Not Gods But Monsters

By Joshua Banker

Set in the fictional realm of Tah'afajien, Not Gods But Monsters tells the story of Jehn Brumal, a teenager who is forced from her home when a private military force destroys the village of Vertegarte. Having lived a sheltered life, Jehn doesn’t know who they are, or why they bring automaton soldiers, but she discovers that they are after her mentor, Marianus O’mas.

When she is eventually reunited with O’mas, a former spymaster and retired officer of the Verenigen military, the pair set off to meet his former associates from the war: gun-for-hire Zoe Agilis, strongman Zed Muntanya, scholar Flynn Earrele, archer Callie Evans and nihilistic assassin Kyote Kurttsen.

O'mas fears that industrialist Zane Grymore is stockpiling weapons for a potential coup. Even more troubling is Grymore’s recent obsession with imbued ores, rare stones that have magical properties, and the Byrael, a pantheon of mystical deities said to have created mankind.

Jehn, O’mas and their allies are directed to an ancient ruin known as the Stairwell of the Byrael, where, it is said, man can commune with the gods. The truth they discover within the aeons-old structure reveals that Grymore’s actions have the potential to destroy the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joshua Banker
• Release date: Aug 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463077160

Joshua Banker

Joshua Banker was born in Greece in 1973. He grew up in the San Francisco area before moving to Chattanooga where he attended the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga and received a BFA in Graphic Design. After moving to Charlotte, NC, he ran an independent entertainment review website from 1999-2006. Now living in Greenville, NC, Josh is a writer, painter and illustrator, loves all things H.P. Lovecraft, is married and has two cats and a dog.

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Not Gods But Monsters

by

Joshua Banker

Copyright © 2016 by Joshua D. Banker

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First Publication, 2016

Chapter 01

The Third of Shumond, Year 2070 BAE

Vertegarte

After a good night’s sleep, Jehn woke and her eyes briefly opened on the sight of the unfinished bedpost beyond her right foot where her canvas pack hung from the length of wood by a single strap.

Yawning, she stretched her arms outward in an attempt to work out the stiffness from her shoulders; she reopened her eyes and reached up with her left hand to rub the sleep away. From where she was, curled up in her bed, Jehn could see that the previous evening’s rain had ended recently and the sun had risen some time ago.

Because of the location of the home she shared with her aunt, the tree line worked in her favor, shading her room from direct light for much of the day. The scent of the still-damp foliage wafted into her room through the open window facing the southern edge of the forest that bordered Vertegarte on all sides. Since the flora of Vale Grans’tsarren was considered an old growth forest, many of the trees matured centuries ago. The dense canopy rose well over 100 meters in height. Except for the clearing at the center of the village, most of Vertegarte remained in shade throughout the day.

A hazy light spilled onto the disheveled sheets of her bed. A faint cool breeze brushed in through the window, chilling Jehn slightly. For a moment, she considered cocooning herself up in her blankets and returning to sleep, but the thought passed as she sat upright. As her eyelids flickered, it took a moment for her green eyes to focus on the familiar surroundings. Eventually, she rose and took care to straighten her sheets and blankets.

The hand-crafted bed was a prized possession; she had fashioned it with her own hands merely a year ago. With the aid of local woodcrafters, she assembled the frame from one of the mighty oaks that fell in a harsh late season storm the year before. She had considered hand-carving the bedposts, but decided against it as she couldn’t commit to a design that she felt warranted the effort.

Standing before a mirror hung opposite her bed, she brushed her shoulder-length reddish brown hair before dressing in a green blouse and canvas jeans. After breakfast, she would need to be on her way. She would have entertained the idea of skipping breakfast if she thought her aunt would allow it. This day had been long coming and she wanted to be sure to see O’mas off before he left the Vale for the north.

Jehn had known O’mas since she was 10, but at that time he had just been the northerner who lived outside the village. Just a few years ago, after she’d gotten to know him on a personal level, he took an academic interest in her development.

His departure was of no real surprise to her, though. She had felt that something important was coming; it felt like a slowly-building ball of pressure growing in her lower chest. It confused her, especially since the emotional pressure intensified in when she was in O’mas’ presence. Certain that she had no romantic feelings for the older man, Jehn found herself unsettled by the sensation. When she confronted him about this, he nodded as though it was something he expected.

Jehn, he began, without a hint of condescension. Though he was decades older, he was careful to treat her as an adult. She had long shown a maturity that proved she deserved it. Empathy is an aptitude of yours. You have shown signs of it for some time now. You... oh, how best to describe this.... He rubbed his chin and looked skyward for a moment. When it came to him, he turned his eyes back to her. "Your feelings extend beyond yourself. You are keenly aware of others around you. You can sense when people feel emotions strongly, though I think these moments tend to be fleeting. Usually, you are not around these emotions long enough for them to leave an impact. On the topic of what you are sensing now, I am currently feeling some… anxiety, and have been for some time now."

"Why would you feel anxiety?"

Well, I must leave in a few days. There are people I have to visit. People I have to see. This is an important trip. And, because of that, I am feeling a bit restless. I apologize for the effect that it has had on you. Perhaps, I should have been more up front about this topic.

You’re not telling me everything, are you? she inquired.

In spite of your youth, you are quite the perceptive one, he replied, bringing that conversation to a close. Jehn disliked how O’mas ended the discussion, but she decided not to press the issue. It wasn’t the first time he had been cryptic, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Before breakfast, she went to the window and closed the shutters, then glanced outside, noticing that water had puddled up in lower-lying areas of the grass yard behind the cottage. Just beyond was the southern edge of the Vale, which encircled Vertegarte, the village she had known all her life. In all her years, she had never been further than a few kilometers outside the village, so she had little in the way of worldly knowledge, except what O’mas taught her in the lessons he provided.

Her steps light as she moved, Jehn dashed into the joined kitchen and dining room. Just she and her aunt shared the house, so they ate most of their meals at the small table tucked in the kitchen. A larger table with seating for six remained unused in the dining room.

Morning, Marcel, she greeted her aunt upon her arrival.

Jehn? her aunt inquired as she looked up from her seat at the circular table. In her hands was an older book of fiction with a worn spine from repeated readings. "I didn’t hear you get up or come out of your room. You really should spend less time with that sneaky old man. You’re beginning to pick up his habits."

You flatter me, Jehn replied with a small smirk on her lips. Marcel frowned briefly in response.

I’ve set a plate with fruit and eggs by the stove, Marcel replied, choosing not to engage Jehn any more on that particular topic.

Thank you, Jehn took the plate in hand and sat down across from Marcel. As she ate, Marcel set down her book and fixed her eyes on Jehn.

So, have you made up your mind? Marcel began, wanting to resume talk of Jehn’s collegiate education abroad. It was something they had been going back and forth on; Marcel would broach the subject and Jehn would give her just enough of a response to put the conversation off until a later date. Having completed her compulsory education locally, Jehn was now of the age that she could either apprentice to a local tradesman or prepare herself for a more scholarly path. Being more inclined to intellectual pursuits, she had submitted applications to the academies in Chancel, Grundy and Gold Flats.

Yeah, I think I want to go to the school in Chancel. She picked at her breakfast without looking up. Jehn had been aware, for some time now, that her aunt wanted her to seek opportunities outside the village. She often dropped hints about Jehn furthering her education outside the Vale. It was the sole reason that, despite reservations, she allowed Jehn to train with O’mas. Since he showed an interest in her intellectual development, he was bound to open doors somewhere for her.

Vertegarte was a pale shadow of itself since the war. Many of the Vale’vigia, village warriors trained to defend against both the fauna of the Vale and bands of raiders, marauders and foreign mercenaries, had been lost in the conflict. The population of healthy adults, both male and female, was decimated which left mostly older widows, the elderly and children who were incapable of combat at the time. Most had not even fought in Moa’rehnza, the southern continent where the war had ended; they had remained in the Vale to repel the initial Moa’rehnzan incursion.

Three years prior, when she was 15, Jehn’s curiosity caused her to ask O’mas about the war. Despite the loss of life, the Vale’vigia’s contributions had been hailed in the village, and to this day, stories of how the aggressors had been repelled by the warriors were favorite tales during seasonal celebrations. O’mas explained that, due to geography, the Moa’rehnzan forces thought they could land at the southernmost shore and move north through the valley, to the heart of Verenigen, cutting the north in half. To the east were the Southern Hadleys, a sizeable mountain range that ran roughly 800 kilometers along the eastern shore and then another 1,500 kilometers curving back to the northwest. At the highest peak the range reached an altitude of 4,300 kilometers and was a challenge to traverse by foot, even by the most seasoned of explorers. To the west were the Horans, a smaller mountain range in comparison, which only ran roughly 1,200 kilometers along the western shore and to the north, where they eventually met the northern edge of the Southern Hadleys. Between the two mountain ranges, the valley was isolated, except for a stretch along the southern shore and a single trade route that led to Grundy. The Moa’rehnzan forces had not expected that the local fauna would be so hostile, or for the Vale’vigia to be so successful in their guerilla tactics. Without a regulated trade route in the southern acreage, they were forced back to the shore before they could even step foot in Vertegarte.

When O’mas explained the events, his eyes would light up and he often had to force himself to slow down and explain military terms in ways that she could understand. Even at 15, she had a good head on her, but without formal education, terms like pincer attacks and hit and run tactics meant little to her. O’mas narrated stories of the Moa’rehnzan military being broken upon the shore of the valley and splitting their fleet, sending a small force west and the bulk to the east. Beyond the edge of the Vale, where the Hadleys and the Horans met the ocean to the east and west respectively, were coalition city-states, garrisoned with troops that had rained cannon fire on the split fleets. The western flotilla had retreated after suffering sizeable losses from the cannonade once they realized that there was no safe land to settle on for leagues.

The main fleet had managed to survive the barrage from Port Hadley to the east, only to find the seas harder to navigate through the Azzotian Isles. They were dogged by military vessels that followed them from Port Hadley and kept them from landfall. Eventually, the naval force ran into a mercenary armada that had come in from Trone Stenan in the north. Caught between the tight confines of the islands, the mercenaries to the north and the fierce waters of the Great Sea to the east, the remains of the fleet struggled to even return home.

When Jehn had pressed him for details of what transpired after the Moa’rehnzan navy’s retreat, O’mas had tried to change the topic and regale her with how the village had been instrumental in the victory. She had pushed for more since she was not so easily swayed by yet another conversational chicanery. The topic clearly weighed heavily on his heart, even years later. With a sigh, he had explained that Verenigen had chosen to send a military force into Moa’rehnza. They had gone in and pushed through a few key points in the continent’s infrastructure, eventually forcing the Moa’rehnzan government to treat with the Verenigen coalition for the end of hostilities.

At the time, Jehn was unhappy with his reticence, but she was keenly aware that this was a sensitive subject. There was something in his eyes and the tone of his voice that told her to let the matter drop.

Really? Marcel tried not to show her disappointment. She had hoped Jehn would choose the academy in Grundy, if only because it would allow her to return on breaks between semesters. Won’t that be... far away?

And? Jehn shrugged. It seems like a really great opportunity. The curriculum is good and I still have to figure out what I want to do with my life.

Marcel nodded with the faintest of sighs before returning to her book. I can’t fault her for thinking like an adult about this. I wanted her to get out of the village. I guess I can’t really complain if she wants to go further than just up the road from the Vale. How soon before you have to go?

No idea. I haven’t received my acceptance letter, but O’mas tells me it’s merely a formality. He says that I should get a letter in the next few days and that the next school year would start at the beginning of the next season. We’re at the mercy of the next trade caravan and whether they have any postal deliveries.

Marcel turned away at the mention of O’mas, hoping to shield Jehn from her furrowed brow. She had never liked the fact that Jehn associated so often with the older man. Sure, he was educated and had lived abroad for decades before moving to the village, but she viewed their relationship with vague disapproval. While Jehn was not her daughter—she was the child of Marcel’s older sister, who had died along with Jehn’s father and Marcel’s own husband during the war—she had long embraced the parental role.

To her relief, though, Jehn had never shown any affection for the man and O’mas had always been polite to Marcel in their interactions. As best as she could tell, they had a mentor-student relationship; Jehn only went to learn subjects that weren’t being taught in school. Though, in recent years, his curriculum had curiously extended to self-defense and combat skills.

The first time Jehn came home with bruises on her face and arms, Marcel had rushed off to give O’mas a piece of her mind. After hours of discussion that eventually became civil, she returned from the visit with a small degree of assurance. O’mas had been clear that any defensive lessons Jehn learned were in lieu of Vale’vigian training she would have if she remained in the village.

Who knows? Jehn said as she rose from the table, collecting her empty plate before taking it to the sink. Maybe O’mas will be able to find out something definite when he heads north.

Don’t hold your breath, Marcel kept to herself. I doubt his business is so simple.

I’ll see you later, Marcel. I should be back before dinner.

Take care, was all Marcel could respond. There was nothing else she could say that wouldn’t come across as negative, so she chose to avoid the topic of Jehn’s appointment. She has too much of her mother in her. Too headstrong. If I tell her she can’t do something, she’ll be damned if she won’t do it.

Marcel heard no footsteps as Jehn left, only the soft click of the door coming to a close.

Jehn left the cottage behind, walking with a brisk pace between the homes that were massed to the south of the town center. Most were one- or two-story abodes, often arranged so that the windows could draw in an optimal amount of daylight. Many of the homes were undecorated and left the natural wood tones as a sign of the craftsman’s pride. A few were only garnished with colorful wreaths or floral displays set near the threshold.

Heading north, Jehn skipped down the alley between two single-story houses that came out onto the main clearing. At the center was the village’s common house: a tall building with a maroon-tiled roof that had a maximum capacity of 300-400 people, though the last time there had been a village meeting, the building had only been half full. During the day, it doubled as a school for the children under the age of 18. Having completed her last course of classes just twenty days ago, she was still familiar with the schedule of courses taught during the day. Jehn cast a quick glance to the sky to gauge the time, thinking to herself that it was probably time for math class.

She walked across the dirt clearing in front of the common house where tracks from the most recent trader’s caravan were still visible. It had arrived more than a dozen days ago; the convoy had set up for a day and offered wares from the north and bought materials and supplies that could then be sold on their return trip. The half-dozen carts and horses had come into town with a fury, kicking up the well-worn path and ensuring that no seedlings would survive in the open area before the common house.

Reaching the small path that came out between two woodworking shops to the west, she quickened her pace, dashing between the bushes and smaller trees that edged the footpath to O’mas’ home. After walking two kilometers, she saw the familiar A-frame roof which was overgrown with moss and clinging vines that were still damp from the previous night’s rain.

The house itself was a single story of dark wood; the solid door made from the same heavy lumber. There were no windows since O’mas cherished his privacy. Jehn knew, from earlier visits, the entire house was lit by a skylight at the back of the roof that was closed with a wooden hatch. From the ground, one could not see the skylight because of the angle of the roof and the fact that two sides of the house were surrounded by a thicket that extended deep into the Vale. No more than a few meters beyond his house, the Vale grew wild and because some of the larger trees, 9-10 meters in width, grew close together, the only way to easily get to O’mas’ home was via the winding path.

Jehn lightly cleared the two steps to his porch and tapped on the door with the flick of her wrist. Seconds later, the door creaked open. A flickering light flowed out from behind the lean frame of O’mas. He stood at the same height as Jehn, barely 167 centimeters tall. His dark brown eyes squinted for a moment at the glaring sunlight and, once he came to recognize his visitor, a smile rose to his lips.

Expecting other company? she inquired as he ushered her into his study. His steps were noiseless, even on the wooden floor. Though she had practiced for years, Jehn still felt like a novice compared to O’mas. There had been times early on when she would go to bed with her leg muscles sore from trying to walk stealthily.

Not really, but you never know. Word gets around when someone is leaving and sometimes people want to ask a favor of you. He crossed the room and slipped behind a desk covered in papers, books, and the occasional curio. In one corner were three colored stones that served as paperweights; one milky white that shone with adularescence, the second varying shades of blue and the third a coarse dark gray that had brown flecks along the center. Each could fit in the palm of one’s hand and looked as though it had been well polished into an oblong shape.

At the center of the desk, some space had been cleared and the worst of the clutter pushed to the sides. From where Jehn stood, she noticed the half-finished letter laid out with a fountain pen set across the middle as if to hold the paper down. While she couldn’t make out much and didn’t want to intrude on his personal correspondence, Jehn’s curiosity got the better of her. With a quick glance, she caught a name at the top of the letter and saw that it was intended for someone named Ethvarth.

On the floor in front of the desk was a well-worn carpet, stitched in red, gold, green and tan. Ancient runes and symbols encircled the main motif: a pentad of simple icons representing water, earth, energy, knowledge, and mankind. When she had asked him about the imagery some years ago, he had explained that it was merely an archaic representation of the creation allegory from a long-extinct tribe.

A small cot was tucked away in the back corner of the study, almost completely hidden behind bookcases and a stack of trunks that was precariously piled up to the left of the desk. Jehn gave the room no more than a cursory glance. She had been in here many times, and nothing in the room appeared new or out of place. Her eyes focused on O’mas, who was by his bed, making final preparations for his trip. A tan-colored leather pack was open on the cot and he was in the midst of placing a change of clothes on top of a stack of letters and books.

O’mas, do you want me to come by and check on the place?

Well... he shrugged his shoulders, I see no need for it, but if it makes you feel better, by all means, feel free to stop in. Maybe, you can make sure no woodland critter has decided to take up residence during my leave.

Jehn smirked at the thought. She once again looked over at his desk and noticed an aged manuscript, written in an unfamiliar language. Tucked beside the parchment was another sheet, covered with sentence fragments written in O’mas’ own handwriting, as if he was translating the document. To the right of that was a stack of envelopes, the wax seals broken and the contents removed.

So... he turned back to her after closing his pack. Have you heard back from the academy in Chancel?

Not yet.

"You should soon. I would not be surprised if you received acceptance letters from Chancel, Grundy and Gold Flats. He stopped, noticing a pensive look on her face. Her eyes had closed for an instant and she turned her head slightly to the left. You’ve already received a letter, haven’t you?"

After a moment’s silence, she nodded. From Grundy.

Grundy isn’t that bad, though it is more of a trade school. I know you have your heart set on Chancel.

Could you—

If I find myself in the area, he waved a hand to end the inquiry. I can’t promise I’ll be able to but I will try stop in.

Thank you.

The room was silent for a moment. O’mas reached back to lift his pack and then came to a sudden stop.

Oh! he exclaimed, his right hand going to his creased forehead.

Yes?

Just a second. O’mas went to the foot of his cot, where a sizable chest of redwood and tarnished bronze bindings sat. He tossed the pile of blankets that were stacked on top of it to the floor and opened the chest, waving a hand in the air to brush the cloud of dust from his face. He dug both hands into the waist-high trunk, moving the contents about as he attempted to unearth the object of his recollection. After a few seconds, he stood, pleased with his efforts.

What were you looking for? Jehn’s curiosity was piqued.

This, O’mas turned and faced her, a wooden staff in his hands. The piece of wood was over a meter in length and was carved in the shape of an axe handle; both ends were shaped to the size of a balled-up fist and wrapped in leather and metal bands. The center of the staff had been bound in a length of oiled leather that looked to have been worn from years of use.

See how this feels, he said as he offered the staff to her. She took a firm grip at the center, appreciating the weight of the weapon. It balanced nicely in her palm and the grain of the wood was silky smooth, almost like the velvet of a deer’s antler.

Why type of wood is this? It’s certainly not local.

Why do you say that? A slim smile of pride crept into the corner of O’mas’ mouth. He moved a hand over his face, pretending to scratch his stubble to hide his pleasure.

It’s too smooth. Well, I can tell that the exterior has been buffed and oiled, but even where it shows some wear, she pointed to one of the ends, the fibers are smooth and look, well, like its woven together. And the coloration is a darker umber than can be found in the Vale. Most of the trees around here have red- or tan-hued pulp.

O’mas nodded. It comes from a rare type of tree in the far north known as the sydalis. A grove still stands in the Hinterlands. This particular piece was cut and assembled decades ago. The man who put it together was a master craftsman.

Feels like it. She ran a hand over the ends, wondering how hard the metal bands would hurt when they rapped someone across the back of the head. When running her hand around one end, she took a firm grip of the end. Suddenly, a surge of energy pulsed in her palm, causing her to recoil with a gasp.

"What was that?"

I think it likes you.

She frowned for a moment.

When this was made, the craftsman placed two imbued ores inside. O’mas pointed at both ends of the staff.

Imbued ores? The term was something she was sure she had heard or read before, but she wasn’t clear on the specifics.

"Ah, I guess that’s something that’s been lacking from your education. You know how many of the metropolitan areas north of the Vale use ores to provide power? There are mines on multiple continents where they extract aeustes ore."

Yes...

And the energy generated by the ores provides both the illumination and calefaction for their homes. It also serves as prevalent fuel source for motorized transport. Jehn nodded; she had learned of the modern conveniences of living in the metropolitan areas during her schooling. Smaller villages like Vertegarte were still deemed backwards in terms of technology, using wood-burning stoves and oil lamps to provide heat and light.

Okay, I’m with you so far.

There are rare occasions in which a vein of ore is unearthed with unique properties that extended beyond simple energy production. These rare ores often exhibit traits unmeasurable by traditional scientific means.

Okay, she replied, not fully grasping what O’mas was saying. But, like most everything he told her, she was sure she would come to understand it, either through lecture or by practical experience. While O’mas was a font of knowledge, he had a habit of taking a circuitous path to his point, sometimes getting lost along the way.

I caution you to keep this hidden from the other villagers until you really need it.

Why would I need it?

O’mas didn’t reply as he turned back to pick up his pack. He slung it over his left shoulder.

I guess I won’t get an answer to that question. She let out a small sigh. It wasn’t the first time he had ignored a topic, and every time he did, it irritated her to no end. At first, she was sure it was because he felt she was too young for the answers, but after years of experience, she had learned to accept that it probably stemmed from something from his past or some business that he didn’t wish to share.

You’re giving this to me?

You are of age now, are you not?

You do realize that a girl likes flowers or sweets, right? I mean, I know it’s been a while for you.

He chuckled at the implication. You have studied defensive arts for years. Consider this the final part of that education. I would not let Marcel see it. Another multi-hour diatribe about why young women do not have bruises and abrasions would be unwelcome.

I will make sure she doesn’t. And thank you for the gift. She bowed slightly, the staff held firmly in both hands at the center.

I expect you to go into the woods and train with it while I’m away.

Of course. What else would I fill my time with until I go off to the academy?

He strode across the study, placing a hand on her shoulder to direct her back to the entryway. For a moment, he looked back as if to ensure that he had everything he needed.

Go on, I will be out in a second, he said as he motioned her to the front door and returned to his desk. As she reached the doorway, she cast a glance back. O’mas paused by his desk, palming the milky white stone after a moment of consideration.

Jehn left the doorway behind, stepping down off the small porch to the path that led back to the village. She turned and waited for nearly a minute until O’mas came to the doorway, his hands empty and his pack securely hung from his shoulder. As he stepped into the daylight, Jehn noticed his eyes, which looked tired and bloodshot. She wondered how long that had escaped her notice.

After closing the door, he joined her on the dirt path.

I can’t talk you out of leaving, can I?

No. It’s not a matter of desire, but rather necessity.

I figured as much, but it was worth a shot. I guess I’ll have to entertain myself.

Jehn and O’mas went together as far as where the trade path led out of Vertegarte. They parted ways cordially and Jehn watched him head out. By the time he was out of sight, it was late afternoon and she began to head back home, the staff still held firmly in her hands.

Two days later, in the late morning hours, Jehn made her way to a small clearing in the woods just 30 meters southwest of her house to practice, far enough away that Marcel wouldn’t see what she was doing. She hefted the staff and performed swinging strikes with the weapon at an imaginary foe, making playful noises to accompany her actions. The weight was nice and her arms didn’t seem to suffer any excess fatigue from use.

Grasping it by the center, she spun the staff for a moment like a baton. In mid-spin, one of the ends came perilously close to delivering a glancing blow to the side of her head. Caught by surprise, she slung her head back and released the weapon, letting it flip over and tumble to the ground.

As the moment passed and her heart rate began to return to normal, she placed a hand to her chest and took a deep breath. Boy, would that have been stupid for me to get knocked out while out here alone. Worse still, Marcel would have lost her mind if I came back with my head split open. Gotta be more careful and smarter about this.

She admonished herself for a moment before kneeling down to retrieve the staff. As her hand neared the end closest to her, she felt an energetic prickle from the wrapped end. The thin hairs on her arms stood up and she felt as though a static discharge would leap from the staff and strike her at any moment. Breathing in, she grasped it and pulled the staff to her. Once the weapon was clutched in her hands, the surge of energy seemed to fade.

You know, I wish O’mas had just come out and said "The staff does this. Look at how cool it looks when it does this. Now go and amuse and amaze your friends and neighbors with how cool it is." The whole Let-me-give-you-a-half-explanation-and-you-figure-the-rest-out is really getting old.

Exasperated, she shrugged her shoulders and headed back to her house. She arrived at the clearing behind the cottage and snuck to the open window of her bedroom, peeking inside. Once she was sure that Marcel was not in the room, she reached in and slid the staff under the covers of her bed. She then proceeded to head around to the front of the house so that she could greet Marcel as usual.

Chapter 02

The Eighth of Shumond

Terenton

Zed woke, face down in a rented bed, with only a dim recollection of the previous evening. His pockets had been flush with five days’ worth of wages from the nearby Holfast farm, but instead of staying another night in their barn, he had walked the five kilometers into Terenton for a room, meal, and more than round of drinks. He needed to head north, so in his mind, heading to Terenton the night before was a step in the right direction. In retrospect, drinking and eating a sizeable chunk of his earned coin in one night was looking to be a bit of a mistake.

With a grunt, he rolled over and placed his feet on the wooden floor of the single-occupancy room, sitting upright while taking in his surroundings for what felt like the first time. Looking down at his feet, he noticed he was still in his tan leather boots. Hah, I guess I didn’t even get out of my clothes. Probably drained one too many and flopped for the night. Someone must’ve been kind enough to shove me in here. Zed ran his beefy hands over his shirt and pants as he stood up, trying in vain to both pat out the worst of the wrinkles and brush off what was surely some of the fine meal he had consumed the night before. After scratching the back of his head as he stared blankly, he checked his pants pockets and was rewarded with the sound of jingling coins. And they didn’t even rob me. Must be saints.

Zed’s clothing showed all the evidence of the life he had chosen. His thick rawhide pants were caked with dried mud and dust from the past ten days of toiling at the farm, laboring for the Holfast family; carrying firewood into the farmhouse or bales of hay out to the livestock. He had even lent a hand harvesting, though he lacked the speed and dexterity of the other farmhands. He would have gotten the hang of it if he had stuck to the job for longer. It hadn’t been the first time in recent years that he had held down a job just long enough to collect an adequate amount of coin before moving on. As best as he could recollect, he had probably worked for most of the families across the central farmlands of Verenigen at one time or another, though many of the names ran together after a while.

His red and brown wool long-sleeved shirt was spattered with the drippings of previously-enjoyed meals bought with his meager wages over the recent months. The rolled-up sleeves were stained with grease and oil from a short stint at the auto shop in Lakewise. While Zed had little formal education, he had always shown an aptitude in motorcraft. While motor-driven vehicles were commonplace in metropolitan areas, they still remained a rarity out in more rural areas. They were still a luxury and often cost far more than the average person could earn in a year.

Zed had little recollection of how the opportunity came to pass, but one morning, Morin Bellwise had called on him to ask him to visit the auto shop. He was sure that the previous evening, when they were sharing a drink and a meal at the local tavern, the topic had likely turned to Zed’s experience in the motor pool during the war. He had been assigned as mechanic’s assistant during the early months of his tour and had excelled in the role. It was one of the few good memories he had of the war.

I should grab a bite to eat before I get on the road. Zed rose from the bed, his stomach groaning from hunger and the alcoholic excess of the night before. He stuffed a messy handful of papers carelessly into his left-hand pocket; he kept the entirety of his personal fortune in the right. Maybe something small. This has got to last me for a bit.

After grabbing a breakfast of eggs and fried sausage and saying his farewells to the proprietor, Zed stepped out from the inn, letting the morning light beat down on his sunbaked forehead. No matter how much time he spent out in the sun, he didn’t tan as so much as he burned to a russet hue. He rubbed his furry jowls and looked around the town square, hoping to see someone who looked vaguely familiar, someone who could tell him what had happened from the night before. The staff had dismissed the notion that he had been any trouble, though he was sure that was merely out of a sense of hospitality.

Running one of his hands through his thinning brown hair, he slowly lumbered across the pebbled courtyard to the dilapidated marble fountain where two children were kicking around a patchwork ball. They gave him quick smiles and went on their way, booting the weathered sphere back and forth as they headed north. When Zed reached the fountain, he scooped a hand into the cool water and tossed it with a splash to his face. The droplets ran down into his beard and clung to the thick hairs until he shook them off with a dog-like wobble of his head.

Another handful of water temporarily parched the thirst that not even the breakfast coffee had managed to sate. As he drew in a deep breath, he took a minute to get his bearings. Looking around for a moment, he located the stagecoach station that the inn’s receptionist had pointed out to him. I should be able to cover this, he thought, absentmindedly patting his pants as he started towards the station.

As he ambled towards the green-roofed building in the distance, he reached a burly paw into his pocket, digging out a small slip of paper. His bloodshot eyes perused the note for the third time in the past day. He needed it as a reminder. In a tight and clean longhand was a single line:

Chancel, Ota Ward, 2nd Fl W 237, Gollan’s Market

The address made some sense to Zed; at one point in time, he had been to Chancel on regular occasion, though he avoided the metropolitan area for some years now, preferring to roam the farmlands to the south of the city. He wasn’t sure of the specific location, but he had a general idea of where he was headed. There was a culturally-diverse market deep into the heart of the city and the address appeared to be somewhere in the vicinity, if not in it.

As he approached the station, he pocketed the note, gathered his composure and checked to see if he had all his belongings. He stepped up to the ticket window and purchased a ticket from the vendor, an elderly man with a ratty handlebar moustache who was more than a head’s height shorter than Zed. To be fair to the ticketeer, most people were diminutive compared to Zed, who waited at the station until the coachman had returned from what he assumed was personal business.

All for Chancel, the thin man dressed in a green coat and slacks proclaimed as he stepped up to the brown and gold painted coach, reaching for the driver’s seat door. The carriage had a hefty steel frame and rode on four iron and rubber wheels, pulled by a team of four steeds. While the steel chassis had been shaped thin and with aerodynamics in mind, the interior was decorated simply, with two rust-colored leather benches and a décor of cream and tan upholstery. The driver rode in a compartment mounted at the front of the vehicle, with a bucket seat and a steering mechanism that allowed him some degree of control over the team of horses that led the coach.

Zed followed two other passengers as they stepped up into the passenger cabin. Both appeared to be Chancel businessmen, since one was dressed in a sharp three-piece gray suit and tie and the other, outfitted in a more casual blue blazer and bowler hat, had a satchel he clutched tightly under his left arm. Neither man so much as spoke to Zed, only sharing a few words amongst themselves. They didn’t seem to be on familiar terms, but they likely shared a similar vocation and that made for small talk as they shared a seat on the front bench. Zed was more than willing to spread out in the back in what he hoped would be relative quiet.

After a perfunctory last call, the driver goaded the team of horses and they were on their way. In minutes, they were out of town and up to speed, the farmlands whisking past them on both sides. A nice breeze blew into the cabin from the partially open windows, cooling Zed’s head and putting him at ease. While the leaf spring suspension worked well enough to absorb most of the bumps in the road, Zed found himself slowly rocked into a slumber by the uneven rattling.

On our left! the driver called out, stirring Zed from his nap. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but the skies were a darker blue and fields had given way to forests. The coach was still in motion, though it had slowed down noticeably. From off in the distance, Zed could hear a slow rumble that built as it neared. For a moment, the sound caught his curiosity, but once he realized its origin, he settled back into his seat.

A motorcraft zipped past the coach’s left side, heading south. The red automotive was boxy in construction with small, dense tires that kicked up a cloud of dust behind it. The engine roared as it propelled the two-seater at a speed that Zed knew to be excessive, even for a newer model of motorcraft. Sounds like the driver’s pushing it. The engine shouldn’t be that loud. He’s gettin’ himself out of town something fierce. That’s not gonna be cheap to get fixed when it eventually breaks down.

While the streets of many of the metropolitan areas were paved and well-maintained, the trade routes between much of Verenigen, connecting the smaller villages and townships, were still dirt or stone-laid paths, which proved to be particularly unkind to the chassis and suspensions of most motorcraft. Those unpaved roads provided Bellwise with most of his business.

Once the motorcraft had passed, the coach resumed its original speed.

How far out do you think we are? the man in the bowler hat asked as he turned to the man in the gray suit. The missus is expecting me and I would like to be home before nightfall.

Not too far. An hour or two. We’re well out of the sticks. Gray Suit leaned over and craned his neck so that he could peer out of the left side window. Ah, yes, there’s the Chancel skyline on the horizon. He leaned back, pleased with his assessment. Bowler Hat leaned to the right, placed a hand on the brim of his hat and looked out the window to confirm for himself. With his eyes focused on the horizon, he grunted in agreement before turning back to his seat. In mid turn, he paused unexpectedly as he spotted something off in the distance.

"What’s that?" Bowler Hat pointed out of the window with a single stubby finger. Zed leaned forward, his eyes following to point less than a kilometer off in the distance. Three airborne vehicles, in a V-formation about 30 meters above the forest canopy, headed swiftly to the south. All three were steel flat-bottomed craft, patterned after water-based skiffs, each propelled by a single row of directed thrust jets that ran along the belly. On both sides of the underside were landing skids. The lead craft had an open cabin with three rows of bucket seats filled to capacity with passengers, while the additional craft were curiously enclosed except for the pilot’s cockpit at the fore of each craft.

Hovercraft. Military grade from what I can tell, Zed spoke, drawing the attention of both men.

Really? Bowler Hat turned and gave him a dubious look.

"Yes, really, Zed leaned in to drive home his point, I worked in the motor pool at the start of the war. I know what a military hovercraft looks like. Though, it has been a while since I’ve seen them in action. It’s rare for them to be in use outside of the metropolitan areas, much less crossing rural lands like that."

Have you never seen them before? Gray Suit asked, turning to Bowler Hat with an incredulous look, I thought you lived in Chancel?

Oh, I’ve seen the law enforcement version of that first car, Bowler Hat sputtered, trying to defend himself. It’s the other two I’ve never seen before.

Those are shipping models. Built for moving large amounts of gear and equipment, Zed answered. Now that he had something of interest to say, the two businessman had turned back to address him. "To be honest, except for law enforcement, defense, or military use, you don’t see the cargo craft all that often. Certainly not in the farmlands. If you think a motorcraft will set you back, one of those with put you in debt for life. If you can find someone willing to sell."

Where did they hail from? Gray Suit motioned to the craft now long gone with a bob of his head.

They were unmarked. They could have been from anywhere. Since they were heading to the south, it was probably Trone Stenan or Chancel. They don’t have the greatest range, so if they took a detour from elsewhere, they would need to set down to refuel pretty soon.

Both men nodded and turned back to the front of the cabin, the conversation over as the hovercraft were long gone and the coach was slowing on approach to Chancel.

Chancel

Founded where the southern tip of the Northern Hadley Mountains met the Pieni’meri Lakes, Chancel was one of the earliest settlements in central Verenigen, founded over 460 years ago. The town had grown in size and population at a steady rate, only blossoming into the second largest metropolitan area in Verenigen after the industrial progress of the previous 60 years had transformed it from a vital trade center into a major hub for both scientific exploration and the heart of the coalition government. The population of roughly 428,000 citizens mirrored the diversity of the continent; about 280,000 were considered natives who had bloodlines tied to the history of the city, while the remainder was travelers, businessmen and immigrants who came to Chancel for the promise of opportunity and never found the reason or chance to leave. Many found work in the 370 km² city, even if it was in the poorer wards built up along the outer acreage over the previous three decades. At the center of Chancel was Gortsa Ward, a vibrant business sector, packed with modern steel and wood framed high-rises, the tallest being the 45 story Gold Peak Tower with its adjoining Convention Center, which rose over the neighboring Government Hall.

Zed was the last to step out of the coach, stretching out his legs and back as he cleared the cabin exit. Remaining seated for so long had knotted the muscles of his lower back, which worsened his mood. As he took a gander while in mid-stretch, he groaned audibly upon the realization that the coach station was not inside Chancel proper, but outside, less than 10 meters from the checkpoint entrance. No less than 300 years ago, many of the major townships had taken to erecting curtain walls of stone and wood to provide protection from raiders and unwanted wildlife. Checkpoints erected at points along the wall also made it easier to keep track of who was coming in and out of the towns. Many of the smaller cities had since torn down the walls, using the materials to expand their infrastructures. Chancel had chosen to refurbish the six-meter high walls throughout most of the city and modernize the checkpoints along the major highways and trade paths that led into the metropolis. Only Trone Stenan to the far north shared Chancel’s diligence in maintaining their borders.

If fortune smiles on me, I won’t have any outstanding warrants that will prevent my entrance. He headed to the painted-wood shed by the cordoned entrance where three constables were processing a small group of pedestrians going in and out of the checkpoint gateway. As he waited in line, Zed watched one of the constables check the contents of a dusty, unpainted coach loaded with produce bound for, Zed assumed, either Ota or Uma Ward, the two wards nearest to the southern checkpoint where regional grocers were allowed to set up shop.

Zed’s traveling companions had already worked their way to the front of the line, presenting their traveling papers in turn. The constable gave the documents a cursory glance before waving them on through the checkpoint. Zed stepped up when his turn came, forcing the man in the recently-pressed blue and silver uniform to look up at the burly traveler. Digging out a folded pack of papers from his back pocket, he placed it in the fresh-faced younger man’s hand.

What is your purpose in Chancel? he squeaked while trying to hide a slight crack in his voice.

Visiting with a friend in the Ota Ward, Zed replied, providing only necessary information. While he loved to gab, and once he had a drink or two, found it hard not to go on for hours, now was not the time if he wanted to avoid trouble. What could they still want me for? That brawl in Doma Ward? That was three years ago.

Is your ‘friend’ Azzottian? the constable read over the front page of Zed’s documents, not bothering to look up at the burly transient, The only people who live in Ota are immigrants from Azzott Bay.

She works for an Azzottian grocer. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but no one else had to know that.

How long is your stay? The constable handed Zed’s papers back to him with one hand while waving a comrade to come over. Zed’s heartbeat jumped as he took in his surroundings, evaluating the situation in case the authorities attempted to detain him.

Two or three days, at the most.

The constable leaned in, whispered to his co-worker, and then turned back to Zed. With a flick of his hand, he motioned Zed on through the checkpoint. Zed took the opportunity and pressed on, stepping wide of the two constables. A few steps past them, he heard Enjoy your stay. Zed cast a quick glance back to see the fresh-faced gatekeeper walk into the shed, a hand hooked into the front of his slacks. Either he’s gotta visit the crapper, or he’s calling in a report. Don’t really want to stick around for either. Time to make myself scarce.

The checkpoint led into Ides Ward, a low-income area where many of the buildings were two- or three-story multi-family apartments. The buildings, built from inexpensive wood planks, covered in a thin layer of plaster, were often painted in pale hues, sun-bleached dyes that would have to be annually reapplied to freshen-up the colors. The roofs were covered with either terracotta or treated wooden tiles and built in such a way that the seasonal rains would pour off into the tight alleys between housing blocks.

Zed stopped at the curb of a roundabout. A single motorcraft, blue and low the ground, slowly rolled through the circle from the northwest, passing Zed as it headed east along the curtain wall to the next ward. Zed crossed the street to a small fountain; for a moment, he found he needed to get his bearings.

Taking in a deep breath, he remembered why he spent so little time in the larger metropolitan areas. The city had a complex aroma to it, but not one he would consider enjoyable. The smells of oil and exhaust were layered with the rank odor of garbage piled up in the alleys and the thick scent of a dense population. Because of the curtain wall, there was no breeze and the air felt stagnant, heavy with humidity.

As the sun set, streetlamps glowed to life, illuminating the street with an orange haze. The lights from a few open second- and third-story windows helped cut through the growing shadows in the ward.

Better get goin’ before it gets too late. Zed crossed to the street that ran northwest and headed deeper into the city. By the time he reached the next ward, another low-income housing block that benefited from a small greengrocer in the main square, the sun was long gone. Hearing a familiar noise approaching from off in the distance, Zed stepped into a nearby alley.

The familiar whooshing sound of directed thrust jets came from the north. A few seconds later, a blue and silver hovercraft sped by, heading into Ides Ward. Before he stepped back into the street, Zed felt a tug at his sleeve. He turned back to the alley to see a hunched-over vagrant, wearing a filthy smock, pants held together with the barest of thread (and possibly a prayer), and wooden sandals. He had long, unwashed hair and his skin was only a little grayer than his teeth.

Hey, bud, the vagrant said as he attempted to stand upright so he could look Zed in the face. At first, Zed didn’t even hear the low voice over the roar of a motorcraft that had just passed by on the street, its tires warmly humming along the paved road.

Yeah? Zed’s deep voice held no malice, just inquiry.

Do ya have any change? He held out a gnarled hand. I could really use somethin’ ta eat.

Zed patted his pocket in inquiry, jingling a few unspent coins. I have about enough for a meal tonight. Maybe a little more. He dug into his pocket, pulled out two coins, and placed them squarely in the palm of the vagrant’s hand. "Be sure to get food. Not drink."

The vagrant thanked him and slowly retreated into the alley. Well, if things don’t go well, it’ll be a sober night for both of us.

When Zed arrived at Gollan’s Market, the evening was well under way. In Ota Ward, seasonal paper lamps were hung along the marketplace, the illuminated colored paper radiating a kaleidoscope of reds, greens and yellows. The locals were out, seated at a collection of tables around the main square, sharing conversations, drinking, and playing assorted card and tile-based games. The din of conversation made Ota Ward feel far more alive than the low-income wards Zed found to the south.

Zed stepped through the doors and into the shop; its shelves were packed with spices and non-perishable foods, all brought in from the villages along Azzott Bay. A meat case at the back of the store was empty, though Zed was sure that if he visited in the morning, it would be filled with fish and regional cuts of meat covered in ice to keep them fresh for sale. The walls were adorned with parchment, rugs and framed artwork, much of which featured views of the ocean from the bay’s coast.

Can I help you? an older lady with olive skin, an aquiline nose and coarse black and grey hair spoke up from behind the counter. For a moment, it struck Zed that she might only be half his height.

Uh... I’m actually looking for—

Long time, Zed, a sharp, lightly-accented voice spoke, drawing his eyes to the backroom’s entrance. Standing with one shoulder leaning against the doorframe was a well-toned, olive-skinned woman, appraising Zed with her hazel eyes. A small smile of familiarity showed on her blushed lips, curling in the corners of her mouth. Providing evidence that her maternal grandmother was not of Azzottian descent, her black hair hung down over her shoulders to just below her collarbone, straight as an arrow instead of in a tangle of curls. She was dressed in polished black boots, cargo pants, and a black three-button suit vest, closed tightly over a gray undershirt. On both wrists, she wore armbands made of oiled black leather.

Zoe Agilis! he bellowed cheerfully.

Zeddrich Muntanya, she called back in a mocking tone.

Zed wrinkled his nose at the mention of his given name. Turning back to the shopkeeper with an index finger pointed at Zoe, he proclaimed, "Uh, it would be her."

The old lady smiled and turned back to an open book on the counter as Zed lumbered toward the back room. Zoe had already returned into the storage area and stood behind a small table in the back corner when Zed reached the doorway. Set in a row on the table was Zoe’s equipment: an open canvas duffle bag, two shoulder holsters, an ammo belt tightly packed with throwing knives and ammo magazines, and a set of paired black and steel tachi and uchigatana. The blades were snugly fit inside matching lacquered wood scabbards, painted in alternating layers of black and red, which had been worn down over time from handling, creating a random color pattern.

Glad to see you could make it, she spoke evenly, not looking up as she continued packing her gear into the oversized duffle. The warm light of an oil lamp illuminated her long, thin nose and shallow, smooth cheeks.

Well, I... hey, wait a minute, Zed crossed the room, taking a brief glance at the thin staircase that led to the second floor. The aroma of beef broth slowly simmering wafted downwards, arousing a hunger in him that he’d not sated since leaving Terenton. How did you know I was coming?

How did you know to come here? she smirked as she deposited the last of her gear in the bag before pulling the zipper closed.

The old man found me working in Terenton. Told me he had work for me. Said I should find you in Chancel. Zed drew in a deep whiff, which caused his hunger pangs to grow more insistent. He placed a hand on his belly.

Shall we go upstairs? Zoe motioned to the stairs. You’re obviously hungry.

I would not pass up a meal if you were to offer.

Zed followed her up the steps to a three room apartment, where a pot of stew was kept warm in the kitchen. Zoe dished out a bowl and handed it to Zed, who took a seat at the table in the corner.

My gratitude, he nodded before digging in. The stew contained small chunks of beef, diced green peppers, chopped onions, tomatoes, zucchini, and black olives, seasoned with garlic, red wine, thyme, salt and pepper, and a