was a vicious and brutal fighter, but it seemed that when ambushed from behind even he could be bested. By four of them, at least…

“Crazy scumsucker…” Sagar said exasperatedly as he held down one of Vish’s arms. The skin around one of the skypirate’s eyes was turning black. “Why shouldn’t we kill you right here and now, for that?”  

Click. The sound of Elrann cocking her pistol as she held another of Vish’s arms down. “I’m thinking that might not be such a bad idea. There was no need for you to attack Pops here. Get it together, bountyhunter. I’ve used this on you before, and I’m not afraid to use it again.”

Ryn noticed something. Elrann didn’t have any bruises on her. He looked over at Nuthea, holding down the opposite leg to Ryn. Neither did she.

Even in the melee of what had just happened, Vish had been precise enough not to hit either of the women, on this occasion. But he had given Ryn a bloody nose and several brusies, and Sagar had a black eye. Did he have some sort of code? Some sort of honour that had come into play? Or...had part of him wanted to be subdued?

“It’s been a week now,” Vish growled at Cid as the old man stood up and walked over, as if he hadn’t heard anything that Sagar and Elrann had said. “It’s well past time. Give me some poppy.”

“I’ve told you,” said Cid, standing over them. “You’ve got to space them out if you want a chance of coming off it. It’s that or stopping completely all at once.”

“I’ve told you!” Vish shouted back. “I don’t want to stop. The craving is too much. I want the poppy, old man. GIVE ME MY POPPY!”

He strained, and for a moment Ryn worried he might overpower all four of them, but they managed to keep him pinned down.

Elrann pressed the barrell of her pistol to Vish’s temple. “I mean it, bountyhunter,” she snarled. “Calm it down, for Yntrik’s sake, or I fill your head with lead.”

Vish shut his eyes and went still again. He seemed to have been defeated, in body and spirit.

“I know it’s hard,” said Cid. “I’m sure it’s the hardest thing in the world, or one of them. But if you stop, young man, in time the craving will go away, and you will awaken to other parts of your life.”

“It won’t,” said Vish in a small, sad voice, his eyes still shut. “I won’t. I’m too far in, old man. The damage is done. Please, just let me have my poppy.” Please? Ryn had never heard him speak like this.

“It will,” said Cid, “trust me.”

Vish was quiet for a long moment. Ryn shared quizzical glances with the others. Had he gone to sleep? Given up? Was he gathering his strength to try to overpower them again?

Eventually, Vish said, very quietly, “How do you know?”

“I’ve seen others do it,” said Cid at once. “I told you. You’re not the first to be addicted to poppy and come off it. You have to trust me. Trust the experience of others.”“It won’t work for me. Please, just give me my poppy.”

“Ok, listen,” said Cid. “I can see that you’re very upset by this, and it has been quite a long time since your last hit. I would have liked to start spacing them out more and earlier than this, but I can see that you’re going to need some more persuading until you decide that you’re ready to do that. But if I give you poppy seed right now, you’re going to be useless to us, and we won’t be able to keep going unless we carry you.”

“That’s why I asked you for it now!” Vish snapped, opening his eyes and scowling. “The boy there had gone off for a sulk, and who knew how long it would be until he came back and we could keep moving?”

Ryn felt himself bristling.

“True, but he’s back now. Hello, by the way,” Cid said, nodding at Ryn. “So I’ll make you a deal. Keep walking with us for now, and when we stop to rest for the night, I’ll give you your poppy then. Alright?”

Vish shut his eyes again for a moment.

“Alright,” he said, very deliberately-sounding and very quietly.

“Good. Well done. You can let him up now, folks. I believe him.”

Slowly, cautiously, they let go of the Shadowfinger and allowed him to stand up, eyeing him closely as they did so. With some reluctance, Elrann put the safety mechanism back on on her pistol and stowed it in its holster on her belt.

“Well, I’m glad that entirely pointless episode’s over,” said Sagar. “We best be off.”

They spent the rest of the day hiking through the Zerlanese hills in the direction that Elrann indicated for them. Up, down, up, down; taking care to look out for any signs of Imperials whenever they reached a vantage point at the top of a new hill. None appeared. Ryn’s shins began to ache from the hill-walking, but it was nothing compared to the torture he had experienced at Vorr’s hands on board the train. He was grateful that Cid had been around after that to heal him. 

He stayed at the back of the group so that he could see where Nuthea was and deliberately avoid her. She walked about twenty paces in front with Sagar and Cid on either side of her, and Vish and Elrann about another ten paces in front of them leading the way. Just once Nuthea looked over her shoulder at him, presumably to check where he was. But only once.

Stupid Nuthea. She probably doesn’t even realise the wrong she’s done me. How can the others just carry on with her so easily? He supposed her actions hadn’t led to the destruction of their hometowns, so they didn’t have the same reason to be angry… He kept walking despite his anger. Find Vorr. Kill Vorr. Get away from Nuthea.

Elrann turned out to be exactly right--she knew the geography of this area well enough. Just as the sun was beginning to dip into its final descent beyond the hill-line, they sighted a settlement. Wooden houses and cabins were built right onto the tops and sides of three hills. 

“Nevva!” Elrann said when they spotted it. “We’ve found Nevva! I used to come here with my mother for holidays in the Summer!”

“A holiday…” said Sagar. “That sounds about right. Just what we need right now.”

The town had a calm, peaceful sort of feel to it. The people were polite but reserved, acknowledging their arrival with nods and smiles but keeping out of their way. Although that might have been because they were still dressed in Imperial armour. 

But there were no genuine Imperials to be seen. Elrann explained that even though Zerlan was a vassal state of Morekemia, like all the other countries in Dokan, the Empire saw it as so small and insignificant that there had never really been much of an Imperial presence here at all. And apparently this applied to the invasion too--the Emperor hadn’t even seen fit to invade Zerlan, but merely passed it straight by on the way from Sirra.

“Why does he care about it so little?” Ryn asked Elrann. 

He was surprised when Nuthea answered for her. “Because what he is really interested in is the Jewels, not military occupation...”

Yeah, thought Ryn, because you told him where to find them. He did not reply to her.

The innkeeper at the inn they stopped in--another wooden construction named ‘The Cheese Wheel’ for the picture on the sign outside of...a wheel of cheese--confirmed this. Because they were all still in their Imperial armour, except for Vish, which didn’t matter, he thought they were Imperials, and gave them special treatment. He told them they hadn’t seen any signs of the invasion, except the occasional movement of Imperial airships in the distant skies, and only knew about it from rumours and hearsay from people traveling from Imfis who had got out just before the occupation. He was extremely obliging, perhaps fearing that Zerlan was next on the list for invasion, but Sagar made up a story about them only being out on patrol to keep the peace and ensure that nobody from Zerlan tried to revolt against the occupation of neighbouring Imfis. The innkeeper offered them free room and board for the night, but Cid inisisted he take their coin for it, claiming that it was only proper, and that it was the Emperor’s policy.

“Why did you do that?” Sagar whispered to him as they climbed the creaky stairs to their rooms.

“We can’t exploit him and take his food and rooms for nothing just because we’re still dressed as Imperials,” Cid whispered back.

“Why the hell not? Suit yourself, old timer, it’s your coin.”

The inn had two separate dormitories for men and women, as was Zokanese custom, so they parted from Elrann and Nuthea at the top of the stairs. Ryn felt a pang in his chest when Nuthea said an abrupt “Good night,” and turned to go into her room without even looking at him, or any of them. But he was only angry at himself this time for feeling it.

There were no other travelers staying at the inn, probably because of the recent invasion, so they had the room to themselves.

“Now will you give me my poppy, old man?” Vish said the instant their door was shut.

Cid paused for the briefest of moments. “...yes. I said that I would, after all. And my word is my word.” He rummaged in his satchel and eventually brought out another of the small black seeds, which he handed to Vish.

Vish didn’t thank him, but pulled down his head scarf, revealing his blackened mouth, and popped it in at once. 

“Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh,” he sighed, and fell back onto one of the beds immediately. His eyes rolled into the back of his head.

It looked quite enjoyable, really. Ryn wondered if he should try it, to sleep better and escape from the night- and day-mares that plagued him, even just for a little while. But no...it clearly led to not being able to stop and became all-consuming if you started taking it. He had enough demons and emotional baggage to contend with already.

“What a loser,” said Sagar. “Time for a bath, methinks.”

While they had been eating their dinner of bread, cheese and wine the innkeeper had filled a bronze bath that stood in the corner of the room with hot, steaming water.

Sagar took the first dip for himself, and Ryn couldn’t be bothered to fight him for it. He didn’t stay in it long though, and Cid offered Ryn the second.

The water was still very hot, and as Ryn lowered himself into it, trying not to think about the dirt from Sagar’s body that was now in it, his muscles relaxed in the enveloping warmth and it soothed his shins. He couldn’t help from letting out a sigh of relief.

Bliss, he thought, or the closest I’ve got to it in a long time. 

The others appeared too tired to talk, and Ryn was no exception, so he lay enjoying in the bath and his mind was left to wander.

This was not a good thing. 

The usual thoughts crowded in on him at once. Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Kill Vorr. Get away from Nuthea. 

He washed himself, then got out of the bath to let Cid have a turn.

He dressed in his underclothes and hit the bed, which was firm but comfortable. He was asleep in a matter of moments.

His sleep was deep, but he dreamed of many things. As usual, he dreamed of his mother being impaled on Vorr’s sword, of the houses of his hometown all aflame, of the light going out of his father’s eyes. He had thought and dreamed of these things so many times by now that even as he dreamed of them he knew that he was dreaming, and simply watched them happening again, aware of this, with his sleeping mind’s eyes.

But then he had a different dream. He dreamed of Nuthea, standing in the kitchen of his old house in Cleasor, singing to herself and dancing, just like his mother used to do, when she had been alive—for even in his dreams he remembered that his mother was dead.

Then Vorr appeared again, in the dream-kitchen, in his black suit of armour, his huge sword on his back, flaming hair exposed. He took Nuthea by the hand and they began to dance together, their bodies moving in time together, and she giggled and jiggled and twirled for him.

“Tell me,” Vorr crooned in the dream. “Tell me everything. Tell me your secrets. Tell me of the Jewels. Tell me where the Jewels are. Tell me where the Lightning Crystal is. Tell me where the Earth Emerald is. Tell me where the Water Sapphire is. Tell me where the Fire Ruby is.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” cried Nuthea jubilantly. “I’ll tell you everything and more! I’ll give it all to you!”

And then Vorr drew his huge sword and ran her through the chest, just like he had done Ryn’s mother. Nuthea stopped and went still, looking down at the sword, rivulets of red running from where it entered her, making trails over her white stomach, then looked up at Ryn, seeing him in the dream for the first time.

“You couldn’t save me,” she said quietly to Ryn. “You didn’t do anything to rescue me. It’s all your fault. You’re a failure.”

“NO!” Ryn shouted, and woke himself up, lathered in sweat, sitting up in his bed.

“Oh will you just shut up, pup?!” Sagar complained from the next door bed.

Cid was standing over him. “Don’t worry, lad. You were having a nightmare. Again.”

Ryn blinked and looked around. The bedroom in the inn. The middle of the night.

For some reason his mind had forgotten that that last part was a dream.

He was panting, but eventually his breathing slowed. Cid mopped his brow, which was covered in sweat, with a cloth and gave him a sweet-tasting herb to chew. Ryn turned over onto his other side and chewed it, trying and failing not to think of Nuthea being seduced by Vorr to reveal the location of the Jewels, and then of the memory of his horrible nightmare. But eventually the sweet scent of whatever herb Cid had given him overpowered the memory and he managed to get back to sleep. 

He did not dream again that night.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 16. Infighting

Mon, 01 May 2023 11:07:00 GMT

Author’s note: I’ve got a pivotal chapter for you this month, readers, with some big revelations, and a plot point based on a mechanic from the Pokemon games, but hey, this is Fantasy, so let’s not talk too much about that second thing…

Previously on Saga of the Jewels…

Seventeen year old RYN’s hometown is attacked by General VORR of the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before Ryn’s father dies, he gives Ryn a ruby which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess NUTHEA, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain SAGAR, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit an engineer called ELRANN. Ast is then attacked by the Empire, who are using the Fire Ruby to invade the continent and search for more of the Jewels. Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann flee the city together, but are then attacked by a bounty hunter, VISH. They manage to subdue the bounty hunter but Nuthea is gravely wounded in the process. Ryn beats Sagar to the hunter’s mount and rushes Nuthea to the nearest town where he finds a healer, CID, a mysterious old man who saves the princess’s life with his arts and asks to join the traveling party, saying that he believes it is the purpose of ‘the One’, the god that he and Nuthea each worship. On leaving the town the party is pursued by an enormous dog-like monster driven by a troop of Imperial soldiers. The party manage to escape with the help of Vish, who fights on their side in exchange for Cid supplying his poppy-seed habit. Cid reveals that he was once a member of another adventuring party who set out to find the twelve Primeval Jewels, but failed. The party press on the capital city of Sirra, where they ambush some Imperial soldiers and steal their uniforms in order to sneak onto a sleeper train bound for Nuthea’s homeland. They make it aboard successfully, but then Ryn gives them away when he comes face to face with General Vorr on the train and is unable to prevent himself from attacking him. The party are thus forced to escape from the train by leaping into a river it is passing…

Cold constricting around his chest. Rushing noise filling his ears. Current pulling him along, fast. Nuthea’s hand gone. White spray everywhere, vision obscured by water, white spray again. A mouthful of water. Another. Get me out of this water! I hate water! A gulp of air, by sheer chance, enough to keep fighting a few moments longer. Being dragged downwards by the weight of the armour. Frantically kicking his legs and flailing his arms around to try to prevent the downwards drag. Panic. Not knowing how to swim.

A scrap of sound.

“--he is! Help him out, now!”

A hand grabbed Ryn by the arm and yanked hard against the direction the current was taking him.

Pain flared in his shoulder and he thought his arm might pop out of its socket, but Ryn cooperated with the hand and tried to pull himself in the direction it tugged him all the same, to reach round with his other hand...

Another hand found his other arm, and pulled.

And then he was up and out of the rushing water, being hauled onto a grassy riverbank by Sagar and Elrann.

They released him and he fell to the grass with a thwap, landing face-down. He tasted soggy earth. He never thought the taste of it could be so sweet.

“--stupid pup!” Sagar was saying. “Why didn’t you tell us you couldn’t swim?”

“Yeah, farmboy!” Elrann joined in. “Why shouldn’t you be able to swim? It’s not like there aren’t any rivers or lakes in Efstan! It doesn’t make any sense!” 

Ryn raised his head. Like him, they were completely soaked. Sagar’s hair hung like curtains over both his eyes and his ponytail stuck limply to his neck. Elrann looked like more of a typical girl for once, her purple hair seeming much longer than usual when wet and plastered to the back of her head.

Ryn ignored their jibes. He couldn’t help himself from grinning at them, so glad was he still to be alive. “There wasn’t really time to think it, let alone mention it, back there. And what can I say? For some reason I’ve always had this funny thing about water... Never been so keen on it...” Nuthea, he thought. “Nuthea!” he said, looking around frantically.

“I’m here,” Nuthea called from further up the bank. Cid and Vish were with her too, all of them dripping wet.

“Were we followed?” Ryn asked, standing up and surveying the river, the grass, the hills.

“No,” said Cid. “I think we took the Imperials completely by surprise. The train carried them off before they had a chance to react. Even if they stop it and back up, that will still take quite a long time. And as soon as they leave the tracks they won’t be able to travel any faster than us, since they don’t have any alternative means of transport, as far as we know. But all the same, we should get as far away from here as we can as quickly as possible, just in case.”

“You are correct in that,” said Vish. “They did not follow immediately, but they may still try to. And they had Elpis with them. You should get moving.”

They trudged up the riverbank together. A light breeze blew cold against their wet bodies, chilling their clothes inside the Imperial armour they still wore, and a shiver ran up Ryn’s spine. Before they had jumped from it, the train had been wending its way through a green, grassy, hilly country in which they now found themselves. They traipsed to the top of the nearest hill to get their bearings. The sun was still climbing in the bright blue sky, and West, in the direction it was heading, the hills stretched out as far as they could see. In the East, the hills grew to snow-capped mountains. 

“Does anyone know where in Mid we are?” said Ryn.

“We’re in Zerlan!” exclaimed Elrann at exactly the same time. “I’d recognise those mountains anywhere! We must be in the foothills of the Pelna mountains, which border Imfis and Manolia!”

“That would make sense,” said Cid sagely, nodding. “The train would have had to go through the mountains on the border to get into Manolia, and would pass through Zerlan briefly just before it got there.”

“Look!” said Nuthea, pointing. 

Over the hills, in the East, close to the mountains, its source obscured by one of the larger hills in that direction, was an unmistakable plume of steam, its tail getting slowly further and further away from them.

“They haven’t turned back,” said Nuthea.

“Of course not,” said Vish. “You are merely an irritation to them, not a distraction worth diverting their whole course for.” He still says ‘you’, not ‘we’, Ryn noted. “Though you should not assume anything. They may still have sent someone after you.”

“Like that Lady Shadowfinger?” said Nuthea. “‘Elpis’?”

“Perhaps.”

“We really should keep moving then,” said Ryn, beating Sagar to it, who closed his mouth and frowned.

“Which way?” said Elrann.

“Towards Manolia, of course,” said Nuthea.

This time Sagar got there first. “But we’ll never catch up to that train now--they’ll beat us there, princess, and invade before we can arrive to warn them.”

“Not necessarily…” said Nuthea.

They all looked at her standing sopping wet at the top of the hill.

She bit her lip. Once again Ryn got the distinct impression that she knew more than she was letting on.

“Alright,” said Sagar exasperatedly, “come on, princess--give up the goods. What are you not telling us?”

“I--” started Nuthea.

“She can tell you while you are moving,” said Vish, his grey eyes scanning the hills. He began to walk, and everyone followed, except--

“HOLD ON!” yelled Elrann.

They all stopped and looked round at her. Her cheeks had turned nearly as purple as her hair. Nearly.

“You should not shout so loudly, girl…” hissed Vish.

“Aw, hush up, bountyhunter. If anyone sneaks up on us I’ll just shoot them like I shot you. What nobody seems to have remembered is that while we may still have our weapons and our lives, thank Yntrik, we’ve all lost our packs. It looks like a good day or two’s hike to those mountains, and then we have to get through them, and I for one ain’t too sure our wilderness survival skills are up to a high enough standard to get us through all a’that without any supplies. I say we head to a Zerlanese settlement first and get stocked up--hopefully none of you were so dumb as not to keep your coin about your persons, like I did. I reckon I’m familiar enough with this part of the country that I could sniff out a town out for us, sooner or later.”

“Um, it’s not entirely true that none of us have any supplies...” said Cid, swinging his satchel around to the front of him by its strap. “I managed to keep hold of this during our escape, and as well my healer’s provisions it has a little food. I’ve checked it, and since it was sealed up the contents are all dry and intact, despite our little swim.”

The twitch in Vish’s face did not escape Ryn’s notice.       

Cid pulled some waybread, salt beef and a bit of cheese out of his bag. His eyes roved round the group. “Did anyone else manage to hold on to anything?”

Nobody volunteered. They all seemed, indeed, to have lost their packs and supplies during the chaos aboard the train. 

“Ah,” said Cid.

A strong pang of guilt went through Ryn’s stomach. But it was soon swallowed up by hatred as he remembered what had led him to reveal himself on the train. Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. 

“Well, that settles it, then,” said Elrann. “Instead of South-East, we first go North to find a Zerlanese settlement to restock. Princess-girl can explain why we’re not in a rush after all on the way.”

Nuthea’s mouth dropped open. “I never said that we were not still in a rush. I just said we were not in as much of a rush as you might think. I want to carry on in the direction of Manolia--”

“Princess!” Sagar snapped. “There is no way we can make it through those mountains with just a bit of bread and salted meat! Not even just the two of us could manage that! You’ve employed me to do a job, but I can only do it and deliver you safely to Manolia if you are still alive!”

Nuthea opened her mouth again, but then something flickered in her eyes and she went tight-lipped. “Hmph,” she said. For once, she had backed down. Even she seemed to see the sense in what Elrann and Sagar were saying.

Ryn was torn, though. Vorr was heading South-East, not North. At the same time, he thought, he needed to stay alive as well in order to be able eventually to get to Vorr and kill him. And he still wasn’t strong enough--if nothing else, their most recent confrontation had shown him that. He needed to train more on the way, to get stronger, to get better with his sword. And maybe it was the shock of what had just happened, maybe it was the cold water, but now he began to doubt seriously for the first time whether he would ever be able to kill Vorr. The man was just too strong. Too powerful. He shook his head. No. Don’t think like that. You will get strong enough to kill him. Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. Stay with Nuthea...

Ryn blinked. By the time he had finished thinking all of this, the others had already walked off down the hill. He ran to catch up with them.

As he ran, he tripped over his feet, stumbled a few paces, then lost his balance completely and fell. He twisted his body round to cushion himself against the impact on his side, but the hill was so steep that he rolled down it, turning over several times. He crashed into Sagar from behind, taking the skypirate’s legs out from underneath him, before managing to put his hands out and scramble to hold onto the grass, raking the earth with his fingernails to come to a stop at last.

Sagar was on him at once, flipping him onto his back, kneeling on his arms, cutlass drawn already, holding the blade to Ryn’s throat.  

“You stupid pup!” Sagar yelled, his face red with fury, spittle flying from his mouth and dampening Ryn’s cheeks. “What in the seventeen hells do you think you’re doing? It’s your fault we got into this mess in the first place! Because you couldn’t control yourself when you saw that Imperial general! I told you before that if you ever pulled something like yanking me off that chocobo again I would end you, and this comes godsdamn close! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat right now!”

The others were yelling at Sagar to get off him, but Ryn couldn’t hear them properly. All of his attention was taken up by the curved, glinting blade pressing at his adam’s apple.

He had been in this position before. He was trying to remember how to get out of it...

“I…” Ryn croaked. “I’m... sorry, Sagar… I…”

Something inside him lit. He had had enough of this.

This time he felt his eyes catch alight, and the whole of his vision--from the shining cutlass blade to Sagar’s sneering face--turned red and orange, transfigured by fire.

He didn’t know how to project the flames from his eyes.

Instead, as the heat rose up through his chest, Ryn realised he was about to repeat something that he had learned to do back on the train.

“FIRE!” Ryn roared, and flames leapt from his mouth straight into Sagar’s face.

The skypirate screamed and leapt backwards, dropping his cutlass and clutching at his face. He kept screaming as Ryn got to his feet, still hot with anger and seeing red.

The screams turned into “You b*****d! You b*****d! You burned me!”

Sagar took his hands away from his face. Ryn couldn’t completely tell in his fire vision, but it looked scorched, darker than usual. 

Nothing Cid can’t heal, I’m sure.

The whole of Ryn was on fire again. He threw a fireball at Sagar--just a small one, not big enough to seriously harm him, just burn him a bit more.

Sagar saw or felt it coming and brought his hand across his body, making a movement as if to bat the fireball away. A rush of wind issued from his hand, blowing the fire to one side and causing it to dissipate into the air.

That only renewed Ryn’s rage. He chucked another fireball at Sagar, no longer caring how big it was, then another and another.

Sagar blocked each one with his air projection, fanning them away in gusting flickers. But only barely.

On his scorched face, the skypirate’s singed brows tipped back above widened eyes and his jaw went slack. 

That’s right, thought Ryn. Make him scared. Make him pay. Make him stop bullying me.

“Boltaaaaarrrrraaaa!” someone shouted.

A stab of shock lanced through Ryn. The pain entered at his back, but in an instant spread to every point in his body. 

He cried out.

The pain passed, but before Ryn knew it he had lost his concentration, and his fire vision and aura were gone, steam hissing up from him.

What the hell?

“You both stop this at once!” someone was saying in a raised voice behind him.

Ah. Nuthea. 

“I’ve had just about enough of this, from the pair of you!” Nuthea carried on. She lightninged me. She actually lightninged me. He turned round to listen to the rest of his telling off.

Nuthea was shaking with fury and her eyes had doubled in size. “I can’t believe you! I’ve got a highly important mission to carry out and the two of you can’t stop squabbling! We’ll never make it to Manolia if we kill each other first! You both need to just grow up!”

Ryn crossed his arms. “He started it,” was all that he could say after a moment. He knew it sounded childish but he was still smarting from being briefly electrocuted by Nuthea and it was the best he could come up with at short notice.

“Well, I finished it. Now apologise to each other, both of you.”

From the way that Sagar was sitting on the ground, Ryn guessed Nuthea must have hit him with the lightning as well. His face was back to normal. Cid knelt next to him, tight-lipped with disappointment, so the healer must have taken care of it.

Their eyes met, and Sagar scowled, flashing anger at Ryn. 

But, Ryn realised, it was no longer the scowl of a superior. It was the scowl of an equal.

At least he had achieved something. He probably should apologise for burning the guy’s face though. At least to make Nuthea happy.

“Sorry, Sagar...” Ryn said.

A long moment passed as they held each other’s gaze. Rage seemed to jostle with obligation in Sagar’s brown eyes.

Eventually Sagar looked away and mumbled something completely inaudible.

“What was that?” asked Ryn.

“I said...rrrrrrsry.”

“Pardon?”

“SORRY!” Sagar shouted. “There! Are you satisfied now, princess?”

“Reasonably,” said Nuthea. “Now come on, both of you, everyone. We have places to be.”

“This travelling party is a joke,” said Sagar as they began to climb another hill in a direction that Elrann indicated. “You’re right, princess, we’ll have all killed each other before we have a chance to get back to your homeland.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too hard on us,” said Cid. Disappointed, but still optimistic, then. “We did just manage to elude the grasp of practically an entire Imperial battalion and several Morekemian officers together, in spite of the circumstances. That is no small achievement, and took a great amount of both teamwork and skill.” 

Ryn’s shoulders eased a bit and his spirit rose at that. When you put it like that, things didn’t seem so bad. 

Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. Stay with Nuthea. Even if she had just hit him with a lightning bolt. He was surprised that he hadn’t been more lastingly hurt by that. There had been a brief shock of pain, but then he had been fine. He hadn’t even needed Cid to heal him, like Sagar had. He wondered why that was. Was she able to control the strength of her attacks? Nothing she had said before had seemed to indicate that… Though if she was, why had she hit Sagar harder than him?

Really, there were other things more pressing on his mind.

“So Nuthea,” he said, “can you explain to us why we’re not in so much of a rush to get to Manolia any more?”

“Yeah,” joined in Elrann. “What gives, princess-girl? For ages you’re all like”--she put on a refined voice in mock imitation of Nuthea--“‘I must return to my homeland to warn my people of what the Emperor has learned’, then all of a sudden now that we’re nearly there, you don’t seem so bothered. What gives?”

Nuthea took a while to reply, and for a moment they were walking only to the sound of their own grunting and panting as they made their way up the hill. But eventually she broke her silence.

“As you know, we are currently in Zerlan, though very close to the border of both Imfis and Manolia, in the Pelnian mountains.” Of course she was going to tell them through a lecture. “Just beyond the mountains, in the Iflama forest where the Manolian peninsula starts to jut out from the Dokanese mainland, there is a huge, fortified wall. It is not very wide, because it does not need to be to span the width of the peninsula, but it is tall, and thick, and extremely well defended. The train will have to stop at the station of a town outside of this wall. I am sure that my countrywomen will have got wind of the Empire’s invasion of Dokan by now, so they will have barred entry of the train through the tunnel that passes under the wall, especially when a battalion of Imperial soldiers appears in Plessa station. It will take Vorr time to work out how to get past this wall, and all that time he will be sitting at Plessa station with his troops, and for all we know he will be amassing more there. But now that he has beaten us to it, our goal is not speed, but stealth. We will need to sneak through or around the soldiers in order to get past the wall before they do. Then finally I will be able to deliver the information that the Emperor has found out about the Jewels to my people, before Vorr can get to them.” She took a deep breath. Her lecture had been punctuated by a lot of huffs and puffs as she climbed the hill.

The rest of them took a moment to let this sink in. Then Ryn said, “Alright… so we need to sneak past the Imperial troops...again. It’s a good thing we’ve still got this Imperial armour, even if we’ve lost our helmets. But what do we do once we reach this ‘wall’? How will we be able to get past it without revealing ourselves to the Imperials on this side of it?”

“Yeah, he does have a point there, princess,” said Sagar, to Ryn’s surprise. Perhaps Ryn should set his face on fire more often…

“That’s the reason I’m not in as much of a rush any more,” said Nuthea, determinedly looking at her feet as she walked and refusing to meet any of their gazes. “I...I know of a secret passageway through the wall. A secret entrance and exit. We will be able to sneak into Manolia through that.”

“Okay,” said Elrann, “well that makes a lot more sense now. But I think it makes all the more sense for us to be restocking our supplies here in Zerlan before we carry on. There’s no way we could even get to the Manolian border  wall on what we’ve got left.”

“I agree,” said Cid. Sagar and Vish nodded their assent too.

Ryn didn’t see any reason to protest. Which meant that in a moment he could ask Nuthea about some other things that had happened on board the train which had been starting to bother him...

They reached the crest of the latest hill and took a moment to catch their breaths in the crisp air. This hill was higher than the last and afforded them an even better view of the surrounding country. To the West and North, more hills, stretching back to the Imfisi plains they had traversed on the train. To the East and South, yet more hills, yes, but instead of eventually flattening out, they rose to become the snow-dusted Pelnian mountains. Wending its way down from these was the thin blue ribbon of the river they had jumped into to escape from Vorr. The plume of steam from the Sirran train the Imperials had commandeered had long disappeared.

Ryn could not hold in his questions any more. “Why did we end up needing to jump off the train?” he asked of the world in general. Then he rounded on Cid, addressing his next few questions to the old man. “Why did Nuthea’s lightning bolt not do more damage to Vorr? You were worried about that before it happened. What do you know that we don’t?”

The old man chewed his cheek. Everyone looked at him expectantly for an answer. Everyone except Nuthea.

“Something,” Cid said eventually, “now, that I had only suspected before.”

Ryn couldn’t help from feeling that the old man was only pausing for dramatic effect. “What?” 

Cid sighed. “The Jewels, when a person touches them, impart alignment to the element they are associated with. That’s why a person who has been touched by one of them can manipulate and project that element, and isn’t harmed by it.”

“We know that, old timer,” said Sagar. “Come on, skip to the new stuff.”

“I’m getting there. When my former companions and I were collecting the Jewels before, we developed a theory about this elemental alignment, but we never had the opportunity to test it properly, and we never dared test it on each other. The theory we came up with was that, when a person touched a particular Jewel, not only did they gain the ability to manipulate that element, but they also gained a certain affinity with that element. Somehow, their body became attuned to that element and came to bear some of the properties of that element. And from various anecdotal incidents, we came to speculate that with this affinity came certain weaknesses and resistances to the other elements.”

“Put it in plainspeak, old timer,” said Sagar.

“In other words, a person aligned to a certain element will be especially weak to attacks from certain other elements, and especially resistant to attacks from certain other elements. The most obvious one is that people who have touched the Fire Ruby would be especially susceptible to attacks from those who had touched the Water Sapphire, as fire is vulnerable to extinguishment by water. But in turn water is highly vulnerable to lightning…”

“And fire is resistant to lightning,” said Ryn slowly, seeing where Cid was going. “That’s why Nuthea’s lightning bolt didn’t hurt me more. That’s why Sagar needed you to heal him, but not me. That’s why Vorr and the officers touched by the Ruby hadn’t been hurt more by her lightning back on the top of the train.” 

“Indeed,” said Cid. “As far as we guessed, fire isn’t completely resistant to lightning, but it is partially resistant, from what we observed. And interestingly enough, it didn’t quite seem to work the other way around. Lightning alignment does not grant resistance to fire–far from it–so fire seemed to be the dominant element in the pairing. It was only a theory, and like I say, we didn’t have a chance to test it out properly before, since nobody but us ever had any elemental powers before, and we didn’t want to test it by attacking each other, but now that you’ve done that it does seem to confirm--” 

“Do the Empire know?” said Nuthea all of a sudden, briskly. The colour had drained from her face completely; her skin was milk-white. “Do the Empire know?” she asked again, even more urgently.

“I don’t see how they could,” said Cid, putting his hands up in reassurance, “unless they have access to lore that we didn’t. Although recent events may have given them an inkling…”

“We’ve got to keep moving,” said Nuthea. “Fast. We need to find a Zerlanese settlement as soon as we can and restock our supplies, and then move on to Manolia.” She had started to hop from foot to foot. “Come on, everyone!” She seemed to have turned even whiter, were that possible, and had started to shake a little.

“Now hold on, princess!” said Sagar. “All of a sudden we’re in a rush again? What’s with all the urgency?”

Ryn knew.

“Don’t you see?” said Nuthea, pleadingly. “Vorr and his Officers are heading for Manolia, with the Fire Ruby, and they have resistance to lightning! The primary defence method of my people won’t even work against him! And he might even know this now!”

“Arrrrggh!” Ryn cried out with frustration. The mention of the General’s name had lit the flame of his temper again, and hate burned in his chest at the memory of being caught and tortured by him. “Damn him, he’s just too strong! Even with all my practice I still couldn’t beat him! He’s invulnerable to fire, and now we know he’s virtually invulnerable to lightning too!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” said Cid. “Vorr is powerful and devious.”

“I hate him!” Ryn went on, unable to contain his outburst and not caring. “I hate him for killing my parents and burning down my hometown and for stealing the Jewel from us!”

“Come on, Ryn,” said Nuthea, still agitated too, “let’s go, then! That’s why we’ve got to get to Manolia ahead of him: to warn my people and stop him from taking another Jewel!”

Ryn remembered something else. In the heat of his outburst, he couldn’t hold back his questions any more.

“Nuthea, what did Vorr mean when he said to you on top of the train ‘you’ve been helpful enough already by betraying your homeland’, anyway?”

Now Nuthea froze.

They all looked at her. 

She didn’t speak for a long time.

When she did, she said very quietly, “I didn’t think you’d heard that…” 

“No, I heard it,” said Ryn slowly. “How couldn’t I? He said it loud and clear. I just hadn’t had a moment to ask about it until now. What did he mean?”

Nuthea looked at the ground.

Ryn’s guts went suddenly cold, the heat vanishing as quickly as it had come. Slowly, a chill crept up from the base of his feet to the top of his head, gripping his heart tight on the way. Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. 

Stay with Nuthea?

He heard himself asking another question. “How did Vorr find out about the Jewels in the first place? It wasn’t just a coincidence that he attacked my town, was it?”

“No,” said Nuthea very quietly, still looking down. “He knew about the Fire Ruby before he attacked Cleasor.” 

“How?”

The cold was freezing fear in the pit of his stomach. 

“He knows because I told him.”

Shock tore through Ryn. His mouth fell open.

“Wh… what?”

Still Nuthea refused to meet his gaze. “He knows because I told him,” she said quietly through the tears that started to stream down her cheeks.

“Why? When? Where?”

The others stared at her from where they stood, stunned to silence. Even Sagar didn’t offer any comment, but seemed keen to hear whatever Nuthea had to say next.

Nuthea took a deep breath and brushed the water from her cheeks. It took her a little while, but eventually she started to tell them the tale. “There… there never was an undercover mission to Imfis… What happened was that I ran away from my homeland because I was due to be wed in an arranged marriage, and I didn’t want to be; I wanted to see the world and go on adventures. So I ran away, and disguised myself, and made my own way travelling. I got as far as Sirra, but one night I was staying at an inn there, and I met this man...”

A horrible premonition came into Ryn’s imagination.

“...he bought me some drinks,” Nuthea went on, “and somehow I let slip that I was a Manolian princess...”

“Why would you do that?” Ryn said.

“I don’t know!” Nuthea nearly started to sob again, then choked it back. “He was very charming, and he had a very flattering way of talking and I… I suppose I wanted to impress him… When I told him I was a princess he was very interested--”

“Course he was,” said Sagar.

“--he was very interested, and he started asking me things about my homeland and my people. And then… then he started asking me about the Primeval Jewels. Somehow he had heard of them, and he started to ask me what I knew, and I told him… I told him…”

Nuthea petered out as she looked back down at the ground. She didn’t seem able to bring herself to say whatever she had been going to say next.

“What did you tell him?” said Ryn. But he realised he already knew.

Nuthea raised her gaze to Ryn’s. Her lip quivered.

“I told him what I knew about the Jewels. I told him that the Lightning Crystal was in the Manolian capital and that the Fire Ruby was hidden in a small town in Efstan called Cleasor.”

Ryn reeled, and had to put his arms out to stop himself from falling over. The world had begun to spin. He felt himself sit down on the ground with a bump.

“I…” said Nuthea. “I’m sorry I lied to you. To you all.”

Nobody else spoke. They just watched Ryn.

“Say something, Ryn,” Nuthea implored him.

Ryn’s mind caught up with his body.

“Do you mean to tell me…” he said slowly, quietly. “Do you mean to tell me that the person responsible for the Morekemian Emperor finding out about the Jewels, for Vorr coming to my hometown to find the Fire Ruby, for the death of my mother, for the death of my father, for the destruction of my hometown and the death of everyone I’ve ever known is...you?”

“I’m sorry!” Nuthea burst out again. “I don’t know what came over me! I had been drinking wine, and Vorr is...Vorr is actually quite attractive when he’s not in his armour and you don’t know he’s an Imperial soldier… He must have been in there off duty, or on shore leave, or something, in his regular clothes. And he...he noticed me, and he was trying to...ingratiate himself with me... ”

The world was still spinning, and it span faster. Ryn’s stomach turned over; he worried he might be sick. “You mean you…?”

“No!” said Nuthea quickly. “No. But I did get to talking with him. After I told him who I was, and then about the Jewels, he overpowered me straight away and took me back to his airship, where he threw me in that cell. I’m sure he would have tortured me, but by that point he had already gotten out of me everything I knew. I’m...I’m so sorry, Ryn.”

The nausea receded a little, leaving only...cold.

“Ryn, I--”

“No, stop,” said Ryn. He stood up shakily. “Don’t waste your breath.” This was all too much. “I need to be by myself for a little while.”

He stumbled away from the group, down and round the side of the hill they were on. The whole time he walked he felt numb. And yet, underneath the numbness, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, Ryn was vaguely aware that something else was stirring in him, fighting to make itself known.

When he knew he had walked down and round enough of the hill to be out of sight of his companions, he sat down and wept.

The ocean of grief that had been sealed up inside of him burst forth all of a sudden, flooding him. He had had to keep it pressed down in order to escape the Empire, find a healer for Nuthea, sneak onto the train with the others, fight Vorr. He had not allowed himself to feel it fully. But now it had grown too much, and the grief broke its dam. He buried his face in the grass so that nobody would hear him, however far away they were, as it came out through his eyes in hot tears, through his chest in big, heaving sobs, through his mouth in muffled shouts of pain and anger at Vorr, at the Empire, at the world, at the fact that everyone he had ever known had been killed, but he alone had been left alive.

At Nuthea.

Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. 

Get away from Nuthea.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 15. Disembarking

Sat, 01 Apr 2023 09:55:00 GMT

PREVIOUSLY ON SAGA OF THE JEWELS:

Seventeen year old RYN’s hometown is attacked by General VORR of the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before he dies, Ryn’s father gives him a ruby, which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess NUTHEA, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain SAGAR, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit an engineer called ELRANN. Ast is then attacked by the Empire, who are using the Fire Ruby to invade the continent and search for more of the Jewels. Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann flee the city together, but are then attacked by a bounty hunter, VISH. They manage to subdue the bounty hunter but Nuthea is gravely wounded in the process. Ryn beats Sagar to the hunter’s mount and rushes Nuthea to the nearest town where he finds a healer, CID, a mysterious old man who saves the princess’s life with his arts and asks to join the traveling party, saying that he believes it is the purpose of ‘the One’, the god that he and Nuthea each worship. On leaving the town the party is pursued by an enormous dog-like monster driven by a troop of Imperial soldiers. The party manage to escape with the help of Vish, who fights on their side in exchange for Cid supplying his poppy-seed habit. Cid reveals that he was once a member of another adventuring party who set out to find the twelve Primeval Jewels, but failed. The party press on the capital city of Sirra, where they ambush some Imperial soldiers and steal their uniforms in order to sneak onto a sleeper train bound for Nuthea’s homeland. They make it aboard successfully, then go to sleep for the night…

“Wake up, men! Out of your bunks! Sun’s up! We’ll make Manolia in two hours!”

          Ryn opened his eyes to the grubby underside of the bunk above him which he saw through the visor of the helmet he was wearing. It took him a few moments to remember that he was posing as an Imperial soldier on a train bound for Manolia. In the instant after he registered all this, he realised he had slept without having a nightmare for the first time in many days.

          “Come on, up you get, maggots!” yelled the man outside again, outside their own compartment door now, banging on it so that it rattled noisily.

Hold on a moment, thought Ryn. I recognise that voice. Deep. Commanding. Superior.

Ryn got up and opened the door.

The General stood in his black armour, his flame-red hair on display, his gauntleted hand still suspended in the air from knocking on their door.

He hadn’t needed to have a nightmare in his sleep. His nightmare had come to his waking day.

Ryn just stood staring at him for a moment in surprise. 

Vorr raised an eyebrow in brazen nonchalance. “Good to see you up already, soldier.” A pause. “What is it? What do you want?”

Hot fury filled Ryn’s lungs. “To see you dead!” he shouted, and punched the general in the face.

Vorr staggered back and crashed into the wall behind him, clutching his nose. He was so big the whole carriage shook.

At the same moment Ryn became aware of what he had done, he also became aware that he didn’t care. He had acted purely on impulse, and blown their cover. But it didn’t matter. This was the reason he was on this journey. To find this man. To kill this man. No matter what Nuthea says about forgiveness...

Vorr was upright again, his hand away from his face. He had the beginnings of a bruise coming through under his eye, but no burn marks. Ryn’s hand had lit on fire when he had punched the general, but that hadn’t done anything. That’s right. He’s immune to fire.

The general stared at him, apoplectic. “Dissenter! Treachery!”

Ryn drew his sword and leapt at Vorr, swinging it wildly at his head.

Vorr got his arm up and the sword smashed into the black metal plate of the man’s armour, sending painful reverberations down Ryn’s arms.

Undeterred, Ryn drew back and threw strike after strike at the general, trying to catch him in the head.

But the huge man was also fast. Again and again, he got his arms up in the way of Ryn’s blows and they deflected uselessly off the black carapace, only making loud clangs and lighting a few sparks off them. 

And then Vorr caught Ryn’s hand.

Ryn yelped as pain lanced through his arm. The general twisted it down and around into an odd position. His sword clattered on the ground.

Ryn tried to light another fireball in his left hand, but the pain in his right arm was so great he couldn't focus properly to do it. He just ended up banging his left arm uselessly into Vorr’s side. The general didn’t even seem to notice.

“What are you doing, soldier?” Vorr snarled in Ryn’s face, so close now that Ryn could see the blood-red of his irises. “Are you a dissenter, or just a really terrible assassin?”

There were shouts coming from the compartment behind Ryn but he couldn’t make them out. Footsteps all around too--other soldiers flocking to the general’s side.

Ryn shut his eyes as Vorr shoved the fingers of his free hand into his visor-slit and yanked upwards. The helmet came off Ryn’s head.

Ryn opened his eyes and stared hatred at Vorr’s horrible round face.

“You again!” said Vorr. “The mongrel from Efstan, who turned up in Ast too! You are becoming very irritating. How did you infiltrate this train? Are there others with you?”

          Hatred prickled in Ryn’s lungs. The only thing he was afraid of was that he would die now without first being able to take revenge on this man who had killed his parents.

Instead of answering, he spat in Vorr’s face.

          Vorr saw it coming, and merely tilted his head to one side so that the globule of saliva went over his shoulder.

“You miserable little piece of poodoo,” said Vorr.

Ryn’s stomach flared with pain and the air rushed out of him. He fell backwards onto the floor as Vorr let go of him and curled up at once. Vorr had punched him hard in the gut. It hurt like all the hells, even through his armour. The general was so strong...

Vorr stood over him and his voice boomed out. “Everyone in this carriage, remove your helmets!”

From his place on the floor Ryn could only see Vorr’s black steel-capped boots, but he grimaced and scrunched his eyes up in expectation all the same. What have I done? I’ve given my friends away, and I didn’t even kill Vorr in the process...

“Come on!” Vorr bellowed into the compartment. “Do it! All of you!”

This is it…

Ryn was expecting a noise of surprise or rage from the general, but none came.

“Good,” said Vorr.

What?

Ryn dared to open his eyes and twist around a bit. Cid and Elrann had taken off their helmets. So had the two soldiers who had shared their compartment the night before. But Nuthea, Sagar and Vish were nowhere to be seen.

“If there are more of them and they are intelligent,” said Vorr, “they will have spread themselves throughout the train to avoid detection. I don’t know why this one gave himself away. I can’t imagine he really thought he could harm me. I am beginning to think he must be soft in the head.”

A tremendous pain bloomed in Ryn’s back and he skidded across the compartment wall, crashing into the far wall. This time Vorr had kicked him across the room. He moaned and lay prone, spasms of pain shooting up and down his spine.

“General, sir?” said one of the soldiers quiveringly. Tilbrook, from last night.

“What?” Vorr growled.

“There were two more soldiers in the compartment with us last night...and they...they never took off their helmets either…”

“WHAT? Why didn’t you challenge them?”

“I...I don’t know, sir… There was a Shadowfinger with them…”

“A Shadowfinger? Which one?”

“Shadowfinger Vish, general…”

Vorr went silent for a moment.

After a while he said, “You,” to someone. “I don’t recognise you. You’re a bit old to be serving with the 66th division, aren’t you?”

“No sir,” said Cid’s voice, remarkably calm. “Name’s Tarn. I’ve seen a good few tours in my time, and I’ve been transfered to the 66th because I wanted to see some more action in this one before I leave service. Beg your pardon, sir, but I’m not that much older than Valun here--”

“Shut up,” said Vorr, “I didn’t ask for your life story. Seargent Dirk!” Vorr called.

Hurried footsteps. “Yes sir?” A new voice.

“There are at least two interlopers aboard this train with bounties on their heads, and Shadowfinger Vish is here too. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I want them all found. Order all units to remove their helmets. I want these vermin rounded up now.”

“Sir yes sir!”

“GO!”

More hurried footsteps, that faded.

“You,” Vorr said to Cid, “with me, now. Bring the mongrel.”

          “Yes, sir,” said Cid.

          Cid drew his sword and gestured with it for Ryn to follow Vorr. “Walk, scumbag,” he said with convincing animosity, playing his part well. Gods, I hope he is playing a part. All of a sudden Ryn had a flash of doubt as to whether he could really trust Cid or not. Could he really trust any of his traveling companions? But no...Cid had healed him when he had nearly died. Cid had told them an elaborate story about trying to track down the Jewels with other people once before, with too many corroborating details for it be made up. Cid had been training him in swordfighting. Cid was on his side.

          Sure enough, as Cid marched him at swordpoint down the length of the train behind Vorr, who bellowed into each compartment they came to for everyone to take their helmets off, at one point he walked a little closer to Ryn and whispered, “Don’t worry; you had a momentary lapse in judgment, but we can get out of this. I’m sure the others will be back for us soon.”

Will they, or will they just leave me for being so stupid? Sagar won’t want to come back for me. Will Nuthea…?

“Just try to stay calm, and don’t say anything. If the general does you any serious damage, I can heal you later.”

          Serious damage? What did he mean by that?

Butterflies darted about manically in Ryn’s stomach and he began to tremble.

They went through a door into another carriage.

This one was different, open plan, not separated into compartments, and had red carpet and purple curtains. Inside, a number of the black-armoured soldiers sat on leather cushioned chairs, much more comfortable-looking than the benches in the other carriages. None of these soldiers were wearing their helmets, and they generally looked older--and larger--than the regular soldiers Ryn had encountered. Other officers, Ryn realised. Through the windows on either side of the carriage the landscape of Imfis--was it still Imfis?--streamed by in the brightening morning sunlight, now becoming increasingly hilly and mountainous.

“Ten-SHUN!” Vorr yelled to the assembled officers.

To a man, they all stopped whatever they were doing, shot up out of their seats and snapped into salutes, barely hiding confused frowns.

“At ease,” Vorr said. “Listen closely. I’ve found a rebel infiltrator on this train.” He inclined his head briefly towards Ryn. “He is jewel-touched, but only by the ruby, so he will not be able to hurt any of you. There was a bounty on his head because he challenged me once before in Imfis, and he was working with a Manolian girl and an Imfisi pirate, both jewel-touched too, by lightning and wind respectively.” More frowns rippled across the officers’ faces. “They may be on this train too.” The frowns deepened. “Sergeant Entra!”

“Yes sir!” said one of the nearest officers, snapping out another quick salute. This man had a sadistic glint in his eyes and a thick grey mustache.

“Take Fell and Buntz and search the train. Command all personnel to remove their helmets and join you in the search. The Manolian is undisguisably female. The Imfisi is blind in one eye, and has an air of moronic indolence. If they are on this train, they will not be able to conceal themselves for very long. If anyone runs, you will know you have found them. Bring me them alive, if you can.”

“Yes sir!” Sergeant Entra barked, and hurried off out of the carriage with two other men.

“Shadowfinger Elpis!” said Vorr.

“Yes sir!”

Even amidst his growing terror Ryn’s head rocked back with surprise at hearing the voice of a woman. From near the back of the carriage a figure stepped forward who he had not noticed until now, a figure wrapped all in black as Vish was, only shorter than Vish, and unmistakably a woman from her hips and bust. Her face did not give her away as such because she wore a mask, a mask with a grotesque feminine face painted on it--a wide-smiling caricature of a woman with rosy red cheeks and exaggerated eyelashes on a white enamel backdrop.

“I have been informed that Shadowfinger Vish is aboard this train as well,” Vorr said to the woman. “What he is doing here, I do not know. Find him and liase with him at once to find out what is going on. I suspect that he may have tracked the interlopers here undercover, only I found them first, but I need to be certain. Go now.”

“Yes, General Vorr,” said the woman. She picked up a rolled-up length of chain that had been on the floor next to where she had been sitting and walked out of the carriage the same way the three other officers had. As the Shadowfinger walked past Ryn, the air seemed to grow momentarily colder. A shiver ran up his spine.

That left about seven men in the carriage, looking at Vorr like a litter of nervous puppies.

“The rest of you, while I interrogate this whelp I want you to go over the Manolian invasion plan again and ensure that you have perfectly memorised every detail.” Ryn gulped. “We will no doubt find any remaining interlopers soon, and the operation will go ahead as planned. Be ready.”

“Yes, General Vorr!” the remaining officers chanted as one, giving him yet another flurry of salutes.

“Good,” said Vorr. “Get to it.” He signalled to Cid. “You. With me.”

Cid gently pushed Ryn after Vorr as the two of them followed him down the rest of the length of the carriage and through yet another door. This carriage was plush and comfortable like the previous one, with the same fancy carpet and curtains, but instead of seats or bunks it contained a series of small beds alongside each wall. There was another exit at the far end of this carriage.

As soon as the door had closed behind them Vorr grabbed Ryn by the arm and threw him onto the floor in the middle of the carriage. Ryn stumbled from the force of the throw and went down with a grunt, falling face-down on the carpet. His hand, his head and his back already all ached, but somehow he knew that the worst was yet to come. A cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he stared at the red carpet beneath him.

“You, soldier, stand guard outside the door,” Vorr said to Cid. “Don’t admit anyone unless they have news of the Shadowfinger or any other rebels being discovered.”

“Yes sir,” Ryn heard Cid say, before the sound of the door clicking open and shut again.

Vorr said nothing for a moment.

Chukkachukkachukkachukkachukka.

Then Ryn became aware of the sound of Vorr’s breathing. It was deep, coming from the general’s nostrils, and so loud that he could even hear it over the sound of the traveling train. The breaths were getting louder still, and slightly faster, and now closer, as Vorr stepped nearer and stood over Ryn.

“I’m going to ask you again,” Vorr said slowly and deliberately, like he was holding back strong emotion. “Are you alone, or are your companions from Ast with you?”

What do I tell him? Ryn thought as he stared into the red carpet. I don’t even know where they are now. They might have run away. But should I admit that they were on the train at all? He as good as knows that already... But no...if there’s a chance they can get away I shouldn’t confirm that for him. Mother. Father. Hometown. Nuthea. I found Vorr. I tried to kill Vorr. I failed. Damn him.

Ryn flipped himself round and sat up. He looked up at the huge, looming figure of Vorr, this man who had killed his parents and destroyed his hometown, the man whom he hated so much. The general was still breathing heavily, but his massive jaw was set in a tight line in his stupid round face underneath his bright red hair. There was something burning in his eyes--anger, maybe, or hatred, or...lust of some kind? Ryn wavered for a moment.

But then he said “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” with a defiant smile.

“ARGH--!” 

Ryn lost a brief moment of consciousness. Then he became aware that he was now lying a couple of paces away on his back. The shout he had just heard caught up to him, and at first he thought it had been his own, but then he realised it had been a shout of fury from Vorr.

Then the pain set in. He had been numb with shock for a moment, but now a terrible pain screamed from his mouth and nose. He instinctively felt for his front teeth with his tongue. A couple were missing, and others were broken.

Vorr must have kicked him in the face so hard that he had blacked out for a moment...the pain was so bad he could barely think over it…

Vorr was crouching over him. “Did you come alone or with others?” he said calmly and deliberately again. “How did you get on board this train? Tell me now or I will break your fingers one by one.”

Ryn could barely hear his own terrified thoughts through the agony of his mouth and nose. I should just give in… Tell him…

When he hesitated, Ryn felt Vorr pull off one of his Imperial gloves and take hold of one of his fingers.

“No, please!” Ryn just had time to squeal.

A snapping sound.

An ecstasy of white-hot pain flooded Ryn’s being, flowing up from his finger and joining with the wells of pain already leaking from his mouth, nose, and back. He heard himself screaming somewhere, but he heard it as something happening to someone far away, on the other side of the pain.

The initial flash of pain receded just a little, quietening ever so slightly, and Ryn heard himself pleading with Vorr in a manic squeal.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell you! Please don’t break any more of my fingers! I know as much as you! My two friends were with me in the carriage, but they got away when I attacked you! I don’t know where though! I don’t know where they’ve gone!”

“Good,” said Vorr. “That is more like it. I may consider stopping torturing you now. If you keep talking.”

Oh thank the gods, Ryn managed to think in the sea of pain. Thank Imkala. Thank Edres. Thank Yntrik. Thank all the gods. Thank the One!

“On the other hand, I’m rather enjoying myself, and we’ve started now, so why not carry on?”

Snap.

The whole world was pain. Ryn screamed again, and kept on screaming.   

“Tell me more,” said Vorr’s voice somewhere in the pain. “That’s not enough. How did you join up with the jewel-touched pirate? Are there any more of you? Where would the wench and the pirate have gone? Tell me! Tell me now!”

Snap.

Pain, pain, so much pain. Pain like a tidal wave crashing over him; almost enough pain to make him pass out.

Just tell him, just speak, say something, maybe he will stop breaking your fingers!

“We just found him!” Ryn squeaked when the first wave had passed over him. “We landed on his ship when we fell out of yours! Nuthea says it was the One, but it could have just been pure luck! And I don’t know where they’ve gone! I wasn’t meant to attack you, I just did it on impulse, so they’ve probably run away! They could be anywhere; they could have jumped off the train by now and left me!”

“Unlikely,” said Vorr’s voice from somewhere. “They would injure themselves jumping onto land from a moving train. Though the pirate does have wind-projection... What about others? Are there any others with you?”

In the storm of pain, Ryn searched through his mind for something to cling to. Could he afford to tell the general about Elrann, Vish and Cid? Anything that might have the smallest chance of stopping this pain, or slowing it down… Cid was jewel-touched too. That might be important… And Vish seemed to have turned traitor to the Empire… Was it worth revealing that?

When he hesitated again, Vorr snapped another one of his fingers.

“Aaaaaarggggghhh!”

“Are there others with you?” Vorr bellowed. “Are there others? Tell me!”

Ryn broke his limit.

A strange tingling sensation joined the pain for a moment, mixing with it, spreading from his heart out through his whole body, to his head, to his feet, to the tips of his mangled fingers.

He opened his eyes, which had been scrunched shut in agony, and realised that he was on fire.

In his desperation, he had somehow inadvertently lit his whole body on fire.

He looked up at Vorr through his new aura of flickering orange. The general was still crouched over him, holding one of his hands.

“FIREBURST!” Ryn shouted, and this time flames leapt straight from his mouth.

The flames flew into Vorr’s face…

...but merely dissipated when they hit it, without any effect.

Vorr blinked a couple of times and leaned in closer so they were face to face.

“You stupid mutt,” Vorr said right in his face. “I can see you’ve been practicing. But that’s not going to work on me, remember? How many times do you need to be reminded of thiis? I am ruby-touched too, as are all my officers now. I have fire-projection just like you, and fire cannot harm me.”

As if Ryn thought that it would. As if Ryn was acting rationally, out of anything other than primal survival instinct.

Vorr’s face receded, and then he kicked Ryn in the stomach again, sending him skidding across the floor and into the side of one of the beds.

Something in Ryn’s chest stuck out at a weird angle and his fingers raged at him when he automatically put them out to steady himself. The pain had reached a new intensity he had never imagined possible. He felt his attention starting to move in and out of focus--he was going to pass out. Either that or Vorr was going to kill him first.

“Are there others with you?” Vorr shouted again, emphasising every other word like Ryn was an idiot. “Do you know of the locations of any more of the Jewels? Why are you on a train bound for Manolia? Tell me, you pathetic piece of poodoo! Tell me or I will break every single one of your fingers and toes! Tell me or I will cut them off and make you eat them!”

Just pain. And the fear of even more of it. And the shame that he knew he couldn’t hold out for much longer and that soon he would tell the general everything.

“WHAT IS IT?” Ryn heard Vorr yell.

Vorr was striding over to the door of the carriage. Someone had knocked on it. He heard Vorr open the door. Ryn could just about make out their conversation through the noise of his pain.

“What? I am busy.”

“My apologies, general, but you said to let you know if there were any developments.”

Cid? 

“Well, what is it? Spit it out, godsdamn you, soldier.”

“It’s the Shadowfingers, sir. They’ve caught the other infiltrators.”

No...

“Already? Why didn’t you say so straight away? Let them in, you fool!”

“Yes sir.”

Even though it hurt to move, Ryn managed to roll over a little onto his side so that he could look at the door.

Cid stood aside, and in came Vish and the other lady Shadowfinger followed by an un-helmeted Sagar and Nuthea. Ryn’s tired, overworked heart still leapt a little in his chest when he saw her. Sagar and Nuthea were marched in by two more soldiers who held swordpoints to the back of their necks to stop them trying anything--the younger of the two they had met last night and...Elrann.

What in all the hells? Has Elrann betrayed us now too? Or is Vish planning something?

          “Shut the door, solider,” Vorr commanded, and Cid did so, still on this side of it.

          The new arrivals walked in and fanned out in front of Vorr in what space there was between the beds. They were somewhat obscured by Vorr himself, but Ryn saw Nuthea’s eyes flick down to him in concern, then back up to Vorr, whom she regarded with tight-lipped rigidity. Sagar, unusually, wore nearly the same tense expression. They didn’t look like they had a plan, Ryn had to think amidst the terrible pain. Maybe he should just give up and die now.

“General Vorr.” Vish was the first to speak, in his exotic, guttural tones.

“Shadowfinger Vish,” acknowledged Vorr. He and Vish addressed each other almost as...equals? “Congratulations. I see that you have made good on your latest bounty...with a little help from me, it would seem.” He gestured with a hand towards Ryn. “You will be rewarded accordingly with poppy seed.”

Vish’s eyes stretched in size for the briefest of instants. Ryn had to close his own eyes again for a moment in response to a particularly strong throb of pain from his fingers. He didn’t want to whimper in front of Nuthea, so he bit down on his tongue.

“Thank you, General,” said Vish.

“I must say though, Shadowfinger,” Vorr went on, “that I am a little confused as to why it is only here and now that you have managed to unmask and bring in these rebels.” There was something off about Vorr’s voice, but Ryn couldn’t place it. It had taken on a sinister note, even more so than usual. Was he really confused, like he said, or was there something else going on?

“Oh?” said Vish. Ryn couldn’t read his expression underneath his headscarf, but this time his grey eyes stayed level. “What are you confused about, General?”

“If you knew that the rebels were on this train, why did you not inform me, either of this, or that you were on it too?”

The briefest of hesitations. Then Vish said, “Simple, General. I had tracked the three targets to Sirra, but temporarily lost them when they disguised themselves and infiltrated this train. I was fairly sure I had the right people, but I was biding my time to make absolutely sure, and to see what they were up to. When that boy over there revealed himself, I knew I had them. So here they are for you.”

“Ingenious,” said Vorr, lingering over the word. “Well, your story makes sense. Congratulations, again, Shadowfinger.” His hand went to one of a number of small pouches affixed to his belt, popped it open, and drew something out, holding it up in front of himself.

Vish’s eyes went wide again, and stayed that way.

“Here’s your poppy seed in reward,” said Vorr. “One now, and two more later, seeing as you brought in three targets. Although really I was the one who apprehended the first one, so I’m being more than generous.”

Ryn could see the longing in Vish’s eyes.

Come on Vish! he willed through his pain. He hadn’t seen this coming. Cid has plenty of poppy! We can give you poppy! If you’re planning something, don’t give in now!

“I…” said Vish. “I am grateful, General.”

The Shadowfinger stepped forwards to take the poppy.

No!

When he stepped within reach, Vorr grabbed Vish by the throat with one hand. Nuthea and Sagar gasped.

Vish’s hands flew to his neck at once to try to prise Vorr’s hand off. But it was no use; the gauntleted fingers fixed tightly around his throat. Vorr lifted him off the ground with one hand and held him aloft. Vish started to wheeze and choke, his legs kicking frantically as he pulled at Vorr’s hand with no success.

“Pitiful darkie,” Vorr said. “I don’t know why the Emperor values you so much. How did they get you? Did they offer you a better poppy supply, somehow? Nobody has more poppy than us. The seeds are always your weakness.” He looked past Vish. “Soldiers, kill the hostages.”

“N-now!” Vish managed to croak from within Vorr’s grip. “Do it now!”

Chaos erupted.

A gust of air billowed through the carriage. Sagar, Ryn thought briefly, before he was flipped over onto his front. He screamed as the pain in his hand and back spiked again.

Shouts and battle cries and the sound of pistols discharging and the ring of steel on steel.

And then he was on his back again, another flare of pain exploding through his body.

Cid’s face swam into his failing vision amidst dancing white spots.

“...is bad,” Cid was saying, kneeling next to him. “Really bad. I’m going to have to use a lot of mana to heal you. Hold on.”

Cid placed one hand on Ryn’s chest, cradled Ryn’s broken fingers with the other, and closed his eyes. Another shock of pain, and Ryn screamed again. He was sure that this one was going to tip him over into unconsciousness, or worse--

“Cura!”

--but then the heat of the pain transformed all of a sudden, and became a cool, soothing sensation that started in his hand and chest and spread slowly through the rest of him. Ryn’s fingers moved back into joint and went straight and normal again. He felt his teeth regrow and move back into place.

The pain departed.

He sighed, freed from the agony he had been trapped in, utterly relieved, and opened his eyes.

Cid was panting. “Come on lad,” he said. “You’re needed.”

Ryn wasted no time. He let Cid pull him up, then looked around at the battle that had begun.

Vorr had been blown to the far end of the carriage, but was back on his feet and had his huge sword drawn, shouting in fury and swinging it in massive deadly arcs at Sagar, who had his twin cutlasses out, and Nuthea, who knew how to handle the Imperial sword she carried too, Ryn was surprised to see.

On the other side of them, near the entrance of the carriage, Vish and Elrann were locked in a similar dance with the female Shadowfinger. Vish’s black sword flashed this way and that, and Elrann flicked her whip out in vicious snaps, but the Shadowfinger dodged and jumped and twirled to avoid each blow, and each time brought her chained mace of spikes around in reply, forcing Vish and Elrann to dodge out of the way themselves.

On the floor next to them lay Tilbrook, eyes staring at nothing, blood leaking from his mouth. He was only a boy. Barely older than me.

Ryn made his choice, and pelted towards the far end of the carriage where Sagar and Nuthea were fighting Vorr, familiar hatred for the Empire and the General spreading like heat from his chest. It wasn’t really a choice at all. Kill Vorr.

He saw a gap in the melee as Sagar used another smaller gust of wind to push Vorr back again and, his reserves replenished by Cid’s magic, flung a fireball directly at the general.

It hit him in the chest, but then dissipated into nothing.

“Get back, pup!” Sagar said. “We don’t need you here! Go help the girl and the scumsucker! Don’t you remember he’s impervious to fire attacks?”

Oh yeah. In his sudden thrill at being healed by Cid and back on his feet again, Ryn had completely forgotten that for a moment. Again. Stupid…

“Elpis!” roared Vorr all of a sudden through the momentary lull in the fighting. “Call for reinforcements, damn you!”

Ryn spun to see the lady Shadowfinger leap away from Vish and Elrann in two elegant hops, twisting in the air as she did so, and land by the door. She dashed through it, and the opened door bounced off the wall and shut again with a clang.

Distant shouts.

They all stood blankly watching the door for a moment, blinking in surprise at what had just happened. She had moved so fast.

A rumble.

And then the door to the carriage burst open, and in flew the Shadowfinger again, followed by the armoured Imperial officers Ryn had seen earlier, followed by soldier after soldier after soldier, swarming into the carriage like a stampede of giant ants.

“Poodoo!” yelled Sagar, still trading strikes with Vorr. “Run!”

Vish and Elrann didn’t need telling twice.

But Ryn did, frozen as he was in place by shock and his desire to see Vorr dead.

“Come on, Ryn!” Nuthea said, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him after her, away from the oncoming soldiers.

Sagar motioned with his hand and yelled something, and another massive gust of wind pushed Vorr out of their path, slamming him into a window, leaving a spiderweb of cracks. Elrann unloaded a shot at him as she passed, and sparks flew from his chestplate. It wouldn’t have wounded him, Ryn knew, but it kept him there a little longer as they dashed past.

Ryn felt a pang of regret that he was running away from Vorr again as he forced himself to look away. But he had realised at last that he wasn’t going to kill the General today. Run Ryn, run away, live to fight another day, live to find Vorr again and make him pay.

Thank the gods there was another door at the other end of the carriage. Sagar got to it first and kicked it open.

They piled after him out of it. But where Ryn had expected the door to lead straight into another carriage, instead it opened up to a small exterior platform built onto the outside of the train.

They skidded to a halt on the miniature platform, stumbling and holding onto each other to stop themselves falling off it with their momentum. Rushing air and green hills lit by morning sunshine greeted them.

Elrann, last out, slammed the door behind her and shoved her sheathed Imperial sword through its handle to prevent it from being opened.

Almost immediately something slammed into the door from the other side and it came open slightly, but stopped when it met the resistance of the weapon.

Shouting. It would probably hold for a little while, but not long.

“What now?” said Ryn desperately.

A few feet in front of them, on the other side of the platform was another carriage, only this one was smaller, and round, with a big pipe coming out of it blowing steam into the air.

“In there?” said Nuthea.

“That’s the driver’s carriage,” said Cid.

“No,” said Sagar, “we’ll just be cornered in there. Up.”

He pointed.

Behind them, next to the door that Elrann had wedged shut, a ladder.

Sagar shoved Nuthea forwards so that she went up first, then he followed, then Cid, then Elrann, then Ryn with Vish behind him.

It was even windier on top of the train. The rushing air made Ryn’s hair fly around his head. The roofs of the box-like carriages were flat, though, so they could walk on them.

As Ryn stepped out onto the roof of the carriage they had just been inside he heard snapping metal below, and shouts.

“Where have they gone?”

“Up there! Up on the roof!”

Ryn ran along the top of the carriage with the others. He could hear soldiers calling after them already.

When they got to the first gap between the roof they were on and the roof of the next carriage, only a couple of metres, they jumped it, and kept running. They kept on like this, dashing across the train-top and vaulting the spaces between the carriages.

But, Ryn thought, what’s our end game here? How are we going to get off this train?

And then he saw the black-armoured soldiers in front of them climbing up onto the roof of the rearmost carriage of the train about eight carriages away in the distance.

They were going to be caught from both sides.

“Halt!” yelled Vish to everyone. “Form up! Stand ground!”

He had used unfamiliar language, but everyone seemed to instinctively understand what he meant and obeyed him. They all stopped in the middle of the roof of the carriage they were currently on and intuitively arranged themselves so that they were back to back in pairs, three of them facing the back of the train, three of them the front.

Ryn stood back to back with Vish, alongside Nuthea and Sagar facing the same way to either side of him, who were back to back with Elrann and Cid respectively, and watched the approaching stream of helmet-less soldiers coming towards them over the top of the train. They were three carriages away.

Swordless, he clenched his fists, readying himself to throw fire. Have the regular soldiers been ruby-touched as well, or just the officers? There’s only one way to find out…

“I’m not sure we can win this,” he thought aloud.

“Quiet, pup!” Sagar snapped. The soldiers were two carriages away now; Ryn could see their snarls and the battlelust in their eyes. “We’re going to try anyway. Don’t forget, we’ve still got our elemental projection, and old timer back there can heal us if we need it.”

“And now that we’re outside, I can use my lightning,” said Nuthea.

A crackle, and the hair on the back of Ryn’s stood on end.

The oncoming soldiers cleared the gap onto their carriage. They charged the last steps towards the party, swords drawn, shouting curses and battlecries. Ryn could see the spittle flying from their mouths.

Here goes nothing.

The closest one had his blade raised to strike.

“FIRA!” shouted Ryn, thrusting out his palms and willing the flames forwards.

Burning orange leapt from his hands in a blast that engulfed the charging soldiers. Their shouts turned to screams.

In the same moment, Sagar shouted “WINDARA!” next to him.

An instant after the flames appeared, a huge gust of wind blew from the side across the top of the carriage with a howling shriek, making Ryn wobble even though he hadn’t caught the full force of it.

The gust blew Ryn’s flames away and to the side, off the top of the train, and they dissipated into nothing.

At the same time, the gust took most of the soldiers with it, knocking them off the train.

They flew off the roof, still screaming, some still on fire from Ryn’s attack, like crumbs being brushed from a tablecloth.

Ryn winced as the screams were cut short by the crunches of the soldiers hitting the passing landscape beneath them.

He turned, panting, to Sagar. “Hey, what are you doing?! Your attack got in the way of mine!”

The pirate was panting too. He scowled at Ryn with his good eye. “Well it worked, didn’t it? I didn’t know if your fire was going to have any effect on the soldiers--it doesn’t on Vorr.”

Behind them Ryn heard the sound of Elrann’s pistols discharging as she, Vish and Cid met the wave of soldiers that crashed on them from the other direction.

“Well it clearly does,” Ryn snapped back, irritated. “It must be just the Officers that they’ve touched with the ruby, not the common soldiers.”

“Um, boys…” said Nuthea.

Ryn and Sagar looked up from their argument, ignoring the sounds of Elrann, Vish and Cid still fighting behind them.

In front of them, at the other end of the carriage roof, stood four helmet-less Imperial officers and the lady Shadowfinger, all flanking, at their head, General Vorr.

Ryn’s heart skipped a beat.

He needed to kill this man, but for the moment he was depleted, and he had realised that he still wasn’t strong enough to kill him yet. He needed more time. That meant he needed to survive this battle somehow. He also wanted his friends to survive. Even Sagar.

“Ok, we need to coordinate our attacks this time…” he said quietly to Sagar and Nuthea, hoping that Vorr couldn’t hear.

“I’m not sure how much mana I’ve got left,” said Sagar. A sliding of metal as he drew his twin blades.

Ryn wished he hadn’t lost his Imperial sword.

“Don’t worry,” said Nuthea unexpectedly. “I’ve still got my lightning projection. I’m not sure Vorr’s remembered that.”

“I’m not sure that’s the sort of thing he would forget…” said Ryn.

Something was wrong. Vorr had his own huge blade drawn too, but he wasn’t coming forwards to use it. Yet. His jaw was set and his brows creased in a deep frown. He looked thoroughly pissed off.

“Rebel filth,” Vorr said calmly, as if he was addressing them by a formal title. “I don’t know how you managed to turn a Shadowfinger to your cause, or why you keep popping up at inopportune moments, but I’ve had enough of you. By killing you I’ll be ridding myself of a nuisance and saving the Empire the money we would have had to pay out for your bounty.”

He took a step towards them.

“Stop right there, Vorr!” yelled Nuthea, and he did. “We’re outside now, and I can use my gift!” Why is she telling him that? Oh right, her stupid ‘no killing’ rule… She wants to give him a chance…. “One step closer and I’ll electrocute you all where you stand!”

There was some shuffling behind them, but Ryn kept his eyes forwards, on Vorr.

“Right,” said Elrann from behind, “we’ve taken care of the soldiers on our side. Well, Vish took care of them, mainly. What did we miss? Oh…”

Vorr was still frowning at them grimly, moving his teeth from side to side like he was pondering something. But then his frown cracked and became a menacing smile. “Don’t threaten me, witch!” he called back to Nuthea. “You don’t know as much as you think you do. You’ve served your purpose and helped the Empire enough already by betraying your homeland.” What? “It’s time for you to die now.”

His words were threatening, but he stayed where he was for the moment. Beyond him and to either side of the train, the green hills of whatever country they were currently traveling through rolled by. What did he mean Nuthea ‘betrayed her homeland’?

“He’s bluffing…” said Sagar, quietly enough so that only they could hear. At least Ryn hoped that Vorr and the officers couldn’t hear him over the rush of the train and the wind.

“I’m not so sure…” said Cid from behind them.

“Er, guys, what’s the plan here?” said Elrann nervously.

“If he takes one step,” said Sagar, “hit him with everything you’ve got, princess.”

“No,” said Cid. “Listen to me, there’s no time to explain now, but that’s really not a good plan. We need a different one. Look, in the distance: the train’s about to pass alongside a fast-flowing river. When I give the signal, everybody jump.”

“What?” said Sagar. “Are you mad, old timer?”

I don’t know how to swim, Ryn just had time to think.

“Enough stalling!” shouted Vorr.

He ran towards them with a battle roar, the officers and Shadowfinger following fast.

“BOLTAGA!” shouted Nuthea at the top of her lungs.

A crack, and bright white lightning leapt from her outstretched fingertips, lancing into the Imperials. More lightning than Ryn had ever seen her summon before danced from her hands for a heartbeat, two, three, crackling and shifting and jumping between the Imperial officers, lighting up their faces, wide-eyed with shock. They cried out, presumably in pain.

And then the lightning subsided.

Steam hissed from the officers and Shadowfinger and their shouts died away.

But they were all still standing.

“How…?” murmured Nuthea.

Vorr looked down at himself, apparently as surprised as she was.

“Ha,” he chortled, sounding half-disbelieving. And then another chortle came, and another, and his laughter grew and grew until it poured forth freely. “Ha. Haha. Hahahahahahaha!”

He looked up at them again, and stopped laughing.

“KILL THEM!” he roared.

Vorr and the officers came on, swords raised high to strike.

Just beyond them, Ryn glimpsed a ribbon of blue that the train was coming towards.

“Now!” shouted Cid. “Quick, jump!”

Without thinking, Ryn grabbed Nuthea’s hand and jumped with her over the side of the carriage.

Rushing free-fall and a fluttering stomach.

They hit the water with a chilling splash.

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Episode 14: The Midnight Manolia Express

Sun, 05 Mar 2023 08:38:47 GMT

Previously on Saga of the Jewels…

Seventeen year old Ryn’s hometown is attacked by General Vorr of the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before he dies, Ryn’s father gives him a ruby, which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess Nuthea, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain Sagar, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit an engineer called Elrann. Ast is then attacked by the Empire, who are using the Fire Ruby to invade the continent and search for more of the Jewels. Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann flee the city together, but are then attacked by a bounty hunter, Vish. They manage to subdue the bounty hunter but Nuthea is gravely wounded in the process. Ryn beats Sagar to the hunter’s mount and rushes Nuthea to the nearest town where he finds a healer, Cid, a mysterious old man who saves the princess’s life with his arts and asks to join the traveling party, saying that he believes it is the purpose of ‘the One’, the god that he and Nuthea each worship. On leaving the town the party is pursued by an enormous dog-like monster driven by a troop of Imperial soldiers. The party manage to escape with the help of Vish, who fights on their side in exchange for Cid supplying his poppy-seed habit. Cid reveals that he was once a member of another adventuring party who set out to find the twelve Primeval Jewels, but failed. The party now press on towards the next stop on their journey, the capital city of Sirra, where they ambush some Imperial soldiers and steal their uniforms in order to try to sneak onto a train bound for Manolia…

“Alright chumps, so here’s the plan,” said Sagar.

They stood in their stolen Imperial armour looking at the large, dirty, blocky building that was Sirra Station from a nearby street. A huge round clock adorned the front of it. Both of the long black hands had almost reached the number twelve, though the longer still had ten more minutes to traverse until it got there. It was dark. To either side of the station building ran tall, spiked, iron fences.

Five of them had waited here while Sagar had gone inside the station once already to carry out reconnaissance.

“Basically,” Sagar continued, “we can get on a train that will take us right to the border of Manolia. There’s an express sleeper train heading there leaving very soon, at midnight. They’re taking troops down there to amass a land invasion force.”

“Why don’t they just invade by airship,” Ryn asked, “like they did here?”

“Because of our lightning projection,” Nuthea explained.

“Huh?” said Ryn.

“We can blow airships out of the sky with lightning bolts,” Nuthea said proudly. “Land forces are harder.” 

“In any case,” said Sagar, “we need to be on that train. So what we’re going to do is go through the front entrance, find the correct train, and board it, as though we’re part of the invasion force that is being transported there.”

“That’s your plan?!” said Elrann.

“Yes.”

“So the plan is basically: We walk onto the train?”

“Yes.” 

“You’re an idiot.”

Sagar’s mouth twitched. “Rrrr. It’s a fine plan! We’re in Imperial armour, aren’t we? Nobody will know who we are.”

“Stop bickering,” said Nuthea, apparently now familiar enough with both Sagar and Elrann to reprimand them like this. “It’s the best plan we’ve got, and our mission is urgent. Come on; it’s nearly time.” She drew a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

Ryn walked towards the station with the others.

He went through one of the entrance doors, his whole body tense, hyper-aware of his every movement in his Imperial armour disguise. 

The helmet, while not heavy, had grown stuffy, and he could feel his own shallow breaths on the front of his face. While it offered him some protection from head-wounds and discovery, it also obscured his vision to a horizontal slit that disappeared into darkness at either side, so that he had to turn his head if he wanted to see into his periphery. 

The inside of Sirra’s Main Station was massive. The high ceiling sloped up into the pointed roof they had seen from the outside, from which hung lanterns on chains, lighting the lobby with a white glow. 

At the far end, a series of desks broke up metal barriers at intervals which barred the way to different doors and passages that Sagar had told them led to the different ‘platforms’. Across the stone floor, to and from these barriers, walked soldiers in the same armour as they were wearing, like a self-organising colony of black-shelled worker ants. 

“Pssst. Ryn,” whispered Cid next to him. “Don’t lose your focus.” 

Ryn shook his head briefly and concentrated on walking with the group again. He had allowed himself to be distracted for a moment by the sheer number of Imperial soldiers in the station and veer off course slightly. It was extremely important that none of them lost sight of each other, as they all looked like Imperial soldiers now and wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between each other if they got separated. 

Although Ryn fancied he’d still be able to tell Nuthea a mile off. She walked in front of him now, her head held high, something very slightly out of place about the way she tried to keep her gait graceful and soft-footed despite the clunky armour she was in—despite her disguise, she was still trying to walk like royalty.

Gods, I hope nobody sees through us, Ryn thought, though he didn’t know why he was still addressing his thoughts to the gods. Especially Nuthea. You can take the princess out of the palace, but you can’t take the palace out of the princess.

Of their party, Vish alone wasn’t wearing armour, though his black attire didn’t seem to attract any unwanted attention from the Morekemians. If anything, the soldiers seemed to give Vish a slightly wide berth. Apparently Shadowfingers were people to be avoided, or at least not gotten too close to. That could be to their advantage. 

Sagar led them to the clerk’s desk for platform four, which he’d told them he’d found out was the one with the train bound for Manolia. They took their place in a queue for it and shuffled along a few paces every time another soldier got clearance and went through the barrier. 

Ryn tried as hard as he could to slow and deepen his rapid, shallow breaths. 

When they got to the front of the line, the armoured grunt behind the desk said “Destination?” without looking up from the papers in front of him.

“Manolia,” said Sagar. 

“Unit?” said the grunt. 

A pause. 

“Er…” said Sagar. 

Panic gripped Ryn’s chest. Apparently Sagar hadn’t known this was coming, or thought this far ahead… 

The grunt looked up from his desk. Ryn could see the man’s gray eyes through his horizontal helmet-visor, and they narrowed. 

“What unit are you with, soldier? It’s a simple question.” 

What do we do? What do we do? 

“They’re with me,” said Vish all of a sudden. “They’re serving as my retinue for a mission.” The grunt turned his head, then practically jumped out of his seat. 

“Oh! My apologies, Shadowfinger Vish, I didn’t see you there! No wonder you didn’t answer,” he said to Sagar. “Please, come right through.” He pulled a lever on his side of the desk and the metal barrier in front of them swung up. 

Ryn had to make a concerted effort not to run through. They passed under the barrier and into the walled corridor beyond. 

When they had gone a few steps, Ryn whispered “That was lucky,” to Sagar. “Did you know that was going to happen?” 

“Be quiet, pup,” Sagar hissed back. “I had everything under control.”

“It’s a good thing we had the bounty hunter with us,” whispered Elrann. 

Sagar made no reply. 

The corridor opened onto a dark, dusty platform. All along it stood a series of conjoined rectangular steel boxes with multiple glass windows set into them. So this is a train. They followed the stream of soldiers on board. 

It was cramped inside the train, and Ryn suddenly became very worried that he was going to lose sight of his companions in the crush of soldiers. A soldier with his helmet off stood just inside the door they entered by, bellowing at the new arrivals as they boarded. 

“Keep it moving, soldiers!” he yelled at Ryn and company when they passed him, spittle flying from his mouth, a vein throbbing on the temple of his fat, close-shaven head. “We haven’t got all night! We need to be in Manolia by dawn! Train leaves in five minutes! Eight to a compartment! Get on with it!” 

Hang on, eight to a compartment?! But we’re only six! Ryn’s pulse began to pound between his ears as he walked down the narrow walkway that ran the length of the train, passing closed metal doors. 

That was still Sagar walking in front of him, he was sure of it, and—he glanced quickly over his shoulder—there was Vish just behind him. But where were the others? Were they still following? And how were they going to make sure they all ended up in the same compartment without two extra random soldiers joining them? 

We didn’t properly think through what we were going to do when we actually got to our destination! Sagar had just said something vague about sneaking away from the Imperials when they got to Manolia, just like they were sneaking onto the train. But how was that going to be possible?

Before Ryn could panic any further, suddenly Sagar turned off to the right, through the first open door he had come to. Ryn followed him.

Inside was a small room with two cushioned benches that faced each other from either wall. Between them on the far side of the compartment ran another wall with a window looking out onto the dimness of the station platform.

Following Sagar’s lead, Ryn went and sat on one of the benches next to him. They watched the door carefully. In came Vish, who sat at the end of the opposite bench. That makes three. Then more soldiers entered. Four, five, six…seven! Eight! Ohcrapohcrapohcrap. 

The last soldier in shut the door behind him. “Phew!” he exclaimed in a voice Ryn didn’t recognise. He collapsed onto the bench opposite Ryn. “It’s bad enough that they fly us non-stop to Imfis without any breaks and barely any rations, but then they frog march us to the station as soon as we get here! I need some sleep!” 

The soldier took off his helmet and rested it on his knee. He had a friendly, grinning face and a mop of thick, brown hair. He was young--maybe in his early twenties. Ryn found that he liked the man immediately, which confused him. 

“Ah, quit your whining, Tillbrook,” said the soldier whom he had sat next to. This one took off his helmet too. A somewhat older, more weathered-looking man with graying hair, a hooked nose, and a big scar along one cheek. “This is nothing. In the Umbar campaign I once flew for two days straight without anything to eat, then got dropped directly into combat. At least here we’re getting a run-up.” He looked at Ryn sat on the bench across from him. “Aren’t you going to take your helmet off? We’re off duty now, ya know.”

Not wanting to appear out of the ordinary, Ryn lifted his hands to remove his helmet, but then Sagar elbowed him in the side. 

Oh yeah, that’s right. Three of us have bounties on our heads. Ryn’s cheeks blushed hot and all of a sudden he was very glad that he was wearing the helmet. 

“We prefer to keep them on,” Sagar said.

The older soldier frowned at him. “What in the hells for?”

Uh-oh.

“Because they’re with me,” said Vish, from further along the bench the soldiers were sitting on. 

The soldiers each turned to look at who had spoken, then jolted with surprise.

“A Shadowfinger!” said the younger one.

“I thought you were all chasing a bounty in Northern Imfis?” said the older.

“We were,” said Vish, “but I completed on it, and now I’ve been redeployed to Manolia on a classified mission. These three are serving as my retinue, but they must keep their helmets on at all times. No questions asked.”

The soldiers looked at each other for a moment, then the older one shrugged. “Suit yourselves, then.”

Ryn’s shoulders relaxed a little. It seemed that Vish carried enough authority that this wasn’t going to be queried any further. 

Just then a high pitched whistle sounded and the train began to strain forwards slowly. The platform began to scroll past through the windows. Outside, the pistons turning the wheels of the train began to pound out an increasingly fast rhythm. 

In moments they were out of the station, moving through the white buildings of Sirra which glinted in moon- and lantern-light, and before long they were again traversing the darkness of the Imfisi plains that Sirra sat within. Only now they weren’t just walking across them; now they were traveling much faster than they had been before.

“Well,” said the younger soldier, “I’m completely beat. Do you guys mind if we get some sleep?”

“Good idea,” said Vish for the rest of them.

The two unhelmeted soldiers stood and pulled down another bench Ryn hadn’t realised was built into the wall above the one they had been sitting on. It folded out of the wall and hung suspended from it by two chains at either end. He, Sagar and whoever else was sitting at his side--Nuthea? Elrann?--did the same with the bunk on their side of the carriage.

With the two bunks folded down, you could just about fit two people lying down one after the other onto each of the four benches now available in the carriage.

“We’ll take the top,” said Tilbrook deferentiality to Vish, and he and the older soldier climbed up.

Ryn took one of the spaces on the bottom bunk on his side. He had no idea who was lying down on the other end of it, but they each lay so that their helmeted heads would be next to each other in the middle of the bench.

“Night all,” said Tilbrook.

And then there was just the darkness, and the gentle rattle and chug of the train as it traveled through the Imfisi plains.

Chukkachukachukkachuckkachukkachukka.

Ryn stared up at the grubby underside of the bunk above him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. 

Well, this was some predicament they had got themselves into. Aboard an Imperial-commandeered train bound for Manolia, stuck in a carriage with two genuine Imperial soldiers, which meant they couldn’t even talk openly to each other. Maybe they should kill the soldiers while they slept? No, that was a horrible idea. That was thinking like Sagar. Even if they were working for the Empire, these two soldiers didn’t seem to be murderous monsters like Vorr. They seemed like they were just trying to get by and do a job to earn a living. They were just following orders. Nuthea was right; it wouldn’t be right to kill them in cold blood. Though he wouldn’t put it past Sagar for the idea to cross his mind, too… Hopefully the pirate wouldn’t do anything stupid. He hadn’t so far, at least, and from the snoring noises coming from the opposite top bunk the two soldiers seemed to be fast asleep.

What was Ryn even doing here? Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Kill Vorr. Stay with Nuthea. He wasn’t even certain that General Vorr would be coming this way--it was just his best guess. He shut his eyes. In the darkness and the encasement of his helmet, familiar images started to crowd in on him, invading his mind’s eye. His mother being pierced by a sword. His father’s eyes going out of focus. The Imperial General laughing in his face. How was he going to get to sleep like this, without the cool of the open air and the reassuring chatter of his traveling companions to lull him into unconsciousness?

He thought he would try to talk to Sagar on the bench next to him for a little while. Even that might be better than just lying here in the dark with his memories. Might.

“Sagar?” Ryn whispered as quietly as he could so that only the pirate, whose head lay a little way from his own, could hear.

Nothing. Then: “No,” whispered back a noble, feminine voice after a moment, “it’s me.” Nuthea. 

Ryn could barely believe his luck.

He better say something else to her. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, quite alright! Stop talking and let me go to sleep!”

That stung.

For a moment there was only the chukkachukkachukka of the train again.

“Ryn?” This time she had spoken first.

“...yes?”

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean that. The truth is...the truth is I’m not alright. I’m...I’m scared.” Wow. A rare admission of vulnerability from the lightning-slinging, lecture-delivering princess. 

“What are you scared of?” asked Ryn eventually. Stupid question. What wasn’t there to be scared of right now?

“I’m...I’m scared that we won’t make it to Manolia,” Nuthea whispered. “I’m scared that we’ll be discovered. I’m scared that the Empire will find all the Jewels and overrun the world.”

That’s quite a lot to be scared of, fair enough… Ryn thought. But instead he said, “I know. Me too. I’m scared of all those things too, and I’m scared that I’ll never be able to find Vorr again, or that I’ll find him, but I won’t be able to beat him when I find him.”

“You can beat him,” said Nuthea. “You’re doing really well in your training.” I shouldn’t need to hear her say that, thought Ryn, but I sure like that she did. “If you continue on as you are doing you are only going to grow more powerful in the use of your gift and your swordsmanship. But, Ryn…” She paused. “Ryn, by the time you do find him, and I’m sure you will be able to find him again, you might not want revenge on him any more…”

Ryn’s brow furrowed inside his helmet. Why would she say something like that? He thought of Vorr again, of the man with the thick-set jaw and the flaming red hair, laughing in his face. At the very thought of him, Ryn’s hands grew hotter and the tips of his fingers tingled.

“There’s no way I’m going to stop wanting revenge on him,” Ryn whispered to himself as much as Nuthea. “He murdered my parents and destroyed my hometown. Why would I ever not want to take revenge on him?”

Nuthea took a while to speak again. Eventually, she whispered, “It is not the Way of the One. The Way of the One is to forgive.”

Ah, there she goes with her One stuff again. Ryn wasn’t in the mood for this right now. But he didn’t want to be harsh with Nuthea, especially if she was feeling scared at the moment. “Alright,” he said, “well, I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

“But Nuthea?”

“Yes?”

“Look, it’s okay to be scared. It makes sense. Like I said, I’m scared too. But you’ve got a lot of people around you right now to take care of you. Me. Sagar. Elrann. Cid. And I guess Vish too. We’ll take care of you and make sure you get to Manolia, alright?” I’ll take care of you, he added in his head, but he didn’t quite find the courage to whisper it.

“Thank you, Ryn,” said Nuthea. “I am glad of that.”

Ryn smiled inside his helmet.

“Hey lovebirds!” someone whispered from the bunk above them.

Ryn spasmed and nearly fell off the bench. He hadn’t realised anyone else could hear them.

“Stop talking so we can get some sleep!” Elrann whispered again. 

“Yeah!” whispered someone else from above. No, not Sagar too! “You’re lucky those two bucketheads are sleeping like babies, or you might have given us away! Quit yammering and go to sleep!”

“Sorry…” Ryn whispered back sheepishly.

They ceased talking. Ryn’s blush had come back to his cheeks, and he was even more grateful no one could see it. As it slowly faded and the tingling in his fingers died away, he thought of his conversation with Nuthea, listened to the chukkachukkachukka of the train, rocked with its gentle movements, and eventually felt himself slipping into sleep.

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Episode 13: Overworld, Undercover

Fri, 17 Feb 2023 17:28:15 GMT

This chapter is dedicated to Stephen Hibbs, because it was written early in the mornings during the school lockdown at the start of 2021 when I was working remotely as a teacher in a school in an empty classroom by myself, which was really lonely and difficult. Stephen called me every day to help me get through it. What a total legend.

Previously on Saga of the Jewels…

Seventeen year old Ryn’s hometown is attacked by General Vorr of the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before he dies, Ryn’s father gives him a ruby, which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess Nuthea, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain Sagar, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit an engineer called Elrann. Ast is then attacked by the Empire, who are using the Fire Ruby to invade the continent and search for more of the Jewels. Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann flee the city together, but are then attacked by a bounty hunter, Vish. They manage to subdue the bounty hunter but Nuthea is gravely wounded in the process. Ryn beats Sagar to the hunter’s mount and rushes Nuthea to the nearest town where he finds a healer, Cid, a mysterious old man who saves the princess’s life with his arts and asks to join the traveling party, saying that he believes it is the purpose of ‘the One’, the god that he and Nuthea each worship. On leaving the town the party is pursued by an enormous dog-like monster driven by a troop of Imperial soldiers. The party manage to escape with the help of Vish, who fights on their side in exchange for Cid supplying his poppy-seed habit. Cid reveals that he was once a member of another adventuring party who set out to find the twelve Primeval Jewels, but failed. The party now press on towards the next stop on their journey, the capital city of Sirra…

The night after they escaped from the monstrous dog, Ryn slept better than he had in a long time, probably from exhaustion. 

They slept outside, wrapped in thick gray woolspun cloaks that Cid had brought with him from Nonts--one for each of them--along with his other food supplies. They slept on the grassy earth under a roof decorated with myriad stars, having finally made it out of the woods that surrounded Nonts, although they kept close to the tree cover in case they were attacked again and needed to flee into it. 

They set a watch, and took turns taking it, and Ryn was glad to have one of the later watches of the night which meant he could get a good chunk of sleep before Elrann invariably shook him groggily awake and whispered “Your turn, farmboy.”

They rode for the better part of each day, stopping only to eat from the provisions that Cid had brought with him--bread, hard cheese, some salt beef, watery wine, and the odd apple. It would take them five or so days of chocobo riding to get to Sirra, Cid said.

The terrain mostly consisted of flat fields, though it did rise and fall from time to time, making the chocobos work harder to carry them, and here and there it was dotted with little woods and forests, which they made good headway through, re-checking their direction of travel against the traversing sun whenever they emerged back into the open fields.

They looked over their shoulders constantly as they rode, and continued to set watches at night, but for now no more Imperials came their way, nor monstrous dogs, nor Shadowfingers, despite Vish’s insistence that there were others on the hunt for them. They seemed to have escaped the grasp of the Empire by running away on their chocobos, at least for now. In fact, looking out over the flat green fields only occasionally interrupted by a fence or a farmstead or a forest, with the bright sun lighting up the clear blue sky and their route ahead of them, you could almost be forgiven for forgetting that this country had recently been invaded by the Empire at all.

“But that’s only because we’re in the provincial grasslands on the far outskirts of Sirra, pup,” Sagar explained from his mount on the second day when Ryn voiced this thought. Ryn was still bitter that Sagar got to ride with Nuthea, while he was stuck riding his bird with Vish. “When we get to the city--you’ll see--that’s where the fighting will have been. That’s where those airships were headed when they left us behind in Ast.”

In the tiny amount of free time that Ryn got between sleeping, eating and riding, he practiced his flame projection powers and his swordsmanship. Nuthea had told him that he needed to practice his flame projection in order to grow in skill and increase the amount of time he was able to use it before he grew too tired, which she said was linked to something called his ‘mana reserve’, so he took every spare moment that he got to practice forming little flames in his hands, concentrating hard to hold them in existence, then deliberately willing them to extinguish. 

“That’s it--you have to practice commanding the element into existence, then shutting it off again,” Nuthea said one evening when observing him practice, nodding sagely. Ryn was glad of the excuse to spend time with her. “Then, once you’ve mastered that, you can focus on manipulating it--making particular forms and shapes, and sending them in directions that you choose.”

Ryn sometimes ‘practiced his flames’, as he came to think of it, when he was on watch too, but he had to be careful doing that as he didn’t want to give away their presence to any prowling Imperials or Shadowfingers that might be on their trail. Once he accidentally lit a flame too bright and it woke Sagar up, who swore loudly and in turn woke the whole of the rest of the group up. They were a grumpy traveling party on that particular morning.

The other thing Ryn practiced was swordfighting. When they had set out after defeating the dog-monster near Nonts, he had made sure to take the sword from one of the corpses of the Imperial soldiers who had been chasing them. Cid, who had also taken one of the Imperial’s blades and somehow knew swordfighting despite his profession, offered to teach Ryn. 

Ryn wondered whether Sagar was actually better with a sword, but Cid seemed to know what he was doing, and Ryn felt he would much prefer to be taught by Cid than Sagar. So in the few remaining moments between riding, sleeping, eating and practicing his flames, he practiced with his sword with Cid a little way away from the rest of the group, following the old man’s instructions in swinging, thrusting, blocking and parrying as they traded carefully pre-agreed blows. 

Sometimes when people fell quiet on the long rides during the day, or during his night watches before he started practicing his element-projection, Ryn tried to remember his life before any of this had happened--before the Empire had attacked his hometown. The trouble was, he couldn’t. Of course, some memories stood out, which he clung to like solid rocks in a seething, foggy sea of despair. 

His birth-day celebrations with mother and father. Racing the farm chocobos out in the woods with Jaq and Fargu on seventhdays. Making Carlotia laugh in the classroom at the town school. It wasn’t as if all of this had happened very long ago. 

But even these memories were growing faint, the light and colour fading from them as time passed. He found he could no longer remember any of their faces clearly. 

And they all threatened to be swallowed up by the one single big memory that loomed large in his mind, that his mind didn’t seem to be able to let go of: His mother and father being killed, and his hometown being destroyed. The thoughts of all that, the images of the sword going into his mother’s chest, the burning buildings, and the light going out of his father’s eyes, never really left him. They came to him unbidden, again and again, when he was riding, when he was talking to Nuthea and the others, while he was eating, making water or before he fell asleep. Mother. Father. Hometown. 

It was like his mind was obsessed with the events and couldn’t let them go, and nor could he move on from them either. It was torture. Once he had recovered from the exhaustion of escaping Nonts, he continued to re-live the whole thing again and again in his sleep. Sometimes he would wake in the night shouting at the memories, as he had done when Cid had revived him from his sword-wound, sometimes with whimpers and moans, which was extremely embarrassing. Rarely, if ever, did he wake up feeling refreshed. His nerves were constantly frayed and his head ached all the time.

There was only one way out, as far as he could see:

Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr.

What he would do after that, if he ever managed it, he did not know. There was only ever one other vague notion that now occasionally presented itself in his mind:

Stay with Nuthea?

*

Late on their sixth day of riding, sore and sleepy, they sighted Sirra.

The first things they saw were lights. Where they had been riding for what felt to Ryn’s backside like an age over grasslands and fields that turned black with dusk, all at once little pinpricks of light appeared in the blackness.

A few leagues further and the pinpricks turned out to have been the lights of hearths and candles in the homes of a smaller settlement on the outskirts of the city of Sirra.

“There are lots of these smaller towns on the edges of Sirra,” said Elrann, who knew the city best. “As you get nearer to it they get denser and denser until you’re properly in the city and everything is paved streets.”

They rode on past the buildings, and some curtains twitched. They got glimpses of people staring out at them for brief moments.

“Why is nobody outside?” said Ryn from atop his mount with Vish. “Why is nobody coming out to greet us?”

“Why d’you think, pup?” said Sagar. “They’re scared. They’ve been invaded--they’re under occupation. We haven’t seen any soldiers out here, but you can bet when we get to Sirra proper it will be crawling with them.”

Ryn’s cheeks flushed hot. Stupid question.

Despite the fact that with every chocobo-step they took closer to Sirra they got closer to danger, they rode on. 

They had discussed the plan in detail two days ago.

“What are we actually going to do when we get to Sirra?” Ryn had asked as they had been riding over the Imfisi plains.

“We’ve been over this,” said Sagar. “We’re going to board a train to Manolia.”

Ryn had never been on a train before but he knew what they were.   

“But will the trains really still be running,” said Elrann, “if Morekemia have occupied Imfis?”

“Not for their usual purposes,” said Sagar “but I’d be willing to gamble good money that the Empire will have reappropriated them. If they’ve flown in a load of soldiers here to occupy Imfis with a military presence, the Emperor is probably planning to use Imfis as his base of operations in Dokan. If he’s doing that, he’ll need good control of the whole country, especially its borders. In the long run, it would be easier to also move soldiers to and from the borders using the Imfisi train system, rather than having to fly them every time. That means he’ll still be using the trains.”

“But how are we going to get on a train?” Elrann pressed. “Most of us are probably wanted by the Empire now, with bounties on our heads.”

“Just you leave that to me, woman,” said Sagar. “Don’t forget that you’re riding with a legendary pirate captain here.”

Elrann snorted, and Sagar had either not heard her or pretended not to hear her from his chocobo.

They sold their three chocobos to an innkeeper in one of the smaller settlements on the outskirts of Sirra, for a healthy fifty gold pieces each, after a hearty meal of beans and mashed potatoes in his common room. If everything went to plan from herein then they wouldn’t need them for the rest of the journey on to Manolia.

“Don’t know how you’ve kept hold of them this long,” said the innkeeper who bought them in a worn-out, cynical voice. “The Empire’ve been rounding up all the mounts and vehicles for miles around and commandeering them for their army. But I’ll happily take them off your hands.”

Ryn patted the beak of his chocobo, the original one that Vish had stolen which the two of them had been riding for the last three days, as he said goodbye to it in the stables. “Thanks, buddy. You saw us through a lot. Sorry for crashing you in the woods.” The chocobo cawed and nuzzled him in response. 

“We need to keep a low profile,” said Cid as they left the inn. “Keep those cloaks wrapped tight around you until we can find…alternative attire.” 

Ryn would have liked to have spent a night at the inn, but Nuthea still insisted that their mission was urgent and that they couldn’t afford to waste even one night. And the next phase of their plan was going to work better under cover of darkness anyway. 

Sirra proper began as a cluster of tall, white-stone buildings in the middle distance and soon became tough cobbles under their feet. The cluster became a maze of streets and alleys which they wandered within. The white stone shone in the light from fires inside buildings, streetlamps, the moon.  

“So this is a capital city…” said Ryn under his breath. The others didn’t seem so bothered by it. He guessed they had all been in capitals before. He supposed he really was a ‘greenhorn farmboy’, or whatever Elrann called him…

The occasional person paced the pavement, and the odd chocobo-drawn cart passed them on the cobbled road, though not as many as Ryn would have expected. That must be because of the invasion too. Still, it was busier than Nonts. Every now and again the cramped streets would open up into a larger road or a square, with a fountain, or a statue, or a tower at its centre. And usually they would sight a patrol of Imperial soldiers somewhere on it. Whenever this happened, they turned around abruptly and went back down one of the smaller alleys. 

“I don’t understand,” Ryn said, “I thought we were looking for Imperials.”

“Yeah, but not out in the open, pup,” Sagar answered him. “We want to find them in one of the sheltered streets, but by the nature of things we’re less likely to come across what we want there. It might take a while.”

“Give it time,” said Cid knowingly.

“Hang on,” said Sagar, “what’s this?”

He moved towards a series of three upright rectangles attached to the side of one of the nearby buildings.

On the first piece of paper was an ink drawing of Sagar himself. The likeness was strong, right down to the eye patch, the ponytail and the cocky smile.

Sagar tore the poster off the wall and inspected it more closely while Ryn looked over his shoulder.

WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE, it said under the drawing. BOUNTY: 7500 GOLD PIECES.

“Heh,” said Sagar. “And not my first, either!” He rolled up the poster and stuffed it down his shirt. “What?” he said when Ryn frowned at him. “The ladies love this sort of thing! How much did you say they put on the princess? 5000? I guess they value me even more highly than her…”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Ryn, his eyes wandering to the next poster along. It was the same drawing of Nuthea as he had come across in Nonts, only this must be a more recent poster because this time it said WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE. BOUNTY: 10,000 GOLD PIECES.

“Rrrr,” said Sagar. He tore that one down too, but it didn’t go in his shirt.

It was the next poster along that really pissed him off, though.

“Ryn, you’ll want to have a look at this,” said Nuthea.

Ryn looked, and froze.

An ink drawing of himself, complete with tousled hair, big eyes and boyish features, looked out of the third poster at him.

WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE. BOUNTY: 15,000 GOLD PIECES. HIGHLY DANGEROUS.

“Well that’s just ridiculous,” mumbled Sagar. “Stupid Imperials got their labeling mixed up.”

“They didn’t,” said Vish. “The boy used his powers in Ast. They know that he’s on the loose, they know he is on this continent, and they know he has flame projection abilities.” 

“Well they didn’t need to add that ‘highly dangerous’ bit…” muttered Sagar.

“They clearly view those as more dangerous than wind projection,” Vish continued explaining, “and even than lightning projection.”

Sagar didn’t say anything.

Ryn could not keep a warm glow of satisfaction from lighting up his mind for a moment.

Just a moment.

“Well this just makes things even harder,” said Elrann. “What are we going to do about this?”

“There’s nothing we can do,” said Cid. “But it’s all the more reason to keep a low profile and find our disguises as soon as we can. Come on, let’s keep looking.”

They found what they were looking for soon after that, down another of the side streets.

“Stop,” hissed Cid all of a sudden, and held up his hand. “There. At last. Do you see them?”

He pointed. In the distance at the end of the enclosed, built-up street was a smaller group of Imperial soldiers out on patrol. Thankfully, they were walking away from Ryn and his companions, or else they would have been spotted, which probably wouldn’t end well—a patrol would surely not take kindly to a group of armed vagabonds wandering the streets of an occupied city at night. As usual, they wore the black plate armour and bucket-like helmets of all Imperial soldiers. Ryn did a quick count of them before the soldiers turned a corner down another street and disappeared from view.

“I counted five,” he said.

“Five is fine,” said Vish. “I can remain as I am. I look like an Imperial Shadowfinger. Because that is, after all, what I am.”

“Was,” said Nuthea.

Vish didn’t reply.

“Whatever,” said Sagar. “We’ll still need your help for this though, much as I hate to say it. Right, listen, here’s what we’ll do: They’ve just turned left down that street over there, so I reckon if we turn and go down there then our path will join up with theirs again and we can give them the jump.”

“Got it,” said Ryn, nodding with the others, happy to defer to the Sagar’s wisdom in all matters of ambush, deception and theft. 

They crept their way down the street that Sagar had indicated. The skycaptain whispered to them while they walked: “Now listen: They’re armed, of course, but I only saw swords—and none of them drawn at that. No bows or crossbows. They look completely off guard to me—it doesn’t seem like Sirra has put up much of a resistance to this invasion, or if it did then it’s clearly been crushed. So I don’t think they’ll be expecting us at all. This’ll be like harpooning a skywhale on a clear day. Now, woman, don’t go using those pistols of yours, as they’ll alert others to what we’re doing--”

“Well, obviously, said Elrann, rolling her eyes. “Do you think I was born yesterday, pirate-man? I’ve got almost as much skyship experience as you do. I’ll use my whip.”

“Good,” said Sagar, ignoring her jibes for once. “I’ve got my swords. Scumsucker, you’ve got your poison blade and…whatever else it is you’re carrying. Princess and old timer, you can stay in the back, but you’ve got your lightning and your healing abilities if things go south—they shouldn’t, though.”

“Hey, what about me?” said Ryn.

The pirate glanced sidelong at him. “What about you, pup?”

“I can fight too.”

“You just try to stay out of the way and to not get hurt.”

Ryn’s irritation boiled over. “But I don’t want to stay at the back.” He heard himself saying it like a petulant child, but he couldn’t help it. “I want to be up front with you, Elrann and Vish. I’ve been practicing my swordsmanship with Cid.”

“Rrrr,” said Sagar under his breath. “Fine, pup. I suppose we could use one more up front, seeing as we’re trying to take down five of them. You’ve got your fire, I suppose, but we only want to use that in an emergency. Ok then; use that sword you took from the soldiers Vish killed back near Nonts. You think you can handle being up front after last time?” 

“Yes,” Ryn said defiantly, trying not to pay attention to the memory of being impaled that flashed in his mind. If something went really wrong, Cid could always heal him like last time. Although he wasn’t in a hurry to go through the experience of almost dying again. 

“Good, I’m glad that’s settled,” said Nuthea. “But that’s still only four of you up front, when there are five soldiers. You’re still one short. I don’t want to use my lightning at all if I can help it, as it will attract attention. And you are only going to render them unconscious, aren’t you? You’re not going to kill them.” 

“What?!” Said Sagar. He practically squeaked it, so loud that Cid said “Shhh!” and they froze in their tracks for a moment. 

They waited to hear if anyone had taken notice of them, to see if anyone would come running,. 

Only the silence of the high-walled alley they were creeping down answered. Ryn exhaled relief.

“What?” Sagar said again, more quietly this time, as they resumed walking. “You can’t be serious, princess…” 

“But I am,” said Nuthea. “No unnecessary deaths. The One would not approve. We only kill in self-defence, if we really have to.”

“That’s completely stupid,” said Sagar. “I’ve had enough of this One stuff…there’s no way we’re only knocking them out. We’ve got a much better chance of stealing their armour if we kill them first.”

“Captain Sagar, may I remind you that you are my escort on this mission? I am the one you are taking to Manolia.”

“So what?”

“So, if you don’t carry out my wishes, it may affect the amount and nature of your reward when you successfully deliver me back to my people.”

A muscle in Sagar’s jaw twitched. “Rrrrrrrrrrr.” That was a big one, thought Ryn. “Fine. We can aim to knock them out. But it’s not a precise art. If I accidentally kill one or two of them in the process, I can’t be held responsible.”

“That’s all I ask,” said Nuthea, tilting her head back with a flutter of her eyelids. “That you try.”

“What’s the best way to knock someone out?” Ryn asked, testing the weight of the Imperial sword in its scabbard and suddenly feeling even more out of his depth. His mouth had gone dry.

Sagar looked at him.

“What? I’ve never done it before.” 

“Do you really need to ask, pup?” said Sagar. “You just hit them really hard in the head with the hilt of your sword or something. If we get this right, we’ll be pouncing on them from behind, so you should have plenty of time to aim. They shouldn’t see us coming. Easy pickings.”

“What about their helmets?

“If you hit them hard enough, you should be able to knock them out through their helmets. Or if you really want to you can get that off them first, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Ryn’s palms were clammy. He gripped the sword tighter. “Alright. But like Nuthea said, there’s still only four of us going in close, and five of them.”

“Just leave that to me,” said Vish all of a sudden. “I can take out two of them at once. At least,” he added. Was he smirking underneath his face covering?

By now they had arrived at the end of the street, where it met the one they hoped the patrol they had spotted was now walking down at a right angle.

“Wait here,” said Sagar. “Get low.”

Ryn crouched with the others with their backs against the nearest building, keeping themselves from view to wait for the patrol to go past. The stone of the building was cold against his back even through his cloak. There wasn’t much light to see by here. He could hear Nuthea shivering slightly next to him. On his other side, Vish’s silhouette crouched perfectly still, like a cat waiting to pounce. 

Sagar crept to the corner of the building and very slowly peeked his head round it with his good eye.

No sooner had he put his head round, than he drew it straight back again.

“Perfect,” he whispered with a wolfish grin. “They’re coming this way, just like we hoped. They didn’t see me. We wait here until they’ve gone past, then jump them from behind. Got it?”

Ryn nodded his silent assent with the others. They shuffled along the wall a little deeper into their own street to make sure they were as concealed as possible, keeping to the many available shadows.

“Right,” said Sagar. “Everyone, draw your weapons and wait for my signal.”

The secret scrape of three swords being slid quietly from their sheaths. Elrann rummaged in her overall and uncoiled her whip.

They waited. 

And waited.

Just the dimness of the street. 

Ryn suddenly became very interested in one particular cobblestone, and tried not to pay attention to his imaginations of the violence about to take place.

The soldiers’ faint footsteps came into earshot from around the corner, then slowly grew louder, along with their conversation.

“…has to be the easiest invasion the Empire has ever carried out.”

“I know. But we were starting from a pretty strong place to begin with. Imfis is a vassal state after all, and they don’t have anything in the way of an army.”

“Yeah, but I mean, even so, these people barely put up any resistance at all. Just a few boys and men with death wishes. The rest of them basically rolled over and surrendered.” 

The soldiers came into view now, all five of them in black plate armour, and…

…turned down the street that Ryn and his companions were waiting in.

Oh poodoo.

The soldiers took a couple of steps into the street. They hadn’t seen their crouching ambushers yet.

“It’s like they wanted to be occupied,” said the one who had been speaking most recently. “It’s like...What the--?”

He had spotted them.

“NOW!” yelled Sagar.

Ryn sprang forwards and made for the nearest soldier. He gripped the hilt of his sword tight and drew it back, blade up, then slammed the pommel into the soldier’s helmet before he could react. It resounded like a clear bell.

“Ouch!” The soldier raised his hands to his helmet, but remained standing.

“Crap,” said Ryn. 

The soldier drew his sword, then lunged. 

Ryn managed to jump back out of the way. His pulse began to pound loudly between his ears. Not again.

A black shape crashed into the soldier, sweeping his legs out from underneath him, then slammed another sword-pommel down onto the soldier’s helmet, much harder than Ryn had managed. The soldier lay still on his back. Vish leapt away as quickly as he had arrived. 

Someone was shouting in surprise.

Ryn turned. Two other soldiers lay unconscious at Sagar’s feet. Vish dispatched another one, swiftly sliding his sword into the visor of the man’s helmet, who went down with a muffled scream and clutched at his face. 

Nuthea’s not going to be happy about that.

Elrann had her whip coiled around the arm of the final soldier. Whatever she had been trying to do hadn’t worked, and he had managed to draw his sword. The two of them stood frozen for a moment, sizing each other up, connected by Elrann’s whip.

The soldier swept his helmeted head from side to side, taking them all in.

He drew in a breath, like he was about to shout for help.

Ryn, Vish and Sagar all rushed him.

Ryn got to him first, and this time he hit the soldier so hard with the pommel of his sword on the front of his helmet that the man went down at once. Apparently Ryn had warmed up now, and lost his battle shyness.

All the soldiers were down now.

“Quickly,” said Sagar. “We got unlucky. That was noisier than it should have been. We’ve got to strip them of their armour quickly, before anyone notices what’s happened.”

They got to work straight away, looking around anxiously as they did to see if anyone had spotted them. Nobody seemed to have, yet—at least they heard no cries of alarm and saw nobody else in the street for the moment. 

Ryn followed Sagar and Cid’s instructions and knelt down next to the soldier he had just knocked out, unfastened the man’s chestplate and leg-guards, and stripped him of his gauntlets. He then set about putting all of these pieces of armour on himself, over the top of his clothes. Lastly he slid off the soldier’s helmet. He almost gasped when underneath he found the smooth face of a young man with a shaved head, not much older than himself. Ryn hoped that he had not done the boy any lasting damage. 

He slipped the helmet on over his head. At first the metal was cold against his cheeks, but it fit snugly. The black bucket-like Imperial soldiers’ helmets all had a horizontal slit to see out of, which now became Ryn’s window on the world.

“You did not need to kill that one, Shadowfinger Vish,” Nuthea chided when the bountyhunter took the helmet off his soldier, revealing a bloody mess that used to be a face which made Ryn flinch and look away.

“I made a judgment, girl,” Vish said to her. “We needed to be quick, so I acted as efficiently as I could in the situation and dispatched the soldier in the quickest way available to me.”

“Hmph,” said Nuthea. 

She had managed to wriggle into a breastplate, which from her grimace appeared to be quite uncomfortable, and she looked absolutely ridiculous with the hem of her once-white, torn, bloodstained dress poking out of the bottom of it.

“You’re going to need some trousers, princess,” said Sagar, barely stifling a laugh even in their highly dangerous situation.

Cid pulled some off a soldier and gave them to her. Once the trousers and the rest of her armour were on, and her dress tucked in, she looked much more like an Imperial, apart from the facts of her chestplate sticking out a bit more than normal, her feminine facial structure and her long golden hair. But she bunched that up as best she could and shoved it inside a helmet, her lip curling in revulsion as she lowered that over her head.

“Urgh, it smells in here,” said Nuthea.

The illusion was more or less complete. Still, hopefully nobody would look too closely at her... 

Elrann was having similar difficulties. “Where am I meant to put all of this?” she complained as she took things one by one out of the pockets and insides of her engineer’s overalls and placed them on the ground. Her two pistols. Her whip. A spanner. A wrench. A screwdriver. She seemed to have all manner of things stuffed down there--almost as many items as Cid kept in his healer’s satchel, which he was simply able to sling over a shoulder as usual over the top of his armour. 

“Here,” said Cid, pointing at one of the fallen soldiers. “Look. This one has a leather belt with some pouches sewn onto it. He must be some sort of Imperial engineer himself. You can use it.”

“Ah, thanks pops,” said Elrann, bending down to take the belt from the soldier and inspecting the contents of its pockets. “Hey, there’s some good tools in here! I could use some of these! And some of mine need replacing.” She set about filling the belt with her stuff and the items from the soldier that she wanted.

“Come on, woman,” hissed Sagar, “we haven’t got all night.”

Once she was done and had strapped the belt around her waist she stood up, and they all surveyed each other, six ragamuffin travelers now disguised as Imperial soldiers. With the helmets on, they just about passed as them. 

Ryn twisted his torso from side to side, testing out the feel of the armour. His head rocked back in surprise. “It’s so light,” he said. 

“Flimsy too,” confirmed Cid. “It’s made of alphite—very plentiful in the Morekemian mountains. Alphite is light, cheap and easy to pierce. The Empire don’t exactly kit their soldiers out with the finest equipment, or even train them that well. The Emperor takes more of a ‘quantity over quality’ approach to warfare--” 

“Enough yammering,” said Sagar, who had rolled up his pirates’ coat and stashed it in his pack. “We don’t have time for lessons now. We need to get going.”

“What do we do with them?” said Ryn, nodding towards the floored soldiers, five of them knocked out, one dead at Vish’s hand.

“Drag them into a dark corner,” said Sagar, “and hope they wake up later rather than sooner.” He gave Nuthea a passive-aggressive look.

Together they dragged the soldiers’ limp bodies further into the alley and hid them in a particularly shadowed corner behind a wooden bench. One of the still-alive soldiers started to murmur something, but Sagar hit him again, and the murmuring stopped. As far as they could tell, nobody had seen or heard them. 

“When these guys wake up again, they’ll raise the alarm…” said Sagar, sounding regretful that they hadn’t killed more of the soldiers. 

“By that time we will be gone,” said Nuthea. “It’s worth it for a clear conscience.” 

Sagar tutted. “Come on, then,” he said. “We better get out of here before they do wake up.” 

The six of them moved off as quickly as they could, not running, as that could attract attention, but walking briskly through the darkness of the sleeping city, trying to look like a group of Imperial soldiers out on patrol. They headed north, as that was where Sirra’s main train station was found, finding their way bit by bit from landmarks and key streets that those of them who had been here before remembered. 

Elrann knew the city best, having lived here the longest, but Sagar, Cid and even Nuthea all seemed to know or remember parts of it too. Ryn guessed that just left him and Vish. But for all he knew the Shadowfinger had been here before as well, he just wasn’t letting on—not that he ever let on about all that much anyway. Ryn supposed he was the least well-traveled of their whole group. Naïve greenhorn pussywillow farmboy, ran Sagar’s and Elrann’s words in his mind. 

“Stop!” said Sagar when they finally sighted the station, still quite a long way off, as they approached it along one of the smaller streets that ran like veins to this focal hub.

Sirra Main Station was a big, rectangular building with a series of pointed roofs and a massive clock-face built into the wall above its many-doored main entrance. It was built out of the same white-gray stone as many of the other old or important buildings in Sirra, but Ryn could see that it was extremely grubby in the light from the streetlamps that lit this sector of the city. And there were soldiers streaming in and out of it. 

There were more soldiers going in than out, but there was still a steady stream going in both directions—though thankfully the ones leaving the station were all heading off down a different street from the one their party was approaching by, the main road that led due south away from the station. 

“Well this makes things harder,” said Elrann. “How are we going to sneak onto a train with all these bucketheads around?” 

“Why are there so many of them?” asked Ryn. 

“I don’t know, pup,” said Sagar. “But I’m going to find out. You guys wait here and make sure nobody sees you. I’ll be back in a bit.” 

And before anyone could protest, he walked off towards the station. 

“He’s very brave,” said Nuthea. 

Ryn bit his cheek. 

Elrann snorted. “Very stupid, if you ask me.” 

They kept watching Sagar as he strode towards the station. Soon they lost him amidst the stream and he was just another helmeted, black-armoured soldier walking among the crowds. They waited in the street, staying out of sight, eyes fixed on the stream, nobody saying anything else. 

After about ten minutes, from the clock on the front of the station, Ryn knew they were all thinking the same thing. What if he’s been caught? What if he’s not coming back? Ryn also wondered, What if he’s decided to turn us all over to the Empire for gold? 

But that wouldn’t make sense. Sagar had a price on his own head as well, and he seemed too enamoured by the prospect of the rewards Nuthea had offered him for transporting her safely, and possibly by Nuthea herself… 

Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Kill Vorr. Stay with Nuthea. 

There it was, firm in Ryn’s mind as he watched the station intently, keenly aware of Nuthea’s presence next to him. He wasn’t sure if any of his goals were attainable. But damn him if he wasn’t going to try to attain them anyway, he decided. 

If the others were all wondering if Sagar was going to come back, nobody voiced their concern, and the minutes went by, marked by the slow movement of the big black hand of Sirra Station’s clock, which crept up higher and higher towards the midnight hour. Apparently everyone was too tense to say anything. They just stood there, watching the soldiers streaming in and out of the station, poised and alert like taut bowstrings. 

Then, at last, one of the soldiers emerging from the station entrance turned right out of the main stream and started to walk towards their position. 

But was this him? With the soldier’s helmet still on, they couldn’t know for sure. 

Ryn’s hand went to the hilt of the Imperial sword that now hung at his side.

“Relax!” called the soldier as soon as he was in earshot, but close enough not to be heard by anyone else. “It’s me! Don’t look so nervous!” 

Ryn exhaled. Sagar drew closer. “I was right,” he said from inside his helmet. “They’re using Sirra as their transport hub to move troops around. This isn’t just an occupation of Imfis—this is a full-scale invasion of Dokan.” 

“By the One…” said Nuthea. 

“Well, poodoo,” said Elrann. 

Neither Cid nor Vish said anything. 

Ryn’s head was too foggy from grief and disorientation for him to register much of the significance of this. So what if the Empire were invading the whole of Dokan? He just wanted to kill General Vorr.

“I didn’t even have to ask anyone anything,” Sagar went on. “I just picked it up from walking round and listening. They’ve requisitioned the trains and they’re running them round the clock to send troops to the various Imfisi borders to prepare to invade the neighbouring nations.” 

Ryn heard Nuthea take in a sharp breath. 

“Then they’re also bringing some troops back into here to keep their grip on Imfis and perform various different tasks here as their base. It’s a major operation--”

“That’s all well and good,” interrupted Nuthea, “but what are we going to do now we’re here?” 

“Calm down, princess, I was getting to that. There’s a train that leaves tonight, soon. At midnight. All we need to do is sneak onto it, but with the amount that’s going on in there, that will be a piece of cake.” 

“Where is it going?” asked Ryn. 

“Manolia, of course,” said Sagar. “Your homeland. Or as close to the border as it will be able to get.”

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 12: Where Someone Has Gone Before

Fri, 10 Feb 2023 21:43:00 GMT

Previously on Saga of the Jewels…

Seventeen year old Ryn’s hometown is attacked by General Vorr of the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before he dies, Ryn’s father gives him a ruby, which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess Nuthea, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain Sagar, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit a new engineer called Elrann. Ast is then attacked by the Empire, who are using the Fire Ruby to invade the continent and search for more of the Jewels. Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann flee the city of Ast together, but are then attacked by a bounty hunter, Vish. They manage to subdue the bounty hunter but Nuthea is gravely wounded in the process. Ryn beats Sagar to the hunter’s mount and rushes Nuthea to the nearest town where he finds a healer, Cid, a mysterious old man who saves the princess’s life with his arts and asks to join the traveling party, saying that he believes it is the purpose of ‘the One’, the god that he and Nuthea each worship. Cid tells the party to meet him at the top of a hill after he goes back to the nearby town to pick up some supplies. They go to the hilltop to wait, but when Cid arrives back he is being pursued by an enormous dog-like monster and a troop of Imperial soldiers. The party runs away from the soldiers, but they catch up to Ryn and Vish, who now fights on the side of the party in exchange for Cid supplying his poppy-seed habit. In the battle, Ryn is stabbed through the chest…

Episode 12: Where Someone Has Gone Before

Ryn’s house was burning again.

This time he was inside it. Hellish red leapt from the walls, licking the ceiling, belching black smoke. 

He reached out with his hands and tried to manipulate the flames with his new powers, willing them to recede.

“Go back!”

Nothing happened, except that his arms ached. His powers had deserted him. 

And now before him stood his mother, cowering, holding up her hands. The black-armoured, flame-haired Imperial officer Vorr standing in front of her with his huge sword drawn.

His mother looked at him, chestnut eyes pleading.

“Do something, Ryn!” she begged him. “Please, help me! This is all your fault!”

“No!” Ryn whimpered. “I..I can’t!”

And then Vorr’s sword went into her. It ran her right through the chest, making a slippery, slithery sound like a hissing snake. When it came out so did a gushing flow of red. He had seen this image so many times. But here he was, seeing it again.

Ryn’s mother hit the floor.

“NO!”

This time Ryn ran at Vorr.

This time Ryn had a sword in his hand, which he swung at Vorr with all that remained of his feeble strength as he screamed with rage.

The Imperial General batted away his strike easily with his own blade, laughing as he did so; a deep, mocking, mirthful laugh.

“The boy from Cleasor!” Vorr laughed. “How did you manage to survive the crash? How did you even get here?”

“You murdered my parents!” Ryn screamed back. “You destroyed my hometown!”

“Did I?” Vorr laughed even harder. “Oh yes, I suppose I must have…” 

As those casual words echoed through Ryn’s mind, Vorr’s sword plunged through Ryn’s chest just as it had through his mother’s. 

The shock of it sliding through his flesh.

It’s all my fault. I should have saved her. It’s my fault. I killed my mother.

Did I? Oh yes, I suppose I must have…

The scene shifted, and now Ryn was running through the burning buildings of Cleasor, his hometown, looking for someone, but he couldn’t remember who. 

Damn the Imperials! They destroy everything… They burn everything… They gave me no warning. There’s no joy in this world. I’ll never be happy again. I’m going to die burned and broken and alone.

A man lay on the grass in front of him; a tall, middle-aged man with red-grey hair and one of his legs missing, lying in a pool of his own lifeblood.

“Dad!” Ryn cried. 

He ran to his father and knelt at his side, cradled his face with his hand.

The flames leapt high all around them.

“You’re hurt...let me help you…” 

“No!” his father said, insistent though his voice was still weak. “Leave it, son… I am past help… I will be gone soon…”

“I don’t want you to die, Dad…”

“Take it now.”

“Take what?”

“The ruby.”

“I already did, Dad, but I lost it!”

“That’s right,” said his father. His voice was getting quieter, and harder to hear over the crackle of the flames; his eyes were glazing over. “You took it and you lost it. You’re a failure, Ryn. You’ve failed. You lost us because you failed.”

Hot tears ran down Ryn’s cheeks. “No! I’m sorry! Please, Dad, give me another chance! Come back!”

His father’s eyes lost focus completely.

“COME BACK!” Ryn yelled…

...and resurfaced from the nightmare, sitting up violently and shouting.

“Argggh--!” 

When he realised he had been dreaming he stopped shouting abruptly and took in a sharp breath. 

“Easy, lad!” 

An old man was holding him by the shoulders where he sat. The man had bushy white eyebrows and a white beard with the hair between his nose and mouth shaved off.

“You’ve just had a brush with the void. Best if you take things slowly.”

Beyond the old man’s head was the face of a beautiful blonde woman in a tattered cream dress, her brow crinkled up in concern.

“Are you alright, Ryn?” she asked. “We thought you had died.”

Memory returned to Ryn, seeping into his mind along and mingling with the aftertaste of the nightmare.

Cid released him and he took in another few gulps of air. They were still in the woods, it was cold, and it was getting dark. It must be early evening. 

“I guess it was your turn to be worried about me,” Ryn croaked to Nuthea when he had calmed down a little, surprised at his own boldness, but disappointed that it came out in a croak. “I’m fine now...I was just having a nightmare before I came to…...I remember… I remember being stabbed. What happened to me?”

“I healed you,” said Cid.

“I thought you had ridden on...” said Ryn. “I thought you had left me and Vish behind…” He looked around. The bodies of dead Imperial soldiers littered the forest floor. Sagar, Elrann and Vish were a little way away with thechocobos. Hearing that Ryn was awake, they wandered over and sat down on the grass. Nuthea joined them, and they all sat in a circle together.

“Of course we wouldn’t leave you and Shadowfinger Vish behind,” said Nuthea.

“S’right,” said Sagar. “Soon as we realised that the Imperials had caught up to you and the scumsucker, I turned around immediately and led the charge to come back and rescue you.”

“Actually,” said Elrann, “way I remember it, you did want to leave him behind. Princess-girl was the one who wanted to turn around. You took quite a lot of convincing.”

“Whatever,” said Sagar.

“Anyway,” went on Nuthea, “once we eventually got back you did fight very valiantly, Captain Sagar. Shadowfinger Vish here had succeeded in dispatching most of the soldiers, but even he couldn’t cope with all of them at once--”

At that, Vish made a disapproving noise inside his head covering. “Humph. Please. I had them all taken care of. I think I deserve some poppy for what I did.”

“In time, in time…” said Cid. “I’ve told you, you need to space the hits out, or they’ll diminish in intensity.”

“If I don’t get a hit soon everything will diminish in intensity.”

“Hang on,” said Ryn, “you can’t have done that good a job at fighting them ‘all’ off because one of them stabbed me through the chest.”

Vish went quiet at that, narrowing his eyes to slits as he looked at Ryn.

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Elrann. “When we got here you’d already been run through by that fat soldier.”

Ryn thought to look down at his tunic for the first time. It had torn where the sword had gone through and blood stained it. But there was no wound on his chest. It ached awfully, yet there was no visible sign of the sword’s piercing it. He couldn’t even work out exactly where the blade had gone in.

“He did...” Ryn said. “He ran me right through. Just like…” Mother. Father. Hometown. He swallowed. Every time he remembered them a jolt of pain went through his mind, even now. No wonder he dreamed about them every time he was unconscious. He hadn’t had time to feel sad about them properly before he had been caught up in this crazy whirlwind adventure. An adventure on which he had just been stabbed through the chest. “How the hell am I still alive?” he asked of Mid in general.

“Well, to be honest, we did think you were a goner, pup,” said Sagar. Was that disappointment in his voice? Disappointment that Ryn hadn’t died? B*****d. “But then the old timer here got to you and worked his magic. I don’t care what you say about your healing skills any more, old timer, that was magic and I know it was.”

Ryn’s eyes grew wide as he stared at Cid. The old man’s face was solemn, his jaw set behind his white beard. He seemed tired, the crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes more pronounced.

“I was basically dead...” Ryn said to him. “How powerful are you?”

“Yeah, come on,” said Sagar. “Spill the beans, old timer. Pup here was basically dead when you got to him. What did you do?”

They sat and waited for Cid to speak.

It took him a while, staring at the ground, but eventually he said “I brought you back to consciousness with a ‘Life’ spell. I am Jewel-touched as well, like the three of you are.”

“I knew it!” said Sagar triumphantly. “You have healing powers as well as healers’ training! I knew all that stuff about ‘miracles’ was garbage!” 

“It’s still a miracle!” protested Nuthea at once. “The One can also work through the magic of the Jewels.” For some reason, she didn’t seem all that surprised at the revelation that Cid was Jewel-touched.

“Whatever,” said Sagar.

“Indeed,” said Cid, “whatever we call it, I’m afraid this young man is right. I have healing abilities from my contact with the Light Diamond. I think of these as being miraculous too, Granddaughter, but it is also true that I received them from my contact with that Jewel.”

“So you can bring people back from death?” said Ryn.

“No,” said Cid.

“Huh?” the rest of them all said together (except Vish).

“Let me be very clear on this,” Cid went on. “The Life spell can resuscitate a person who is dying or who has been brought near death. If someone loses consciousness from injury, or is so injured that they are slipping away into death, I can bring them back. But once they have fully passed away into it, once they have died, I cannot bring them back. I cannot people back from the dead. Only the One could do that.”

Sagar snorted. “Yeah, if ‘He’ existed.”

“Hold on, hold on,” said Elrann, motioning with her hand for the rest of them to listen, then massaging her forehead underneath her short purple hair. “Let me get this straight. What you’re saying is that these magical jewel-thingamys--”

“The Primeval Jewels,” interrupted Nuthea.

Elrann blinked at her. “Right, yeah. What you’re saying is that these magical primeval jewel-thingamys that we’re trying to get princess-girl back to her homeland to tell her parents about can also give people healing powers, and that pops here has come into contact with one before, and that it’s because of that that he was able to bring farmboy here back from near-death after he got stabbed by that fat Imperial soldier?”

A pause.

“Yes,” said Nuthea, Sagar, Ryn and Cid all at the same time.

“You’re all completely nuts…” mumbled Elrann, shaking her head and pinching her nose. “Ok--let’s assume for a moment that I believe you: How did you ever get ya hands one one of these jewel-thingamys then, pops?”

“Primeval Jewels,” Nuthea felt obliged to correct her again.

They all looked at Cid. Even Vish stared at him intently.

“Hey, I led a rich and full life before I settled down in Nonts…” Cid said defensively, shrugging his shoulders and holding out his hands in protest. “I did many things and went on many adventures. Is it so surprising that I would have come across one of the Primeval Jewels?”

“You’re right,” said Nuthea, “it’s not. And followers of the One are all the more likely to come across such things. It must have been your destiny.”

“No, I’m not buying this,” said Sagar, shaking his head. “This is chocobo-poodoo. Tell us how you really came by it, old timer. I’m not traveling around with someone who has elemental manipulation powers when I don’t know where he got them from.”

“Hey,” said Elrann, “you have elemental manipulation powers and we don’t know where you got them from!”

“I inherited a fragment of the Wind Shell from my father, alright!” said Sagar heatedly. At the same time, he took out a necklace from inside his shirt and showed them the shard of translucent shell that its silver chain ran through.

Elrann’s eyes stretched. 

“Oh my,” said Nuthea.

Ryn wasn’t so surprised--he had come to suspect something like this might be behind Sagar’s powers. Cid’s face was unmoved too.

“And the princess here has her powers,” Sagar continued, putting the necklace back down his shirt, “‘cause she’s from the royal family of Magnolia.” 

“Manolia,” said Nuthea.

“Whatever. And pup has them because the Fire Ruby was hidden in his village for years without him knowing or some poodoo like that, yadda yadda yadda. And as far as we know the woman and the scumsucker don’t have elemental powers, but if we find out later they’ll do I’m sure they’ll tell us how they got them. So...what’s your deal, old timer?”

The group fell silent, waiting for another answer from Cid, who for a moment only stroked the side of his beard and scrunched up his face.

Ryn chewed the side of his mouth. On the one hand, he could perhaps believe Cid and Nuthea that Cid had just stumbled upon one of the Jewels somewhere, and even that it was made more likely because it was his ‘destiny’ from this ‘One’ god, the ‘God of gods’. On the other hand, what Sagar was saying made an awful lot more sense. Once again Ryn found that while he would prefer to believe what Nuthea and Cid were saying, what Sagar was saying seemed more likely. These Jewels didn’t seem like the sort of objects that you just chanced upon, or that ‘destiny’ brought you to. They seemed like the sort of things that you had to know about, and go looking for, in order to find. After all, there had been one hidden right under Ryn’s nose for apparently as long as he had been alive, and he hadn’t found out about it till recently. And now he had lost it to someone who had been looking for it… Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr.

“Come on, Cid,” Ryn said, choosing to lend his support to Sagar. “Even if you did just chance upon the Light Diamond somewhere, we want to know how it happened. The true version of how it happened.”

At length, Cid sighed. “I suppose it was foolish of me to think that I could keep this from you for long. The One must have purposed for me to tell you through this turn of events.”

“Sure He did,” said Sagar, “or maybe you just discovered you couldn’t keep lying to us for very long.”

“Sagar!” objected Nuthea. “Don’t be so rude to Grandfather!”

“That’s what he was doing, princess. Call it what you like, but that’s what it was. We know that now. Come on, old timer, out with it.”

“Well, if you must know,” said Cid, his eyes not looking at any of them but off into the vague distance of memory, “I was once the healer in an adventuring party that set out to find all of the Primeval Jewels long ago. And with some of them, we succeeded.”

“What?!” said everyone else (including Vish).

“It’s true. We stole the Light Diamond from a Citadel in Erm. I was already trained as a healer, so since the Crystal grants manipulation of the element of life, I was chosen to be its bearer.”

“Do you still have it?” said Ryn.

“In this case...no.”

“Why not?”

“Er, I put it back.”

“WHAT?!” said everyone.”

“Why would you do that?” said Sagar.

“That will require some further explanation--”

“What happened to the other adventurers in your party?” butted in Ryn. He had begun to wonder about certain things. 

Cid closed his eyes. “That I am not ready to tell you about yet.”

They died, then, Ryn surmised. And he couldn’t bring them back from death. Because he can’t do that. Because no one can do that.

Cid opened his eyes. “But what I am saying to you is true.”

“How did you find out about the Jewels in the first place?” Nuthea jumped in. Clearly everyone had their own question they wanted to ask. “In Manolia the knowledge of the Jewels is a closely-guarded secret…”

“That’s the least interesting part of the story,” said Cid. He glanced at Sagar for a moment. Why did he do that? thought Ryn. “It really doesn’t matter. What matters is why we went after them. Once we found out about their existence, we decided it would be terrible if the Jewels ever fell into the wrong hands. So we set out to find them ourselves, to keep them safe, should anyone with malicious intentions or ambitions ever learn of them. And as I say, we succeeded in finding some of them.”

“How many did you find, then?” asked Elrann.

“Four,” said Cid.

“Which ones?” asked Nuthea.

Ryn answered for him. He had begun to work things out. “The Light Diamond, the Lightning Crystal, the Wind Shell, and the Fire Ruby.”

Cid nodded. “Correct.”

“You knew my father,” Ryn realised. And he probably knew Sagar’s too.

“Yes.”

“He was part of the adventuring party. Along with others.”

“What happened to you? Why did you abandon searching for the Jewels?”

Cid swallowed. His next words came out with some difficulty, and he kept pausing as he said them, like he was holding back tears. “When we went after the fifth jewel, two...two of our number were killed. That was when we realised the folly of what we were doing. It turned out we had only got to the Jewels that were relatively easy to find--the ones that were nearby, and not so well guarded. The others were going to be much harder. So we decided to return or hide the ones we had found. They really were safer in their original hiding places all along, anyway.”

Ryn had never heard of any of this. He knew that his father had had a life before he had met his mother and settled in Cleasor, that he had been a traveler himself and worked in a variety of professions, but he had never heard about any of this. Perhaps with good reason, he saw, but he still couldn’t help from feeling betrayed. Mother. Father. Hometown.

“But now,” Cid went on, “now that a malicious power has learned of the existence of the Jewels, and one with enough strength perhaps to take them for himself, now those who guard and keep them must be warned.”

“What are you saying, Grandfather?” asked Nuthea.

“What I’m saying is that I must help you to get to Manolia as soon as possible in order to warn your people of what the Emperor has learned as soon as possible. I owe at least that much to the memory of your grandmother.”

“What?” said Nuthea, forgetting her usual polite terms of address. “You knew grandmother Effi?”

“No,” said Cid. “I knew your other grandmother.”

“Lissa?”

“That’s right.”

“How?”

“She was a part of our adventuring party too. Quite a firecracker. She was the one to find the Lightning Crystal, deep in an underground dungeon.”

“But my mother taught me that the Lightning Crystal has been in our family for generations!”

“Nope. Well, I suppose three generations is still ‘generations’. Lissa found it. Maybe it used to belong to the Manolians before, but if it did, they lost it, and Lissa found it again.”

Nuthea’s  face looked like she had just eaten something that disagreed with her. She seemed horrified at the idea that her parents might have taught her anything that was factually incorrect, unintentionally or not.

“Grandmother Lissa… She always was very peculiar… And she always did seem to want to encourage me to break the rules and go out on adventures… In fact, it’s probably her fault that I… Never mind. I can barely believe it,” she finished, running out of steam. What had she been about to say?

“I don’t believe it,” said Sagar. “This is getting completely ridiculous. The old timer is clearly making all of this up.” 

“If he’s making it up,” said Nuthea, “how did he know the name of my grandmother? I’ve never said it or told it to you any of this time.”

“I...er…” for once Sagar ran out of steam for a moment too. “I suppose you might be right there. But this is ridiculous. Next you’ll be telling me that my father was part of your little ‘adventuring party’ too.”

Here we go... 

Cid looked at him, and smiled.

“You have got to be poodooing me.”

“Captain Figaro was an invaluable member of our party. He was the one to find the--”

“--Wind Shell,” said Ryn. He had seen where that was going easily enough.

“But my…” said Sagar. “I always thought my father was a famous plundering skypirate…”

“He was, for most of his career. But when he ran into our party who were also going after the Wind Shell, and beat us to it, we managed to convince him to come with us to try to find the other Jewels.”

“My father would never have done that.”

“Well, he did.”

“If you’re not lying, that is.”

“I have no reason to lie.”

“Look,” said Ryn, whatever happened in the past, this is getting pretty weird.” His doubt about ‘destiny’ was starting to erode. “Four of us now who have been thrown together are all ‘Jewel-touched’, or whatever you call it, Nuthea.”

“Yes,” said Cid, “the Jewels have a way of doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Bringing together those who have been touched by them. It is the purpose of the One at work, seeking to find a group of people who will serve him by gathering the Jewels together to protect the world from evil. It’s no coincidence either that I knew three of your parents, or ancestors at least.”

“Rrrr.” Sagar looked about to explode. “Enough of this already!” he yelled, going red in the face, little flecks of spittle flying from his mouth. “I’ve had enough of all this Oneist garbage! It’s not purpose, or destiny, or whatever that we’ve all come together! The Empire are going after the Jewels. That’s how the pup and the princess ended up in the same place--because they came from places that have Jewels, so the Empire captured them. Then I attacked the ship they were on because being Jewel-touched I’m the only pirate crazy enough to go after an Imperial warship. Then we got grounded and the princess got hurt and… and… we made for the nearest healer, who was obviously well known for being a healer because he’s Jewel-touched too…”

Even Sagar did not sound so convinced any more.

Ryn, Nuthea and Cid all looked at Elrann and Vish, who were standing next to each other.

“Don’t look at me,” said Elrann, a hand on her hip. “I don’t have any crazy jewel powers. Least not that I’m aware of.”

“Nor me,” said Vish, scowling at them from behind his face covering. “If I had powers of elemental projection I would have used them to kill you all and hand you over to the Empire for poppy seed by now.”

“But you will gain elemental powers,” said Cid. “You both will. I am sure of it. If the One’s purpose is done, both of you will become Jewel-touched, even Jewel-bearers, before the journey of this group is done.” 

Jewel-bearers… thought Ryn. Like my Dad must have been. Wait a second... “Hang on,” he said, “how did the Empire know that we had the Fire Ruby?” That was something he had wondered many times, but he had not thought to voice the question until now.

“That I cannot tell you,” said Cid. “Ornos did not reveal his secret ownership of the Fire Ruby to anyone else, as far as I know. The only people who knew about him having it were the members of our party. But when we parted ways, we didn’t even tell each other where we were going or where we planned on settling or hiding our Jewels. Even that was deemed too dangerous, in case someone got captured and tortured for the information.”

The Empire were going to torture me, Ryn realised.

“Never mind that now,” said Sagar. He had become interested in something else. “Old timer, are you telling me you think we’re all going to end up with Jewel-powers?”

“If this party is successful in its quest, yes. Look: Four of us have them already. We’ve been brought together by the One’s Purpose. It’s as though He is writing a story, and we are characters inside it. We may have free choice, but He is guiding us in towards the outcome He desires.”

Sagar went quiet again, and tapped his mouth in thought. Even he now seemed to be contemplating the possibility that they had all been brought together by something more than dumb, blind luck.

It seemed a little more convincing to Ryn too, now that they had discovered another of their group was Jewel-touched. But why would this ‘One’ add Elrann and Vish to their traveling group as well? Unless they really were going to find more Jewels and develop elemental projection powers of their own like Cid predicted… 

And it was still bugging him: How had the Emperor learned of the location of the Fire Ruby in his hometown if none of Cid’s original adventuring party had told him about it. Or maybe they--

Nuthea interrupted his train of thought. “Look, fellows.” Fellows? Who talks like that? “I agree with Grandfather here that the One must have brought as all together for a Purpose, but whatever that Purpose turns out to be, we still need to get to Manolia as soon as possible to warn my people of the Emperor’s knowledge and plans. If I don’t warn them in time, more of the Jewels could fall into the Emperor’s hands, which would be catastrophic for the whole of Mid, let alone Manolia. That was what we were doing before this revelation that Grandfather is Jewel-touched too. And now that thanks to him Ryn is awake and back to good health, we need to be on our way again. Are you all still coming with us to Sirra, Grandfather?”

“Of course I’m coming with you, Granddaughter,” said Cid. “It is the Will of the One.”

“What about the rest of you?”

“I’m coming with you too,” said Vish. “So long as the old man eventually gives me some more poppy seed and can keep supplying me with it.”

“In time, in time”, said Cid. “I told you, you need to wait a little longer or the hit won’t be as strong.” 

“I’m happy to keep tagging along with ya,” said Elrann. “I’ve got nothing better to do, since Imfis has been invaded by the Empire. And if I’m going to develop elemental projection powers by staying with you guys, I think I’ll stick around.” It wasn’t clear to Ryn whether or not that last sentence was a joke.

“Captain Sagar?” said Nuthea.

“You know I’m coming. I’m escorting you. Rewards. Gold. Precious gems. Beautiful women. We’ve been over this.”

They all looked at Ryn.

“What?” said Ryn. Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Kill Vorr. Stay with Nuthea? “General Vorr was heading towards Sirra. If there’s a chance that I’m going to find him there, then I’m still coming with you. 

“And nearly dying isn’t going to stop me.”

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 11: Run Away!

Fri, 03 Feb 2023 21:28:00 GMT

Previously on Saga of the Jewels - Mid-Season Recap:

Seventeen year old Ryn’s hometown is attacked by General Vorr of the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before he dies, Ryn’s father gives him a ruby, which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess Nuthea, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain Sagar, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. However, in the battle with the Empire Sagar’s ship’s engineer has been killed. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit a new engineer called Elrann. Ast is then attacked by the Empire, who are using the Fire Ruby to invade the continent and search for more of the Jewels. Ryn confronts General Vorr, his parents’ murderer on whom he has vowed to enact revenge, and only narrowly escapes with the help of his new friends. Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann flee the city of Ast together, but are then attacked by a bounty hunter. They manage to subdue the bounty hunter but Nuthea is gravely wounded in the process. Ryn beats Sagar to the hunter’s mount and rushes Nuthea to the nearest town where he finds a healer, Cid, a mysterious old man who saves the princess’s life with his arts and asks to join the traveling party, saying that he believes it is the purpose of ‘the One’, the god that he and Nuthea each worship. Cid also gives the still-captive bounty hunter a poppy seed to alleviate his withdrawal symptoms from the addictive substance, and tells the party to meet him at the top of a hill after he goes back to the nearby town to pick up some supplies. They go to the hilltop to wait, but when Cid arrives back he is being chased by an enormous dog-like monster and a troop of Imperial soldiers…

Episode 11: Run Away!

The beast looked like a huge bulldog, twice the height and four times the width of a man. 

Its fur was white, but over that it had been fitted with black plate armour on its back and around its head--the same kind of armour the Imperial soldiers wore.

When it barked, horribly and monstrously, it spat frothy saliva from behind rows of huge, shiny, pointed teeth. It was still about fifty paces away, but pounding towards them at full tilt through the trees.

Blam! 

Sparks lit the side of the beast’s helmet for a moment. Elrann had shot it. But she hadn’t even slowed it down. It shook its huge head as if to dismiss an irritating fly as it continued to charge towards them along with the soldiers that rode alongside it.

“There’s no way we can beat this thing in our current state!” yelled Sagar. “Everyone, get on a chocobo! Retreat! Run away!” He took the rope from Cid and swung himself up onto the third chocobo in a smooth motion, then motioned for Nuthea to join him and pulled her up behind him.

“Quick, get on!” the old man called to Elrann, and she jumped up to join him on his chocobo as well.

That left one more. Hurriedly, Ryn clambered up onto the chocobo that Vish was on, sat in front of him, grabbed the reins, lashed them.

“Yah!” he shouted.

The chocobo sprang forwards just in time, as behind them Ryn heard the sound of the creature’s enormous jaws snapping shut. It barked in frustration and resumed its pursuit, muscled white legs pumping back into a run. 

Ryn turned and lashed the reins again, willing his chocobo to run faster. To either side of the monster he had glimpsed the soldiers he recognised as Biggs and Wedge galloping along on their own chocobos, carrying crossbows.

This is not good.

An arrow hit the trunk of a tree just in front of him with a thunk.

This is really not good.

Nuthea and Sagar’s chocobo galloped in front of them, then Cid and Elrann’s. They had to move left and right to weave their way in and out of the trees as they ran at full tilt down the wooded slope that led down from the hill they had been resting on, but they just about kept formation. Arrows whistled past them, hitting the trees or landing uselessly in the grass.

“Stop!” shouted of one of the soldiers behind them; it sounded like Biggs. Ryn didn’t even know how many soldiers they had chasing them. The voice was much too close for his liking. “Stop in the name of the Emperor! You are to be tried for theft, rebellion and destruction of property! Stop, you rebel scum!”

“I thought you said you were going to pay for the chocobos out of your own money!” Sagar yelled to Cid as they galloped through the forest, completely ignoring the Imperial’s demands.

“I said no such thing!” called back Cid over his shoulder. “Our purposes are far more important than whatever those Imperial dolts in Nonts are going to use them for!”

“Pops, slow down a bit!” yelled Elrann from where she sat behind Cid astride their chocobo. “I’ve got another shot, but I need a clear view! Ryn, you swap places with us!”

She’s mad, thought Ryn. But he kicked his ankles into the heaving sides of his chocobo all the same. He didn’t expect it to be able to run much faster than it was going, but it cawed frantically and sped up a little, and Ryn had to grip the reins tighter to stay on.

In front of them, at the same time, Cid pulled on his reins to slow his and Elrann’s chocobo down.

“Woah!” Ryn said as he had to steer his steed out of the way of Cid’s to avoid a collision. He whipped his head round to check they were alright as they bolted past their comrades.

Cid and Elrann kept pace with them, but now from the back of the line. The old man seemed like he had done this before. They’re both crazy! 

“What’s going on back there, pup?!” Sagar and Nuthea were just in front of Ryn now.

“Nothing, we’re fine!” called back Ryn, ducking his head to avoid a low branch.

“Oof!”

Ryn felt Vish jolt behind him. 

“A little warning please, boy?” Vish said. But Ryn could still feel him on the chocobo. Thankfully he hadn’t been thrown off.

“Sorry…” said Ryn. “Too many things going on at once!”

Blam!

Elrann had fired her second shot. A high-pitched, distressed caaaaaw sounded, followed by a human shout of anger.

Ryn managed another quick glance backwards. One of the chocobos of the soldiers pursuing them tumbled in the grass, quickly shrinking into the distance, its rider rolling on the ground in a cloud of yellow feathers.

“Damn it! Missed!” Ryn heard Elrann say as he looked forwards again so he could steer.

“Looks like you got him to me!” Ryn called.

“Yeah, but I was aiming for the dog! Aaargh!”

“Raaawrrr!”

Another horrible snapping sound. But the trees were too densely packed here for Ryn to risk another look over his shoulder just now. “What happened?” he called.

“We’re alright!” yelled Elrann from behind them. “We’re alright!”

“The beast nearly got them,” said Vish behind Ryn. “He took some of their chocobo’s tail feathers, but they are still intact.” The Shadowfinger’s voice dropped to a low growl. “This is useless. You can’t outrun them forever. The beast is your match in speed, and more than your match in strength. You need someone in your party who can employ ranged attacks more effectively.”

“Well, who do you suggest?!” Ryn said to him. It was hard to concentrate on talking and steering the chocobo at the same time, not to mention avoiding falling off as he bounced up and down on its back in time with its frantic gallop. “Sagar, Nuthea and me are all too tired to use our elemental projection! Elrann’s out of bullets now and she can’t reload while we’re riding! Who else is there?”

“Me, you fool!” Vish’s voice was venomous in Ryn’s ear. “Loose these bonds around my wrists and I will dispatch the mutt for you.”

“What are you two jabbering about back there?” Sagar called out from the chocobo in front of them. “Stay focused, pup, or we’ll never outrun this thing!”

“The bounty hunter says he can take care of the monster!” Ryn called back. “He wants me to untie him!”

“Don’t do it, pup!” Sagar shouted immediately. “It’s a trap! He’ll kill you and hand us all over to the Empire to collect his bounty!”

“No!” called back Nuthea from where she sat on the chocobo behind Sagar. She had her arms around him so that she wouldn’t fall off--even in the chaos, Ryn didn’t like that–but she managed to twist her shoulders round to look at them. “Give him the benefit of the doubt, Ryn! Trust him! Everyone is capable of change!”

She’s trying to teach me something even now?

“Shut up, princess!” cried Sagar. “What are you saying?! You’re going to get us all killed, even sooner than is likely! Don’t listen to her, pup!”

What do I do?

Another snapping noise; teeth closing together so loud Ryn shuddered.

“Argghh!” cried Elrann. “Poodoo! It nearly got me that time! Can’t this bird go any faster, pops?!”

“I don’t think so; it’s going as fast as it can! Just keep holding on!”

“Alright,” Ryn said to himself, making his decision. He had trusted Vish this far. They needed a way out of this situation. “How do you suggest I untie you,” he said to Vish, “while we’re running for our life?”

“You’re all mad!” yelled Sagar in front of them. He must have heard. “We’re going to die thanks to you!”

“Take out my sword,” said Vish over the noise of the chocobos’ gallop and the thundering footfall of the beast behind them. “Which I notice you stole from me, by the way. Slide it out of its sheath and hold it point-up behind your back while you steer.”

“Mad! You’re all mad!” yelled Sagar.

Snap!

“Aaah!” cried Elrann. “It nearly got us that time!”

It was tricky while bouncing up and down on the chocobo, but Ryn took his right hand off the reins, kept his eyes forward so he could still see where he was going, and reached down for the hilt of the sword that hung at his side. 

“Woah!”

The chocobo jumped to clear a fallen tree and Ryn wobbled on its back and nearly fell off. But he righted himself and regained his balance, still clasping the hilt with one hand and the reins with the other.

He slid the black sword from its sheath with a scrape of steel then, taking care not to drop it or accidentally stab himself, he turned it downwards, then twisted his arm behind his back so that he held it there blade-up. He felt Vish lean back on the chocobo to allow the blade to come between them, and lent forward a little himself to compensate.

“What are you doing, pup?!” yelled Sagar. “What’s happening back there? Are you still alive?!”

Ryn didn’t reply. He just concentrated on staying on the chocobo and steering it through the trees while he held the sword up.

He felt a shuffling behind him, accompanied by a quick repetitive noise like someone breathing in and out rapidly. The snapping of rope.

The sword was snatched from his hand.

Despite himself, Ryn closed his eyes just for a moment, wincing. If he had misjudged the bounty hunter, surely he was about to die.

He felt the bounty hunter reach forwards from behind him to grab something.

“I will be taking this back now,” said Vish as he took the sheath for his sword and wrenched it from Ryn’s belt. Ryn nearly came off the chocobo, but he had two hands back on the reins now. He held on for dear life. The chocobo slowed a little, thinking he was trying to halt it, but Ryn lashed the reins and kicked its sides and it sprang forwards at full tilt again.

“Yah!”

“Caw!”

This was the moment of truth. The bounty hunter had his sword and sheath back now--if he was going to kill Ryn surely he must do it now. But Ryn could barely spare another moment to grimace in anticipation--the trees were too close together here; he needed to concentrate on steering the chocobo.

He felt the bounty hunter shifting where he sat behind him.

The chocobo wobbled as Vish moved violently all of a sudden.

“Arrrrgggghhhhh!”

This time the cry had been male. It must have come from another Imperial soldier.

“No, get the dog, bountyhunter, get the dog!” shouted Elrann.

“This will be easier if I eliminate the men first,” called Vish. His voice was calm, clinical, even amidst the chaos of the chase.

“What is going on back there?!” shouted Sagar.

“I don’t know!” said Ryn. “I can’t see right now! I’ve got to look forwards to steer!”

“He just threw something at one of the soldiers pursuing us!” Elrann called. “Something sharp! It hit him in his visor!”

“Quiet,” said Vish. “I am concentrating.”

Another violent jolt on the chocobo behind Ryn, at exactly the same moment that he had to steer it to one side to avoid crashing into a tree. 

This time there was a thwack like the sound of an arrow hitting a trunk.

“Damn it; missed,” said Vish. “Can’t you steer straight, boy?”

“I’m doing my best!” said Ryn. “The trees are dense here!”

A heartbeat.

Another jolt; another scream.

“You got another one!” Elrann called out to Vish.

“Yes, I can see that, girl,” said Vish. “That’s the nearest soldiers taken care of. They were guiding it. Now to take out the beast.”

Another jolt. 

This time Ryn heard a vicious clang.

The beast roared, and there was rage in its roar.

“Godsdamnit,” said Vish, “missed again. Hit its armour. I’m out of ammunition. I only brought three stars with me on my hunt--I didn’t think I’d need any more. Do you have anything else for me to throw at it, boy?”

“What?!” exclaimed Ryn. What sort of question was that? “No! All I have are the clothes on my back! I don’t even have your sword any more!”

The bounty hunter sighed behind Ryn, audibly even over the noise of the chase. “Fine. I’d hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this.”

The chocobo lurched as Vish moved.

“What are you doing?” Ryn called back.

Another jolt, the most violent yet.

“Holy poodoo!” yelled Elrann.

“Raaaaaawwwwwwrrrrrrr!” called the beast, and then its roar cracked and became a whine, a horrible high-pitched squeal that didn’t sound like any dog that Ryn had ever heard.

“What happened?” Ryn yelled.

“He threw his sword at it!” said Elrann. “He hit it right between the eyes and it stuck in!”

“Yes, but it is still chasing us,” said Vish. “Persistent abomination.”

Unbelieving, Ryn risked another look back round over his shoulder. But then his neck spasmed with pain and he had to twist it back round again.

Just before he did, he got a glimpse of the scene behind: The beast was still pursuing them, but now the black hilt of Vish’s sword protruded from between its huge black dog-like eyes in the middle of its pug face.

“The poison will slow it down eventually, but that will take too long,” said Vish. “I’ll have to finish it off up close.”

Ryn’s chocobo wobbled as Vish shifted his weight again. 

“What are you doing now?” said Ryn.

“Taking care of things,” said Vish

It put a band of pain round his neck, but Ryn forced himself to look round again.

Vish was standing up on the back of the chocobo as it galloped along, arms held out to either side for balance. He bent his legs.

“No!” yelled Ryn.

Vish jumped, and the chocobo shook from the force of his departure and cawed.

The bounty hunter soared through the air, somersaulted multiple times, and landed feet-first on top of the dog, which was still pursuing them. 

Then Ryn had to twist his neck round again to see where he was steering.

“What’s going on, Ryn?” Nuthea called to him from in front.

“He just jumped onto that dog thing!” Elrann answered for him.

One more excruciating risked look round, and Ryn saw Vish climbing forwards on the beast’s back, reaching over to pull out his sword, then raising it high again.

Ryn flinched.

The beast howled.

When Ryn opened his eyes, the beast was losing its footing, stumbling forwards, purple blood spraying in a shower from its face. It went over onto its side, and skidded along the ground for a moment before colliding with a tree, making a tremendous crunch.

Vish, meanwhile, was in the air, descending rapidly back towards Ryn’s chocobo.

“Look where you’re going, boy!” the bounty called out urgently as he descended.

He landed on the chocobo and its whole body shook.

Ryn turned his head back round just in time to see--

--a tree.

Whack!

He went head over heels over the front of the chocobo and smacked into something before falling to the ground in a jumble of limbs.

His head rang and new pain blossomed in his back, but he knew he had to get up.

The chocobo was lying on the ground, panting, at the foot of the tree it had just crashed into.

Stupid bird. What sort of animal needs to be steered out of the way of trees, anyway? Though really it’s my fault for not looking where I was going…

“Ready yourself, boy,” said Vish behind him.

Ryn looked round. The dog-beast-thing was still down, about twenty paces away, whining quietly in a purple-bloody heap, but six remaining black-armoured soldiers were slowly advancing towards them across the forest floor, each on the back of their own yellow-feathered chocobo.

“I don’t have anything to ready myself with…” said Ryn. Now that he had returned Vish’s sword to the bounty hunter he was weaponless. He tried to summon some fire to his palm, but none would come. It was no use. He was just too exhausted.

“Then stay close to me…” said Vish quietly. “Where are your friends?”

“They’ll come back for us once they realise we’re not with them any more,” said Ryn, hoping it was true. Mother. Father. Hometown. Nuthea?

The soldiers were close now, about ten paces away. Four against one, thought Ryn. Can Vish take them? Surely. After all, he had just single-handedly taken down an enormous dog-monster. On the other hand, there had only been four of Ryn and his friends, and Vish hadn’t won against them.

“Shadowfinger!” called one of the helmeted soldiers from his mount. Ryn recognised the voice. It was the thin one from before. Wedge. “What are you doing running with these rebels? You know the price for desertion and treason against the Emperor!”

“They captured me while I was hunting them,” said Vish. “Now that you’re here, I can help you bring them in.”

What?

Vish stepped to the side of Ryn and slipped an arm around Ryn’s neck. With his hand he raised his black blade so that it was level with Ryn’s throat, ready to be drawn across it.

“What are you doing?!” Ryn yelled, despite the swordpoint glinting somewhere under his chin.

“Be quiet, or I’ll slit your throat here and now!” Vish barked. Then he dropped his voice and spoke so that only Ryn could hear. “Just play along, boy. Either my head’s gone soft, or I’ve taken a liking to you and your traveling party. I reckon I can get more poppy more quickly traveling with your old man than if I stick with the Empire. So play along.” He raised his voice and spoke to the soldiers again. “Have you got anything to tie him up with?”

“Of course,” said a soldier with a deeper voice, whom Ryn remembered as ‘Biggs’, as he drew up on his chocobo. “What of the others from his party?”

“You should send your men to keep chasing them. They are tired and depleted; they have no energy left for casting their magics. Also, they are inept at riding.” Does he mean that? “You will catch them too before long.”

“Good,” said the soldier Biggs. He motioned with his hand to two of the other mounted soldiers. “Vance, Gill, continue your pursuit. Remember: dead or alive are both fine. Go now.”

“Yes sir!” Two of the soldiers rode off on their chocobos.

That was clever. He got rid of two of them. Assuming he’s not actually betraying us...

“Have you got anything to tie this one up?” Vish asked Biggs.

“No,” said Biggs. He dismounted, and the other two remaining soldiers followed suit.

“A good beating should subdue him well enough,” said Wedge. “You hold him still while we have some fun. This is the one who tricked his way into the Healing House earlier today.”

“Alright then.” Vish shifted his posture so that he had both arms around Ryn and gripped tight. Then he whispered in Ryn’s ear: “I hope you know how to handle a sword, boy. I will lend you mine. I have other methods of fighting.”

“Hold him nice and still, Shadowfinger,” said Wedge as he approached them. He had thrown his gauntlets on the ground and was clicking his knuckles.

“As you wish,” said Vish. 

Wedge stood before Ryn, pulling back his fist to prepare a punch.

Is he going to something or not?

“Now!” Vish yelled.

He shoved Ryn forwards into Wedge.

Ryn crashed into the soldier and the two of them went down in a tangle. Ryn managed to roll off the soldier, readying himself for Wedge to recover and draw his weapon, but before the soldier could do so Vish was on him, thrusting his blade into the soft gap between Wedge’s helmet and the black carapace of his breastplate.

Wedge’s scream made Ryn’s guts tremble.

“Here, you take this.”

The Shadowfinger slid his blade out of Wedge’s neck and turned it round to hand it by the hilt to Ryn, who took it and stared. The black blade now wept deep red.

“Snap out of it, boy,” said Vish. “It’s time for you to fight.”

“Traitor!” The other soldiers were shouting. “B*****d! Dissenter!”

The Shadowfinger turned and then ducked out of the way of the blade of one of the soldiers. He took his legs out from underneath him with a vicious sweeping kick, quick as lightning, then picked up his blade when the soldier dropped it, and stabbed him too.

“Stupid rebel brat!” shouted another soldier as he rushed towards Ryn, while the others all went for Vish. The deeper voice. Biggs. “You got my comrade killed!”

Ryn brought his sword up to defend himself on reflex and the soldier’s blade clashed against it with a clang.

Both of their eyes widened with surprise. Ryn was as shocked as the soldier was that he had successfully defended himself. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip, putting one foot out behind him to steady himself. 

The two of them stood like that for a moment, their swords grating against each other, locked in a contest of strength. Ryn gazed into the soldier’s visor while he pushed as hard as he could to stop Bigg’s blade coming down towards him, but all he could see in there was blackness. 

All at once he felt a weight of loneliness, or worthlessness, of sadness, as if he was the only person in the entirety of the world and had been tried by the gods and found wanting. Why should he feel this now? 

Mother. Father. Hometown. This is madness. I don’t know how to fight. I’m going to die.

He gave a fraction of ground to the soldier, and the two locked blades began to move towards him. 

Ryn leapt backwards with both feet, landing a couple of paces away, and as he did so the tip of the soldier’s blade caught the very edge of his jerkin, shearing off the end of one of the thongs that tied it up. 

Ryn looked down, opened his mouth, blinked and then dived to his left on instinct, hitting the ground and rolling to avoid another whistling arc from the soldier’s sword.

Blood rushed in his ears. 

He staggered up, wrapped both his hands around his sword hilt, let out a shout and charged at the soldier. He rained down everything he had left on the soldier, more shouts and gasps escaping from his mouth with each blow. 

But it wasn’t enough. The soldier blocked them with ease, no strain or urgency in his movements at all. When the last of Ryn’s strength was spent, the soldier batted away his final blow with a lazy turn of his arm, drew his blade back, and…

...stabbed Ryn through the chest.

The shock of a sword blade sliding through his flesh.

Ryn blacked out.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 10: Argument With An Addict

Fri, 27 Jan 2023 21:20:48 GMT

Previously on Saga of the Jewels:

Seventeen-year-old Ryn’s hometown is attacked by General Vorr of the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before he dies, Ryn’s father gives him a ruby, which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess Nuthea, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain Sagar, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. However, in the battle with the Empire Sagar’s ship’s engineer has been killed. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit a new engineer called Elrann. Ast is then attacked by the Empire, who are using the Fire Ruby to invade the continent and search for more of the Jewels. Ryn confronts General Vorr, his parents’ murderer on whom he has vowed to enact revenge, and only narrowly escapes with the help of his new friends. Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann flee the city of Ast together, but are then attacked by a bounty hunter. They manage to subdue the bounty hunter but Nuthea is gravely wounded in the process. Ryn beats Sagar to the hunter’s mount and rushes Nuthea to the nearest town where he finds a healer, Cid, a mysterious old man who saves Nuthea’s life with his arts and asks to join the traveling party, saying that he believes it is the purpose of ‘the One’, the god that he and Nuthea also worship. Cid also gives the still-captive bounty hunter a poppy seed to alleviate his withdrawal symptoms from the addictive substance, and tells the party to meet him at the top of a hill after he goes back to the nearby town to pick up some supplies. 

Episode 10: Argument With An Addict

While the healer Cid circled around to re-enter Nonts from the north, Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann kept to the woods and continued south-east past the town, walking to the hill where they had agreed to meet later. 

Ryn walked leading the chocobo by the reins, the captive bounty hunter propped up in its saddle. The black-shrouded man didn’t make any sound except the occasional sighing “Ahhhh.” He seemed still to be lost in his ‘poppy trance’, although from time to time his body twitched a little, making the chocobo beneath him caw. Ryn carried the man’s sword in its black sheath, making it his own for the time being, seeing as he had returned Sagar’s and had no other weapon.

As they walked, the travelers kept looking round over their shoulders, thinking every stray breeze on the back of their necks was an Imperial battalion come to find them. But no Imperials came. All they saw were the trunks of the trees that they had just walked past. All they heard was the sound of the leaves rustling above them, the squerch of their footsteps on the forest floor, and the sighing and cawing of the bounty hunter and his steed.

A single green leaf floated down from a branch, swaying through the air, and came to rest a few paces in front of Ryn. He remembered that it must nearly be the end of Summer; Autumn was on its way.

Eventually they made it to the wooded hill beyond Nonts that Cid had spoken of and climbed the ascent to its crest. By now Ryn’s shins and calves ached awfully. He and his body had been through a lot in the last day. Not to mention the last week… Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. Stay with Nuthea?

At the top of the hill, trees obscured the view so they couldn’t see into the distance unless they stood at its lip. When they did so all they could see was the treetops of the wood for miles around, except for where Nonts lay nestled in the north-west. It was safer to stay hidden under the tree cover though, so they quickly decided to walk back underneath it. 

Ryn tied the chocobo to a branch and they all sat with their backs against the trees. Ryn settled with his own back in the smooth crook of a tall, mighty oak, relishing the chance to give his legs some rest as he lent against its reassuring bulk.

Everyone seemed too exhausted to talk. So they just sat like that for a while, waiting for their new companion Cid to return. Ryn watched the leaves dancing as the branches swayed gently in the breeze.

Can we really trust this man? he thought of the old healer. He wondered if in the end he had voted the best way in the group decision. After all, one elderly resident of Nonts had betrayed him already. But this man seemed different.

He looked around at the other members of his traveling party. Nuthea was hugging her knees in her torn dress and watching the leaves as well, apparently lost in thought. Sagar had his legs and arms crossed and his head bowed, eyes closed. Elrann fiddled with one of her pistols, tipping some powder from a bottle into a hole she had opened in the top of it. 

Come to think of it, can I really trust any of these people? I don’t even want the same things as them. I’m just staying with them for safety and convenience until I can find General Vorr and kill him, because I think he might be headed the same way as them. Although… 

His gazed settled on Nuthea again, but when she raised her eyes to him Ryn quickly looked away at the bounty hunter. The bounty hunter, still sitting astride the chocobo, had gone quiet and stopped making his sighing noises. Why had Ryn argued they keep him alive, again?

Ryn remembered the look of glinting desperation he had seen in the man’s grey eyes when he had been about to die. 

Because I know he’s been through some sort of horrible nightmare just like I have, that’s why. And anyway, it hadn’t turned out to be such a bad choice so far, had it? The bounty hunter had given them directions to Nonts. If Sagar had killed him, they wouldn’t have known which way to go. And he might be able to give them more information about what was going on with this Imperial invasion when he woke up. If he ever woke up...Hang on, was he snoring? When did he fall asleep?

Mother. Father. Hometown. If Ryn stayed still in one place too long images of his parents dying and his hometown burning crowded into his mind again. He got to his feet and walked over to the chocobo. 

The chocobo inclined its head to inspect Ryn with its beady eyes, then nuzzled him with its beak when Ryn stroked its head feathers. “Hey, well done,” Ryn whispered. “You did good today. I might need you to run fast like that again sometime--so catch a good break while you can.”

Somewhere, a twig snapped.

Ryn’s head shot round. “What was that?” Nuthea and Elrann looked up too. All was quiet for a heartbeat. 

“It was nothing,” said Sagar, without lifting his head or opening his eyes. “Just a branch falling in the wind or something. Go back to your rest, pup. And sit down. If you must insist on keeping that scumsucker alive, let him sleep off his poppy hit in peace so we can all have a break from him.”

Ryn’s jaw tightened at Sagar’s casual commands. The skypirate was really beginning to irritate him. “I want to find out what he knows about the invasion,” he said. He also wanted to further vindicate himself for having kept the man alive, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud.

Sagar sighed audibly from where he reclined against his tree, but he didn’t say anything more.

“Hey, wake up,” Ryn said to the bounty hunter. He prodded him in his black-clad leg where he sat bound astride the chocobo. The man didn’t even stir. “Wake up,” Ryn said again a bit more loudly, and shook the man gently.

Nothing.

“If he’s sleeping off a poppy trance he’ll be pretty hard to rouse,”  said Elrann helpfully as she polished her pistol with a cloth. “That’s if you can rouse him at all.”

“Just give it a rest would you, pup?” said Sagar. 

Ryn gritted his teeth. “Wake up!” he yelled, and slapped the bounty hunter in the face.  

“Huh?! Whrrrrrrrr…” The man opened his eyes. They were deeply bloodshot, more red than right. But he was awake now. “Where…...where am I?” he rasped. Ryn noticed again how his accent was neither Efstanish nor Imfisi, but something else entirely--a strange combination of guttural and lilting. 

“Rrrr...now you’ve done it…” muttered Sagar.  

“You’re in a forest outside Nonts, in Imfis,” Ryn said to the man.

The man’s brow knotted and some grey reasserted itself in his eyes amidst the red. The black discoloration around his mouth was really quite horrible. “I am...? Oh...you’re one of the boys who was with the target.” One of the boys. That meant the bounty hunter classed Sagar as a ‘boy’ as well. Either that or maybe he mistook Elrann for a boy, as some people did. “Why didn’t you kill me when I failed the job?”

“Yes, why indeed...” said Sagar from off to the side.

Even the bounty hunter himself is questioning my decision to keep him alive! Ryn thought. But then he set his jaw. He was determined to justify his actions and make some sense of his spur-of-the-moment choice to spare this man’s life.

“I didn’t kill you,” Ryn said, “because you’re going to tell us what the Empire is doing invading Imfis.” 

The man’s forehead furrowed even more deeply as he looked at Ryn. He did nothing for a moment. Then his body twitched and his arms tensed against his bonds. He let out a small grunt.

“You’re not going anywhere,” said Ryn, a little surprised at his own boldness in the face of his fear of the man. “You’re tied up good and tight.”

“Why should I tell you anything?” the man said, his foreign-accented voice dripping with spite.

A clicking noise sounded. Ryn turned to see Elrann standing next to them. She had cocked her pistol and had it pointed at the bounty hunter’s chest. “Because this time I will shoot to kill,” she said. “I’ve re-loaded. Now tell farmboy here what he wants to know or I fill you full of lead.”

Does everyone have to have a derisive nickname for me? Ryn thought.

The man curled his black-tainted lip, looking contemptuously between the pistol and Ryn. He didn’t seem afraid of the weapon or of the prospect of imminent death. “Do you have any more poppy seed?” he said.

“You just had a hit,” Elrann growled. “You shouldn’t need another one for a while.”

The man did seem a lot more together and focused to Ryn, even if he was being entirely ungrateful and uncooperative.

The man smiled, but not in a happy way, and the blackness around his mouth rearranged itself. “It’s never too early for another hit. Besides, it’s nice to know where your next one is going to be coming from. If I knew that, I might be inclined to be a little more talkative…”

“You’ll be talkative because if you don’t I’ll put a shot in you,” said Elrann.

“Stop talking, woman, and just shoot him already!” said Sagar.

“Please,” called Nuthea from where she sat. “No more violence! The One does not approve of senseless killing.”

That lent Ryn a little more authority. “Cool it, Elrann,” he said gently, reflecting as he did so that he seemed to be the only one of them who called anyone by their proper name. “He can’t tell us anything if he’s dead…” Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. Stay with Nuthea?

“Where’s the old man?” said the bounty hunter, taking advantage of Ryn’s being interrupted by his own thoughts to break the momentary silence. “The one who gave me the poppy before?”

“He’s doing something for us,” Ryn said. He decided to use a bargaining tactic that Sagar had used earlier. “But he’ll be back soon. We’re just waiting for him. If you talk to us, I’ll get him to give you some more poppy seed when he gets back.”

The man went quiet for a moment and seemed to be considering his options. He must know he didn’t really have very many. He was tied up and completely at their mercy. 

“Alright,” the man said at last. “I will talk now, for poppy later. What do you wish to know?”

“Well…” Ryn wondered where he should start. “Well, to begin with, what’s your name?”

“My name?” The man looked puzzled again. “Why would you want to know my name?”

“You don’t need to know his name, pup, that’s a stupid question.”

Ryn’s fingers twitched. But then he remembered the feel of the cold point of Sagar’s blade pressing into his neck. He remembered the pirate had elemental powers too. He remembered that he wasn’t officially the leader of this group. Yet.

“Vish,” said the bounty hunter.

“Huh?”

“My name. It’s Vish.”

“Oh. Good... And...who hired you to capture Nuthea?”

The man’s grey eyes darted briefly beyond Ryn and back. “Nufea? Nufea is the girl with the yellow hair?”

“That’s right. Nuthea.”

“The Empire, of course.”

“You work for them?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re not a bounty hunter?” said Elrann.

“I am, or, you might say, was, a bounty hunter on a permanent contract with the Morekemian Empire.”

“You kill for them and they supply you with poppy,” said Elrann.

Vish’s silence might as well have been a ‘yes’.

“But you’re not Morekemian,” said Elrann.

“You are right. I am from Aibar. I trained to kill in Aibar.”

“How did you get involved with the Empire, then?” asked Ryn.

“They found me. They gave me poppy. Now I work for them. I hate them, but I work for them. The bigger the bounties I collect, the more poppy they give me.”

“Why?” asked Ryn, confused at that second-last sentence. “If you hate them, why don’t you just leave?” Hating the Empire was something he shared with this man, at least.

Vish dropped his voice. “You have never tasted poppy seed, have you, boy? It is the greatest feeling you could ever imagine. Greater. There is nothing better than it. Nothing. I have tried to leave it, but I cannot. I need the poppy. It makes me happy. I am a slave to it. So I am a slave to the Empire too, since they give me poppy in return for killing.”

Ryn pondered that. He understood a little more of this man’s situation now. How Ryn hated the Empire. All they did was steal, kill, destroy. Enslave. Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. Stay with Nuthea?

“We will help you escape from your poppy enslavement,” said Ryn, surprising himself as much as anyone.

“We will?” said Elrann.

“Urgggh…” groaned Sagar irritatedly, like his perception of Ryn’s stupidity made him physically sick. “Will you all just shut up?”

“That is a noble idea, Ryn,” said Nuthea. She was standing next to him and Elrann now. She smiled. 

Vish just sucked in his black lips and said nothing, and this time it wasn’t clear what his nothing meant.

“So…” Ryn said, “if you work for the Empire, you know what they’re up to. Why did you invade Imfis?”

“Yeah, what gives?!” said Elrann all of a sudden. “We pay our levies! There hasn’t been any Imfisi trouble with the Empire for a long time, ‘cept for the odd little pirate raid.” 

“I wouldn’t call them little...” said Sagar from off in the distance.

“Still, nothing that should have led to a full scale invasion! What in the hells is going on here?” Elrann was clearly still rattled by what had happened--as they all were--but as a recent resident of Imfis she seemed to be feeling it most.

Vish shook his head from where he sat atop the chocobo. “I know as much as you do, boy--”

“I’m a girl,” said Elrann. “A woman, actually.”

“So she claims,” said Sagar.

Vish frowned. “But you have short hair and you dress like a boy. And you carry a pistol.”

“Yeah. What of it?”

Vish raised his eyebrows, but then blinked his puzzlement away, apparently accepting this oddity. “Alright, girl, then. But still--I know as much as you, girl. I just collect my bounties. They don’t tell me why or where I’m going. I was flown by airship to Imfis, dropped into the forest and told to hunt for a woman matching her description.” His eyes flicked to Nuthea. “They showed me a drawing, and set me loose. They must have been very keen to get their hands on her, as they had not given me any poppy for a long time.”

“Why does that affect anything?” said Ryn.

“Because the more desperate he is for poppy the harder he will hunt, dingbat,” said Elrann. 

“Oh.”

“How did you find me?” said Nuthea. “If they knew where I was, why didn’t they send more soldiers to capture me? Why did they just send you?”

Vish went quiet. He licked his blackened lips. “You will give me lots of poppy when the old man returns?”

“We’ll get him to give you some, yes…” said Ryn carefully. “And then we’ll start helping you to get free from it.”

Vish swallowed. He was quiet a moment longer, but then he said “There are others like me. Not all from Aibar--though some are. Other Shadowfingers.”

“‘Shadowfingers’?” said Sagar. Now he stood up and joined them as well. “What in the poodoo is a ‘Shadowfinger’?”

Vish bit his lip. “I want lots of poppy,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Sagar, taking over the bartering from Ryn. “When the old timer gets back, sure.”

“The Shadowfingers are the Empire’s elite assassins,” said Vish. “People call us bounty hunters because that is what they think we are. And that is true, in a way. But really we are all poppy slaves--and slaves to the Empire because of that. The Emperor finds the most dangerous killers in Mid, gets us hooked on poppy, and then uses us to carry out his wishes. Together, we make up the Emperor’s Hand. It wasn’t just me they dropped into Imfis, but other Shadowfingers as well. Maybe about three of us.” He looked at Nuthea. “They must have known the general area you were in, but not exactly where. I stole this chocobo for transportation and just happened to chance upon you in the forest. I was lucky, I suppose. Or not, as the case may be,” he added, eyeing Elrann’s pistol. “I was doing fine until you shot me with that infernal contraption. Where did you acquire such a device, anyway?”

“In Farr,” said Elrann, and grinned.

“Ah yes. Some of the Farric Shadowfingers have them as well.” Vish nodded knowingly.

A distant noise like a dog barking, only deeper and angrier, came from somewhere very far away. Everyone looked round in the direction it had come from, the direction from which they had walked, but there was nothing to be seen, only the interwoven eaves of the trees.

“What was that?” said Ryn.

“Nothing,” said Sagar. “A stray dog or something. So you’re one of these ‘Shadowfingers’ then,” he said, turning back to Vish to resume their interrogation. “One of the Morekemian Emperor’s assassins. If that’s true, you must know why he has invaded Imfis.”

“You don’t need to ask him,” piped up Nuthea. “We already know why the Emperor has invaded Imfis.”

“Well why don’t you ask him if he knows what you think you know about why they’ve invaded?”

“I…” Nuthea hesitated. “I’m not sure we should talk to him about that. I’m not sure that we can trust him.” Ryn understood that. The bounty hunter had almost killed her, after all...

“Look, bounty hunter,” said Sagar, disregarding her, “the princess here thinks that the Emperor has invaded Imfis because he’s found out about some ancient relics called the ‘Primeval Jewels’ and he’s trying to get his hands on them.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Vish said at once. He looked completely blank. “I’ve never heard of any ‘Primeval Jewels’ before.”

“He’s lying,” said Elrann.

“Think what you will,” said Vish. “I have no reason to lie to any of you. I haven’t the faintest idea why the Empire has invaded this pitiful country. They don’t tell me what they’re doing--they just drop me into places and point me in the direction of my target so I can claim my poppy. I just want my poppy. In fact, it’s in my interests to tell you the truth.”

“Do you know who General Vorr is?” Ryn jumped in all of a sudden.

Vish was silent a moment. “Yes,” he said.

Ryn’s pulse quickened. “What can you tell me about him?”

“You don’t want to know about him,” Vish said slowly. “You don’t want anything to do with him. He is a brutal, cruel, highly dangerous Imperial officer. That is as much as you should want to know.”

“What’s his involvement in the invasion?” 

“He has been tasked with leading the invasion of Imfis by the Emperor; I know that much.”

“How do you know that much if they don’t tell you anything?”

“Vorr is running the whole operation. He personally gave me my orders to hunt and capture or kill your yellow-haired girl himself.”

“Nuthea.”

“Nufea.”

“What’s he planning next?”

Vish sighed; not a sigh of pleasure this time like when he had been in the poppy trance, but a deeper, coarser sigh of exasperation. “That I cannot tell you. He merely issued me with my target. I was to kill or capture her, then report back with evidence--”

“Evidence?” interrupted Sagar.

“You know. Evidence that I’d completed the job. The severed head of the target will usually do, for example.”

Nuthea put a hand over her mouth.

“I was to report back with evidence,” continued Vish, “receive my poppy, and then await my next target. I don’t know anything about why I am given my targets, why the Empire are doing what they’re doing, or what they’re going to do next. I find it is best not to think about any of those things. All I am interested in is my poppy.”

Ryn’s pulse slowed again, and he sighed now as well. Whatever the others thought, he judged that this man was probably telling the truth, and that he really didn’t know anything more about Vorr’s plans or whereabouts. It made sense. He was just a sort of slave who followed orders. Although...maybe if Ryn pressed him further the man might be able to give him some hint as to Vorr’s plans and where Ryn might be able to find him next, and perhaps even how Ryn might most easily be able to kill him...

A question formed on his lips. “What else can you tell me about Gen--”

“Quick!”

Their heads snapped round. Someone had called out from somewhere in the forest, just on the edge of hearing.

There was another sound like the deep bark they had heard earlier, only louder and closer this time. There it was again. And again.

Rustling. Something moving through the undergrowth.

And then the old man healer Cid appeared, a way off still, hurtling through the trees towards them at full gallop on the back of a yellow chocobo. Where he clasped the reins he also held a rope attached to another chocobo that galloped along behind him.

“Quick, get on, get on!” he yelled as he approached them. His face was puffy and red and he spoke between gasping for breath. “We’ve got to go, now! They’re coming! They caught me stealing the chocobos from the stable and now they’re coming!”

“Who’s coming?” Ryn was the first to say as he scrambled around in a panic, trying to work out which chocobo to mount.

The barking noise sounded again, closer still; horribly, bone-chillingly close.

“The Imperials, of course!” yelled Cid urgently. “But they’re bringing something with them! Some kind of beast!”

From between the trees behind him, where Cid had been only moments ago, several black-armoured Imperial soldiers mounted on chocobos appeared.

And with them, twice their height and more than four times their width, was some sort of bone-white, dog-like, black-eyed, many-toothed, barking monster.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 9: Party of Six?

Sat, 25 Jun 2022 07:31:21 GMT

Previously on Saga of the Jewels:

Seventeen-year-old Ryn’s hometown is attacked by General Vorr of the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before he dies, Ryn’s father gives him a ruby, which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess Nuthea, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain Sagar, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. However, in the battle with the Empire Sagar’s ship’s engineer has been killed. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit a new engineer called Elrann. Ast is then attacked by the Empire, who are using the Fire Ruby to invade the continent and search for more of the Jewels. Ryn confronts General Vorr, his parents’ murderer on whom he has vowed to enact revenge, and only narrowly escapes with the help of his new friends. Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann flee the city of Ast together, but are then attacked by a bounty hunter. They manage to subdue the bounty hunter but Nuthea is gravely wounded in the process. Ryn beats Sagar to the hunter’s mount and rushes Nuthea to the nearest town where he finds a healer, a mysterious old man who saves Nuthea’s life with his arts. The trio are attacked by the Empire, who now have a bounty on Nuthea, but Elrann and Sagar arrive just in time to rescue them, the captive bounty hunter still in tow.

Episode 9: Party of Six?

The chocobo could only move at a brisk trot with three people on its back, but that didn’t matter as they’d left their assailants in total disarray. After his battle with the soldiers Ryn could barely run to keep up alongside it anyway. 

The old man didn’t move very fast either. Sagar sat upright on the chocobo next to Nuthea and the bounty hunter, clutching his wounded arm. The only person who seemed to have much strength left among them was Elrann, though she was still shaken from the sudden invasion of Imfis by the Empire, as far as Ryn could tell.

When they’d made it a good way back into the woods outside Nonts and Ryn was satisfied that they hadn’t been pursued, he stopped them in a small clearing of beech trees. He, Elrann and the old man carefully lifted Nuthea down from the chocobo and lay her on the ground, then did the same with the gagged and bound bounty hunter, then helped Sagar down.

Nuthea was the priority. Although Ryn’s heart had stopped palpitating when the old man had pronounced that she was going to live, she still hadn’t woken up and his heart was still beating faster than usual. 

He knelt down next to the princess. The old man had applied a fresh bandage from his bag to her abdomen and, mercifully, this one was not drenched in blood. Blood still stained her disheveled dress around it, though. Her face was still very pale--though Ryn fancied he could see a faint pinkness returning to her proud cheeks already--and frozen in a disapproving pout. 

Even unconscious she looked like she was about to deliver a lecture. 

“Is she going to be alright?” Ryn asked.

“Yes,” the old man said plainly. “She should wake up soon.”

The healer gently placed a hand on Nuthea’s forehead, closed his eyes and whispered something. He withdrew his hand.

First, nothing. Then a flicker of consciousness passed across Nuthea’s face and she began to stir, wrinkling up her nose and frowning even more deeply. The pinkness in her cheeks grew warmer. She blinked, then opened her cool blue eyes and looked into Ryn’s.

“Oh,” she said. “Why do you look so afraid, Ryn?”

It was an unusual first question but Ryn supposed that it made sense. 

“I was afraid,” he said to her. “I thought...I thought you might have died...”

Nuthea’s mouth pushed up into a smile underneath her heavy eyelids. “There’s no need to be afraid of death,” she said quietly, taking the opportunity to teach him something.

“What happens to us after we die?” Ryn heard himself ask her. He didn’t know how she would know or why he was asking, but he asked her all the same.

“If we have believed on the One, we go to be with Him forever.” 

“How can you be so sure?”

“I don’t know. I’m not always. But right now, I am. I’m all the more sure from having just almost died.”

“Well, I didn’t want you to go to be with the One just yet…”

“What happened to me?”

“You were attacked by a bounty hunter, but I found a healer for you. I’m… I’m glad you're alive…”

His words ran out, and for a moment no more passed between them, and he hovered above the cool blue pools of her eyes.

“Well, this is all very touching, pup, princess,” said Sagar, “but do you think I could get some attention from the old man, now, too? You’re not the only one who’s been hurt. I got injured rescuing you as well.”

Ryn had forgotten that there was anyone else with them for a moment. They had all faded into the background temporarily.

He coughed and let go of Nuthea’s hand, realising at the same time that he had been holding it.

“Ah, I apologise, young man,” the healer said to Sagar. “Of course, you are injured too. Now that the young lady is alright, I can attend to you. Let me take a look.”

Ryn helped Nuthea to sit up and they sat on the grass with Elrann and watched as the old man took out a small knife from the leather bag that he carried slung over one shoulder. Delicately, he cut the torn sleeve of Sagar’s shirt away to reveal the part of his upper arm where the bounty hunter had nicked it with his sword.

Ryn winced. Underneath the shirt was a horizontal gash. It wasn’t too deep--the man in black had only sliced through the top layer of skin this time--and it had already started to scab up. But in amongst the red and brown of the scab was something else: a putrifying black colour.

“Poison,” the old man, muttered. “Of course, the same as used on the young lady. Ajanga, as the other young man told me. I am sorry I did not get to you sooner. But now that I have, I can heal you. You did very well to last this long, young man--you must be feeling very weak.”

“Just heal me, old timer,” said Sagar, eyeing Ryn.

“Of course.”

The old man rummaged around in his bag, then produced a small glass phial of some sort of silvery liquid.

“Here, drink this antidote.” He pressed the bottle to Sagar’s lips and the skypirate drank a gulp. The old man shut his eyes and gently laid a hand on Sagar’s arm, over the cut. Sagar clenched his jaw. 

“Cure,” Ryn heard the old man whisper this time.

Sagar’s eyes went wide and his head rocked back. He took the man’s hand off him.

The black discolouring had disappeared from the cut on his arm. Not only that, but now the cut closed before their very eyes, the skin sealing itself up and returning to a pinky-white hue, as if nothing had ever happened.

“Woah…” said Elrann.

“It’s a miracle...” said Nuthea.

“I…” said Sagar.

He leapt at Ryn. 

Before Ryn knew what was happening he was lying flat on his back on the ground, Sagar pinning his chest down with one of his knees. The pirate had drawn one of his swords, and he pressed the blade into Ryn’s neck so that just the very tip of it pierced his skin, like a wasp sting sticking into him. What the hells is he doing? thought Ryn, not in a position to voice his question aloud.

Ryn remembered why Sagar had cause to be angry.

“Sagar!” called Nuthea from somewhere above. “Get off him!”

“Just a moment, princess, we’ve got some business to settle.” Sagar leaned in close so that Ryn could see his stubble. His breath stank of stale tobacco leaf. Is he going to kill me? No--if Ryn knew Sagar at all, he would just threaten him. Or maybe slightly maim him?

The pirate captain dropped his voice to a low growl. “Listen, pup, and listen good. If you ever pull something like that--unseating me from my mount by surprise--again, especially in front of the ladies, I will slit your throat quicker than you can say ‘naive little greenhorn pussywillow farm boy’. You got that?”

Ryn wanted to gulp, but he thought just now that would be a bad idea. He also thought that that phrase took quite a long time to say, actually, but he thought it would be a bad idea to say that too.

“Y-yes,” he said instead out of self-preservation.

“Good,” said Sagar, keeping his voice low. “I’m going to let you up now, and you’re going to support me in my suggestion that we keep traveling to Manolia so I can collect the reward for the princess. Clear?”

“Clear,” croaked Ryn, though he hated himself for acquiescing so easily. He didn’t really have any other choice though.

“Sagar!” said Nuthea again.

“Al-right!” said Sagar like a henpecked husband, and got up off Ryn.

Ryn stood up, rubbing his throat. His hand came away with a small smear of blood on it, but it wasn’t much--Sagar had only pricked him.

“Silly boys,” said Nuthea with a roll of her eyes, as if Ryn had been just as complicit as Sagar in what had just happened.

“How did you do that?” said Elrann. She addressed the old man, but she was looking at the still-exposed flesh of Sagar’s arm where his cut had sealed itself up.

“Yes, that was truly remarkable!” said Nuthea. “A miracle!”

Ryn hadn’t heard this word before. “What’s a miracle?”

“The way that he healed Sagar’s wound. And mine. Mine even more so!” Nuthea placed her hand over the fresh bandage on her abdomen. “I can barely feel any pain anymore. And my wound has closed up too. That man”--her eyes flicked over to where the bounty hunter in black lay tied up on the floor--“gave me quite a cut.”

“No,” said Ryn, “I mean, what is a ‘miracle’? What does it mean?”

“A miracle is a wondrous sign that points to the One,” Nuthea recited, closing her eyes for a moment and holding up a finger. “It’s when the One works in the world to show His power.”

“It’s not a miracle, princess,” said Sagar, shaking his head. “There are no such things. Don’t be foolish. This healer just used his arts to heal Nuthea’s wound, is all—didn’t you, old timer?”

They all looked at the old man. He smiled, deep lines forming around his white-bearded mouth and under his bushy white eyebrows. “I did do that,” he said happily. “Whether you want to call it a miracle or not is up to you.”

“But you made the wound close up by itself!” said Elrann. “How did you do that?”

“The medicine he gave me,” said Sagar. “Obviously.”

“But you did something else to him as well, didn’t you?” said Elrann.

The old man’s smile grew wider. “I couldn’t possibly say.”

Ryn remembered the man whispering the word ‘Cure’.

“I am telling you, it’s a miracle,” said Nuthea.

“I still don’t get what you mean by ‘miracle’,” said Ryn.

“A miracle, Ryn, is when the One acts out of the normal course of things to show his power. Look at it like this:” (Ryn was amazed again at how easily, having been so recently near the edge of death, Nuthea was able to resume her usual teacherly manner.) “In the course of life, and death, things normally happen a certain way: The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, heavy things sink and light things float, and wounds do not close up by themselves. All these things have been arranged by the One, the God of gods. But sometimes the One intervenes in the normal course of things and changes something, to show that he is there and that he has the power to do so. It’s a bit like the writer of a story putting something into the story to show that they wrote it.” She pointed to Sagar’s arm. “This was clearly a miracle. My healing too is clearly a miracle, performed through this healer by the One, to show us that He endorses our quest.”

Sagar snorted loudly.

“If you have something to say, dear Captain, please say it,” said Nuthea.

“I’m telling you, it’s not a miracle!” said the pirate. “There is no ‘One’, or any god at all! This healer simply used his skill and medicines to heal you, princess. You’d be surprised at what bodies are capable of doing to heal themselves, with a little help. I’ve seen a man’s belly be torn open by a cutlass only to have it close up and heal itself the next day after a night drinking rum. I’ve seen a man ghostly pale with the pox spring up right as rain when a skysailor’s blessing was spoken over him. I’ve seen a man who had lost his eye in a fight screaming and wailing on the floor one moment leap up and kill his five attackers the next.” He patted his eye patch. “It happens. They weren’t miracles. They were just the ‘normal course of things’.”

“You’re wrong,” said Nuthea, eyes flashing.

Ryn could more than detect an argument brewing so he decided to interrupt before she could say any more. “Look, why don’t we just ask the healer himself?”

“There’s an idea,” said Sagar, clearly of the opinion that the old man was going to agree with his side of the argument. “Did you do a miracle or not, old timer? Tell us straight.”

The old man sniffed and wiped his nose. “I think it is best at this point if I keep my methods to myself,” he said in his kindly voice, slightly throaty with age. “I put my healers’ arts to use in service of the pair of you and I did everything I knew to do in your situations, and happily you have both recovered...that is all I will say on the matter.”

“There you go,” said Sagar, folding his arms, interpreting the old man as agreeing with his own opinion. “Healers’ arts. Not a miracle.”

“I will add, however,” the old man spoke up, “that I too am a follower of the One. It is good to meet a granddaughter in the faith, young lady.”

Nuthea’s face lit up. Ryn found himself hoping he would be able to make her beam like that one day. “Oh! A father!” she exclaimed. “I’m so pleased to meet you!”

She stepped up to the old man and they each gave one another a light kiss on either cheek.

“Urgh…” said Sagar, slapping his hand over his face. “Not another one…”

“Please, granddaughter” said the old man to Nuthea, “I am old in years. You do me a great honour, but ‘Grandfather’ will do.”

“Huh?” said Ryn, his brow knotting. “‘Grandfather’? What are you talking about?”

“It’s part of their religion, farmboy,” Elrann explained to him. “The Cult of the One are a worldwide religion, not just limited to a particular place. You do meet them sometimes. I’ve come across a few on my travels. They all see themselves as this big sort of family, with the One as their Supreme Father. So they call their younger women ‘daughters’, older women ‘mothers’, then there’s ‘sisters’, ‘brothers’, ‘fathers’, an’ stuff. I’ve never heard of no ‘grandfather’ before though.”

“Yes,” said Nuthea, smiling, “that honorific is reserved for the eldest and wisest of men. There aren’t many of them in Manolia, where I am from. What is your name, Grandfather?” 

“I am called Cid,” said the old man, smiling in return.

“Well, this is all very touching; old timer, princess,” said Sagar, “but now that you’re healed we need to be getting back on our way. Do I need to remind you that you’ve got a war to prevent, and I’ve got a reward to collect?”

The old man’s eyes widened.

“Hey numb-nuts, give her a moment,” said Elrann. “She’s just barely avoided dying from a mortal wound. Give her a bit of time to recover!”

“She’s fine now!” said Sagar impatiently, flinging out his hand to indicate Nuthea’s bandaged abdomen. “The medicine-man worked his magic, or whatever you want to call it. Let’s get this show back on the road!”

Ryn’s blood began to boil, but the old man called Cid spoke first.

“Actually, there is some wisdom in your companion’s suggestion,” the healer said diplomatically, stroking his white beard with one hand. “It would make much sense for the young lady to rest awhile. Although my arts are powerful, her wound was almost mortal, and she could do with at least a night here to recover fully before you go on your way. What’s more, that will give me time to pack my things.”

“Pack your things?” said Ryn. “Why?”

“I’m coming with you.” 

“What?!” said Sagar.

“PUUUUU--UUUUUY!”

They all looked round, startled by the sudden muffled shout.

The bounty hunter in black had begun to writhe around where he lay tied up on the ground, violently throwing his head this way and that and shouting something so loudly that they could hear it through his gag, although it was still impossible to make out what he was saying. In their heated conversation they had completely forgotten about him.

“PUU--UUY!” cried the man as he twisted on the ground, contorting his body inside the ropes. “PUU--UUY!”

“What’s wrong with him?” said Cid, concern raising the normally deep pitch of his voice.

“He’s a damned poppy addict,” Sagar said with a dismissive wave. “I promised him I would give him some if he told us the way to Nonts. Now the fool’s having a tantrum.”

“No,” said Cid, his bushy brows pushing together, “don’t you understand? Poppy addicts experience terrible withdrawal symptoms if they don’t ingest again within fourteen days. They have fits, and it feels like utter agony. Their whole body can flare with terrible pain and convulsions. Sometimes it can be so bad that it kills them. If they come off it, they have to cut down gradually. He needs some poppy seed.” He reached into his leather satchel and began to rummage around. 

“So what?” said Sagar. “Who’s going to give it to him? I don’t have any. Let the b*****d die. He’s served his purpose. I don’t know why he is still alive, anyway. I don’t even know why the pup wanted to keep him alive in the first place.” 

Ryn bristled and his pulse quickened. “He did tell us the way to Nonts,” he said defensively. “And he told us about the poison he used on his sword.”

“If you hadn’t kept him alive for that, this young lady would be dead,” said Cid, glancing at Nuthea as he knelt down on the ground next to the squirming bounty hunter. He carefully held the man’s head in place with one hand, and with the other untied his gag. 

The cloth of material fell away from the man’s face, and Cid tugged the bottom of the man’s headscarf down too, exposing his blackened mouth. 

“POPPY!” the bounty hunter shouted in an inhumanly shrill voice, like he was being tortured. “GIVE ME POPPY!”

“Shhhh,” soothed Cid.

“What are you doing, old man?” said Sagar.

“I carry poppy with me in my healer’s bag,” said Cid. “It’s not just used for pleasure--in smaller doses it’s useful as an anaesthetic--to numb pain. In fact, I gave a very small amount to the young lady earlier.”

“That explains a lot…” Sagar mumbled. Nuthea didn’t respond.

Cid produced a small glass phial of many round, black objects--seeds-- unstoppered it, and tipped a few into the bounty hunter’s mouth.

“GIVE ME POP--” the bounty hunter shrieked again when he had swallowed, but then stopped mid-word. Immediately his grey eyes went glassy, his pupils grew bigger, and his body went still, no longer convulsing and wriggling. He lay his head back on the ground and stared up above him, though his eyes had lost focus. 

“Ahhhhh…” A long, blissful sigh escaped the bounty hunter’s lips.

“What’s happened to him?” asked Nuthea.

“He’s gone into a poppy trance,” Sagar said scornfully.

“What’s that?” asked Ryn.

“Ain’t you seen one of these either?” said Elrann. “You need to get out more, farmboy.”

“It’s good that he is tied up for the moment,” said Cid as he watched the bounty hunter enjoying his reverie. “A poppy trance, when you ingest a large amount of poppy all at once, is a state of euphoria--bliss--unlike any other. It is supposed to be the most wonderful and amazing sensation that can be experienced in Mid, though I have my doubts about that. And it comes at a terrible cost. Once a person has experienced a poppy trance, they almost without fail become enslaved to it. Once the trance wears off it is only a matter of time before the person’s body, mind and spirit desire to experience the trance again, and so they become addicted to it, trapped in a never-ending cycle of craving and acting more and more desperately to obtain their next ‘hit’ of poppy seed. If you say this man is a bounty hunter, I would not be surprised if he became one in order to feed his poppy habit.”

“Why is it ‘good’ that he’s tied up, then?” asked Ryn.

“Some people can actually do things while they are in a poppy trance--get up, walk around, and so on--and they can last quite a long time, depending on how much the person takes. Peculiarly, you also have heightened senses, and are actually slightly stronger and faster during a poppy trance. So it’s very good that he is tied up. Though you better make sure he is properly tied up.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about poppy trances, old timer...” said Sagar as he bent over the bounty hunter and pulled on his cords to check they were tight enough. The bounty hunter moaned merrily.

“It’s my job to know,” said Cid. “I’ve treated many a poppy addict in my time.”

“What, get a lot of them in small-town Nonts, do you?”

“I have not always lived in Nonts,” said Cid with a wry smile.

“Hey,” said Ryn, remembering what they had been talking about before they had been interrupted by the poppy-addict bounty hunter. “What did you mean you’re ‘coming with us’, anyway?”

“Yeah, old timer,” said Sagar, “who said you were tagging along?”

“Well,” said Cid, “just now I heard you say that you’re journeying to prevent a war and to do something for this young lady here. That sounds like a noble cause to me. It’s been a while since I’ve been adventuring and I’m itching to have one more adventure before I pass into the furtherlife. I have no living relatives left alive in Nonts and my apprentice is ready to take over at the Healing House. Now that Imfis has been invaded I have little desire to work as a healer in the service of the Morekemian Empire. So, I would like to come with you on your journey.”

The four of them--Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar, Elrann--all looked at each other, silently conferring over the possibility of adding this fifth member to their party (sixth, if you counted the captive bounty hunter).

Sagar ran his tongue along his upper lip. “I’m not buying this,” he said. “You’ve only just met us, old timer. You did us a favour healing me and Nuthea, I’ll grant you that, and we still need to pay you, but you’ve no good reason to suddenly join us on the turn of a bronze piece. You don’t even know what we’re doing, really. What’s really going on here?”

Cid’s smile grew even deeper, and he closed his eyes as he spoke. “Ah, you have me there, mister ‘captain’. I have my own personal reasons for joining you. But I would rather keep them to myself, for now. Suffice to say, my intentions are purely noble. And you need not worry about paying me for the healings--I have plenty of coin.” 

“Oh, do come with us!” said Nuthea, clapping her hands together. “Do come with us, grandfather!”

Sagar slapped his hand to his forehead. “Not this again…”

“I will say,” said Cid, opening his eyes, and now they seemed to shine, though Ryn saw no colour in them except white light, “that from the way that this young man threw fire, and you, young man, commanded the wind, I assume that each of you is Jewel-touched. Therefore I also deduce that your journey has something to do with the Primeval Jewels, whether or not you know it yet. I discern here the Will of the One. Therefore, I would come with you to assist you.”

“Look,” said Sagar, “that’s all well and good, old timer, but not all of us buy into your religious mumbo-jumbo. Some of us may be ‘Jewel-touched’, or whatever you call it, but that’s got nothing to do with what we’re doing. I’m escorting the princess here back to her home country so that I can be handsomely rewarded.”

“Yeah,” said Ryn, feeling the need to speak up too, “and I’m trying to find the Imperial Officer who killed my parents and burned down my hometown, who’s probably headed in the same direction, so I can get revenge on him. I’m just tagging along with these guys until I can find him.” As he said it, he knew that it was no longer the whole of the truth. But he wasn’t about to admit that to everyone. Mother. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. Stay with Nuthea?

“S’right,” said Elrann, “and I’m just sticking around with these guys ‘cause they’re the last contract I took before the invasion, till something better comes up.” Ryn wondered if that wasn’t the whole truth, as well.

“Ahhhhhhh…” said the bounty hunter from somewhere in his poppy trance.

“Be that as it may,” said Cid, “two of you are Jewel-touched--”

“Three, actually!” said Nuthea happily. “I am Lightning-Crystal-touched.”

Cid’s bushy eyebrows nearly jumped off his face.

“Why would you volunteer that information, princess?” Sagar said, shaking his head at her. “You need to be a lot more careful who you go around telling that too. You’re far too trusting.”

Nuthea bit her lip, but then she said “It’s alright. He is a grandfather in the faith. I trust him.”

“Three of you are jewel-touched!” said Cid. “Well, that settles it even further. I would come with you to serve as your healer. And what of this ‘war’ you are seeking to prevent that I heard you mention?”

“I’m trying to get back to Manolia as soon as possible,” said Nuthea in her refined, royal tones, “to warn them that the Morekemian Emperor has gained knowledge of the Jewels, and is seeking them. I hope that this may prepare them for whatever he is planning.”

“What could be a more noble cause?” said Cid. “Truly, I discern the Will of the One in this. Again I tell you, I would come with you to serve as your healer.”

“Alright, alright, team huddle,” said Sagar, and beckoned for Ryn, Nuthea and Elrann to come close. Ryn wasn’t sure when they had become a ‘team’ but he supposed that they were one. They had by now, after all, fought off and escaped from not one, but two groups of Imperial soldiers together. Ryn felt a little twinge of irritation in his gut that Sagar seemed to have made himself the ‘leader’ of the team. But he left that alone for now.

“Just wait over there for a bit while we talk this over, old timer,” said Sagar, gesturing for Cid to move away, who did so.

The four of them linked arms and put their heads together. Ryn had never been so close to Nuthea’s face. But he was also close to Sagar’s face again on the other side. Urgh. Elrann faced him on the opposite side of the huddle.

“I don’t like this one bit,” said Sagar quietly. “The old timer’s hiding something, I know it. Our traveling party’s getting big enough as it is. I say we rob him of his stuff and leave him here.” 

“Captain Sagar!” said Nuthea. “Even for a pirate that is despicable! He is perfectly trustworthy. He is a follower of the One, and he has already healed both of us.”

“He is good at healing...” said Elrann. 

Sagar frowned at her from his place in the huddle, looking betrayed. “You’re on board with this guy too, woman?”

“He just seems like a kind old man to me. You’re right, I don’t believe in any of this ‘One’ stuff either, but I’m prepared to believe he believes it. What has he done for us so far? Healed two of us, and helped calm down that bat-poodoo crazy bounty hunter.”

Sagar’s frown grew more pronounced, like milk curdling.

“That’s two against one,” said Nuthea, seizing upon the opportunity. “Ryn--you have the deciding vote: either we are locked two against two in a tie, or Grandfather Cid can come with us. What’s your answer?”

Ryn considered his opinion of the old man. He thought back over what he knew about him so far. “Well, when he found out I knew someone who was hurt he came with me straight away. Then, Elrann’s right, he healed you, Nuthea, while we were fighting off the soldiers. Then he healed Sagar’s arm. Then he helped us out with the screaming bounty hunter, who could have attracted the soldiers to our position. And he doesn’t even want us to pay him for any of that. I…”

“Yes?” said Nuthea.

“...trust him,” finished Ryn.

“Rrrr, fine,” said Sagar exasperatedly, his face turning red. He broke the huddle abruptly and turned toward the old man. “Alright old timer, apparently you can come with us, for some reason.”

“Wonderful,” said Cid, with a smile.

“You can come with us on the condition that you don’t try to pull anything funny or slow down our trip. The minute that happens--” Sagar drew a finger across his throat to indicate a decapitating action.

“Of course,” said Cid, still smiling. “You have nothing to worry about, young man.”

“We still have a problem, though” said Ryn, seeing a chance to make himself more of the leader. “Where are we going to go now, and how are we going to get there?”

“Now that I am healed,” said Nuthea, “I still need to get to Manolia as quickly as possible.”

“The plan is the same,” said Sagar. “We make for Sirra, the Imfisi capital, and try to board a train to Manolia.” He looked over at the chocobo, which had crouched down and rested its head on the ground plaintively. It cawed. “Actually, now that we have the bird, I could simply ride there with the princess to get the train. The rest of you coming on foot would only slow us down. I say we part ways here.”

Heat rose in Ryn’s chest. “Hey! There’s no way you’re ditching us here! I’m still heading that way to look for General Vorr, remember?”

“Yeah, and there’s no way I’m walking all the way to Sirra, now that we have a chocobo,” said Elrann.

“And it does somewhat defeat my joining you to be your healer if I don’t actually join you to be your healer...” said Cid.

“Ahhhhhhhhh…” said the bounty hunter from his place on the ground.

Sagar merely pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes malevolently.

“Yes,” said Nuthea, “we travel together. As grandfather said, the One clearly has a purpose in bringing us all together. Especially you, Ryn, with your fire gift.” Ryn stood a little taller. The heat in his chest was replaced by a light, dreamlike sensation that moved up into his head. “But Sagar is right…” The lightness disappeared as quickly as it had come. “...we’re going too slowly on foot. And no doubt all the Imperial troops in the area will be searching for us now. We all need a way of traveling more quickly to get to Sirra.”

“I may be able to help there,” said Cid.

The four of them turned to look at him.

Cid nodded towards the bounty hunter’s steed. “Your man in black must have rented or stolen that bird from the chocobo stable in Nonts. None of you will be able to show your face there--especially you, Granddaughter--but I can. As far as the Empire know, I’m a nobody. I handed over my Healing House to my apprentice before they arrived. They have no idea who I am.”

“Won’t they have seen you escaping with us?” asked Ryn.

“I doubt it,” said Cid. “You killed all of the soldiers in Eda’s house, didn’t you?” Eda must be the old woman who had betrayed Ryn to the Imperials. 

“Yes,” said Sagar. 

“And I doubt they would have had time to get a good look at me in the chaos that followed, especially what with you throwing wind spells all over the place. Even if they did, I can just say that I’m a retired old man with some healing skills whom you forced to heal someone for you and then abandoned in the forest. They won’t look at me twice. I will go and find a couple more chocobos for us.”

“Oh, you’d do that for us, Grandfather?” said Nuthea. Ryn thought she was laying it on a bit thick. 

“Of course,” said Cid. “As I say, I have plenty of coin. This is good--this way I can go home before we leave and pick up some supplies--gold, a cloak, some sleeping mats, that sort of thing.”

“Food?” said Elrann.

“Naturally,” said Cid. “Are you hungry, young lady?”

“We haven’t eaten since last night.”

“Well of course, then! You must be famished. I will bring as much as I can carry, and gold to buy more. I best be off. I will meet you back here in a few hours, with the chocobos.”

“Not here,” said Sagar. “We need to keep moving while you’re getting your supplies, old timer. The Imperials will be looking for us.”

“You’re quite right,” said Cid. “Tell you what: meet me at the crest of the hill a few miles due east of Nonts. It’s wooded there too, so you’ll be sheltered.”

“Good idea, Grandfather,” said Nuthea.

“Let’s go,” said Elrann.

“Hmph,” said Sagar.

“Ahhhhhh…” said the bounty hunter, still in his poppy trance.

“Wait,” said Ryn, realising something.

“What?” The others turned to him.

“Him,” said Ryn, pointing at the bounty hunter. “We still haven’t decided what to do about him.”

“He’s served his purpose,” said Sagar. “I say we slit his throat and leave him to die here.”

“Sagar!” said Nuthea. “No! Who is this man, anyway?”

“Who do you think, princess? This is the bounty hunter that jumped us and made that cut in your belly before the old timer healed you. Pup here kept him alive out of ‘pity’ or some such nonsense. I suppose he did tell us the way to get to Nonts. But there’s no reason to keep him alive any longer.”

“Well done, Ryn,” said Nuthea, completely unexpectedly.

Sagar put his head in his hands.

“Why?” said Ryn.

“Oneism teaches to love one’s enemies, and that it is wrong to kill another living thing. Forgiveness and restoration are always possible.”

“But I’ve seen you cook Imperial soldiers in their armour with lightning bolts!”

“That was different…” said Nuthea sheepishly, rubbing her arm and looking sidelong at Cid. “That was self-defense…”

“Be that as it may, Granddaughter is right,” said Cid. “It would be wrong to kill and abandon this pitiful soul. It would only add more evil to the world.”

Sagar had turned red. “Rrrr. Not this again! You two are completely crazy!”

“You know,” said Elrann, “for once, I agree with the jackass. I’m not saying we have to kill him, but there’s no sense in keeping this guy around. He’s clearly dangerous. I don’t see what good can come of it.”

“Thank you, woman. At least one of you is seeing sense.”

“Well that’s two against two again,” said Nuthea. “If we’re going to go with the ‘majority vote’ in this team, a concept which while vulgar I am not entirely unfamiliar with, then you get the deciding vote again, Ryn.”

Ryn looked down at the entranced bounty hunter laying face up on the ground. Right now the man’s dark eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring off into the leaves and sky above them while he occasionally emitted moans of pleasure. But Ryn remembered the look in the man’s eyes the first time Sagar had been about to kill him. Somewhere in that gray Ryn had seen terror, and desperation, and trauma. Somewhere in that gray Ryn had seen--humanity. And he had known in that instant that really, despite the man’s appearance and current choice of occupation, he and Ryn weren’t all that different. This man had seen horrible things in his life too, and maybe it was those horrible things that had driven him to what he was doing now. He was a person too.

“He stays with us,” said Ryn. “He knew the way to Nonts. He told us what poison he had used. He may know his way around the rest of Imfis. He might be able to give us information about the Empire.” Like where Vorr is, for example. “He might prove helpful yet.”

Sagar threw up his hands in exasperation. “This is insane!” He sighed passive-aggressively, like an angry horse whinnying. “Fine, you had better load him onto the chocobo then, pup, seeing as you’re so desperate not to part from him--he’s not going anywhere by himself any time soon. You go get your supplies, old timer--we’ll meet you at the top of the hill east of Nonts in a few hours.”

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 8: In Need of a Healer

Sat, 25 Jun 2022 07:16:42 GMT

Previously on Saga of the Jewels:

Seventeen year old Ryn’s hometown is attacked by General Vorr of the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before he dies, Ryn’s father gives him a ruby, which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess Nuthea, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain Sagar, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. However, in the battle with the Empire Sagar’s ship’s engineer has been killed. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit a new engineer called Elrann. Ast is then attacked by the Empire, who are using the Fire Ruby to invade the continent and search for more of the Jewels. Ryn confronts General Vorr, his parents’ murderer on whom he has vowed to enact revenge, and only narrowly escapes with the help of his new friends. Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann flee the city of Ast together, but are then attacked by a bounty hunter. They manage to subdue the bounty hunter but Nuthea is gravely wounded in the process. Sagar finds the hunter’s mount and is about to take Nuthea to the nearest town, Nonts, when Ryn unseats him to do it instead.

Episode 8: In Need of a Healer

Ryn raced through the woods on the chocobo, driving his ankles into its flanks to make it run even faster, air whistling past his ears.

In front of him, sprawled across the creature’s back, lay Nuthea. Still she did not move. Her blood had stained some of the chocobo’s yellow back-feathers. 

Ryn drove his ankles into the creature’s sides again. Dappled sunlight passed across his face as he pulled the reins to weave around a tree.

Gods, I hope I’m going in the right direction. 

Sagar would be furious that Ryn had unseated him and taken Nuthea in his place. But he couldn’t think about that now.

Ryn gasped with relief as the tree line broke and the chocobo sprung out into open grassy fields. These quickly became a patchwork of crops marked off by wooden fences, which the chocobo was easily able to leap--though Ryn put one hand on Nuthea’s prostrate back whenever it did to stop her from flying off.

There. In the distance smoke rising from a chimney; red-brick and wood structures; and then people moving about among them. Nonts. Still he drove the bounty hunter’s chocobo onwards.

The town didn’t have a gate or a wall so he was able to just ride right into it. Nobody paid him any notice. He reined up the chocobo and called down to the first person he came to--an elderly woman wrapped in a green shawl walking with the aid of a gnarled stick.

“Ex-excuse me!” 

The woman stopped and looked up at him with a wrinkly squint. “Hello?” she said hesitantly.

“Excuse me, but I need to find a healer, fast. Do you know where one lives?”

The woman’s eyes landed on Nuthea. “Oh my.” She put a hand to her mouth, then pointed. “Straight down the street till you get to the central square. It’s the house with the red scarf tied to the door knocker.”

“Thank you,” breathed Ryn, and began to gather the reins.

“Wait, lad!” said the woman, and waved her walking stick, eyes still on Nuthea. Ryn paused mid-reins pull. “Haven’t you heard there’s been an invasion? Morekemian Soldiers have taken control of our town. There’ll be some posted outside the healer’s house, surely.” 

Ryn’s blood ran cold. No. If Nuthea has an Imperial bounty on her head, they’ll take her for sure. “But I don’t have time!” he said aloud.

The woman’s eyes went to Nuthea and then up to Ryn again, like she knew something she wasn’t saying. “Might be best to get the healer to come to you, perhaps?” she suggested.

“But I don’t have anywhere for my friend to stay safe while I fetch the healer!” 

The woman went quiet for a moment and sucked her teeth. “Let me take her, lad,” she said eventually. “I’ll look after her till you can bring the healer. Come this way; I live just round the corner.”

“Thank you! Thank you!” said Ryn, unable to contain his gratitude.

At the woman’s house he reined up then carefully swung himself down from the chocobo, which cawed compliantly. He tied its reins to an iron ring on the side of the woman’s house, made for just such a purpose, so it wouldn’t wander off. 

He hooked his hands underneath Nuthea’s arms and slid her from the creature’s back as delicately as he could, but her feet flopped down to the earth with a thud so that for a moment he was holding her resting limply against him until he scooped her legs up and carried her in his arms.

She didn’t protest, or make a single noise. Ryn’s midriff started to go damp with her blood.

The old woman’s dwelling was small and simple. There was a fireplace, a bed in the corner, a table, and a door to another room over at the far end.

“Over here, young man,” she said, beckoning him towards the bed.

Ryn lay Nuthea down like he was returning an unhatched egg to its nest. Her head lolled back. He looked at her red bandage.

“She’ll stain your sheets…”

“Don’t worry about that!” the woman said. “Hurry, you must go to fetch the healer now! Quick as you can!”  

An invisible rope tugged at Ryn, refusing to let him leave Nuthea’s side. But he knew if he was to have any hope of saving her then he must.

She’ll bleed out in an hour or so, the bounty hunter’s voice rang in his mind. And my blade is coated in poison.

“Please, look after her!” Ryn said to the woman. 

“I’ll do what I can. Now you go, lad!”

“Yes,” Ryn said meekly, and ran.

He blinked in the sunshine outside, then sprinted between the buildings in the direction that the old woman had indicated before.

The town square barely merited the name. But from the way the houses around formed a quadrangle with a grassy space in between them he knew this must be it, and slowed his sprint to a walk.

Ryn spotted the Healing House at once from the scarlet silk scarf tied to its bronze door knocker--just as the woman had said it would be.

His stomach lurched.

Sure enough, standing outside were two men in black armour. They weren’t wearing helmets, and they watched him as he walked into the square.

In his hurry he had forgotten that the woman had said there would be soldiers posted at the house. Instead of walking up to them, he kept on as if intending to go somewhere else. 

He walked up to a wooden noticeboard that protruded out of the ground from two poles in the middle of the square.

When he stopped behind it most of him was out of sight of the soldiers, except for his shins and boots. He could pause a moment here and gather himself.

They had been watching him, he was sure of it. Did they suspect that he might be ‘jewel-touched’ as Nuthea called it? Had news of his escape from the Imperial skyship reached these common soldiers? Had his stunt in the Traveller’s Rest in Ast attracted attention?  

Something caught his eye.

‘WANTED’ read one of the parchment notices pinned to the board in inked black letters. It was pinned at the top, and the bottom of the parchment had rolled up, obscuring whatever was depicted on it below the letters.

With a horrible sinking in his guts, Ryn reached up to it and rolled down the rest of the parchment.

He gasped, then put his hand to his mouth to muffle it.

It was an ink drawing of Nuthea. It wasn’t perfect, but the likeness was quite good, and it was detailed, right down to the circlet that she wore underneath her hair, her proud, high cheekbones, and the elegant cut of her dress.

‘5000 GOLD PIECES ALIVE’ read the letters under her drawing. 

And underneath that it said:

‘2500 GOLD PIECES DEAD’. 

Damn them! They weren’t going to have her, dead or alive, if Ryn had anything to do with it. He had to get to this healer. 

He looked around quickly at the rest of the noticeboard. Hm. The bounty hunter had known about Sagar as well, but Ryn couldn’t see a poster of Sagar anywhere here. Either there had been one and someone had removed it, or the bounty on Sagar was more recent and a poster of him hadn’t been put up here yet. The poster of Nuthea looked fairly old, after all. If that was the case, maybe this town hadn’t heard of Ryn and his flame projection abilities yet.

He peeked out from behind one side of the noticeboard. The soldiers weren’t looking at him any more. Good. They can’t have found him that noteworthy.

One was fat and jowly, with more greying hair under his nose and on his chin than atop his head. The other was taller and spindly, with a hooked nose and a mean, angular face under thin greasy hair.

Sponge and spike, Ryn thought, recalling a story that his mother had told him when he was a child. Mother. He shook his head to try to dispel the stab of grief and halt the train of his intrusive thought, then returned his attention to the soldiers.

Both wore swords, but they also wore the slightly glazed-over look of people on a boring guard duty without anything to do.

Ryn swallowed his saliva and stepped out from behind the noticeboard.

Sponge’s eyes found him first, but Ryn deliberately looked away at the scarf on the door of the house.

I have to seem confident.

He wasn’t sure what the proper procedure was so he just walked right up to the door without saying anything.

He had nearly reached it when Spike put out a hand to stop him.

“Hold it!” the soldier snapped in a nasal voice. “Where d’you think you’re going, boy? Can’t you see that we’re guarding this house? Nobody goes in or out without stating their business.”

Ryn’s bowels turned to water. “Um...I need to see the healer.”

“What’s wrong with you?” said Sponge in a deeper, gruffer voice. “You don’t look ill to me.”

Think, Ryn, think. All he could think of was Nuthea, and his mother. “Um...I have flu.” He had remembered having flu once and his mother nursing him back to health.

The soldiers each took a step away from him. “Flu?” said Spike, cocking his head. “If you had flu you wouldn’t be up and about! You’d be home and in bed! Where do you live, anyway? Why aren’t you in your house waiting for your conscription order like all the other young men?”  

Oh crap oh crap oh crap. Why hadn’t he thought about this before approaching the guards?

“Er, it hasn’t set in properly yet.” Ryn desperately tried to remember the sort of things his mother had said when he had been ill. He did remember having to stay in bed, and her putting her hand on his forehead, and her repeating all sorts of stock phrases. “But I think I’m coming down with something. My head feels hot. I just want to see the healer.”

Spike regarded him with tilted head for a moment, narrowing his eyes to a suspicious squint.

Ryn hoped against hope that the soldier would believe him. Just then he remembered he had flame-projection abilities. His fingers twitched.

Sponge broke the silence. “Come on, Wedge, let him in,” the larger man said. “He’s clearly harmless.”

“I suppose you’re right, Biggs,” said the thinner man. Morekemians had such strange names. “In you go then, boy. Get on with it.” He didn’t take his eyes off Ryn for one moment.

Ryn pushed open the door, and tried to stifle the involuntary sigh of relief that welled up from within him as he entered the Healer’s House.

Inside was a large room with wooden floorboards and no windows. At the far end, in front of another door, stood a makeshift plywood desk with a clerk sitting behind it. Ryn had seen enough of his father’s business dealings to work out that the man was a clerk from the pile of parchments and the quill and ink pot on the desk and the way the small, bespectacled man sat hunched over it, writing. 

Ryn ran up to the desk right away. “Excuse me, I need to see the healer as quickly as possible.”

Just then a muffled scream came from behind the door that the clerk’s desk was positioned in front of, then a faint cry of what sounded like “No!”, followed by another scream, followed by--silence. 

Ryn shuddered. He had never had to visit a healer before, even when he had been ill. What did they do to people? Was this really the best place to look for help for Nuthea? 

Slowly, the clerk raised his eyes and regarded Ryn over the top of his spectacles like he was looking at a misbehaving infant. “You and half of Nonts,” he said and gestured with his hand.

Ryn followed the gesture to see people sat on wooden chairs along one wall of the room. He had missed them completely when he entered. All those that could looked back at him. They were all in various states of ill health: A man with his arm in a cloth sling. A girl whose skin was almost green and who looked like she might vomit any moment. Another man who was missing an arm, although he couldn’t have lost it recently, asleep. Another man on crutches who just then hacked and coughed like he had a rat stuck in his throat. And an older man with a white beard and a leather bag slung round his shoulder--though Ryn couldn’t quite see what was wrong with him. After that man were three more chairs, unoccupied.

“In case you hadn’t realised,” the clerk sneered, “you’ve recently been invaded. Quite a bit goes on during an invasion--lots of people needing to see the healer. Join the back of the queue like everyone else.”

“But this is urgent!”

“Urgent?” The clerk sneered, looking him up and down. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’ve--I’ve…” 

Ryn winced as another muffled scream issued from behind the door.

He couldn’t think of a better lie. He wished he had more experience of being ill, or of other people being ill. “I’ve got the flu!”

“You look well enough to me,” said the clerk, though he moved his head backwards slightly.

“Please…” Ryn floundered, “It really is urgent! I need to see the healer as soon as possible. I...I can’t tell you why...it’s...embarrassing… It’s a personal problem...” he finished lamely.

The clerk stood up. He did not get much higher. Through gritted teeth, in an unnervingly quiet voice, he said “Get to the back of the queue, boy, or I will call in the soldiers.”

Fear gripped Ryn’s guts and he hung his head, slinking away from the desk to go and take a seat next to the old man with the leather bag.

What am I going to do? Now all he could see in his mind’s eye was an image of Nuthea slowly turning paler and paler as her lifeblood seeped out of her. Not her too… He thought about praying, but what good had that done him in life? Imkala the frog-god hadn’t stopped his parents and hometown being taken away from him, why should he stop Nuthea from dying now? What about Nuthea’s God...maybe he should pray to The One?

“I can’t help but notice that you’re having a spot of trouble.”

Ryn started. The old man next to him had spoken in a kindly whisper.

Ryn wasn’t sure why, but he answered in a whisper too. “I really need to see the healer, as soon as possible...”

“So I gather,” said the man. He didn’t look at Ryn when he talked, but stared ahead, like he was trying to avoid attracting attention to their conversation. “But you honestly don’t look like you have influenza.”

Ryn felt the roof of his mouth with his tongue. Should he tell this stranger about his predicament? He had trusted the old woman with Nuthea automatically--but she had seemed so kind. This man was strange and cautious and he had big white bushy eyebrows. Could anyone with eyebrows that big be trusted?

Ryn was desperate. 

“It’s not for me, it’s for my friend,” he whispered. “She was attacked in the woods nearby and is in urgent need of attention.”

The eyebrows raised high as the man looked at Ryn. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” he whispered more urgently. “Quick, come with me!”

“What?” 

But the man was already up out of his seat with his leather bag, taking Ryn by the arm and pulling him up too. The clerk didn’t even give them a second look.

Outside, the man kept walking, pulling Ryn along by the arm. “Which way is your friend? Where is she? Tell me.”

Too bewildered to protest, Ryn pointed. “Er, that way.”

“Good. We must be quick if she is in as bad a state as you say.” The old man dragged Ryn with him.

“What are you doing?”

“What d’you think I’m doing?” said the old man. “I’m a healer. We need to get to your friend as quickly as possible so I can attend to her.”

“But I thought the healer was behind the door!” 

“Yes, yes.” The old man had picked up a jog now, his leather bag swinging on his shoulder, and Ryn jogged alongside him. “My apprentice, Elivenn. He’s about ready to take over from me now, though he can still be a bit clumsy.” Ryn recalled the screams. “When we saw the Empire coming we swapped places so that they would think he was the resident healer. They have their own way of assessing the seriousness of medical ailments you see, and it’s by no means the same as mine. So I pretended to be sick with a minor illness and waited to see if anyone with a serious problem came in whom my apprentice wouldn’t be able to help. And then you did. Now, which way?”

They had reached a crossroads. WIthout another option, Ryn pointed in the direction of the old woman’s house, and they sprinted the final stretch to it wordlessly. The chocobo was waiting patiently, still tied up. Three loud knocks got them in.

Inside, Ryn rushed past the old woman to Nuthea’s bed. “Here she is!” The old woman had provided a bucket, but she hadn’t done much else. “Please, if you’re really a healer you’ve got to do something to help her! She’s been cut, and the man who did it said she’s been poisoned too!” 

“Stay calm,” said the old man, arriving at his side. “Poison, you say? What kind?”

Ryn reached with his memory. What had the bounty hunter sad? “Agava?”

“Ajanga?”

“That’s right--that one.”

“Alright. Step back; I need space.”

“That’s him!” said the old woman. “He’s the one who brought her here!”

Ryn spun.

Four black-armoured Imperial soldiers had appeared from the doorway at the other end of the room. They began to advance on Ryn, swords drawn.

The woman’s eyes were dewey, pleading. “I’m sorry…” she said. “Her face is on the poster... They took my son for their army… I need their favour…” 

She had betrayed him.

This time Ryn’s hand lit on instinct. He drew it up in front of and across himself and a flicker of flame flashed through the air for a moment. 

“Fire!” he shouted at the soldiers. “Get back!”

They stopped in their tracks, helmets reflecting orange.

“Stay back, I tell you!” he yelled, hearing the words as if someone else was shouting them. “I am Ruby-touched!”

The soldiers looked at one another.

“He can’t attack all of us at once, can he?” Ryn heard one say.

“It’s either death here or back at camp if we retreat,” said another.

They looked back at Ryn...

...and charged.

Ryn got his hand up in time to throw fire at one of them, who screamed and went down in a red-hot writhing mess, steam sizzling off him as he hit the floor.

“No, please!” the old woman was wailing. “You said you’d take him quietly! My house! My house!”

Ryn jumped backwards to avoid the vicious swordswing of the first soldier that reached him. Cold terror seized his stomach. He didn’t know if he’d be able to throw fire again.

He dived out of the way of the next swing, rolling clumsily as he hit the ground. As he came up, he caught a glimpse of the healer he had brought with him bent over Nuthea, reapplying a new bandage from his bag, completely focused on his work despite the carnage unfolding around him.

That gave him some more fire. 

He broke his limit.

“Stay BACK!” Ryn shouted, and flung out two hands palm open. “FIREBURST!” Billowing flames burst forth from them, hotter and redder than Ryn had ever produced before.

But the soldiers were ready for him this time. They ducked out of the way of the jet of flame, which blasted straight into the opposite wall.

As the fireburst subsided, the flames did not.

Ryn’s body stiffened with horror.

He had set the old woman’s house on fire.

The soldiers didn’t seem to notice or care. The three of them came on at him more cautiously now, step by deliberate step, brandishing their blades up in front of their bodies.

Despite the flames that started to leap up from the far wall and lick the ceiling, Ryn’s heart was cold again. That last projection had used him all up. He wasn’t sure that he could do it again...

“FIREBURST!”  he shouted in desperation, throwing out his hands. 

The soldiers winced and held up their hands to shield themselves.

Nothing.

“Damn it all,” he murmured. “I don’t have anything left.” I tried, Nuthea. I tried, mother, father, hometown.

The soldiers came on and the nearest raised his sword high.

Ryn could run, but he wasn’t even sure he had the energy left to do that now either, and it would mean leaving Nuthea.

He hung his head and closed his eyes, accepting his end.

The front door of the house smashed open with the noise of splintering wood.

“Death and glory!” shouted Sagar.

“For Imfis!” shouted Elrann.

The soldiers turned to see what was happening, taking their eyes off Ryn.

An explosion sounded, and sparks sprang from the breastplate of one of the soldiers as he was knocked backwards into the wall by the shot from Elrann’s pistol.

Sagar leapt at the other two, twin swords twirling through the air. Soon all three blades sang as they struck and blocked and parried. Ryn stood transfixed. Sagar was a whirlwind of fury.

The soldier Elrann had shot was up again, lurching towards Ryn. Another sound like a short thunderclap, his armour flashed white, and he was knocked back into the wall again. But he shook his head and recovered himself more quickly this time, and came on.

“Damn Imperials!” shouted Elrann. “Their armour’s tougher than I thought! Ryn watched as she quickly clicked off a mechanism on the top of each of her two pistols and shoved them back down her overalls, before pulling out another object. Since when did she have two pistols? “Ryn! Get moving, kid! Make sure princess-girl is safe!” She flicked her hand out and a long, thin, snake-like length of material that shone like metal uncoiled into the air with snap--a whip.

“No!” the old woman was screaming. “No! My house!” She fled for the front door and slammed it behind her.

Elrann ran at the soldier she had been shooting and lashed out with her whip. It whistled across the soldier’s face faster than Ryn could see, and the soldier dropped his sword and cried out, then clutched his eyes where blood gushed out.

“Get to the princess, pup!” Sagar called out over the ringing of steel.

Nuthea! “Right!” 

The old man still stood beside her, one hand rested gently on her forehead, the other on her abdomen, his eyes shut. He appeared completely oblivious to the chaos taking place around him.

“Hey!” Ryn said to him. “What are you doing?

The old man opened his eyes, blinked and looked at Ryn with a furrow in his bushy brow, like he had been woken from a dream. “Pardon? Oh. I am healing her, of course.”

A blood-curdling cry of pain came from somewhere behind them. The old man didn’t bat an eyelid.

“Is she going to be alright?” Ryn sputtered.

“I believe so, yes,” said the old man. “We should probably get her out of here, though.” He glanced behind him. “Oh, the building seems to be on fire. And your friends seem to be finished.” 

Ryn turned to see Elrann and Sagar standing victoriously, three black figures splayed on the floor behind them. The old woman who owned the house was gone. Behind them was a backdrop of leaping orange and red, like a vision of hell. Thick black smoke filled the room near the ceiling. Ryn’s cheeks prickled.

“Is she safe to move?” Sagar barked at them over the crackling blaze.

“Yes,” said the old man.

“Come on then, you fools!”

Ryn gathered up Nuthea in his arms again, and the four of them sprinted for the door.

But the fire had spread. The front door itself was on fire, repelling them with smoke and heat. 

They looked frantically about. The flames were closing in. Ryn’s chest was a vice around his heart.

“Hold on!” Sagar yelled.

He put his hands, still holding his swords, to his mouth, and inhaled, expanding his cheeks.

Then he took his hands away and…

...blew.

A huge gust of air flew out from Sagar’s mouth, making Ryn’s eyes water as it whooshed by. Ryn had to put a foot behind him to stop himself from being knocked over with Nuthea. The gust spread out the flames around the door to the house, pushing them back, and then forced open the door, which flew off its hinges with a crack of wood and tumbled into the street beyond, hitting another soldier who had been running towards the house and bouncing off him.

In the wind tunnel that Sagar held in place with his exhalation there was room to escape without being reached by the flames. 

“Go!” Elrann cried.

Ryn shot forwards with Nuthea, aware of Elrann and the old man following close behind him, and was carried along by the air into the world outside.

They stumbled away from the burning building into the street. The chocobo they had taken from the bounty hunter was flapping and cawing wildy, waving its wings around in distress and trying to break its tether to the burning house. 

Elrann flicked out her whip and split its rope with a snap, cutting the chocobo free. 

The bounty hunter who had attacked them in the woods lay on the grass, now with his hands and his ankles tied, making muffled cries through the gag over his mouth and trying to roll away from the burning building. 

And, in the distance, more soldiers in black armour were running towards them, including Biggs and Wedge from the Healer’s House, the old woman in tow.

“Vandals! Sorcerers! They set fire to my house!”

“Hey!” shouted the soldier Ryn remembered as Biggs. “Stop or we kill you where you stand!”

“Stay right there, arsonist rebel scum!” yelled Wedge.

An arrow thudded into the ground in front of them. A warning shot. Some of the soldiers had crossbows.

“I think I’ve got one more in me,” panted Sagar, reaching them and kicking over the bounty hunter with his foot to make him roll further away from the house, “but you’ll have to put me and the scumsucker on the chocobo afterwards, woman.”

“Do you have to be such a jackass that you call me ‘woman’ even when our lives are in danger?” said Elrann.

Sagar didn’t reply, but sheathed his swords and took another deep breath, so loudly that Ryn heard it over the sounds of the hollering soldiers.

He waved his hand to get the rest of them to step out of his way. Then--

“WINDARAAAAAAAAH!” 

This time his exhalation was somewhere between a shout and a scream; somewhere between control and pain.

This time Ryn lost his footing, and fell back on his arse still holding Nuthea. His ears popped as an invisible rush of wind tore down the street from Sagar’s mouth, rippling over the ground, slamming back the doors and windows of buildings, spraying dust and grass and dirt up into the air, making a noise like a hurricane as it ripped through Nonts.

The soldiers flew backwards, scattering like ten-pins, some of them flying head-over-heels backwards down the street, some of them getting swept up into the air. Ryn saw the old woman who betrayed him take off from the force of the wind blast.

When the wind subsided, none of the soldiers left were still standing. Most of them had been blown away out of view.

Sagar was on his hands and knees, trembling. For once he didn’t have anything to say.

“Quick!” said Elrann. “Now’s our chance!” 

Ryn heaved himself to his feet with Nuthea and the old healer helped him lift her onto the chocobo. He and Elrann lifted the bounty hunter onto it too to lie beside her, still cursing incomprehensibly from under his gag. And finally they helped hoist Sagar, still shaking and silent, to sit on its back. There was just enough room on the chocobo for the three of them.

It cawed and looked at Ryn with its big beady white eyes, as if to say “What now?”

“Quick,” said Ryn, “let’s get out of here while we still can!”

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 7: Seeking Shelter

Wed, 09 Mar 2022 09:53:15 GMT

Previously on Saga of the Jewels

Seventeen year old Ryn’s hometown is attacked by General Vorr of the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before he dies, Ryn’s father gives him a ruby, which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess Nuthea, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain Sagar, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. However, in the battle with the Empire Sagar’s ship’s engineer has been killed. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit a new engineer called Elrann. Ast is then attacked by the Empire, who are using the Fire Ruby to invade the continent and search for more of the Jewels. Ryn confronts General Vorr, his parents’ murderer on whom he has vowed to enact revenge, and only narrowly escapes with the help of his new friends. Ryn, Nuthea, Sagar and Elrann flee the city of Ast together. They agree to continue to head east towards Nuthea’s homeland, as the Empire seems to be heading in that direction as well.

Episode 7: Seeking Shelter

“So where are you from, Elrann?”

They were hiking east through the woods outside of Ast. The plan was to make their way to Sirra, the capital of Imfis, and board a train that would take them to Manolia. 

Sagar and Elrann both still had some gold pieces about their persons, so they weren’t in need of coin, and they had found a clear brook a few hours back which they had been able to drink from. But Ryn’s stomach was a tight ball of hunger and his head was light. They needed to find some food soon. He had spoken to Elrann to try to take his mind off the hunger. And the intrusive memories. They were worse when he was tired and hungry. Mother. Father. Hometown.

The purple-haired engineer looked askance at him, as if surprised that he had broken his silence. 

“Me?” she said. “I’m from Zerlan, in the Pelnian Mountains east of Imfis. We’re heading in their general direction, actually.”

Nuthea and Sagar walked about ten paces ahead of them, chatting and bantering about…..something. Ryn couldn’t hear what. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. In his hunger and exhaustion he had fallen behind them and he had given up trying to eavesdrop. Another thing he wanted to take his mind off.

“Why’d you leave, then?” Ryn asked Elrann.

“Not much goes on in Zerlan. The Zerlanese’re a peaceful people. They mainly get by with high-altitude farming, and don’t have much care for machinery--except for farming equipment, that is.”

From her smile she seemed to appreciate the conversation--she had clearly been shaken up by the attack on Ast--although Ryn had rarely seen her not smiling. She spoke about the ‘Zerlanese’ as though she wasn’t one of them, despite her distinctive hair, which made Ryn wonder why.

“How did you learn engineering then, in a place like that?” he asked.

Ahead of them Nuthea laughed at something Sagar said, throwing back her head so that her golden hair glittered for a moment in the sunlight that fell through the leaves, and Ryn tried to ignore the knot of jealousy that formed in his gut.

“Ah, well, I’ve always been into machines,” said Elrann. “At first it was just the farming equipment. I’d tinker with it, open it up to figure out how it worked, ya know? Got good at fixing it, too--till I was so good that people would call on me to repair it for them, even though I wasn’t even old enough to work on their farm. Then, one day…” She raised her eyes to Ryn again, like she was deciding whether to keep telling her story or not.

“Go on,” Ryn encouraged.

“Well...one day, when I was twelve, I was out in the rice fields and an Imfisi airship flew over. It was big and beautiful, and it flew so close to the mountain that I could almost touch its underbelly. I saw a skypirate in its viewing bubble, looking out at me, and for a second our eyes even met. Then it was gone. That...that was when I knew I had to take one of those apart to see how it worked. That was when I knew I wanted to be an airship engineer.”

Her eyes had gone distant as she gazed into the memory.

“So what did you do next?”

Elrann blinked as she came back to the present. “What d’ya think? Left Zerland and traveled to Sirra, where we’re trying to get to now, and apprenticed myself to the first airship engineer I could find.” She laughed. “Had to pretend to be a boy at first, so I cut my hair short and wore these baggy overalls. It wasn’t too difficult. He found out eventually, but once he’d seen what I could do with machines, he didn’t have mind. Airship captains who’ve seen me at work don’t usually have a problem when they found out that I’m a girl. Usually.” Her eyes twinkled as she looked at Sagar ahead of them.

Ryn wondered how someone could leave their homeland behind so easily. I’ve done that too, sure, he reflected, but not by choice. “What did your Mum and Dad have to say about you leaving?” he said out loud.

“Just my Mum at home,” said Elrann. “We never really got on, so I think she was glad to see the back of me. I reckon she knew whenever I started tinkering with farming machinery that I wasn’t going to stay in Zerlan my whole life. I never knew my Dad, so he didn’t have anything to say about it.”  

Her normally ever-present smile dropped again, just for a second. Ryn wanted to know if she had known anything about her father, but he judged he should ask about something else.

“So you trained as an engineer in Sirra?” he said. “Then what did you do?”

“I’ll tell ya what I did. I got so good with airship engines I started getting regular work on ‘em. Even got myself a few on-board-engineer contracts on some Imfisi privateer vessels. I’ve been on a few sky voyages in my time, I can tell you.” She took her pistol out from inside her overall as she walked. “That’s how I picked up this beauty. Got her in Farr.”

Her gaze had gone away again--but then it returned to Ryn and she stashed the pistol back away. “I needed a little break from the pirating, though, and the word was that good engineers were needed down in Ast, so I traveled down and set up shop there for a while. Made an arrangement with that airfield owner, Roldo, where he would send me work when it was needed. Then all...this happened.” She waved her hand at the world in general, and coughed. “Anyways, we’ve been talking about me a lot. What about you, ‘pup’?” She slapped Ryn hard on the back, and he coughed too. She was much stronger than he had expected. “Does everyone call you that?”

“No, just Sagar…” said Ryn, and ground his teeth. Up ahead, Nuthea and the pirate captain were laughing again. Nuthea put her hand on Sagar’s arm to steady herself as she laughed. “Just ‘Ryn’ is fine.”

“Well what about you then, Ryn? Princess-girl told me your village was hiding this ‘Fire Ruby’ thing when it got attacked.” She stopped walking for a moment, and her smile dropped again. “Ah. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” said Ryn. It was true, after all. That was what had happened. And it wasn’t like she had brought it to his mind. It never really left his mind at all--waking or sleeping--anyway. Mother. Father. Hometown.

Elrann resumed walking and put her smile back on. “How did your town end up with it, then?”

“Er…” said Ryn. “I don’t...I don’t actually know…”

“Ah.” Elrann raised a purple eyebrow. “But you touched it, right? That’s how you could do that crazy fire trick you did last night in the Traveller’s Rest...?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Ryn rubbed his arm.

“That was pretty impressive.”

“Er...thanks.”

Ryn’s gaze fell on the form of Nuthea walking in front of them again. Her hair cascaded down her back as a golden waterfall. Ryn wondered if she had found it ‘impressive’.

Probably not, he thought. After all, she and Sagar have elemental projection powers themselves. They both had them before me. And they’re more skilled at them than me.

Up ahead, a black figure ran up to Nuthea and drew something across her stomach. She cried out and buckled at the knees.

Ryn’s spine went cold and he stared open-mouthed at her prone body. 

The black figure sliced its blade across Sagar, who dropped too.

It sprinted towards Ryn and Elrann.

The black figure was running towards him, a sword flashing in its hand.

Ryn found he could not move. He just watched it happen, like he was in a nightmare.

A small bang sounded next to Ryn. Elrann had fired her pistol.

But the figure jumped out of the way of the shot, leaping impossibly high above their heads, twisted and spun through the air before landing in a crouch next to them.

The figure swept its leg around in a circle along the ground, knocking Elrann’s legs out from underneath her. She hit the ground on her back with a grunt, and the figure kicked the pistol out of her hand as it stood up, sending the weapon spinning away into the forest, then put one of its feet on Elrann’s neck and began to lean its weight onto her.

Ryn watched all this happen too with barely a moment to take it all in, let alone react.

He had frozen completely, utterly still, in shock.

Mother. Father. Hometown. Nuthea. Sagar. Elrann. It was happening again. Again.

The figure was dressed all in black. Most likely a man, from the shape of him, he had black shoes that turned up a little at the toes, black trousers, a black tunic, a black doublet, black gloves, a black hood, and a black head-scarf that hid most of his face. The only visible parts of his face were his eyes, the dark brown skin that surrounded them, and the top of the bridge of his nose that showed through a horizontal gap in his head-covering. The man’s eyes were grey and from the inward bend of his eyebrows he was scowling.

“Who are you?” said the man in black, in what was definitely a man’s deep, sarcastic voice. “You weren’t on the poster either. Do I get a bounty for collecting you too?” 

Elrann sputtered and flailed her hands around from underneath the man’s foot, pawing at his leg and trying to pull it off her neck, but he didn’t budge an inch. She was choking.

Finally Ryn’s spine thawed and he remembered what he could do.

“Argh!” he shouted, and thrust out his hand, propelling a ball of fire through the air towards the man.

The man’s eyes stretched wide and he ducked in time for the fireball to pass over his head. He sprang away from Elrann and ran off into the undergrowth. He was so fast!

Elrann clutched her throat and rolled over to cough violently on the ground. But at least she was breathing. At least she was alive.

“Nuthea!” Ryn cried out involuntarily.

He pelted forwards to where she lay.

“Oh sure, check the princess is safe,” said Sagar, clutching his arm, which was bleeding heavily down the sleeve of his jacket. “I’m fine, by the way.”

“Shut up, Sagar!” Ryn knelt next to Nuthea. She was flat on her back and her eyes were shut. “She’s unconscious!” Blood leaked from her abdomen, staining her white dress a deep crimson, pooling around her on the grass. She couldn’t be dead. Mother. Father. Hometown. Nuthea. “Help! What do we do?!”

“You shut up, pup!” yelled Sagar. “What we do is ready ourselves in case that b*****d bounty hunter comes back around for another try at us! We’re no use to the princess if we’re dead! Get up!”

Sagar grabbed him by the arm and wrenched him up roughly. Then he drew one of his curved swords and shoved the hilt into Ryn’s hand.

“Wh-what’s this for?” Ryn didn’t want to take his attention away from Nuthea, but the moment demanded it.

“What do you think it’s for?” Sagar growled, stepping away and scanning the trees, his own remaining weapon up and ready.

“But I can’t fight!”

“Learn. Fast.” The pirate’s eyes darted over to Ryn, then doubled in size as the glint of a blade reflected in them. “Look out!”

Ryn dived to one side on reflex as a black shape moved past him. Steel rang against steel--once, twice, thrice, in quick succession--as the shape and Sagar traded parries, and then the man in black was away into the forest again.

“Damn him,” Sagar panted, “he’s quick! Too quick! Get back to back with me, pup!”

Ryn maneuvered himself so he stood with Sagar’s back to his and held his sword up again, trying not to tremble. Somewhere off to the side Elrann was still coughing. Nuthea still did not move.

“This way we can look out for him in all directions,” said Sagar pressed up behind him. Was Sagar shaking too? “Shout if you see him!” 

A twig snapped. But not on the ground.

Ryn jerked his head up.

“Above!” he shouted.

The man in black fell from the canopy above. Ryn got his sword up just in time to avoid being cleaved in two, but the vibration that rippled through his arms as he blocked the blow made them quiver with pain and he nearly dropped his blade. As the man landed his elbow snapped out and caught Ryn a swift strike to the stomach, knocking him winded to the ground.

Ryn got his head up to see the man whirl on Sagar and lock blades, then twist their weapons around in a circle of sliding steel before he flicked his arm out in a sudden, vicious motion and sent Sagar’s sword spinning away through the air. It hit a tree with a clang and then landed uselessly on the ground.

The man held his swordpoint to Sagar’s throat, who held up his good arm and inhaled deeply, eyeing the blade. 

“There’s a bigger bounty for bringing you in alive,” came the man’s lilting, oddly quiet tones. “But I am happy to settle for dead. Or maimed.”

Sagar gulped. 

A shot sounded.

The man in black hit the forest floor. 

Ryn turned to see what had happened.

Elrann was up again, wheezing, her jaw set in a look of cold fury, smoke twisting up from the barrel of her pistol.

“Stupid kufer,” Elrann swore. “Should have finished me off while he had the chance.”

“Give me that!” said Sagar, running over to Ryn and holding out his hand. Ryn handed over his sword reluctantly.

The man in black cried out. 

He lay on the grass gripping his shoulder, which had become a mess of red at the tip. Elrann’s shot had only grazed it, but that had been enough to incapacitate him.

Sagar stood over him and raised his sword, point-down, ready to impale. “Filthy bounty-hunter scumsucker,” he said.

The man in black opened his eyes and looked at Ryn again. His eyes were indeed grey, but there were many shades in them. There was darkness there, to be sure, but also some light. They stretched wide, and Ryn fancied he could see tears pooling at the bottom of them too. It was a look of terror and desperation and regret all at once that shone through the man’s eyes. And there was...there was fire in it too. In that moment Ryn knew this man had seen things that he had never wanted to see too. They shared something in common.

“Wait!” Ryn cried.

Sagar stopped, sword still held in the air, and snapped his head round.

“What is it, pup?”

“Don’t kill him,” said Ryn, not entirely sure why he was saying it. “He… he might be able to give us information. He might be able to tell us why there’s a bounty for finding us.”

“What’s come over you, pup?” said Sagar, his face twisting up in confusion. “We know why we’re being hunted. We’re dangerous to the Empire. This piece of scum just tried to kill us, and he nearly did a good job of it too.”

“Boy’s got a point though, ya know,” said Elrann. “I didn’t shoot to kill him. Otherwise he’d be dead already. We could get some useful information outta this bounty hunter.”

Sagar looked dumbstruck at her, but his expression said “You too?!”

“I’ve got some rope in my kit bag,” said Elrann. “I could tie him up.”

Sagar put down his sword and rubbed his temples, shaking his head like he was witnessing a conference of imbeciles.

The engineer ran over to the writhing man in black and set about tying his arms behind his back. 

“Stop wriggling!” Elrann had to say after a moment, and punched the man in black in the face. He called out in pain again but complied more easily after that. 

Sagar sighed and went over to help tie him up.

The threat to their lives taken care of, Ryn suddenly had the sense that there was something important from which he had temporarily been distracted...

What was I...

“Nuthea!” he shouted and rushed back to the princess’s side at once.

He knelt next to her on the grass again and put his ear to her mouth. He heard a little rush of air, and his ear got slightly colder.

“She’s still breathing!” he called to the world in general. “Thank the One, she’s still breathing! She’s bleeding heavily, but she’s still breathing!”

Sagar came over. “Bandage her up and get pressure on the cut!” he barked at Ryn. “Haven’t you ever had to treat a battle wound before?”

“No!”

“Right. Of course you haven’t. Bloody farmboy.”

Following Sagar’s instructions with trembling hands, Ryn helped the pirate tear off a strip from the hem of Nuthea’s dress, wrap it around her abdomen and pull it into a tight knot. The strip had been clean, save for some mud and dirt from their escape from Ast, but it quickly turned red.

“She needs help!” said Ryn desperately. “She needs to see a healer!”

“You think I don’t see that, pup?” Sagar sounded almost as distressed as Ryn felt. “Rrr. You’re right, godsdammit. We’ve got to get her help, and soon.”

The pirate strode back over to the man in black, who now lay on the grass with his hands tied behind his back and his eyes scrunched up, whimpering intermittently. Elrann had done a good job of securing him.

“You!” Sagar shouted down at him. “Scumsucking bounty hunter! Where can we find the nearest healer? Where’s the nearest settlement? Tell me!” 

Sagar kicked the man hard in the ribs, eliciting a deep grunt.

The man opened his eyes and glared up at the pirate. He looked to be snarling, though Ryn couldn’t completely tell because of the face covering.

“Why should I tell you, you Imfisi freeloader?”

Sagar kicked him again, even harder, and the man doubled up and went over on his side. 

“Tell me! Tell me or I’ll kick your stomach out your backside!”

The pirate reached down and flipped the man onto his back again, then pulled the man’s face covering off in both directions, revealing his mouth and forehead. His skin was dark, but around his mouth it had been stained properly black. Jet black. In blotches. Like he had been eating lots of some kind of soft, black fruit.

“Tell me or I kill you!” yelled Sagar. “And I won’t let my clients talk me out of it this time!”

The man hacked up, then spat in Sagar’s face. Ryn remembered Nuthea doing the same thing to Sagar not so long ago on his ship. I’ve got to save her. Mother. Father. Hometown. Nuthea.

Sagar wiped the saliva from his cheeks, which in turn had turned the colour of beetroot. Ryn knew the pirate was angry, but for once he didn’t growl or curse.

“Ah, so I see you’re a poppy addict,” Sagar said slowly, sadistically. “I know the way to your heart.” He grinned, and it made him look like a wolf. “Tell us where the nearest healer is to be found, you sack of poodoo, and I will buy you some poppy.”

The man said nothing at first, his stained mouth a tight line, but then the line wobbled, and then it split. “W...will you?” he said, almost like a pleading child.

“It’s the best chance of a hit you’ve got right now,” said Sagar. Ryn didn’t know what they were talking about but he intuited it had something to do with the black colouring around the man’s mouth.

 “N-Nonts,” said the man, lips trembling. “Nonts. That’s the nearest town. You want to go to Nonts to find a healer. Now, about this poppy-seed…”

“Nonts.” Sagar licked his lips. “Yeah; I’ve heard of it. Alright, you’ll take us to Nonts.”

“About this poppy seed…” said the man. “How much will you give me? How much will you be able to buy?”

“Oh, about a pound,” said Sagar, and the man shivered where he lay with what seemed to be anticipation. “Now tell me quickly, scumsucker, how do we get to Nonts? Which way? Tell me!”

“You were heading that direction anyway,” said the man. “It is just an hour or so’s walk South-East through the forest and then over the Pescari fields. I can show you the way if you want. You can buy me the poppy there.”

“And they have a healer?”

“Yes; I believe so. Why do you want to know? They also have a poppy-dealer if you know where to look. I can tell you wh--”

“Pup, help me with the princess!” Sagar cut him off. “Woman, you get the scumsucker here up and walk behind to make sure he doesn’t run off.”

“Hey I don’t take orders from anyone,” said Elrann, “especially if they keep calling me ‘woman’.” But she moved to do what Sagar said all the same, hoisting the man up onto his feet as she grabbed him by the arm. “You’re so insecure you’ve gotta have a nickname for everyone, don’t ya? Well, I’ve got my own nickname for you, pirate-man…”

Sagar either didn’t hear or, more likely, ignored her. Ryn and he picked Nuthea up under Sagar’s direction, Ryn holding her around the ankles, one in each hand, and Sagar with one hand hooked under each of her arms, walking backwards. She was surprisingly heavy. Maybe it was the gold she wore. Maybe she carried more gold about her person. They began to move like that, making slow progress, with Elrann walking a little way behind with her pistol held to the back of the man in black, who told them which way to go.

They walked through the forest painfully slowly. Ryn looked down at Nuthea and his throat tightened. Her skin had turned white as milk. The makeshift bandage they had made for her stomach was soaked through now, and blood had begun to drip onto the grass.

“Is there any way we can do this any faster?” Ryn said.

“You’ll never get her there in time like this,” said the man in black maliciously. “I gave her a good deep cut--not deep enough to kill her at once, but she’ll bleed out in an hour or two. My blade is also coated in ajanga--poison--so you really need to get her to a healer as soon as you can, and you better hope they’re a good one. If you want to get to Nonts to buy me my poppy-seed faster, you’d be better off taking my chocobo.”

“WHAT?!” Sagar shouted, and almost dropped Nuthea. He lowered her to the ground with Ryn, then strode over to the man and smacked him round the head.

“Ouch! That was for what?”

“You had a chocobo the whole time and you didn’t tell us?! Where is it?!”

The man nodded in a completely different direction to the one they were walking in. “She’s tied up a few hundred paces that way. I rode her till I found your trail, then dismounted and crept up on you.”

Sagar roared with irritation, then ran off in the direction the man had indicated.

Poison? thought Ryn, looking at Nuthea’s pale face again. I’ve got to help her. Hold on, Nuthea! Please don’t die!

Sagar returned a few moments later seated atop a large, yellow bird that walked on two feet and had an intelligent head at the end of a long neck, a bit like a cross between an ostrich and canary--a chocobo. Ryn knew them from his home farm on Cleasor. He had spent many a happy seventhday riding and racing them with his friends in the forests around his town. But that was a very distant memory now.

“Help me get her on its back, pup,” Sagar snapped as he jumped down. Together they lifted Nuthea’s unconscious body as carefully as they could and laid it across the back of the chocobo, which cawed and lowered its head obligingly. This one was tame and friendly, mercifully.

Once Nuthea was on, Sagar swung himself back up and mounted the animal, sitting behind her and clasping the reins that ran to to the chocobo’s beak. It didn’t have a saddle.

“Which way to Nonts, scumsucker?” Sagar demanded of the man in black. “Tell me now and I’ll get you your poppy-seed quicker.”

At the mention of poppy-seed, the bounty hunter’s hand shot out and pointed in a particular direction through the trees.

“That way. A short ride. Come back quickly.”

Sagar wheeled the chocobo around to address Ryn and Elrann. “Make your way to Nonts by foot. Bring the scumsucker if you really must. I’ll get the princess to a healer and meet up with you there. Got it?”

Ryn looked up at the skypirate. He cut quite a figure atop his golden mount, proud and erect, his piratical ponytail flicking out behind him, his exposed eye shining, and with Nuthea draped in front of him like some distressed damsel he was heroically rescuing.

There was just one thing wrong with the picture.

“Hang on,” Ryn said, “this ‘bounty hunter’ was clearly after you and Nuthea, but he didn’t know who I was. If people are hunting for you in Nonts, it’s clearly safer if I take Nuthea to the healer.” He was surprised at his own boldness. But Nuthea’s plight demanded it of him.

“Be quiet, pup,” Sagar said like Ryn was an irritating child. “I’ll steal in quickly and go straight to the healer’s house. Nobody else will even know I’m there. I’ll see you in Nonts.”

He turned the chocobo to leave, but Ryn wasn’t convinced. Without thinking about it any further, he rushed forwards, grabbed Sagar’s boot, and yanked him as hard as he could off of the chocobo.

“Hey!” Sagar was taken completely unawares and slid from his seat in a single movement, crashing to the ground on his backside.

He shouted other things, vile and obscene things, but Ryn was barely listening. Instead, he was pulling himself up next to Nuthea on the chocobo.

And then he was riding as fast as he could in the direction that the bounty hunter had pointed, towards Nonts, to try to find her a healer and save her life.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 6: Invasion

Tue, 25 Jan 2022 20:49:00 GMT

PREVIOUSLY ON SAGA OF THE JEWELS:

Seventeen year old Ryn’s hometown is attacked by the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before he dies, Ryn’s father gives him a ruby, which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess Nuthea, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain Sagar, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. They land in the port city of Ast and recruit a purple-haired Engineer called Elrann who they need on board since Sagar’s engineer has been killed in the battle with the Imperials. The party of four spend the night at an Inn in Ast…

Episode 6: Invasion

Ryn was brought out of sleep by the sound of screaming, explosions and crunching timber.

At first he thought he was having another nightmare because the last two times he had been unconscious he had had nightmares of his mother and father being killed and his hometown burning. Just as these images invaded his waking mind, they invaded his sleep.

But as he blinked awake and peered at the nightstand next to the bed he lay in, then over at the stirring form of Sagar in the adjacent bed, Ryn realised that the sounds were real.

His chest constricted, sending a shockwave of distress through his body.

“Sagar! Get up!” he cried. “Someone’s attacking the inn!”

“Mmmmbbbrrr...wha?” said Sagar.

Another explosion sounded, like someone had set light to a barrel of oil outside, and more screaming followed, high-pitched and hysterical.

Sagar’s one exposed eye opened wide and he scrambled around, then fell out of bed in a tangle of sheets, banging his head on the floor. “Ow!”

In a heartbeat he was up again, pulling on his shirt and jacket. “What in the hells is happening?”

“I don’t know!” said Ryn, hurriedly shoving himself back into his woolspun tunic. “It must be the Empire!”

“The Empire!? That’s ridiculous! We’re safe from the Empire here! Imis pays her levies, and we’re too far away to be of any interest to them!”

Another explosion outside. The room shook slightly and some dust dislodged from the ceiling, tickling Ryn’s nose. More screams. Shouts. 

Nuthea burst in through the door, Elrann behind. Both their faces were pale white.

“The ship,” said Nuthea and Sagar at the same time.

Sagar finished strapping on his sword-belt and bolted out the door. Nuthea and Elrann followed him without another word. 

Ryn went after them. He hurtled down the stairs of the inn, taking them three at a time, past the desk at the front of the house where the innkeeper knelt on the floor cowering with his head in his hands, back out onto the cobbled streets of Ast.

He looked up into the sky and nearly collapsed and gave in to horror and despair there and then.

Not just one broad black Imperial airship with a pointed prow and cannons protruding from each side filled the sky, but a whole fleet of them.

He counted at least five, and those were just the ones he could see from his current position through the thatched and tiled rooftops of Ast. 

They rained down cannonballs on the city, bright flashes erupting from their hulls, emitting thunderous echoes and sending up clouds of debris into the air. 

But they were raining down something else as well. From the front of one of the ships Ryn saw a jet of flame spurt out, like the breath of a dragon, spraying down onto the buildings of Ast and setting them alight. 

He stood mesmerised by the violence.

“Ryn, come on!” Nuthea called to him from somewhere ahead.

His legs were heavy. For a moment he thought he wouldn’t be able to move them, but then his body came back to him and he darted forwards, pulse pounding between his ears.

As they ran they had to weave in and out of people stumbling out of their houses, looking up and wailing in terror, or dashing this way and that trying to find shelter, or just kneeling frozen in panic, like the innkeeper had been. 

“Stay with me!” yelled Sagar over his shoulder and trailing ponytail. “I know the way back to the airfield!”

They ran round corners, down alleys, through streets, jumping over sacks, sidestepping out of the way of the panicked citizens, ducking their heads down instinctively whenever another cannonblast sounded and splinters and dust were thrown into the air. Ryn had never run so fast in his life.

It’s happening again, he thought as he ran. Wasn’t it enough that he had lived through one Imperial attack already? Why was he having to live through another one? Would he live through another one?

Eventually they made it back to the airfield at the edge of the city, its perimeter marked by the little stone cottage that the airship marshall they had met the day before, Roldo, lived in.

All of the moored airships that Ryn could see were on fire.

“Where is she? Where is she?” cried Sagar, charging into the field of flaming ships, apparently calling for his own vessel.

“Sagar!” someone called out to him in a choked voice. 

Roldo, a little way away, crawling on his hands and knees. He coughed like he had swallowed some of the smoke. A big gash on the side of his face bled down onto his black leather coat, soaking it even darker in blotches. “Get out of here! Run, fools! Run for your lives! They went for your ship first!”

“What?!” said Sagar, and kept on running into the airfield. 

They ran with him past more of the burning vessels, billowing black smoke pluming from them into the sky, some of them broken into pieces, some of them with men on fire jumping off their decks to break their legs on the ground, others lying suffocating on the floor, others just standing and watching the destruction in horror, until they reached Wanderlust.

Sagar stopped dead in his tracks and Ryn, Nuthea and Elrann pulled up beside him.

Wanderlust was not on fire. 

Instead, soldiers in black armour were moving around on board it. Corpses lay strewn on the deck. Some wore black armour, but the majority of them were unarmoured, wearing simple sailors’ clothing. Puddles and spatters of blood decorated the spaces between them.

And there in the midst of them, stood in the middle the main deck, was a hulking, unhelmeted man in black armour, with flame-red hair.

General Vorr. 

Ryn did a double take. It was definitely him. He was standing right on the main deck of the airship, beneath the centre of its blimp, barking orders at the Imperial soldiers, who seemed to be looking for something for him.

The spark in his heart lit the fuse of Ryn’s rage, and he leapt forwards, lungs filling with heat.

“Ryn, no!” came Nuthea’s voice from behind him. “Don’t! It’s not safe!” But it was far away now, and growing dimmer by the moment.

The palms of Ryn’s hands grew hotter as he cleared the distance to the ship and clambered up the handholds on its starboard side. 

Then he was over the rail and shouting “You!”, pointing at the Imperial officer. 

Vorr’s head snapped round and his forehead crinkled for a moment before his eyes glinted with the light of recognition.

“The boy from Cleasor!” the Imperial General said disbelievingly. “How did you manage to survive the crash? How did you even get here?”

“General Vorr!” Ryn shouted, fists shaking, heat building. “You murdered my mother! You killed my father! You destroyed my hometown!”

“Did I?” chuckled Vorr. He looked up and to the side. “Oh yes, I suppose I did…” he said, and rubbed his chin, as if he was considering the most insignificant fact in the world.

“KILL YOU!” Ryn shouted.

He flung his hands palm-out at Vorr and let out a primal roar of hatred. 

A jet of flame materialised in the air around his hands and shot out towards Vorr.

The flames hit the officer square on, right in the chest. They spread out on his armour and then enveloped him, encasing him in an aura of orange and red as Ryn continued to pour the fire forwards.

He willed his hatred, he willed revenge, he willed death into those flames.

Then Ryn finished exhaling and the flames from his hands disappeared.

His arms quivered where he held them up. The exertion of the fireblast had drained him deeply. 

It took a moment, but then the smoke around Vorr cleared, leaving...

...the Imperial officer, still standing, just as he had been before, a malevolent, sharp-toothed grin twisting up his round, red-headed features.

Ryn’s legs nearly gave way. 

“N...no…” he stammered.

“You pitiful little peasant,” said Vorr with a leer, in his deep, well-spoken voice. “Didn’t you think that I would have touched the Fire Ruby for myself? We have a whole battalion that can project fire now, can’t you see? We’re going to conquer the whole world! This invasion of Imfis is just the beginning! Haha!”

With that outburst of jubilation, he flung out one of his massive hands in Ryn’s direction like he was swatting away a fly, to launch a fireball through the air.

Ryn felt the force of the fireball crash into his face and knock him backwards onto the ground. The back of his head hit the deck and stars danced in his vision for a moment. 

He put his hands to his face, but he was not burned, and he did not feel any pain or heat there. 

He pushed himself back onto his feet.

Vorr loomed over him. “Ah, yes. Of course. You have touched the Ruby too, so you are also impervious to the kiss of fire. Not to worry. I have other ways of ending your worthless little life.”

Ryn watched in horror as Vorr reached behind himself, clasped a round steel hilt from between his shoulders, and slowly drew from a scabbard on his back an enormous, wide, long, black sword. The same sword that had pierced his mother’s heart. It seemed to take an age just to slide out of its sheath with a long sliding scraaaaape of metal, then flashed in the light from the burning ships as Vorr drew it back, ready to kill.

Ryn was faintly aware of Imperial soldiers standing in a circle around them, blocking his escape. He did not know if he had the energy left to run.

“Let me send you to the same place that Mummy and Daddy went with this, then,” said Vorr. He paused, and sucked in his lower lip for a moment. “Although...you don’t happen to know where the captain of this ship went, do you? Or that Manolian hussy we locked you up with?”

Ryn remained rooted in place by despair. He had nothing left to say.

Mother. Father. Hometown, he thought.

“No?” said Vorr. “Oh well. I’ll find them soon enough--if they’re alive to be found, that is.” 

The world slowed.

Vorr’s blade sliced through the air towards Ryn. 

He was about to die.

Words passed through his mind.

Mother. Father. Hometown. I failed you all. What a stupid way to die.

Something slammed into Ryn’s side and he was pushed off his feet and sent skidding along the deck, past some of the soldiers and out of the way of Vorr’s swordswing.

He landed with his back against the ship’s rail and looked up to see what had happened.

Stood atop the opposite rail was Sagar, two curved swords drawn in a stance of open provocation of the Imperials, his jaw set in defiant fury.

What happened? thought Ryn. What did he hit me with?

“Run, you idiot!” Sagar shouted at him. “Run, pup, run!”

“It’s the skycaptain!” Vorr bellowed. “Get him! Hurt him, but remember, we want him alive!”

The Imperial soldiers rushed at Sagar. 

He brought both his swords down through the air. A gust of wind flew out from where they moved, flowing across the deck, knocking the soldiers over, making Vorr stumble and pressing Ryn back against the rail again.

What?

“Ryn!” someone called. “This way!”

Ryn looked over the rail. Nuthea, Elrann. They had run round to the other side of the ship and were beckoning for him to go with them.

His legs remembered how to move again and he ran to the place in line with the handholds on the siderail and scrambled over. He flew down them, but slipped and lost his grip a few metres from the ground, dropping and landing on his side with a roll as the breath was knocked out of him.

 “Quick as you can, please, Ryn!” called Nuthea as with a wave of her hand and a crack she sent a lightning bolt back at the soldier coming down the handholds after Ryn. He screamed out and fell to the ground from a much further height than Ryn had.

Ryn did not need to be told twice. He made it up again and dashed for Nuthea and Elrann. They sprinted full titlt away from Wanderlust, through the burning ships. Now Sagar joined them, running too. Shouts and cries followed them, but these were soon lost in the noise and chaos of the burning, beseiged city. They made it out of the airfield, into the residential area that bordered it. 

“Follow me!” Sagar took the lead.

Ryn kept pace with the others, his lungs prickling agony. His fire-hurl had sapped most of his energy, but it had not completely exhausted him this time, and he still had just enough left to run for his life. But it hurt like hell all the same.

Gradually the brick houses changed to steel warehouses, to wooden shacks, to a slum of tents, most of them now abandoned, to grassy fields. Their pace slowed a little once they had made it out of the city and they looked round to check that they weren’t being pursued, but still Sagar did not let them stop.

Ryn ran on, though his legs were starting to seize up and he thought he could taste blood at the back of his throat.

Run, Ryn, run. Run Ryn, run away, live to fight another day. Live to train another way. Live to find Vorr again and make him pay.

That was the rhyme that formed in his head and bore him on.

Finally when they were under the trees of a little wood at the foot of a hill and had gone some distance into it, Sagar let up and allowed them to stop.

Ryn collapsed on the grass, and lay on his back, panting deeply, looking up at the canopy above him, though he barely took it in.

The others hit the ground too and breathed hard like they’d just come up for air from having almost drowned. 

They all lay there for Ryn did not know how long, breathing and looking up at the trees. 

At some point Sagar passed round a flask from somewhere about his person. It stang Ryn’s throat, and he guessed it was rum, but he didn’t care about the pain--it was good just to drink something.

After a long time, their breathing slowed. One by one they got to their feet, with difficulty. Elrann. Sagar. Nuthea. And Ryn.

In the distance, they could still hear the faint sounds of explosions and people crying out in distress.

They looked at each other without saying anything, holding silent counsel. Elrann’s bottom lip was wobbling slightly. Sagar’s face was red and his exposed eye had a manic, bloodshot look. Nuthea was still white as a sheet.

Cannonball-shocked, Ryn supposed. She had stayed so calm when the airship they had been imprisoned on had been attacked. But she had thought that her ‘countrywomen’ were coming to rescue her then. And this time, it wasn’t just an airship that had been attacked, but a whole city. And she had lost her means of transportation back to her homeland.

“Come with me,” said Sagar, breaking the silence at last. “There’s a clearing further up this hill, not far from here, with good views of the city. Not many people know about it.”

He turned and left. Ryn looked at the women for a moment, and then they followed Sagar.

Now they were safe, or at least they hoped they were safe, they were able to take the walk up the wooded hill much more slowly. Ryn’s breath still came in ragged gasps, and his legs ached something awful, not to mention his lungs, his chest and his head. But at least he was able to walk.

In time, the thin, gangly trees parted and, sure enough, revealed a sloped clearing. Sagar had led them well. How does he know this place? Ryn wondered. A short trek up, and they were able to sit and look down on the leafy wood they had just hiked through, and beyond it at the slums, the industrial quarter, the airfield and the burning city of Ast, wreathed in black smoke, with no less than twelve black airships hovering over her. People moved about it or streamed away from it like ants fleeing a flaming anthill. Beyond that, the grey soil faded into a sandy crescent, and beyond that the blue of the Leviathan’s Channel could still be glimpsed glittering in the morning sunshine, a beautiful backdrop to the scene of terror and destruction before it.

“What do we do now?” Ryn said to all the others, but while looking at Sagar, him being the former owner of their most recent means of travel.

Sagar didn’t respond. He sat still as a statue on the grass, staring at something. Ryn followed his gaze.

Through the smoke coming from the airfield, unmistakable from its size and brown timber, Wanderlust had begun to ascend to join the Imperial airships. 

Sagar’s ship. 

Sagar’s former ship. 

Soldiers in black plate armour were moving around on the deck.

Sagar’s cheek had begun to twitch.

“I’ll…” said Sagar. “I’ll...KILL THEM!” 

He jumped up from where they lay on the grass and made as if to dash back down the hill towards the rising ship, but Nuthea grabbed one of his arms and held him back. Catching on, Ryn followed suit and grabbed the other. Together they wrestled him to the grass and held him down as he wriggled and kicked.

“Don’t be foolish, Captain Sagar,” chided Nuthea. “They’ve taken off! You can’t possibly get back on board now, even with your gift. Anyway, there’s a whole legion of them up there. You might dispatch one or two more soldiers but they would soon overwhelm you. Do not throw your life away.”

Sagar went still again buried his face in the grass. Ryn shared an anxious glance with Nuthea.

After a moment, the skypirate’s shoulders began to convulse. They tremored gently at first, then shook with violence. A gasp escaped his lips.

“My ship…” Sagar breathed where they held him. “My home… My crew… They’ve taken all of it… They’ve taken everything…”

Now you know how I feel, thought Ryn, but he held himself back from saying it. Mother. Father. Hometown. 

Sagar went still again. Ryn and Nuthea released their grip and knelt next to him, judging he was not about to try to run off again.

For a long moment there was only the sound of the wind tickling their ears, the brightness of the warm afternoon sunshine, and the mess of smoke and shapes in the city below them.

Then Sagar said “What do we do now?” into the grass, echoing Ryn’s question. Ryn noticed that he said ‘we’, not ‘I’.

“What we do now,” said Nuthea, entirely confidently, “is we carry on traveling to Manolia. I need to return to my homeland as soon as possible in order to tell my people what the Empire is seeking.”

Sagar raised his face. His eye was red and his cheeks puffy; his mouth set in a canine-bearing snarl. “No. What we do now is put together a new crew, go and get revenge on those murderous b******s and win back my ship.”

“It’s an admirable idea,” granted Nuthea, with a condescending nod of her head, “but you’ve got to look at the bigger picture, Captain. I know it’s difficult for you to comprehend this right now, I fully understand,”--Ryn did not think that she fully understood Sagar’s emotional state, or that her tone conveyed that she did--“but my mission is even more important than you avenging your fallen comrades and getting your ship back. Where do you think you will be able to find a whole new crew all of a sudden? What will you pay them with? Doing all that would waste valuable time, time that we don’t have. The future of Imfis, the future even of the whole of Mid, is at stake.”

“The whole of Mid?” said Elrann, puzzlement contorting her face. “Why would that be?”

Ryn, Nuthea and Sagar all stared at her.

“What are you still even doing with us, woman?” said Sagar. “You don’t need to be here. You can go your own way now.”

The purple-haired engineer bit her lip and looked at the ground. “I… I was making my living by working in Roldo’s airfield. I had other contacts, and contracts, in Ast, but I don’t think that they’re going to be available any more…” She looked up. Her face looked younger. “What’s happening? Why did the Morekemians attack the city? And what’s this about the whole of Mid being in danger?”

All eyes fell on Nuthea.

“Talk,” said Sagar.

“I just need you to escort me to Manolia as quickly as possible--”

“Talk,” said Sagar.

Ryn felt a little defensive of her at that, but he wanted to hear more from Nuthea too. A faint idea of what was going on was forming in his mind, but she would confirm it…

Nuthea sighed. “Fine. You skypirates really are a most impatient bunch. If you must know--”

“We must,” said Sagar.

“If you must know, I have reason to believe that the Emperor of Morekemia has become aware of the existence of the twelve Primeval Jewels and has begun searching for them in order to gain the power to extend his Empire and to conquer the whole of Mid. I would not be surprised if this attack on Ast in Imfis is the beginning of an invasion of the whole of Dokan. Now that he knows about them, he will stop at nothing until he finds all of them. I must return to Manolia to warn my people, since they hold the Lightning Crystal, and are the stewards of much lore about the Jewels. I imagine that the Emperor will turn his attention to them soon, if not next.”

“Huh?” said Elrann, confusion twisting up her features. “What’s this? Twelve Jewels?”

“Yes. Twelve Primeval Jewels that bestow powers of elemental projection on people who touch them. Ryn here is Ruby-touched, like I explained to you in the inn we stayed at last night. I am Crystal-touched, which is why I can project lightning. I apologise for not revealing this to you earlier. I only wanted to reveal it if I absolutely had to… Although, it seems I am not the only one who has been concealing their powers of elemental projection…” She gave Sagar a pointed look.

Something itched at Ryn’s memory. Now that they were out of Ast and safe, they hoped, for the time being at least, recent events were catching up to him. “That’s right!” he said when he remembered. “Where did that gust of wind that saved me from Vorr’s sword come from?” He turned to Sagar. “How did you do that?” 

The captain folded his arms and looked away into the distance, towards his former airship, which had joined the Imperial fleet and was now moving east. 

“I assume,” Nuthea said to Sagar, “that you are Shell-touched. You have touched the Wind Shell. You have powers of air projection. And I don’t just mean the hot air that comes out of your mouth…” she added more quietly. Ryn’s eyebrows raised. A rare joke from Nuthea.

“So what if I am…” mumbled Sagar, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.

“But how did you come to be?” asked Nuthea. “Ryn’s town were secretly harbouring the Fire Ruby, unbeknownst to him. I have touched the Lightning Crystal because I am Manolian royalty.” She held her head up a little higher. “But you...how did you come into contact with the Wind Shell of Imfis?”

Sagar’s head whipped round. “That’s my business!” he snapped, spraying spittle. “You stay out of my affairs, princess! What does it mean to you?”

Nuthea held out her hand, and some sparks fizzed at her fingertips. Ryn couldn’t tell if she was being angry or just passionate. 

“Don’t you see?” she said. “It means everything! Ryn and I ended up on the same Imperial skyship, both of us Jewel-touched, and then we met you! And it turns out you’re Jewel-touched too! The One must have brought us together as part of His purpose! Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if our engineer here had elemental projection powers too…”

Elrann stuck her tongue in her cheek and frowned deeply.

Sagar shook his head at Nuthea. “You’re not a follower of that ridiculous religion of Oneism, are you?”

“All Manolian royalty are. And its not ridiculous.”

“Yes it is,” said Sagar. “There ain’t no ‘One’, princess, or any god that’s real. We haven’t been brought together for any kind of ‘purpose’. We were brought together by random chance. Dumb luck. There’s plenty of people with elemental projection out there, if you look hard enough.”

“No, there aren’t,” said Nuthea. “Believe me; I’ve looked. This is the work of the One.”

“Oh don’t give me that b--”  

“Wait,” Ryn interrupted. He had remembered something else. “When Nuthea and I fell out of the Imperial airship we were imprisoned on...a sudden gust of wind pushed us on to your ship. That was you as well, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe,” said Sagar defensively.

“Of course it was him,” said Nuthea, eyes flashing. “How else could it have happened? Why did you do it?” she challenged the captain.

“You didn’t look like Imperial soldiers,” said Sagar, “and I wanted to find out who you were. And how partial to skypirates you were.” He grinned lasciviously. “What of it?”

“You saved us, without realising it, at the prompting of The One.”

“It wasn’t no ‘One’, lady!” said Sagar, dropping the ‘princess’. “I’m telling you was just dumb luck!”

“Ah, well that’s a double negative,” said Nuthea. “If it wasn’t ‘no One’ it must have been Some One. The One.”

“Rrrr.” Sagar put a hand over his face.

“Er, ’scuse me,” said Elrann. She had put up a hand.

“What?” said Nuthea and Sagar at the same time.

“Who is this ‘One’ you’re talking about? I’ve always worshiped Yntrik, the god of metal. I’ve never heard of a ‘One’ god. And where did these ‘Jewels’ you’re talking about come from, anyhow? I don’t think you mentioned that last night.”

Nuthea slipped easily back into lecture mode. “The One is the One True God. He is not the god of anything in particular, but of everything in general. He made the whole world--the whole of Mid. He doesn’t live in human walls or temples, but beyond the world. One day it is prophesied he will enter it, at its greatest hour of need. At the beginning of time, when The One made Mid, he made the twelve Primeval Jewels, as a gift for us, to bless the world with. But we humans sought to use them for our own power, to dominate others, so The One scattered them to the twelve corners of the nations. The prophecy, held to by my people and by all followers of the One, says that if someone were to gather all twelve of the Jewels together, they would be granted unlimited, unfathomable power. That is why we must warn my people that the Emperor has learned of the Jewels, and is seeking them.”

At last she finished. Ryn had heard most of it before. He looked at Elrann to check her reaction. 

Elrann’s mouth hung slightly open. “And you really believe that, do you?” she said.

“Of course she doesn’t!” said Sagar. “It’s just a fairytale Manolians tell their whelps to get them to go to sleep! The Jewels are just part of the world. They’re just there, and that’s all there’s to it. In fact, there’s probably not more than three, anyway. We’ve only got proof of three: Fire, Lightning and Wind. There probably aren’t even any more, and there’s definitely no ‘One’. Or any ‘real’ god.”

Ryn pondered Sagar’s words in the silence they left as Nuthea bowed her head, evidently disappointed in the captain’s atheism. He had always been dutiful in paying tribute to Imkala, the frog-god of his hometown, which was built near some marshes, but the Empire destroying his hometown had blown Imkala out of the water. He hadn’t thought of him once since that day. He had seen no reason to.

Now Nuthea and Sagar were presenting with him two new, very different options: So Nuthea believed in this “One” god, a god who made the whole of Mid, and didn’t just belong to one part of it, but to all of it, a god of all the other gods. But Sagar didn’t seem to believe in any god at all. Who was right? To be honest, at the moment Sagar’s beliefs seemed a lot more...realistic. They seemed more likely to be true. That said, Ryn would prefer it if Nuthea’s ideas were true and there really was a ‘One God’ who was looking out for them and orchestrating everything behind the scenes… But just because he would prefer them to be true didn’t mean they were true, did it? And there couldn’t really be a god of gods, could there?

“If there’s a One God,” Ryn spoke up into the silence, “why doesn’t he just come down here right now and stop the Emperor from getting all these Jewels himself?”

“The One works in mysterious ways,” said Nuthea straight away like she was repeating a memorised phrase. “He prefers to work through his followers than to intervene directly. But it is prophesied that one day he will come down to Mid himself to save it, in its greatest hour of need.”

“Poodoo,” said Sagar, this time without being interrupted.

Nuthea held her jaw shut and sighed through her nose. “You are being very rude, Captain Sagar. If you wish to part ways at this point because of our different beliefs, I will not oppose you.”

Sagar’s face suddenly switched from smirkish derision to open-mouthed protest. “Now hold on, princess, I didn’t say that! All I was saying was that your god was a load of nonsense! I didn’t say anything about parting ways.” His eyes ranged over the rapidly burning buildings of Ast and the airships, now growing smaller, making their way across the sky further east and inland. “My wings are clipped without my ship...and my crew……. But if I still succeed in escorting you back to Manolia, will your ‘people’ or whatever still reward me?”

“I am sure.”

“With enough gold to buy a new airship, or have one built?”

“With enough gold to have several new airships built, I imagine.”

“And with beautiful women?”

“I’ve told you. There are many beautiful women in Manolia.”

“Then I’m taking you to Manolia.”

Nuthea’s eyelids fluttered, but she allowed him this choice of phrase without correcting him.

“Ryn?” Nuthea turned to him.

“I want to find that Imperial Officer again and kill him.” Ryn said it as a bare fact, simply voicing his thoughts aloud.

“Well,” said Nuthea, nodding at the airships, “they are heading east, and Manolia is in that direction anyway. If the Emperor of Morekemia knows what I think he does, I imagine he will be despatching his very best officers to Manolia very soon, if he hasn’t already. Vorr may be among them. I need to beat them back to my homeland, however possible. We may need to...commandeer another vehicle somehow, but that is the direction that I am heading too. At least we will get a head start on Vorr when he soon discovers that the ship he has stolen is damaged and has to stop to repair it.”

As if prompted by Nuthea’s words, at that moment Wanderlust began to descend, breaking away from the fleet of black Imperial airships. It was still moving east, and moving to land far away, out of sight, but it was clearly descending.

“I will come with you until I find him, or find a way to find him again,” said Ryn, his eyes boring hatred into the shrinking shape of Wanderlust. He also wanted to stay at Nuthea’s side, but he didn’t say that part out loud. Mother, he thought. Father. Hometown. Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. And now his mind also added, Stay with Nuthea?

“Er,” said Elrann. Ryn started. He had forgotten she was still with them too. “Do you mind if I tag along for a while as well? I was lodging in Ast but I’m not from Imfis originally, ya see, so I’m at a bit of loose end… I’ve never been in a country when it’s been invaded before, and I’m not really sure what to do…” She smiled, closing her eyes.

“Of course, my good lady,” said Nuthea. “If we ever succeed in commandeering another airship or some other kind of steam-vehicle, the services of an engineer will be most valuable to us. Boys?”

“No problem with me,” said Ryn.

“Whatever,” said Sagar, and spat. “The woman can come, I suppose.”

“Then let us set out,” said Nuthea, and they did.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 5: Engineer In An Inn

Sat, 25 Sep 2021 05:00:54 GMT

Previously on Saga of the Jewels:

Seventeen-year-old Ryn’s hometown is attacked by the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before he dies, Ryn’s father gives him a ruby, which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess Nuthea, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain Sagar, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery. However, in the battle with the Empire Sagar’s ship’s engineer has been killed. They land in the port city of Ast and head to an inn to try to recruit a purple-haired Engineer called Elrann who they have been told frequents it.

Episode 5: Engineer In An Inn

(This episode is dedicated to Professor Claire Lucas and to Artist Nom Tarassenko.)

The inside of the tavern was surprisingly big. 

Ryn could see despite the semi-dark as its walls were lit by a fireplace, flickering candles, the red embers from pipes and tobacco-rolls. There must be pushing a hundred people in here, drinking, talking, swearing, arguing, throwing dice, dealing cards, their silhouettes throwing shifting shadows on the walls. 

"How are we meant to find one person in here?" said Nuthea. "It's too dark to make out anyone's hair colour."

"Easy, princess," said Sagar. "We ask."

He swaggered over to the bar and motioned for the attention of the nearest server, a hulking man with a stained apron and a scar over his right eye. Ryn and Nuthea followed him.

"You," Sagar said to the barman, "A draught of your best ale, now. We're looking for a man with purple hair. Where is he?"

"Nobody here like that," said the barman gruffly. He rubbed the tankard he was drying with a cloth, not bothering to fetch Sagar's order right away.

"What?" said Sagar, clearly caught off guard. "Don't play games with me. We've been told there's an engineer who frequents your tavern, name of Elrann. Purple hair. Where is he?"

"I told you," said the barman, setting down the dry tankard with a thunk. "There is nobody here who matches that description."

"Bull," said Sagar. "I got my information from a reliable source. Listen, buddy, I'm only in here because I lost my chief engineer in my last skybattle. That's right, I'm a skypirate--believe it. Now pour me my drink and point me in the direction of Elrann Luccavich before I put out your other eye." He brushed the hilt of one of the swords at his side. 

The barman leant both his hands on the bar, looked at Sagar for a long time, then let out a loud sigh, audible even over the chattering and clinking noises of the tavern. Then he turned round and pulled Sagar an ale, muttering something like "Bloody jumped-up skypirates...gonna get a shock...don't say I didn't tell you..."

Sagar must be pretending not to hear him.

When Sagar had paid him for the drink, making a big show of flicking his gold piece onto the bar with his thumb, the barman pointed to a corner of the tavern, where at one of the long tables a number of men and women were drinking and talking merrily. "Over there. You'll find Elrann soon enough."

Sagar didn't thank him. "Idiot," he said as he walked away.

"Tosser," said the barman.

The three of them walked over to the long table, Sagar leading the way. As they approached and the sounds from the table grew louder, it soon became clear that the people seated at it were holding some kind of competition.

Specifically, two people at the far head of the table were having a competition. Which is to say, they were both drinking tankard after tankard of ale (or whatever that brown liquid was) while all the rest of the men and women around them were shouting, cheering them on, and placing bets on who was going to give up first.

"Drink! Drink! Drink!" chanted the crowd.

"Thirty silver pieces on Elrann!"

"I'll take that!"

"Forty on Saldor!"

"She never loses!"

One of the two competitors at the head of the table was an exceptionally well-muscled, shirtless man. His arms each looked like three fleshy balls fused together, and the six symmetrical squares of his abdomen glistened even at a distance. Detailed, intricate tattoos decorated his arms and chest, of a ship, a leviathan, two crossed swords. But he was bald and had no hair.

The other competitor was a young woman of small build wearing a dirty set of blue work overalls and a pair of goggles currently pulled back off her eyes to sit atop her head above a heart-shaped face. Underneath those, she wore a bob of shocking hair, shocking enough to be seen in the firelight. 

A bob of shocking purple hair.

The woman finished chugging down her tankard, then clanged it down on the table.

"Another!" she cried.

The onlookers cheered. She had a mad twinkle in her eyes and a wild grin on her face.

Eventually, tatoo-man--'Saldor’--finished quaffing his own tankard and set that down too, but with a much slower and wobblier motion.

"Mercy?" the woman said to him curiously.

The man swayed a little where he sat, his tattoos listing left and right like the ship was caught on a choppy sea.

After a moment he breathed "A...nother..." He said it like he was actually saying 'mercy', but that was not the word that formed on his lips.

More cheers. Both the tankards were re-filled, and the competitors lifted them once more to their mouths, tilting their heads back. The woman took to her tankard lustily, gulping down the ale down again. The man hesitated at first, but then glanced at his competitor and shakily raised his tankard to his lips again. Their throats each bobbed as they drank.

Ryn looked at Sagar. "I think you've found your engineer," he said. Mother. Father. Hometown, Ryn thought. Get engineer. Repair ship. Find General Vorr. Get General Vorr. Kill General Vorr. 

Sagar just stood still, his brows knotted, mouth open. He looked like the very foundation of his world had been ripped away from underneath him. No, you don't know how that really feels, Ryn thought. I'm the only one here who knows how that really feels.

The woman finished her tankard and set it once more on the tabletop, far faster than the man at her side and than Ryn would have thought possible. She wore multiple metal necklaces under her blue overall which peeked out around the back of her neck, and multiple metal bracelets on each wrist which clinked when she set down her drink amidst the noise of the tavern.

Saldor took even longer to catch up to her this time, but eventually he finished drinking too and practically dropped his tankard on the table.

"Mercy," said the woman. This time she didn't say it like a question, she issued it as an instruction.

The man was swaying again. But he held up a finger, as if to object.

The people at the table went quiet for a moment, craning forwards to hear what he was going to say.

"Mmmmmm..." said the man. 

He let out a long belch and fell sideways off his chair and onto the floor.

The woman raised her tankard above her head. "I win again! How much do I get this time?"

A huge cheer went up from the table, followed by whistles and shouts.

"Come on, pay up, she won!"

"I'm not paying you! She must have used some kind of trick!"

"It's no trick, it's just Elrann!"

"I want my fifty silver pieces now!"

"Not my problem your boy can't handle his drink!"

In the clamour it was Nuthea's turn to address Sagar. "Come on then, Skycaptain," she said, "Ryn is right. This is clearly your engineer."

Sagar blinked, then shook his head, his eyes coming back into focus. “We’ll see…” he said, and strode up to the table, still holding his tankard in one hand. Ryn and Nuthea watched from a few paces behind him.

“Are you Elrann?” Sagar said to the woman.

The other folk around the table were still talking and arguing, pushing and pulling coins back and forth, but the woman raised her gaze at this brash question. Her eyes narrowed a fraction but retained their twinkle. She was still smiling.

“Half the tavern’s chanting my name,” she said to Sagar. “I think it’s safe to assume that, yes, I’m Elrann.”

“But you’re a woman,” Sagar said without missing a beat.

“Last time I checked,” said the woman. One of her eyebrows crept up higher than the other as she inspected Sagar, and then Ryn and Nuthea standing off a little way behind him. “Why? What’s it to you?”

Sagar snorted. “There must have been some sort of mistake. My informant, a man at the docks, told me to come here and look for an Elrann with purple hair who’s a first rate engineer.”

Elrann smiled even more widely. One of her teeth was made of silver. “Well, you found me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Sagar. “You can’t be the Elrann he meant. Or maybe he got you mixed up with someone else. Engineering’s a man’s profession. Everybody knows that. A woman can’t be an engineer.”

Sagar’s beer glass exploded.

It just shattered with a loud pop, bits of broken glass falling around him on the floor, beer instantly drenching his hand and breeches, so that he was left holding only the handle.

The whole tavern went quiet. Heads turned as people looked over to see what had happened.

From the table where the girl sat, still with a wide smile on her face, a tendril of black smoke snaked up. On the tabletop, at its source, was a small bronze cylinder with a handle protruding from the bottom which the woman grasped.  

A pistol. Another thing that Ryn had only heard about in stories and tales. Until now.

“Can a woman not do that, either?” Elrann said into the quiet.

The tavern burst into laughter. People slapped each other’s backs, gripped their bellies and pointed at Sagar as they wiped tears of mirth from their eyes. Ryn remembered the pirates on the airship laughing at him in the same way when he had tried to tell them about his flame powers.

Slowly, eventually, the laughter wound down and the customers went back to whatever they were doing before the little comic interruption, and the noises of the tavern resumed.

Sagar’s face had turned almost as purple as Elrann’s hair. His eyes flicked this way and that. His lips had disappeared into a tight frown. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth.

“You are Elrann the engineer,” he said.

“If you hadn’t figured that out by now, you must be very stupid,” said Elrann.

Sagar swallowed. Whether he was swallowing pride or rage, Ryn didn’t know. Maybe it was both.

“I…we want to hire you.”

“For what?”

“To repair my ship. There’s a problem with one of the fuel lines.”

Elrann looked him up and down again.

“Sorry, I’m all booked up.”

“I can pay you.”

“So can my current clients.”

“I can pay you well. My crew and I took down an Imperial vessel recently. It was very lucrative for us.”

Elrann hesitated, and for a moment it seemed as though she might be tempted by the offer. But then: “Sorry, nothing doing,” she said. She fixed Sagar with a cool look, relaxing her eyebrows and grinning again. “I don’t do work for turdburgulars like you.”

“Nyarrrgrh!” Sagar cried in anger, and drew one of his twin curved blades from his side, unsheathing it in a smooth ringing arc. He held the point up in front of Elrann’s face, whose eyes went wide. “Say that to me again, woman!”

The table went quiet again--or at least the drinkers nearest them went quiet.

I don’t think saying the word ‘woman’ like it’s an insult is going to help us here very much, thought Ryn. He wanted to help, but he had no idea what to do, and he didn’t even have a weapon. Sagar was completing botching this. Even Ryn could tell that pulling a sword on someone holding a pistol at close range in an inn full of people was a stupid thing to do.

Nuthea stepped forward, bravely putting her hand on the captain’s back. “Now now, Sagar,” she said. “I’m sure we can find another engineer somewhere else. That airfield owner was clearly playing a prank on you. Come on, we don’t want this to become...uncivilised.”

“Hey yoush,” said a deep, drunken voice. “’m not...finnishhed wiv yoush yet.” 

It was Saldor, back on his feet.

Elrann turned to look at him but kept her pistol aimed at Sagar. “Sit down, you lightweight blowhard! I beat you fair and square! Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Hey, Saldor’s up again!” someone called.

“Give me those sixty gold pieces back!”

“No way, I won them fairly! Game’s over!”

“It’s not over till one of them can’t drink any more, and he’s still conscious!”

Shouted arguments resumed.

Amidst them, Saldor said “Hey! Nobodies callsh me a lightwit blard!”

He pulled back a fist and took a swing at Elrann, who leapt up out of her chair and moved away from the table, keeping her pistol trained on Sagar.

“Butt out, imbecile,” said Sagar, “we’re having a conversation!” He kicked the man hard in his muscled stomach and Saldor doubled up with a grunt, clutching it.

A large man with a thick black beard who had been sitting next to Saldor stood up and snarled at Sagar. “Oi! You hit my man Saldor! That’s cheating!”

“Oh shut up, Orsan!” said another man next to him. “You’re just sour ’cause he lost!” The man took a swing at Orsan and hit him in the face, knocking the man into Saldor, who took offence and in his drunken stupor punched his own supporter back the way he had come.

Chaos erupted. Soon everyone was calling everyone else names and accusing each other of cheating at the bets, and then fists and feet were flying as the fighting grew into a full-on tavern brawl.

“Give me those coins!”

“Mine! Mine! I won!”

“Get off me you mongrel!”

Sagar still had a sword pointed at Elrann, but a man got thrown over the table and crashed into the side of him, making him drop it. When it clattered to the floor, Ryn picked it up for him to keep it safe. Sagar didn’t even seem to notice he’d dropped it. As soon as he’d scrambled back onto his feet, he dived back into the melee, yelling curses and throwing punches.

Elrann clicked off a mechanism on the top of her pistol, stashed it somewhere inside her overall and cried, “Bloody skypirates! Arses too big for their breeches! I won that drinking game fair and square! Hey you lot, don’t forget I get 10% commission on all winning bets on me!” She dived into the fray too, punching and kicking her way through the crowd to try to get back to Sagar, who by now was lost in the midst of the brawl. 

Fists flew into faces, knees into groins, elbows into stomachs. Men roared with anger and pain and defiance. Bodies were launched this way and that. A chair broke. Somebody’s tooth rattled on the floor and stopped near Ryn’s foot. More people rushed over from the other tables to try to break up the fight, or join in. Some were shouting for Saldor, some for Elrann, but it was impossible to tell which side was winning, or if there really were sides any more. Somewhere in the middle of the mass of bodies stood Sagar and Elrann and Saldor, occasionally colliding with each other and wrestling, before being broken apart again, but they kept disappearing out of view among the carnage of limbs.

Ryn and Nuthea stood watching all of this in shocked silence. 

They shared a look of open-mouthed horror. Apparently neither of them had ever seen anything like this before.

“This is no good,” said Ryn over the din. “We’re never going to get the ship fixed like this. At this rate we might even lose our captain.”

“I know,” said Nuthea. “That foolish man is going to get himself killed, all because of his pride. We need to do something. We need to get their attention somehow.” 

“How?” said Ryn.

Nuthea licked her upper lip and looked at him. After a moment she said “Your powers.”

“What? No! I don’t even know how to use them properly yet! You use yours!”

“Lightning is unpredictable and hard to contain, especially inside. I have to aim it at a specific target to discharge it, but it’s too cramped in here and there are too many people. I might miss my target or lose control and kill someone or, even worse, it might jump between several people. You, though…” Her blue eyes glittered. “You’ve touched the Fire Ruby. You have flame projection powers. Flame can be controlled a little more easily than lightning, surely. You can show them some fire burning and get their attention.”

“I...I don’t know how,” Ryn said, his chest tightening, his mouth going dry. “I’ve only ever projected fire once before, when I was really desperate and about to die, and it didn’t work again afterwards. I’m not sure I can do it again.”

“Oh, of course you can,” said Nuthea, and pulled Ryn by the arm out of the way of a man stumbling backwards from being kicked in the face. “I’ll teach you. Hold out your hand.”

Ryn hesitated a moment, then reluctantly held out his hand in front of him.

“Palm up, silly.”

He turned it over.

“Ok, now take some deep breaths. The reason you were only able to project fire a single time when you used your gift before must be because you used up all your mana at once. It takes mental and physical energy to use magic--it’s tiring. But if you control yourself and only use some of your mana, you should be able to create some smaller flames--and you won’t tire yourself out so much.”

“But I told you, I don’t know how. It just sort of...happened before.”

“Nonsense,” chided Nuthea. “You’ve touched the Fire Ruby. You have the gift. It’s a part of you now. It’s like a muscle. All you have to do is focus, and you can use it. You have to believe you can do it in order to do it, though. And you’ve done it before, so you know you can do it. Now come on. Focus, and make some flames on your hand.”

Ryn stared down at his open palm. This is crazy, he thought. I can’t do this. Although… He remembered shooting fire from his hands in Cleasor and engulfing the Imperial soldier. He remembered again the flames leaping from the rooftops of his hometown. He remembered his father’s dying expression. He remembered his mother’s look of pain, Vorr’s blade piercing her. There was a fire burning inside him, a fire of passion and fury and hatred. If he really had this gift, and if he could learn to master it, maybe, just maybe he would be able to get revenge on the man who had done all this to him.

A small flame lit in the centre of his palm, hovering just above it.

Ryn closed his hand and hopped back in surprise, and the flame went out with a quiet hiss. “I did it!” he said over the noise of the tavern brawl. “Did you see that? I did it!” He heard his own words, and he sounded like a little boy. He cleared his throat. “Ahem. I mean: there we go. Er...you’re a good teacher, Nuthea.”

“I know,” said the princess, smiling. “Now: Do it again. Only this time, hold your hand up, hold the flame for longer, and let it burn a little brighter. We need to get their attention.” She nodded towards the fighting mess.

Ryn took another deep breath. Making that small flame appear had been like engaging a muscle, one that he hadn’t realised he’d had. He held out his hand and engaged it again, focusing on the space just above his palm and willing fire... 

A small flame appeared again. Ryn blinked, almost as startled as before, but this time he kept his hand out and continued to concentrate, and the flame stayed where it was, hovering above his hand, a little tongue of orange-red like you get from a candle.

“Good,” said Nuthea next to him. “Now make it grow.”

Acting on instinct, Ryn willed the flame to increase in size. Fire, grow, he thought. 

The little flame expanded into a flickering ball, sending up some more clear smoke into the air above it. Ryn’s palm felt warm, but not overhot. He had to hold his concentration to keep it there.

Some of the brawlers stopped what they were doing now and stood still to stare at the flame. He didn’t pay them any attention, but continued to concentrate on the fireball he was holding in existence with his mind.

“That’s really good,” said Nuthea. “You’re getting their notice. Just a little more.”

Spurred on by the thrill of success and her encouragement, Ryn willed a little more of his energy into the flame. It took more effort, but the fireball grew in size by another inch. It lit the area around them brightly now, and beyond it Ryn caught sight of more of the brawlers stopping in their tracks to stare at what he was doing.

Ryn stretched his arm out and held his hand up, palm flat pointing towards the ceiling, holding the blazing fireball above his head.

Something itched at his mind. The candles. The fireplace. He had become strangely aware of them, even though he wasn’t looking at them. It was like he could sense them burning in different places in the room. He closed his eyes for a moment. To me. 

He opened his eyes. The fireball he held above his head had grown again, and now it was the only light source in the tavern. He had drawn the energy from the candles and fireplace, extinguishing them, drawing them into his own fire, a huge ball of flame that crackled quietly above him in the air now, burning in place, sending out light in every direction, with Ryn at its origin. He had to concentrate hard to hold it in place. 

The whole tavern had stopped what they were doing now and were frozen in place looking at him in the light from the fireball, some still holding each other in headlocks or with their fists raised where they had been about to throw their next punch. There among them were Sagar and Elrann, mouths hanging open and eyes stretched wide like everyone else’s. 

Nuthea spoke up. “Um...sorry to have had to get your attention like this, but my companions and I came here looking for a particular person. Since we haven’t been able to persuade that person to come with us, we will be leaving now. Come along, Sagar.”

She beckoned with a finger, like she was coaxing a misbehaving pet.

Slowly, carefully, eyeing the fireball which Ryn was concentrating on holding up with every step, Sagar weaved his way through the frozen fighters and walked back to Nuthea’s side. They let him do so, their own eyes transfixed by the fireball too.

“Good,” said Nuthea. “Um, thank you. We shall be leaving now.” She turned her head to Ryn and whispered, “You can put that out now.”

Ryn’s heart missed a beat, and the fireball wobbled. “Er, what?” he whispered back out of the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know how!” 

“Just take another deep breath and will the flames to rescind! It can’t be that hard!”

Everyone was watching him.

He breathed in, then coughed. Panic seized him and the fireball shot up into the wooden ceiling, scorching it black and dissipating. At the same time, tens of tiny flames sprang out from it, returning to the candles and the fireplace, re-igniting them. 

The light inside of the tavern went back to how it had been before.

For a moment, the three of them watched the frozen tavern-brawlers to see what they would do, and vice versa.

And then the roars and shouting began again, and everyone went back to hitting each other, some of them scrambling forwards to get at Sagar, or Ryn, or maybe Nuthea--who could tell?

“Back! Get back, you vermin!” shouted Sagar, kicking one of them in the shins. He snatched his sword back off Ryn and waved it at two more of them, who sprang backwards for safety, then drew their own weapons and surged forwards again.

Luckily, though, the tavern-goers were still fighting amongst themselves as well, and before these two could attack they were rushed by another pair with their swords drawn. Weapons locked.

“You’re not going anywhere until I’ve got my hundred gold pieces for betting on Elrann!” one shouted at another. 

Ryn’s distraction had got Sagar closer to the door. They took their chance and sprinted back to it, bashing it open and bursting out into the cool night air.

  They pelted down the street and made sure they were a good distance away from the tavern.

It was full dark outside in Ast now. The three of them stood on the cobbles in the light from a street-lamp, at a corner that the street they had been on made with a residential alley of brick buildings, and got their breath back.

Ryn stood with his hands on his knees for a while, panting loudly. Now that he was out of the inn, tiredness sapped his every muscle.

“I’m exhausted,” he said lamely.

“That’s normal,” said Nuthea, breathing fast too. “I told you: it takes physical energy to use mana. Also, you have to practice. It’s like training a muscle. It gets easier with time.”

“Bloody tavern-dwellers!” cursed Sagar now he had his breath. “Bloody women! Bloody woman!”

“Look, numb-nuts,” said a voice, “I’ll come with you and fix your ship on the condition that you stop calling me that like it’s some sort of a bad thing.”

“Who’s there?!” cried Sagar.

A shape had appeared a few paces away from them in the street. She stepped more into the lantern-light. Elrann, with her purple hair, blue overall, goggles and metal bangles.

“Who’d ya think?” she said with her trademark grin. “Didn’t ya hear me? I’ll do the job. For a fee, of course.”

Huh? Ryn thought. Something had changed her mind. But what? Maybe she had lost out on her commission for winning the drinking game and now needed the money.

“About time,” said Sagar with the graciousness of a pig.

“What he means,” says Nuthea, “is ‘thank you’. We’d be glad to have your help.”

“Yeah,” said Elrann, “well, try to keep a rein on your dog--I can always change my mind.” 

Ryn fancied he could almost see the steam coming out of Sagar’s ears.

Elrann’s eyes found him. “That was pretty impressive, that fire trick you did back there. Not seen anything like that before, and I’ve seen a few things in my time. You’ll have to show me how you did that sometime.”

Ryn’s body ached. He couldn’t think of a good response. “Er..sure,” was all he came up with.

“Right,” said the engineer. “Now, where’s this ship of yours? Let’s get to it.”

Nuthea regarded Ryn with a crinkle in her forehead. 

“It’s late,” she said. “And the airfield is a good distance away. We can take you to it in the morning. For now we should find lodging somewhere in the city. Don’t you agree, Sagar? Do you have enough coin for us?”

“Rrr,” grunted Sagar, probably in assent.

“Do you know of anywhere?” Nuthea asked Elrann.

“Well,” said Elrann, “I was going to spend the night in the Traveller’s Rest, but I don’t think any of you should be going back there in a hurry. And it’s going to be a while before that brawl settles down. I know a few other places, though.”

“Thank you,” said Nuthea.

Sagar cursed under his breath.

Ryn yawned.

“Come with me,” said Elrann.

They followed her into the night.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 4: One Small Problem

Sat, 18 Sep 2021 05:01:46 GMT

PREVIOUSLY ON SAGA OF THE JEWELS:

Seventeen-year-old Ryn’s hometown is attacked by the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before he dies, Ryn’s father gives him a ruby, which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess Nuthea, who has the ability to project lightning. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. The Imperial vessel where they are being held is in turn attacked by a pirate airship, and the pirates capture Ryn and Nuthea. The lead pirate, Captain Sagar, agrees to escort Nuthea back to her homeland, and to spare Ryn’s life, in exchange for the promise of gold, gemstones and beautiful women upon her safe delivery.

Episode 4: One Small Problem

The airship Wanderlust sailed on a sea of clouds.

Ryn and Nuthea sat in the small viewing bubble built into the underside of the ship, watching the clouds and, further below, the landscape passing underneath as it was veiled and revealed by them. The viewing bubble was made of reinforced glass, on which they rested their feet as they sat on a wooden bench built across it. A speaking-tube came out of the ceiling that a lookout could talk into for their voice to be carried to another speaking-tube on the ship’s raised forecastle. 

Really designed just for one person to sit in, the viewing bubble was not quite big enough for two. Ryn was sure that Captain Sagar had only sent them down here to do the job of one person in order to keep them out of the way and prevent the crew from asking them any more awkward questions. 

He sat rigid and tried not to brush Nuthea with his elbow. It was difficult. 

This time, she was giving him a geography lesson.

“So we are currently flying over the Isle of Efstan,” she said. “You see those rolling green fields? They’re what Efstan’s famous for.”

“Well, I know that much,” said Ryn, not wanting to seem completely ignorant. “My hometown is…was in Efstan, after all.” He blinked away the images of burning buildings that flared up in his mind’s eye, then looked for the next question to distract him. “Where are we heading now, then? Where is your homeland?”

“Well, as I was saying, Manolia is situated on the much larger neighbouring land mass of Zokan. That’s where we’re heading. Soon enough, you’ll see, after we cross the Leviathan’s Channel the landscape will become much more varied and interesting, even mountainous in some places. And after we cross the Pelnian mountains, Manolia is a peninsula the juts into the Sundering Sea.”

“If that’s where you’re from, how did you end up all the way out here?” Ryn actually knew the answer to this question, but he wanted to keep Nuthea talking to distract himself from the intrusive memories that kept popping into his head.

“Don’t you ever listen?” She looked up from the clouds and fields below them for a moment and frowned at Ryn, her noble forehead creasing. “I was on an undercover diplomatic mission in nearby Imfis, in the north of Zokan, when the Imperials discovered and captured me.”

“But what were you doing on the mission?”

Nuthea’s eyes narrowed. She paused for moment. “I suppose I can tell you because you’re jewel-touched.” She adjusted the circlet she wore underneath her golden hair. “I was trying to engineer an alliance with them.”

“Why do you need to make an alliance with them?”

“We don’t, necessarily. But…” Nuthea dropped her voice, even though between the background thrum of the ship’s engines and the whistle of air beneath the hull nobody else would have the faintest hope of hearing her. “As you’ve seen, the Emperor of Morekemia has learned of the Jewels. He has begun to search for them, and his power and dominion are growing even now. He cannot be allowed to gather them all together. So any nations who have knowledge of the locations of our Jewels must band together to stop him.”

“What would happen if the Emperor gathered together all of the Jewels?”

Nuthea’s voice went even lower. “Didn’t I tell you that before? If someone, anyone, gathers all of the Jewels together, the legend says they will be granted unbelievable, unfathomable power. Command over every basic element of which Mid is composed. They would be practically omnipotent--all powerful.”

Nuthea gazed back out of the glass of the viewing bubble, her voice trailing off. Ryn followed her gaze down through the wisps of white and over the passing patchwork.

All powerful... Maybe they could grant the power to bring my parents back. My friends. My town. But no...that’s impossible. Maybe they could grant the power to find out if that General is still alive…

Just then something inside Ryn’s heart shifted. Where it had been numb and cold with grief, a small spark now lit within it. The numbness and the cold were still there, to be sure, but now there was a fragile flickering flame warming them too. A flame of desire. A flame of hope. A flame of purpose. He knew what he had to do.

He had to find and get revenge on the Imperial General who killed his mother.

At that same moment, the landscape shifted too. Without warning, the distant green fields below them gave way to a vast expanse of blue that stretched out below them further than they could see.

“Hey, look!” cried Nuthea. “The Leviathan’s Channel!”

It was mainly a deep blue, the colour of blueberries, but here and there it was lighter where the sunshine fell on it, or darker where the clouds obscured it, patches of shadow gliding over its surface. The surface itself shifted and glittered, fragments of white foam rising and falling over it, which Ryn realised were waves.

“It’s beautiful…” he muttered.

“Well, you use that word very freely,” Nuthea said, glancing sidelong at him. “You act like you’ve never seen it before.”

Ryn looked at her.

“Oh.”

“How long will it take us to get to Manolia?” he asked.

“With a full tank of fuel and a good wind...it should be about two days’ flying. We should make Zokan by nightfall of today, and Manolia by the end of tomorrow...”

They spent most of the rest of the day like that, sat together in the viewing bubble, watching the sea pass by, with Ryn asking Nuthea questions about the world below to keep his mind away from his memories and Nuthea being only too happy to enlighten him. They didn’t even go abovedeck to eat; instead a grumpy looking sailor came down and shoved a couple of plates of salt beef into their hands, then came back half an hour later to collect them. As they watched the sea gradually it, and the sky around them, grew darker, and the blue got deeper.

The shadow of a coastline appeared. And, right at its edge, a cluster of fireflies arrayed in a circle.

“At last,” said Nuthea, rubbing her back. “We’ve reached Zokan. Those are the lights of a port.”

A low buzzing noise joined the thrum of the engine, and Ryn’s stomach lurched as he felt the ship begin to descend.

“What?” said Nuthea. “We shouldn’t be landing already! We’ve got at least a day until we reach Manolia!”

She stood and dashed up the wooden steps that led out of the viewing-bubble chamber.

Ryn watched her go. Before they had sighted the coastline, she had been in the middle of educating him about the Twelve Peoples of Mid. For once, she had forgotten her lesson completely.

He stood too, then rubbed his thighs when they ached. Sitting in one place for the whole day had not been kind to his legs and backside.

He followed Nuthea up the steps to the underdeck and then up another set of steps to the maindeck, passing the little cupboard where they had first been thrown by the pirates during their battle with the Imperials.

Abovedeck, Ryn immediately noticed that the crew were a lot less busy than before. Many of them were standing at the rail, looking out at the firefly-lights and pointing.

Sagar was up on the reardeck, behind the big ship’s wheel.

“Why are we going down?” Nuthea demanded of him from the maindeck over the sound of the air rushing past.“We haven’t reached Manolia yet. We won’t for at least another day.” 

Sagar didn’t even look at her. “Simple! We salvaged a lot of bounty from that Imperial ship we took down”--his eyes flicked to Nuthea just for a moment--“a lot of bounty, but sadly fuel was not part of it. In fact, we blew up her fuel tank, which is what brought her down in the end. Now we need to refuel.”

“Can’t you keep going any longer on your current level? We need to reach Manolia as soon as possible.”

“No.”

“I will give you more money.”

“Not going to work, miss. Or ‘princess’. Or whatever you are. We need fuel. And that’s that.”

Nuthea marched up the steps to join Sagar on the reardeck. Ryn went after her.

“I can’t believe that you already need to refuel,” she said as the Captain continued to take the ship down. “I need to get back to Manolia as quickly as possible. You should have had enough for a return voyage. Where did you set out from anyway?”

She was quite stubborn really.

“Rrrr,” Sagar said quietly, still looking straight ahead. “Will you shut up? I’m not just refueling--Wanderlust needs some repairs too.”

Ryn’s heart missed a beat.

“You mean there’s something wrong with the ship?” Nuthea voiced his concern for him. 

A couple of the skysailors looked round at them from where they stood by the rail on the maindeck.

Sagar’s jaw stiffened. “Not so loud, princess,” he said through gritted teeth. “No, the ship’s absolutely fine!” he said more loudly. “We just need fuel, that’s all!”

The sailors turned back round.

“What’s wrong with the ship?” Ryn asked, keeping his voice low.

“Look; pup, princess,” said Sagar, “When you’re in a major battle with an Imperial vessel, you don’t come out of it unscathed. We had the jump on them and we made quick work of them in the end, but the hull sustained some heavy cannonfire in the process. It wouldn’t be so bad, except one of our fuel lines to the turbines got hit. We’re not just low on fuel, we’re leaking it.”

“Oh,” said Nuthea.

A pause.

“Why don’t you tell your men?” asked Ryn.

Sagar squinted at him with his one exposed eye. “You wouldn’t understand, pup. When you’re a fearsome skypirate captain like me, you have a certain reputation to preserve….”

“What you mean is,” said Nuthea, “that your crew barely follow your orders at the best of times, so you don’t want them to know that you’re only just holding your ship aloft.”

Sagar didn’t say anything back. But even in the darkness he seemed to turn a shade redder.

“Can’t your engineer fix the fuel line?” Nuthea pressed.

“Well, normally he would, princess, but there’s just one small problem getting in his way at the moment.”

“What’s that?”

“He’s dead.”

“What?”

“I told you to keep your voice down. We lost a few men in the battle with the Imperials. My engineer was one of them. He was near the fuel line after it got hit, trying to repair it. Another cannonball hit him direct. We lost two others as well. The crew are a bit cut up about it, so that’s another reason I don’t want them to know about the damage we’ve taken. Their morale needs looking after. So now you know. I’m landing, princess, because not only do we need to fix the fuel line, but we need to find somebody to do it too...”

Nuthea seemed to have no response to that. Instead, she bit her bottom lip and looked away from Sagar, out at the growing lights of the port town, the same way as the crew.

“Do you always pilot your own ship?” Ryn asked.

“Course not, pup. I have my crew to do that. But it’s good for the captain to take the helm from time to time. It reminds them that I still know how. It reminds them that I’m the best airship pilot this side of the Sundering Sea. Now shut up; I need to concentrate. We’re coming in to land.”

As they had been speaking the firefly-lights of the port-town had been growing steadily brighter. Now Ryn could see that one cluster of them was arranged in a large circle, which he guessed must be an airship dock.

Sure enough, Sagar guided Wanderlust down towards this circle. As they approached, some of the other fireflies became lights in the windows of buildings. The structures of the town were many and packed in closely together.

In fact, Ryn realised, the port wasn’t a town at all, but a city.

All of a sudden he felt very small.

Eventually, the circle of fireflies they were flying towards became a collection of huge naptha beacons, giant flames burning in glass containers, like a ring of enormous lanterns. In the space they encircled, parked on the grey earth, were about a dozen other airships. 

Sagar piloted his blimp-bourne ship over a large space on the airfield, slowing her as he went. Then he flicked a switch on the control panel of the console that protruded out of the floor next to the ship’s wheel.

The whole ship dropped slowly to the ground. They landed with a gentle crunch of earth, the purr of the turbines wound down, and the ship was still. 

Little dots had been starting to move towards them in the naptha light as they were coming in to land. Now Ryn saw that the dots were people, who were now rushing up to the side of the ship.

“Fresh dates!” called out the first man who made it to Wanderlust’s side, carrying a box slung round his neck by a cord. “Refresh yourself after a long voyage!”

“Draught ale!” cried another, carrying a tankard in each of his hands, sloshing liquid. “Free sample! Only the best at the Traveller’s Rest!”

“Get your cheese, right here! Recently made, prime quality, cheese on a stick! I’ve got soft cheese, hard cheese, stinky cheese, blue cheese! Get it all here!”

Some of Sagar’s crew called out their orders and threw down pennies for them, or jumped down to the ground and started to haggle.

“Out of the way, you vermin!” a gruff voice called out over the haggling. “I told you to wait until they’ve paid their landing fee before you approach! You’re lucky I even let you on this airfield!”

These words had been spoken by an extremely fat man dressed in black leather, the folds of his belly leaking out from under his jacket and over the top of his trousers. He wore huge, thick goggles under his dirty grey hair and messy beard. The naptha light glinted off his left leg oddly. It was made of metal, and he moved awkwardly on it.

The airfield vendors completely ignored him, and went on selling and haggling over their goods with the newly arrived sailors, but he didn’t address them further. “Sagar!” he called out. “Get your sorry arse down here and pay me your landing fee!”

“Wait here,” Sagar said to Ryn and Nuthea with a pointed look from his un-covered eye. He walked to the side of the ship’s deck and climbed over, down some hand-holds built into the side of the ship, to the ground.

Nuthea went after him.

Why does she need to go too? Ryn thought.

Her gold-crowned head popped up above the side of the ship for a moment.

“Aren’t you coming?”

He shrugged, and followed her.

On the ground, Sagar and the man were already arguing.

“Fifty gold pieces?” said Sagar. “It was twenty-five last time, Roldo!”

The man spat on the ground. “Yeah, well I heard you took down an Imperial Skyship yesterday. News travels fast, pretty boy. And these are uncertain times. Rumour is tensions are building with Morekemia as things are,”--Nuthea’s back stiffened a little at that--“and I need to look out for myself. Fifty gold pieces. It’s not like you’ve got any other choices. And you’ve already landed the damn thing.” 

“Rrrr, fine,” said Sagar quietly, and fished in his own leather jacket for the coins before handing them over.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” said Roldo, stashing the money away in an inside pocket with a brown-toothed smile. “Why’re you back so soon, anyway, Sagar?” He leant his head back to look at the hull of Wanderlust. “And what exactly have you been up to, anyhow? Your ship looks pretty beaten up.”

“None of your damn business,” said Sagar, batting the airfield owner’s question away with a wave of his hand. He still spoke quietly. “Listen to me, Roldo, I need to ask you something. I’m down an engineer and I need to recruit one, fast. Where’s the best place I can find myself an engineer in Ast these days?”

Roldo’s magnified eyes narrowed inside his goggles.

“Why should I tell you?”

Nuthea spoke up. “Because we have something that needs fixing, why else?”

Sagar turned his head, as if noticing her for the first time. “Hey, butt out, princess, I’m busy here. Go and wait on the ship.”

“That’s extremely rude of you,” Nuthea replied. She didn’t move.

Sagar sighed, then grabbed Roldo’s scraggly beard and yanked him closer, looking him right in the face.

“You tell me, lard-tub, because I’m asking, and because I just gave you fifty gold pieces to park my ship on this little scrap of dirt.” He let go.

“Alright, alright!” said Roldo, rubbing his chin. He spat again. “Gods, there’s no need to get all whiny about it.” He tapped his lips in thought. “There’s a brilliant young engineer currently working as a freelancer, name of ‘Elrann Luccavich’. In fact, Elrann’s been down here lately servicing some of the ships of the other miserable b******s who’ve landed in Ast.” 

“Where can I find him?”

Roldo grinned. “Now?”

“Now.”

“Usually in the Traveler’s Rest. Like I said, ask for Elrann. Not easy to miss.”

“Why?”

“Elrann has purple hair. Zerlanese.”

“That’s all I needed to know.” As he turned, Sagar flicked another single gold piece spinning into the air. Roldo’s hand shot out and he snatched it, then pocketed it with a lick of his hairy lips.

Sagar climbed back up on board the ship without another word. Ryn waited for Nuthea to go next, then furrowed his brow at her when she didn’t.

“You really can be quite slow-witted, can’t you?” she said. “You go first.” 

“Why?”

“I’m not having you looking up my dress.”

“Oh!” Ryn said, a hot blush rising in his cheeks. “Sorry!” The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, but now it did and he blushed even hotter.

Up on the maindeck Sagar addressed his crew as they stood round him.

“Listen, men,” he bellowed. “I’m worn out from all our plundering so I’m going to go ashore and refresh myself for the evening at an inn.”

“Waheyyyy!” said one of the pirates, and others joined in.

“We all know what that means!”

Some of them made obscene gestures. Ryn grinned, then looked at Nuthea. Her expression could have curdled milk. He dropped his grin and tried to frown disapprovingly.

Sagar held up his hands for quiet. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll also be sure to register our takedown of the Imperial Ship at the local guild tomorrow. Then it’s off to Manolia to collect still more bounty! Arrr!”

“Arrrr!” cheered the crew in unison, jubilant.

“Look after Wanderlust while I’m gone. You can go ashore too, but I want a skeleton crew of at least ten on board at all times, and everyone back by noon tomorrow. Carrick is in charge until I return. Got it?”

“Aye, Captain!” the men chanted.

“Good. Now get lost!”

The crew dispersed, and Sagar watched them go with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Where is this ‘Traveller’s Rest’ then?” said Nuthea.

Sagar blinked, like he’d been yanked out of a daydream. “Why the hell do you need to know?”

“We’re coming with you.”

The pirate shook his head. “No. You bleeding well are not.” 

“Yes we are.”

“Why in the seven hells do you think you need to come?”

“I’m coming to make sure that you hire an engineer as quickly and efficiently as you can without getting...distracted. I told you, I need to make sure that we can make it to Manolia as quickly as possible.”

Sagar closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his forehead. “Rrrr.” But he already had the look of a defeated man. “Fine.” He looked up again, now at Ryn. “But why do you need to come too, pup?Why are you even still sticking around at all? You’re not trying to get back to Manolia, are you? You can get off here. You can go anywhere you want. Why are you still here?”

Ryn opened his mouth and said…

...nothing. He didn’t have a reply to that. In fact, he realised, he hadn’t really thought about why he was still here at all. He had been acting automatically, still too traumatised and dealing with the destruction of his hometown and the death of his mother and father to think much for himself. All he knew was that he wanted to find the Imperial General who had killed his parents and take revenge on him. But he had no idea where to start looking. 

If anyone was going to be able to help him find him, though, it was Nuthea, he realised. She seemed to know a lot about the world, and the Empire. Plus, she had elemental projection powers, like he did. Maybe she would be able to help him in developing his newfound skill so that he could find and kill General Vorr. 

And she was beautiful, even if he did over-use that word...

In the time it took for him to think these things, Sagar and Nuthea had walked off to go and look for an engineer.

“Hey, wait for me!” Ryn called as he ran after them.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

Direct MP3 link

---

Episode 3: Skypirates Ahoy!

Sat, 18 Sep 2021 05:00:46 GMT

PREVIOUSLY ON SAGA OF THE JEWELS:

Seventeen-year-old Ryn’s hometown is attacked by the Empire and everyone he has ever known is killed. Just before he dies, Ryn’s father gives him a ruby, which causes him to project fire. Ryn is captured by the Empire and meets another captive, Princess Nuthea, who has the ability to project lightning, since she has touched the so-called ‘Lightning Crystal’. Nuthea explains to him that the Empire have learned of the existence of twelve Primeval Jewels which grant the ability to manipulate different elements, and are searching for them. Something blows a hole in the cell wall of the airship where they are being held and they fall into the sky together.

Episode 3: Skypirates Ahoy!

Ryn plummeted through the air.

Clouds rushed by him and he had left his stomach somewhere far above. Over the noise of the rushing wind he was aware of Nuthea screaming.

Images of his recent past moved in rapid succession across his mind again. Mum dying. Dad dying. Roofs on fire.

Wind seemed to gust into him all of a sudden, diverting his course.

He slammed flat onto something hard with a loud thump. His face and limbs stung from the impact. The ache in his head, temporarily forgotten in the tumble, returned with force.

This couldn’t be the ground. They had stopped falling much more quickly than he had expected. Plus, he was still alive.

Ryn pushed himself up onto his elbows with effort, wincing.

Nuthea had landed nearby. Men stood around them, some brandishing swords, many of them gathered together at a rail at one end of the wooden platform Ryn and Nuthea had landed on. Cannons sounded, but below them now, from within this ship.

“What in all the seventeen hells was that?” yelled a voice from somewhere behind them.

One man stood a few paces away, staring wide-eyed like Ryn was an Imperial invader come to kill him. He had a shaved head, wore leathers, and there was a cutlass at his side.

“Boy ’n a girl, Cap’n!” the sailor called. “I think they just fell out of the Imperial ship!”

“Well, what are you waiting for, fool?” shouted the first voice. “Tie them up and stow them below! We don’t have time for this right now!”

“Y-yes, Cap’n!”

The man hesitated, but then took a step towards them, drawing his sword from the sheath that hung on his belt with a sliding of steel. The point wobbled a little as he held it out towards them.

“You two!” said the sky sailor. “With me!”

“Not again…” mumbled Ryn.

He looked sidewards, wondering why Nuthea hadn’t said anything yet. She lay sprawled on her front on the wooden deck. Her eyes were shut. Fear lanced through him.

The sky sailor moved towards them.

“Please!” said Ryn, scrambling up, “I think she might be hurt! She needs a healer!”

“Cap’n says you’re to be stowed below, so stowed below is what you will be!”

To Ryn’s own amazement, he put up his fists. “You’re not taking us anywhere! She needs help!”

The ship banked harshly to one side and Ryn lost his footing, stumbled, and put his hand out to steady himself.

The sailor barely wobbled. Taking advantage of Ryn’s stumble, he stepped forwards and hit him hard in the gut with the hilt of his sword.

“Oof!” Ryn doubled over as the wind was knocked out of him. The sky sailor grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up, and before Ryn knew it, a rope was wrapped around his arms and chest, so tight he could barely breathe.

Then he was being shoved and kicked with barks of “Get in there! Hurry up!” He staggered across the deck in bewilderment, battle cries and cannon fire sounding all around him. When he glanced back, he saw the sailor with the prone form of Nuthea slung over one shoulder, her hair and hands hanging down limply, swaying with his steps.

Beyond them, a huge Imperial airship filled the sky, descending rapidly, fire and smoke billowing from its hull, a series of huge holes blown in its side.

He was pushed down some steps, through a door, and along a corridor before being shoved into a room not much bigger than a broom cupboard, with only a small circular hole for light.

“Stay in here!”  the sky sailor said.

He kicked Ryn’s legs from underneath him, forcing him to land on his backside with a groan.

More pain. The fight went out of him. This was too much. This was the second time he had been taken captive in as many days. And his family… his hometown…

He felt something being propped up against his back. Nuthea. Another cord of rope joined the first that encircled him. The sailor tied her to him so that they sat back-to-back.

Ryn tried one last time. “Please… I think she needs to see a healer...”

“Shut up,” spat the sailor. “We’re in the middle of an assault. You’ll stay in here till we’re finished. The cap’n will deal with you after that.”

He slammed the door shut.

“Nuthea?” Ryn said at once. “Nuthea, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

He craned his neck round to try to look at her. He couldn’t see much, but he could see that the silhouette of her head was lolled forward.

He turned back round to ease the strain on his neck. “Nuthea, wake up!”

Nothing.

He hoped to Enwit she wasn’t dead. Actually, he didn’t hope it to anyone. What use had Enwit been to him these last two days, after his lifetime of devotion and obedience?

The girl felt warm against his bound arms and back. Ryn tried to slow his rapid breathing and concentrate on the feeling of her pressed against him to work out if she was still alive.

Yes—it was very gentle, but if he focused and tried to shut out the noise of battle, he could feel the slow rise and fall of her body.

That’s a relief. Although… why do I care whether this girl lives or dies? All she’s done so far is lecture me.

But she was still a human being. And there had been something in the patronising and the lecturing… a sort of antagonistic kindness, which Ryn realised he had found strangely endearing.

“And you are very beautiful.”

Ryn sat for what felt like a long time, just listening to the sounds around him and thinking, and willing for Nuthea to wake up.

The ship continued to bank this way and that, shuddering and vibrating from time to time. Outside the room, he could hear men shouting, cannons firing, and the occasional snapping of wood. His head still throbbed. And his arms. And his legs. And his stomach. His throat was dry. He hadn’t had a drink in a long time. At least he didn’t need to pee. That was a mercy. How long that would last he didn’t know. The ropes were tight on his arms—it felt like they were cutting into his skin. He was hungry. He could barely think straight.

I need to get out of here somehow. I need to get out of here and get my head together and work out what I’m going to do now that…

His mother. His father. The houses of his hometown. Dead, murdered, destroyed.

“Mmmmurggghh...?” said Nuthea.

“Oh, you’re awake!” He felt her stir and lift her head behind him. “I’m glad you’re still alive!”

“Barely,” grumbled Nuthea. “Tell me…”

“Yes?”

“Tell me again about how very beautiful I am.”

Oh poodoo. “You heard that?”

Nuthea laughed softly. “Where are we?” she asked after another quiet moan of discomfort.

“On an airship,” Ryn said quickly, keen to change the subject. “A different airship. We landed on it somehow. I think they’re—”

A loud cheer from outside interrupted him. The cannon-fire ceased. The cheering did not.

“I think they’re fighting the Imperials,” Ryn said. “I think they may have just won…”

Beneath the cheering the sound of the ship’s engine grew deeper. Ryn’s stomach lurched again. The ship was descending.

“Listen,” Nuthea said. “When they interrogate us, just follow my lead.”

“Your lead? Er, alright then…”

Eventually they felt a jolt go through the ship, and the sound of the engine stopped. They had landed.

The sky sailor who had shoved them into the room reappeared.

“Right, you two.” His eyes were bright and he seemed unable to stop himself from smiling. “Cap’n wants to talk to you now.”

He wrenched them to their feet, before pushing them, stumbling and tripping, back up on deck, where he plonked them down on their backsides.

The ship had landed in a grassy plain. In the distance, Ryn thought he glimpsed the wreckage of the Imperial airship lying crashed on the ground.

They must all be dead. Nobody could have survived a crash like that. Including that officer who killed my mother.

What must have been the whole crew stood around them in a semicircle, regarding them. They largely wore brown leather jackets and baggy beige trousers with black boots. Some had goggles on their heads. Most had sheathed cutlasses at their sides. Ryn spotted one or two blunderbusses too. Some were fat, some were thin, some tall, some short. Some had shaved heads, some thick beards and braids. All were men. All looked at them with a leering curiosity.

In the middle of them stood a young man with a leather patch strapped over one eye, brown hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a deep brown, long leather jacket with a ridiculously high collar. His unexposed eye glinted mischievously as he grinned with one side of his mouth, baring stained teeth. One of his teeth was gold.

When he spoke, Ryn recognised the voice of the young man as belonging to the ‘Cap’n’ from earlier.

“Who are you?” said the man, not bothering with any formalities. “Why were the Empire holding you captive?”

“We’re not telling you anything,” said Nuthea. “You’re just a filthy skypirate!”

The captain’s boots resounded over the deck. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryn could see him crouch down in front of Nuthea.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, haven't’ you?”

Nuthea spat.

Ryn heard the sound of a leather glove against skin and felt Nuthea’s head turn abruptly to one side behind him.

To her credit, she barely moaned.

“She’s a feisty one, isn’t she, lads? That’ll make it even more fun to break her!”

A deep, lecherous jeer went up from the crew.

“Leave her alone!” Ryn found himself yelling. “She hasn’t done anything to you!”

The pirate captain turned on Ryn. “Let’s see if you’re any more obliging, pup. Well? Who are you?”

Ryn didn’t see any point in lying about himself. If Nuthea wanted to keep her identity to herself, that was her business. “I’m nobody,” he said, more bitterly than he meant to. “A no one. I’m the only son of a landowning family in the town of Cleasor. You have no reason to hurt me—or her.”

“Well, Nobody of Cleasor, if you’re so unimportant, why did the Empire have you captive on one of their airships, hey? Answer me that!”

“The Empire burned down my village. They killed everyone I know. They only spared me because—ow!”

Even though they were tied back-to-back, somehow Nuthea had been able to elbow him in the ribs. “Don’t!” she hissed.

“‘Don’t what?” said the captain. He drew one of the twin swords that hung on either side of his belt, producing a long, slightly curved blade. He grinned wickedly, then moved the point of it slowly in front of Ryn’s nose, making him flinch. Then he stepped around him and crouched down next to Nuthea, whose body suddenly went very stiff and still against Ryn’s back. 

“Tell me why, or I slit the lady’s throat.”

“Don’t tell him, Ryn!” Nuthea cried out. “He’s bluffing! He won’t do it! He could get far more money by ransoming me!”

Ryn thought that was a reckless thing to say. He didn’t think he could take the chance. He had already seen that the captain wasn’t afraid of causing pain.

“I have fire powers!” Ryn blurted out. “I got them all of a sudden when the Empire attacked my village. I think that’s why they captured me. Nuthea thinks it’s something to do with these magical Jewels. They captured her because she has lightning powers. Don’t you try anything with her or me, or I’ll scorch you! I’ve done it before, and I can do it again!”

“By the One…” Nuthea said behind him with a sigh.

“You should be grateful.” Ryn couldn’t help himself whispering back, twisting his head to look behind him. “I may have just saved your life.”

He looked up at the assembled crew.

A pause.

They burst out laughing. They threw their heads back and guffawed, held their bellies while they shook, and slapped each other on their backs. Some of them wiped tears of mirth from their eyes.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, lads,” said the captain. He stepped back round to Ryn’s side and held up his hand for silence, that devilish grin still stuck on his face, though Ryn wondered if he saw it crack just for a moment.

Eventually the laughter petered out.

“Fire and lightning powers?” said the captain, mockery lacing every syllable. “Magical jewels? Do you expect me to swallow this, runt? If you’re going to play games with me, I will toy with you in turn!”

He bent down and moved his sword towards Ryn again, making him wince, but instead of skewering him, he reached past him and cut the cords tying Ryn and Nuthea together.

“On your feet! Nobody mocks Captain Sagar Edbini! If you have fire powers then show us, boy!”

Ryn stood up and rubbed the sides of his arms where the rope had bound him. He didn’t know why this guy was calling him ‘boy’ when he didn’t look that old himself. He must be in about his early twenties.

“Er, well,” said Ryn, “the thing is, it’s all quite new to me and I haven’t been able to summon the flames again since the incident at my village. I can’t produce them on demand. But I do really have them, I’m being honest. Also, I wouldn’t really want to hurt you, or any of your crew, unless I had to in self-defence.”

The pirates laughed again, Captain Sagar too. 

A bolt of bright white lightning shot out from behind Ryn with and lanced into the rail of the ship with a flash and a crack. It left a charred, black mark where it hit, a thin ribbon of smoke rising from it.

The pirates stopped laughing.

“Tie her back up again, quick!” shouted Sagar, spittle flying from his mouth.

Nobody moved to do so.

“Sir Pirate,” said Nuthea, “if you think for one moment that I am going to allow myself to be detained once more, least of all by a common sky pirate such as yourself, you had best think again, or your life may be forfeit.” Ryn took a couple of steps backwards so that he was in line with her. “As you can see, I’m a little more experienced with my own elemental powers than my… associate here.” Associate? “If any of you lays so much as a finger on me again, I will turn my lightning on you. Is that quite clear?”

Sagar opened his mouth, then shut it again. His grin was replaced by a deep scowl. After a moment he said, “There’s a lot of us, lady, and only one of you. Do you think you can use your little trick on all of us at once?”

“Do you want to find out?” said Nuthea icily. Ryn guessed that she had not enjoyed being slapped.

“Tie them up again, boys!” yelled Sagar.

None of his crew moved.

He looked round at them.

One man, slightly taller and stockier than the rest, who Ryn recognised as the one who had tied them up originally, turned to Sagar and said, “But Cap’n… you saw what she just did.”

“Yeah,” piped up another, “she must be some kinda witch or something.”

“Bad luck to kidnap a witch,” said another.

“’s’what I heard too.”

“And, Cap’n, you’re the one who just cut their bonds!”

“Yeah! If you want to tie them up again, you do it!”

The captain’s face turned purple as a plum. He jumped up and down on the spot like a petulant child.

“How dare you disobey me!” he yelled. “You just took down an Imperial ship under my command! So what if their lifeboat got away? The Imfisi government will pay us handsomely for this! You owe me! This is mutiny! Tie them up again right now or I’ll throw the lot of you overboard!”

“Well, we’re docked at the moment, Captain, so we’d just land on the ground.”

“It’s not that far to the ground.”

“So it’s not much of a threat at all, to be honest.”

Lifeboat, Ryn thought, noticing something the captain had said. So General Vorr might still be alive…

“It seems that we have reached something of an impasse, Captain,” said Nuthea, holding her head high. “Perhaps there is somewhere we could go to negotiate in private?”

“Ah, you hear that, boys? She wants to negotiate in ‘private’.” His grin was back. What was with this guy? He had gone from throwing a tantrum to making lewd suggestions on the turn of a gold piece.

One of the pirates wolf-whistled.

Another brief fork of lightning flashed out and singed the deck just in front of the captain’s foot.

“Alright, alright!” he said at once, leaping back a step. He clenched his jaw and said more quietly, through gritted teeth, “Stop doing that in front of my crew!” He returned his voice to its previous volume. “Fine. By mutual consent, I will speak to you privately inside my cabin. Come with me.” He spun on his heel and walked off. “The rest of you, get back to work!”

“Aye aye, Captain!”

As the crew dispersed to attend to various duties, all of them still unashamedly staring at Ryn and Nuthea, the two of them followed the captain through a door in the ship’s stern.

“Alright, stop playing around,” Captain Sagar said once he had shut the door and they were inside a room with a table and charts. “Where did the two of you really come from?”

“We told you,” said Nuthea. “The Empire captured us because we have elemental powers.”

“Yes, I can see that in your case. But what about you, Nobody?” He jabbed a finger at Ryn’s face.

“He’s just a bit newer to his powers,” said Nuthea. “But from what he reports, he definitely has them. It makes sense. The Empire wouldn’t have spared his life otherwise.”

“And you’re really just a nobody from some backwater village?” the captain continued,.

Ryn nodded.

“Fine then, but what about you?” said the captain, switching back to Nuthea. “You don’t look like a nobody from nowhere.” He eyed the golden band that encircled Nuthea’s head. “Where did you come from?”

For a while Nuthea did not reply and her bottom lip disappeared underneath her upper. Then, eventually, she said, “My name is Princess Nutheanna Kaleutheanna of the Matriarchy of Manolia.”

A princess! “And you are very beautiful,” Ryn remembered himself saying, and grimaced.

The captain’s eyebrows rose. “A princess, you say? The boys will be pleased. What are you doing all the way out here, then? We’re miles away from Manolia!”

Nuthea frowned. “I was on an undercover diplomatic mission in Imfis when the Empire discovered my abilities and captured me.”

“A diplomatic mission? What kind of diplomatic mission?”

“An undercover one.”

“Yeah, but who to? About what?”

“That is my business.”

“Tell me! Tell me or I’ll run you through!”

There was a quiet crackling sound and sparks of electricity played across Nuthea’s fingers. The hairs on the back of Ryn’s neck stood up.

The captain held up his hands. “Alright, alright! This is going to get tedious quickly… Fine. Well, whatever you were doing, whoever you are, the pair of you sure as hells can’t stay on my ship. I can’t be having you undermining my authority all the time with this lightning nonsense. You can get off here, or as soon as we put into the next port.”

Ryn breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t like how tensely things had been playing out, and he would be very glad to get back onto solid ground. He had no idea what he would do there of course, but he knew that he preferred solid ground to sky travel.

“I thought you might say that,” said Nuthea. “But I have a different proposition for you.”

“You do?” said the captain.

“You do?” said Ryn.

“I have learned things on my journey that I need to report at home. I demand that you fly me to Manolia as quickly as possible.”

This time the captain actually drew his sword with a ring of steel as his temper flared. Ryn and Nuthea both hopped back. “Look lady, I’m the one who does the demanding around here! I am the captain of this ship and I won’t be bossed around by some arrogant girl, princess or not!”

Electricity crackled around Nuthea again.

“Nuthea…” Ryn said, looking back and forth between them, “please, be careful.” He was tired of violence.

“You can’t rely on your party trick forever, wench!” the captain spat. “I have a few tricks of my own up my sleeve! Even if you kill me before I kill you, my crew will overwhelm you. They’re the fiercest band of cutthroats that you ever laid eyes on. They’ll gang up on you all at once. They’ll overpower you. They’ll murder you in your sleep. And I’ll bet you don’t know how to sail an airship!” he said finally, presumably as a last-ditch attempt to intimidate her into backing down.

Nuthea let out a deep breath and the sparks that had started to crackle around her disappeared.

“I know… That is why I am offering you a proposition: My homeland is very wealthy, and the royal family are wealthiest of all. Fly me back to Manolia, and I am sure you will be rewarded handsomely. With gold.”

Captain Sagar lowered his sword. “Gold, you say?”

“And gemstones.”

“Gemstones, you say?”

“Gemstones galore.”

“Beautiful women, you say?”

“There are many beautiful women in Manolia.”

I find it hard to believe they’re half as beautiful as you, Ryn thought, but he wasn’t stupid enough to say it out loud this time, to a princess.

 “I am sure,” Nuthea continued, “that my mother, the queen, will be very grateful to whoever rescues and returns their lost princess to her.”

The captain’s eyes had gone somewhere else. “Gold… gemstones… beautiful women…” He shook his head and his eyes refocused. “How can I be sure of all of this? What guarantee can you give me?”

“An understandable concern,” said Nuthea. “My power is a guarantee of my word, in more ways than one: Only Manolian royalty are Crystal-touched. But I appreciate that this is not common knowledge.”

At this, Nuthea tugged the collar of her faded-white dress, and reached down inside it with her other hand. Ryn felt himself blush and managed to look away. When he looked back, she had produced a very large golden coin—more of a medallion than a coin. Ryn had never seen such a valuable piece of currency before.

“Here,” she said, holding it out to the captain, “take this as a down payment and a guarantee of my good will. There will be much more like this, when you return me safely to Manolia.”

Sagar stepped towards her and took the coin, holding it up to his face and then biting it.

“Gold… gemstones… beautiful women…”

He looked at them again.

“Alright. You make a persuasive offer. I’ll do it. I’ll fly you to Manolia.”

“You’ve made the right decision.”

“I know. Could… could you please just do me one favour?”

“What would that be?” Nuthea asked.

“Could you tell the crew that I fought you and tortured you into surrendering to me, then ravished you?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve never heard anything so base and ridiculous in my life. And Ryn’s been here this whole time too.”

“You could say that I beat him unconscious?”

“Out of the question.”

“How about that I tied him up in the corner and made him watch?”

“No.”

“He cowered in the corner?”

“Look, said Nuthea. “Fine. If only to shut you up, I’ll tell them that you threatened me and that I gave in and offered you a reward if you took me back to Manolia. That’s sort of true, I suppose.”

“Done!” said the captain. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he added as they made their way back out onto the deck.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Episode 2: Princess in Prison

Thu, 09 Sep 2021 13:03:07 GMT

PREVIOUSLY ON SAGA OF THE JEWELS:

Seventeen-year-old Ryn’s hometown is attacked by the Empire. His mother, father and everyone he has ever known are killed. Before he dies, his father gives him a mysterious ring with a ruby set into it. Just before Ryn is killed himself, fire comes out from him and consumes the Imperial soldier bearing down on him. It doesn’t happen a second time, and Ryn loses consciousness.

Episode 2: Princess in Prison

Ryn winced as the side of his head throbbed. He put a hand to it, finding a swollen bump.

He groaned and sat up.

He was in a dark, cramped cell, about ten paces across.

In the darkness, images assaulted his mind: the rooftops of his hometown ablaze; his mother being run through by an imperial general’s blade; the last breath leaving his father’s lips.

He gave an agonised moan.

“I can’t get you out of here,” said a woman’s voice.

Ryn started and swivelled round. A woman with pale blue eyes. They glowed, illuminating the cell a little. He must have been hit on the head very hard.

“I didn’t say that you could?” he said, his voice hoarse. It was an odd way to greet someone.

“I know,” said the woman. Girl? “But you were going to ask. My name is Nuthea, by the way.”

Her hair golden hair fell to her shoulders. She was beautiful, with proud cheekbones curling in towards a smooth chin. She wore a white dress inlaid with patterned gold thread, which she filled amply in certain places and which was slender in certain others. Woman, definitely woman, not girl. A weak amber bar built into the ceiling of the cell gave her a faint halo, but her eyes really did glow, like snow reflecting sunlight.

“It’s because I’m Crystal-touched,” said Nuthea.

Ryn got to his feet, rubbing his temples. “What is?”

“Why my eyes glow like this,” said Nuthea. Her voice was authoritative, patronising. She sounded...rich. She crouched and began to poke around with a finger in the dirt of the cell floor, the light from her eyes dimly illuminating it. “You were about to ask. ‘Crystal-touched’ means I’ve had contact with one of the Primeval Jewels. I assume you know something about those or else the Empire wouldn’t have captured you. Not everyone’s eyes glow who’s touched one of the Jewels, but they do if you’ve touched the Lightning Crystal.”

Primeval Jewels? What was this girl talking about?

“Oh, you don’t know?” said Nuthea.

“Know what?”

“I suppose I could educate you… The Primeval Jewels were made by the One at the dawn of time and buried deep in the earth.”

She spoke in a voice like Ryn’s schoolmistress, only even more self-assured, if that were possible.

“The Jewels are as old as Mid itself,” Nuthea went on. “There are twelve of them—one for each of the twelve Great Peoples of Mid. If you touch one of the Jewels it gives you power over the Element it is associated with. Twelve Jewels, twelve Peoples, twelve Elements.”

Nuthea pointed at the symbols she had drawn in the dirt of the cell floor as she listed the Elements.

“Water.” A swirling spiral. “Earth.” A line that turned in on itself to form a square. “Fire.” A little flame. “Air.” Three wavy lines. “Lightning.” One bolt in three lines. “Metal.” A rhombus. “Light.” A star. “Shadow.” A simple circle. “Moon.” A crescent. “Life.” An asterisk. “Spirit.” A triangle. “Void.” For void she had drawn nothing at all.

Ryn felt like there was something he needed to remember, something just on the edge of his mind …

Mother. Father. Hometown. And...

“And where are these Jewels?” he said.

Nuthea turned her glowing eyes on him. “Weren’t you listening? Do try to keep up. They were buried deep in the earth. Although most of them have been found, true, so I suppose your question isn’t completely stupid. Some are still in the possession of their respective peoples. Like my people, the Manolians,” she said proudly, holding her head high. “Some have been hidden. Some have been lost. It would seem that the eEmperor is now seeking to obtain them.”

Twelve Great Peoples? Primeval Jewels? Ryn had never heard of any of these things before. He was just a simple boy from Cleasor whose only ambitions, until very recently, had been to one day take over his father’s farm, make a good living, go exploring in the woods on seventhdays and maybe somehow get his crush, Carlotia, to take notice of him.

“And what do these Jewels look like?” Ryn asked.

“Well, nobody knows what all of them look like, of course, but according to legend they are…” Nuthea pointed at the symbols she had drawn one by one. “The Water Sapphire. The Earth Emerald. The Fire Ruby—”

Ryn gasped, making Nuthea pause. He had remembered. He put a hand to his breast but all he felt against his pocket was his chest

“No!”

Nuthea stood, her eyes seemed to glow more brightly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“No!” Ryn cried again, clutching his head. “My father, just before he—he gave me a ruby. He told me to keep it safe. I put it here in my pocket but it’s gone. I’ve failed him!”

“Oh…” said Nuthea. “I am sorry that you lost your father.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Ryn said, starting to pace. “Back in my hometown, one of the soldiers tried to kill me… and… fire came out from me and burned him up! The ruby, it must have been this ‘Fire Ruby’ you’re talking about!”

Nuthea’s eyes stretched wide. “Yes, it was the Fire Ruby. You are Ruby-touched. But of course you don’t have the Ruby any more. They would have taken it before they threw you in here.”

“How long have I been in here? Where is here?”

“You’re in an Imperial cell. You were only in here about ten minutes before you woke up. May I ask… were any other people killed in the Imperial attack, in addition to your father?”

“They killed my mother, my father, everyone in the town. They burned the whole place to the ground.” It didn’t feel real. It felt like it had happened to someone else.

Nuthea put a hand to her mouth. “By the One… I never imagined…” She closed her eyes. “Truly the Emperor will go to any lengths to get his hands on the Jewels. I am so sorry.”

“Why did they leave me alive, if they got what they wanted? Why didn’t they just kill me as well?” Part of him wished they had.

“They want to question you. They want to find out how you got the Jewel and if you know anything more about the others. That’s why they’ve kept me alive too.”

For the first time Ryn considered what this woman was doing in here with him.

“Who are you? How did you end up in here?”

There was a deep, distant groaning sound from somewhere above them and the whole room lurched sideways for a moment.

Ryn put out a hand on the wall, feeling like he was about to be sick. Nuthea swayed where she stood, then stumbled forward, banging heads with Ryn. They collapsed in a pile on the floor, then immediately disentangled themselves from one another.

Ryn was too surprised to pay too much attention to the awkwardness of their collision. “We’re on a ship?!” he blurted.

Nuthea stood and dusted down her dress. “Yes, we’re on an Imperial airship.”

“An airship!”

“Yes, that’s what I said. It must have had to bank to dodge out of the way of something.”

“Can you get us out of this cell?”

“No,” said Nuthea. “Are you slow-witted? I told you earlier. I cannot see the way out. Yet. I’ve been locked in here for what must be at least a week and I haven’t been able to think of a way out.”

She looked pretty good for someone who had been locked in a cell for seven days. Maybe she was exaggerating.

“It’s rude to stare.” She gestured through the dark towards the far wall. “There’s a door over there with a hatch in the bottom which they chuck some bread through sometimes.” She motioned to another corner. “And there’s a bucket over there for… well, it’s not dignified to speak of. You’ll have to turn around and shut your eyes.” At that she made a brief little sobbing sound, like the thought of peeing in the company of somebody else was too much for her, but she put a hand to her mouth to stifle it.

Ryn shook his head. He still couldn’t believe any of this was happening.

Before he could think of what to ask next another tremendous boom sounded and the whole cell shook, sending them both onto their backsides again.

That one hadn’t come from above, but from somewhere off to the side.

“That sounded like a cannonball-blast! exclaimed Nuthea. “Someone’s attacking this ship! But why? Who would be crazy enough to attack an imperial ship over Efstan?”

Nuthea didn’t look scared out of her wits. She was smiling.

“Er… why is it a good thing that we’re being attacked?” Ryn asked.

Another booming noise and the whole cell vibrated again, making them wobble. That one had definitely come from underneath them.

“Because it might give us a chance to escape, dimwit! Try to keep up.”

Another blast. Ryn felt that one in his teeth.

“And just how will it do that?” he asked.

“Don’t you see?  I’m the most precious thing on this vessel. (Well, I suppose you might be of some value, too.) If there’s a sky battle, or this ship goes down, they’re going to want to know where I am and keep hold of me. Come on, come with me.”

Ryn followed Nuthea over towards the cell door. The reverberations from another cannonball knocked them from their feet again.

How can she be so calm about this? Ryn thought as he crawled next to Nuthea.

Shouts and the clang of metal came from beyond the cell door. “Why are you so relaxed about the possibility that this ship might go down?”

“Shhhh! Just wait against the wall on that side of the door!”

Too bewildered to protest, Ryn made it to the wall next to the door and stood with his back against it. On the other side of the door, Nuthea did the same. She held a finger to her lips, then whispered, “When they come through, stay out of my way. Let me handle them.”

Ryn gulped, nodded, and braced himself.

They didn’t have to wait very long.

The door flew open and three imperial soldiers in black plate ran into the cell, going straight past Nuthea and Ryn.

“Where are the prisoners?” one of them said. “We need to secure the prisoners!”

They turned round.

“Only three?” Nuthea said. “You Imperials really are stupid.”

She raised her hands and they glowed. The glow lit up her face. Her eyes had doubled in size and her jaw set solid in a look of cold fury. Nuthea screamed as lightning lanced out from her hands, connecting with the soldiers. Three eye-blinks, and the shape of the lightning shifted three times, three different sets of jagged white bolts linking each of the soldiers and Nuthea’s fingertips.

The lightning subsided but the screams didn’t, at least not right away. Each of the soldiers collapsed to the floor, steam issuing from their armour and bodies. The air smelled of burned meat. Nuthea had cooked them in their armour.

“I said it’s rude to stare.”

“That was… amazing…” said Ryn.

One side of Nuthea’s mouth curled up ever so slightly. “Come on, let’s get out of this cell.”

Another cannonball hit the ship with an almighty crash.

Ryn’s found himself on his back, the cell full of sunlight. The sunlight receded as the whole floor began to tilt.

Oh gods. They’ve blown a hole in the cell.

Ryn flailed about and reached for the open door that was quickly moving away from him as the floor tilted further.

Nuthea did the same thing and bashed into him, then bounced off. She cried out in panic.

As the airship continued to tilt, Ryn managed to catch hold of the edge of the door—now an opening in the ceiling above him. For a heartbeat his legs dangled before something caught one of them and pulled down—hard.

Ryn clutched onto the door with all his might. The weight tugged him downwards, but by clenching his fingers and enduring the pain that lanced along his arms he managed to keep his grip.

He cried out as the door swung shut on his fingers but managed to keep holding on. A noise filled his ears; the angry growl of an engine, growing in pitch and volume. This airship was heading for the ground. Fast.

Ryn risked a look down.

Below him, clutching onto his right boot, was the golden-haired form of Nuthea.

She looked up at him, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead, mouth a rictus of fear.

“Don’t let go!”

“That’s easy for you to say!” Ryn shot back.

Beyond her was the pale blue of the sky and wisps of white cloud hurtling by.

One of Ryn’s hands gave way and slipped off the doorframe. He tried to wrench himself up with his remaining arm to find a better purchase, but it only quivered in painful protest and refused to move him further than half an inch.

Ryn sank back down, his arm fully extending, the muscles in it feeling like they were about to snap.

“I don’t think I can hold on much longer! Get ready, we’re going to—argggghh!”

Air and cloud rushed around them.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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Pilot Episode 1: Awakening

Thu, 09 Sep 2021 12:59:16 GMT

Episode 1: Awakening

Take me far, far away 

From where my worries flood

My night and troubles stalk my day

Take me to a place where I can face my fears

And fight them through the passing of the years

Transfigure them into the incandescence of a tale

‘Fore which my afflictions all shall fall and fail

Tell me a story that this secret fire fuels

Tell me the Saga of the Jewels

Ryn woke to the sound of screaming.

It took him a moment to realise the screams were real. He had been dreaming, but the dream evaporated when he registered he was in his bed and those horrible cries were coming from outside, somewhere in the town.

He flew out of bed and opened his curtains. No sign of trouble that he could see—just the timbers and thatch of Carlotia’s house next door.

But he could hear more screams outside now, getting nearer.

He pulled on his overshirt and trousers as quickly as he could.

Downstairs his mother had frozen in place at the dining table, eyes staring at nothing, one hand holding a knife in midair from which jam dripped slowly downwards.

“What’s happening?” Ryn asked her.

Her eyes found him. “I don’t know,” she said.

“Where’s Dad?”

“He left early to help set up for the Spring Fair… I thought I would let you sleep in…”

A horrible crunching noise came from next door, the sound of wood snapping.

More screams, very close now.

“Ryn, go—” his mother started.

Their front door burst open—it hadn’t been locked, why would it be?—making a tremendous bang as it hit the wall.

In through the doorway walked a hulking man in a black suit of armour. He carried a long, black-hilted sword that glinted at the tip. He wore no helmet and his thick hair was flame-red.

Now Ryn’s mother screamed, high and desperate.

Ryn’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to scream too, to shout, to protest, but he had gone utterly dumb.

Ryn just watched the man walk in, finding himself rooted to the spot in shock.

The man strode up to Ryn’s mother and, as the boy looked on paralysed, as she continued screaming, placed the sword in her chest. It slipped past her raised hands and slid in straight through her heart.

An instant of agony.

The man withdrew his blade and a gush of blood spilled out of the wound with it, spattering his mother’s clothes and the floor. She fell face forwards onto to the ground,landing with a slap.

The image of Mum lying face-down on the floor, her long brown hair splayed around her head in a growing pool of blood, etched itself into Ryn’s heart.

The man turned to him. There was something animal about the twitch that pulled up the corner of his upper lip in his round face.

“Where’s your father, boy?” he said in a deep snarl.

No words, just terror.

“Stage fright, eh?” said the man. “Let me drop the curtain for you.”

The man stepped towards Ryn, raising his sword high, but when he brought it down Ryn threw himself out of the way, able to move at last. His hip bashed into the kitchen table and he stumbled, putting out his hands to break his fall.

A shadow fell over him. Ryn rolled just in time to avoid another swing of the sword, which thunked into the floorboards where he had just been.

He scuttled backwards and banged his head on the wall, barely noticing the pain.

“Help!” he cried, his voice suddenly returning to him. “Help! Attack! Murder! Someone, help!”

The man in black armour yanked his sword out of the floor then shoved the kitchen table over. “No one will come for you, boy,” he said, snarling. His voice was terribly, horribly close. “They are all dead or dying. Now stay still and let me gut you.”

Ryn managed to dive out of the way again as the waking nightmare strode towards him and took another swing. In his heavy armour, the man was slower than Ryn, but only just. The boy ran round the kitchen as the man chased and swiped at him, smashing crockery, knocking over baskets of food, opening a breach in the oven which belched smoke.

“Stay still, damn you!”

The man paused and Ryn saw a chance—a clear path through the kitchen to his front door. He bolted through the opening, out the door, and into the streets of his hometown.

His hometown, which was burning.

He ran past his neighbours’ houses, red and orange tongues leaping from their thatch and walls, sending billowing black smoke into the sky.

“Dad!”

As he ran he cried for the wanton destruction of everything he had ever known, for the sudden loss of his mother, and for his own shame at having done absolutely nothing to protect her.

Screams filled the air along with shouts of pursuit and gurgles of death, the cries of townspeople pleading for mercy, the crackle of flame, the snapping of timber.

More men in black armour kicked down the doors of houses that were not yet on fire, or walked out of the ones that were. None of them paid Ryn any attention.

When he reached the town square, the first thing he saw was the Spring Totem burning. It stood there in the middle of the square, ablaze, the silk streamers that hung from its top flapping in the air as they burned. At the peak of the totem, the wood carving of the town's god—Enwit, crouched in his hooded robe with his contented, thick-lipped, grinning face—was wreathed in flames. He had done nothing to protect them. Enwit was utterly impotent squatting up there amid the flames.

Beneath the totem, the bodies of men, women and children lay dead, mutilated, burned, dismembered, bleeding, some begging softly to be put out of their misery. The tents and market stalls had been destroyed.

“Dad!” Ryn called out as he searched for a sign of his father.

“Ryn…” said a muffled voice from somewhere nearby.

Ryn sprinted to where the voice had come from. He reached down and hefted a corpse off another body.

Underneath was the grey, bearded face of his father.

Ryn could not contain his heavy, shuddering sobs. One of his father’s legs was entirely missing, taken off at the thigh, the grass beneath him stained red.

“D-Dad…You’re hurt… here, let me help you.”

Should I bind the wound? His hands were shaking. Should I try to do something to stop the bleeding? His whole world, all the safety he had ever known, was disappearing.

“No!” his father said as he reached out. “Leave it, son… I’m past help…”

Ryn looked into his dad’s eyes. Hazel-brown, like his own. “I don’t want you to die, Dad…”

“I know, I know son.” He cupped Ryn’s cheek with his calloused palm, leathery from years working in the fields. “But you must… listen.”

“Shhh, Dad. Don’t talk.”

“No. Ryn, listen. Left inside pocket… my jerkin.”

“What?”

“Take it now.”

Ryn had only heard that tone a handful of times before—once when he had left the door to the chicken coop open all night, and once when he had broken his mother’s favourite vase.

He made his trembling hands obey and reached inside his father’s jerkin. Inside was a hard round object. He drew it out and examined it.

A bright, oval ruby.

“Hide it!”

Ryn immediately slipped the ruby into his shirt’s front pocket. What is going on?

His father spoke more quietly now, the last of the light fading from his hazel-brown gaze. “That… is the reason the empire came here today. I don’t know how they… found out about it, but they took us by surprise. I didn’t even get a chance to use it.”

“Use it? What do you mean ‘use it?’”

“Just listen!” His father coughed hard, blood spilling from his lips, trickling down his chin. “Don’t have long. Ryn… you must protect this ruby now… at all costs. Do not let it fall into the hands of the empire. Run, my son… you must run.”

“Run where, Dad?”

But his father’s eyes had lost focus. A long, chill breath whistled out of his mouth.

“Dad!  No! Don’t leave me here!” Ryn buried his head in his father’s chest and sobbed.

“Got a straggler here!” shouted a man. “Someone forgot to cut down this whelp!”

Ryn stood and spun.

Two imperial soldiers bearing down on him

Run. Run, Ryn, run.

Ryn turned on his heel and his foot caught on his father’s body. He fell, turning and landing on his back. He pushed himself up on his elbows, and froze.

The soldier was just a step away, his sword raised high.

This is it.

Images from Ryn’s brief life danced across his mind’s eye: Joy at playing treasure-maps with his mother and father out in the fields as a small boy; sadness on the day they had buried his grandmother in the ground near Enwit’s shrine; longing at the sight of Carlotia turning and smiling at him in class, the summer sun playing through her hair. And then his mother’s pale face twisting as a man’s sword ran her through. He saw his father’s hazel-brown eyes dimming and a wave of grief followed.

What was the point of it all? A few short moments of happiness and now I’m going to die.

Just as the soldier’s blade came down, red hot anger flared in Ryn.

“NO!”

Fire exploded from his body. Flames erupted from his mouth, from his head, from his chest, from his arms and open hands.

The soldier’s blade disappeared in the torrent. For a heartbeat, Ryn’s vision was obscured by the inferno, and then…

 … as quickly as they had appeared the flames receded, leaving only tendrils of black smoke rising from Ryn’s unharmed body.

He looked down at the soldier who had been about to kill him.

The man lay spread-eagled on his back. His armour was sooty and scorched. His face was a mess of deep pink burns, the skin singed away entirely, leaving charred muscle underneath. His eyes had melted.

Ryn looked at his hands, his mouth open, dumb with astonishment. His whole body trembled.

The second soldier still stood nearby, facing Ryn but saying nothing.

Without thinking, Ryn extended his hand, palm out, and willed for the fire to reappear.

Nothing happened.

Ryn thrust his hand out at the soldier again.

Nothing.

He tried a few more times, then shook his hand, as if that would fix whatever had stopped the fire from appearing.

The soldier began to laugh, a cautious, nervous laugh; the laugh of a man whose life has just been spared by accident.

Another soldier appeared at the man’s side, this one without a helmet. He had flame-red hair and a savage grin.

“Hm,” said the new arrival. “Funny that you should have it. You didn’t use it on me when I stuck your mother. And it looks like you don’t know how to use it again now. Relieve him of his consciousness,” the man said to the other soldier, “and bring him with us.”

“Yes sir, General Vorr!”

The soldier moved towards Ryn.

Ryn frantically shook his hand up and down, desperately willing the flames to reappear.

They didn’t.

Pain rang briefly through his head and there was darkness. 

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit sagaofthejewels.substack.com

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