Höbin Luckyfeller’s Fieldguide
Demoni Vankil
By Jaime Buckley
Copyright 2011 Jaime D. Buckley.
* * * *
* * * *
CHAPTER 1: Höbin’s Discovery
As a fishis (Field Scribe Historian), you tend to collect a lot of …well, stuff. I collect more than most. That’s why I’m the best at what I do.
In my rented room one night I found myself staring at the towers of crates and packages—unevenly stacked and precariously reaching over my bed and small table. My eyes wandered over the field dates and priority numbers on each container—a system I developed to allow me to keep track of current work projects in order of priority. Filled with the knick-knacks of my adventures, each item held a story already written…or a story waiting to be discovered and told.
I absentmindedly ran my fingers over the surfaces of metal, wood and heavy plastic—lingering at the soft woven cloth of scroll pouches. Checking the numbers, my memories were working their way into the past.
For some reason, I was trying to remember when this collection started. Reflecting on the decades of research and discoveries of my life I located the medium-sized, faded blue ‘smuggle crate’ I acquired while at University. Scratches and dents adorned the surface of my very first piece of equipment.
I remembered one of my professors encouraging me to ‘Be creative, if necessary, to collect the data you may need someday.’ Chuckling to myself, ‘It’s called creative acquisition,’ they told us in training. ‘Often the story you are trying to uncover is not the story you will tell. Store away the dross until you can connect the facts and complete another story.’
‘Steal what you have to’, was what they meant.
My hand slid across the worn surface searching for the hidden latch. There’s a soft ‘click’ as the seal releases the false bottom inside the crate. Removing my old field journals, the letters from Sylvia and Alhannah’s first hunting knives, I lifted the separator out.
Perfectly nestled in the bottom was a rectangular wooden box. A puzzle box made of a glossy red wood—sifterwood or manzanita, I think, from the grains. The smuggle crate preserved it well all these years, the polished wood still looking like new. Except it wasn’t new. The box was already hundreds of years old when I found it.
I was working for King Robert III on my very first job outside Clockworks City. Morphiophelius had been insistent. Said the job needed a ‘professional touch’ but the priests had never worked with a Gnome before. From their wide-eyed looks…I’m not sure they’d even seen one until I showed up. The Church was determined to fill the holes of their history and prove their rights of succession and they wouldn’t let any other humans on the dig site.
The remains of an old kirk was being excavated not two days ride from Castle Andilain. A kirk is a building where a priest of the Brotherhood lived and served out the days of his vows. Administering to the poor and needy, caring for the widows, teaching the orphans…and when someone was at deaths door, the priest would administer last rights and prepare a proper burial. His ‘flock’ were those within a two day walk.
What made the Brotherhood unique, at least in my opinion, was their reverence for life. It was a firm belief among all the ancient priests that every living soul had a purpose, some purposes obvious in life and others unknown until death and should not be forgotten. It would be an affront to the Gods if a life was lived without any acknowledgement of its existence. The priests felt it was their solemn duty to write about those abandoned souls—people at deaths door without family or friends to care for them.
From a historical perspective, I can appreciate that. It was a beautiful belief.
Anyway, priests would take their life work, specifically their journals and store them in hollowed out foundation blocks of their kirk before they died. This was what the Church was looking for—records which would provide the name of the priest and his line of authority. All other records, such as the letters and testimonies about the ‘flock’—the very ones this dead priest sought to have remembered, were cast aside. Unimportant. Discarded. Rubbish.
That’s when I picked up the puzzle box. The priests couldn’t open it…and it rattled, so they assumed it was broken. Probably just a loose piece inside, preventing it from opening. Thus had it been discarded, left on the research table…in the rain.
So I put it somewhere for safekeeping.
Shaking it lightly, I could still hear the loose piece inside. Never did figure out how to open it. Adjusting the cybernetic implant in my left eye, I examined the box more thoroughly. The craftsmanship was extraordinary. Evolu make, would be my guess. It almost looked like the box was grown from a single plant, the mark of a true master’s hand. There were small symbols, almost invisible, hidden in the very knots of the wood, but not ones I could identify. These were new to me.
If I slide the carved shapes in the right combination, it should open. Well, nearly a week and more than a hundred attempts later…the lid slid open. The puzzle was solved.
…or so I thought.
Contained inside was a set of letters. Fourteen in all, neatly folded and stacked together tied with a simple blue ribbon. Setting the box aside, I untied the bow and lightly examined the letters with the end of a pencil, careful not to let the oils of my skin mar their surface. The two top letters were deeply creased, worn and lightly stained, while the other twelve were crisp, showing minimal wear. Actually, they looked as if they could have been written yesterday. Fascinating.
I would soon discover that the answers to the greatest mystery of my career had been in my possession for decades…
* * * *
CHAPTER 2: Letter One
(day 3)
My Beloved Ethany,
I have arrived in Andilain unharmed and weary.
Now I know why you have always desired to see Andilain at this time of year. The sweet fragrance of the trees blossoming remind me of the soft skin at your neck. If we should ever travel here I will insist on taking a carriage. You know how I detest riding horses and after two days my backside would be grateful if I never beheld a saddle again.
The trip was uneventful and my royal escort was not unkind to me, though their conversations haunted my sleep.
The Dark Lord is whispered to be closer to our home than I thought possible. The armies of Andilain, even now, wage war against the Vallen forces in the south, which have plundered the small villages of the coast. If these guards are credible, Mahan is a greater threat than I ever imagined.
Though I inquired, my guards did not know why I was summoned, but I have my suspicions.
I have been given quarters and informed that I will be brought before the King and Queen this evening. Being uncertain of what’s to come, I thought it wise to send this letter now.
My love, I do not wish to alarm you, but it may be wise to gather the girls and visit Elaine or your cousins in Whitewater. My passion for magic and consuming curiosity get the better of me at times and I fear this weakness has now placed our family in danger. I never should have challenged the mägo. It was foolish and selfish.
I beg you to listen carefully and follow my instructions:
Pack only what you need for a fortnight and leave the cottage immediately. Leave no word with your friends, only that you are traveling west to see your cousins. Instead, I want you to go north to Midell and stay with Aiden. I have already sent him word to prepare for your arrival. Speak to no one in your travels. My sweet love, I am so sorry for creating circumstances that jeopardized the safety of you and the girls.
All my love,
Eamon
* * * *
CHAPTER 3: Letter Two
(day 9)
My Beloved Ethany,
I am
sorry it has taken so long to send you news. Please don’t worry, for I am safe. Thankfully, I received word from Aiden that you all had, indeed, arrived unharmed, which comforted me. I pray your travels went well and that the girls believe this to be nothing more than a family excursion.
The six days and nights past have been much occupied in deep council. A neuvo-kuisa they call it. To my surprise, in this grand body gathered by High King Gaston and Queen Älodiä, more than just the human race is represented. I recognized Kimmeldell the Bold of the Kutollum, the Evolu, the Iskäri and even the reclusive Nocturi.…and one other.
Of all the people to find, Charles is here. Just when you think you know your friend. He is blessed to claim the confidence of the crown and I soon discovered it was he that recommended me for this task. He shared my blighted history with the council even though the others of our Order scowl at me. No doubt they seek vengeance for my sacrilege against magic.
Ethany, things are so much worse than I have imagined. I did not see the shadow that hovers over the entire world. The Kingdom, our allies, the very world…is on the brink of ruin. Mahan has challenged every nation of light. Countless have died. Spies report that the Dark Lord is now gathering his forces to wage his greatest campaign of bloodshed against Andilain. The hills of Äsä-Illäriu are aflame, the Holy City of Väthinerä invaded and even now the Evolu and Nocturi flee to our lands for safety. No race can hope to stand alone against the crushing blows of the enemy. The Kutollum to the north and our own people remain free…for now.
The Kings are fierce and we have been enlisted by none other that the Hero, himself. This evil must be stopped. But it will take great sacrifice. Not of money, but of life. What they ask has never been done and it seems impossible.
As I first feared, the Council is aware of my experiments in the halls of magic and that is why I am here.
Ethany, it is at this time I miss you most dearly. You’ve always encouraged me and been a strength through the years. Your wisdom, your gentle counsel would be of precious value to me right now. But here I must decide what is best for my family alone…and this is a most difficult decision. This isn’t about the country, or the land, or the King’s wishes. This is about you, my beloved. This is about Saffron and Melody and keeping you each safe from the evil that is approaching us. The evil that will surely find us if it cannot be stopped.
I can help. They do not know what I have been working on, but you do. They don’t realize the progress I have made in secret and how much can be accomplished with the right assistance and tools. They need me, Ethany. The war could be turned by the skills of a simple mägo clerk. So, I pray for your patience and understanding.
I could not protect you if I were to come home. We could run for a time, but the tide of war will speedily find us, I am sure of it, as it devours the lands, and then what? Where would we go? How would we live when all we knew has been ravaged by darkness and ceased to be?
A royal guard will be dispatched to you within a fortnight. They will escort you to our home that you may collect our belongings. There is a stronghold in the East, in Bailish. You will be safe there. The Queen has vowed to me that she will keep you and the girls safe. Safer than you would be with me. This war will soon bring bloodshed to our doorsteps, my love. Only upon her solemn vow did I consent.
My dear, I also informed the Queen that you have experience tutoring in the House of Lords so that you may have means of support until I can return for you.
Listen carefully, Ethany—remove the floorboards under my chair by the fire and the second red cornerstone of the hearth. You will find my journals and rune scrolls. Give them to the Captain and he will bring them to me.
Be brave, my love. I know it is a great sacrifice but this is the only way. I promise to work with haste and diligence and to be with you before the snow falls next season.
Hug the girls for me. Tell them that Papa loves them and not to grow too much before I come home. Pray for me as I will for you.
All my love,
Eamon
Fascinating!
My first clue. High King Gaston and Queen Älodiä were two of the greatest rulers in human history. Gaston being the son of a human and Älodiä being the noble daughter of the Evolu. I have a time frame. 5871s-6017s. These letters are at least 700 years old.
Few records exist from this point in history. The documents concerning the great conflicts of the nations against the Dark Lord are written with bias favoring the race of the writer.
Also, it was a focused tactic in times of war to cripple the future generations of an enemy by destroying their records when found. Journals, histories, church records, genealogies, anything that gives a people solid roots to build on and pass onto the next generation. Because if you lack the accurate history of your people to draw upon, seeds can be planted and a nation can not only be polluted, it can be undone.
Which makes these letters invaluable.
It’s so hard to discern the truth until you can isolate common patterns.
However, there is one prevailing pattern in all the scattered histories of the races concerning this time period. Every nation of the world was in turmoil. Mahan was doing a sweep of the globe to either dominate or exterminate. His forces had become so numerous, he could dominate the field of battle by numbers alone—the war of Sharu, against the Nocturi, spoke of an army so vast, it outnumbered their own 300 to 1. In fleeing the field, scribes recorded the terrifying sight of the enemy falling upon the dead, rending them with their teeth and consuming them as food.
I read the letter again, my eyes halting when I saw ‘rune scrolls’. I didn’t know what to make of this at first and was actually disappointed. Really? Rune scrolls? rune lore is folklore. I must say that I believe all lore is probably based on a truth somewhere. I think that’s why I’m good at my job. Believe everything until you prove it otherwise. Anyway. Anything I have found throughout my career has been little more than children playing pretend with magic drawings or decrepit old bards singing songs of Runelords who all died of a debilitating disease. I mean, come on.
The dwarves do tell more interesting stories of warriors who wore the runes and were so fierce and powerful that a single armored titan could bring down an enemy’s army unaided. Or that placing runes on their swords or axes would make it so they could slice through stone unhindered. Or their enchanted armor would allow them to walk through dragon’s fire without singeing a single hair of their beard. Poppycock, I know. But they sure do make the stories entertaining.
There’s also been the odd heretic throughout history claiming rune lore is real but somehow all record of them disappears…or never existed in the first place…and therein lies the tales of rune lore being a dark and evil magic. Nobody really knows. Nobody really understands.
And neuvo-kuisa? I wasn’t familiar with that term and nothing came up on the Fishis Archive Database (F.A.D.), so I would have to dig deeper. Maybe hunt for the language roots.
This Eamon was at the center of that time, in ‘deep council’ with the greatest minds and leaders of that generation. Setting runes aside, it still lends credit to him. Which makes me curious about what experiments a mägo clerk was performing in secret—especially ones that would get the disapproval of his Order? One of the heretics?
…or just a clever loon?
* * * *
CHAPTER 4: Letter Three
(day 31)
My Beloved Ethany,
It has been thirty-one days since I have beheld your lovely face and my heart aches for you and the girls.
I am told it is safe for me to send letters now, as we have finally arrived at the hidden place. Where none will search and nothing will be found. It’s fit for dwarves, I’m sure, but not the likes of me. But I thank the stars that we have traveled safely for it was a long and arduous trip. Our camp is so remote I fear regular communications will be challenging—but I shall write you faithfully and send my messages in bundles, if necessary, as often as the opportunity arises.
Oh, what I have seen during my travels, Ethany!
Dragons! True as the red in my beard, I beheld a full grown dragon near the winter foothills not more than a week into our journey. The beast was so large its wings blotted out the rays of the sun several times. My heart was pounding as we kept to the trees to protect the horses. As it shrieked through the sky I started but the Gypsy in our party, Shiro by name, laughed at me before he explained it was a female in search of food for her young. That cry scared beasts into movement providing her with a successful hunt. For Melody’s sake, I had hoped to see a young beast in the sky, but my searching was for naught.
The Kutollum are a jolly people, my love, full of lore and hope for the future. Their leader, Hammel, is a soft spoken dwarf and appears thoughtful. Being well versed in the history of their race he occupied many tedious days with ancient stories of his ancestors. The most interesting being why they migrated north to the ice wastelands. We have some things in common. Hammel also has two daughters of whom he speaks dearly.
A fortnight into the trip we were unfortunate to travel through the remains of a ravaged Westgaiden. The homes were burned, farms decimated—not a breathe of life left. A heavy residue of sulfur burned our lungs. I immediately recognized the signs of Tauku and their abominable craft—tearing at the very elements of nature to do their bidding. A terrifying race. It will be years before anything will grow. My mind agonized for you and I spent the rest of the day in silence, hoping and praying you and the girls are somewhere warm and safe. I am grateful for the vow of the Queen to keep you far away from the devastation’s of this war.
It’s utterly cold and desolate here. In the evenings I miss your warmth. I try to focus on the early morning laughter of the girls and the songs sung while braiding one another’s hair…or your soft voice in the kitchen, singing to the rising sun. Your voices all echo clearly in my mind, bringing warmth to my soul.