Romney Balvance and the Katarin Stone

by J Jordan

  Reysa channeled the tornado’s force, reveling in triumph as her sister threw spells in every direction but the right one. Then, as the cyclone approached, Reysa realized she hadn’t thought of her own footing. She rose, then whipped up into the flaming cyclone. The two sisters continued brawling, sending weakened spells out in every direction, trying to hit each other with one death blow. Before they could correct their fire, the tornado dissipated.

  The winds fell silent, and the two sisters dropped onto the floor. They rose quickly and stared each other down. It reminded Romney of an old western showdown, except the two gunners carried small lengths of wood and wore layers of jeweled amulets and rows of golden rings. Their elegant silk robes were dusted and ripped from combat. Not a single square of denim between them.

  The Staff of the Prophet on the ground between them. They circled, then stopped, and then circled again. Each renegade magician was formulating what to do next. They felt the sudden pulse before they could raise their wands. A deep concussion, somewhere far below them, followed by the screeching of a thousand tiny gears coming to a halt.

  The door to the throne room, once bound by chains and magic spells, became a shower of wood splinters, stone, and residual magic. Before the sisters could react, three robed figures entered the room.

  The first was Pharaoh Esmerelda in her travel cloak, her pack still slung over her shoulder. The second was a pale woman in plain linen robes, her black eyes obscured by a simple hood. Even in the dark, they glowed with tiny dots of silver light. And the third was unmistakable, for hers was the face that adorned the temples and statuary throughout the city. Throughout the entire kingdom. Hers were the robes of a grand priestess. The grandest priestess of them all, one might say, because she was the savior, the first pharaoh of the sands of Andara, the prophet of the Goddess Katresa.

  Andrea Lucana and her entourage looked royally pissed.

  Esmerelda was the first to approach. Reyna and Reysa began shedding magic amulets, apologizing profusely as they did. They each received a hardy slap to the face.

  “I taught you better than this. Why are you fighting? Where did you get these?”

  “I bought them from traveling merchants,” said Reyna, “but I did it to protect myself. Reysa was planning to kill me.”

  “She planned first! You mustn’t listen!”

  The Prophet Andrea grimaced at this. She raised her hands and began to sign. Only the night-eyed woman understood her.

  “Both are to blame,” she translated. “You have abused the power of magic. You did not use it out of necessity, but out of a selfish desire to be the one pharaoh. To kill a member of your tribe, and a sister by birth, all to have the power to yourself. It is a shame greater than any I have seen.”

  Then she cleared her throat.

  “And for the record, Reyna bought the first wand. But we’re only talking seconds before Reysa bought hers.”

  She smiled at Andrea, who didn’t share her sentiment. The prophet was not amused.

  “Right, it’s your show.”

  Andrea crossed to the two sisters, who were almost down to their silk robes, save for a few more rings and amulets. She looked down at the pile of treasure at their feet. All those enchanted items in one place. The thought of all that magical energy made Romney’s teeth hurt.

  The earth churned beneath them, halted and groaned, then labored on. Andrea shifted on her feet. Then she waved her hand, and the pile scattered across the floor. She continued signing.

  “Do you know the troubles of magic?”

  Their silence was her answer. Now Esmerelda had trouble keeping her gaze.

  “Surely you knew the danger. I taught my children the troubles, and they taught their children, and the lessons were passed down. What is the trouble with magic?”

  Again, no answers. Reyna plucked another ring off her finger and placed it on the ground.

  “Then answer this,” translated the night-eyed woman. “Have you heard the cries of the earth? Have you not felt its pain?”

  Reyna and Reysa bowed their heads in shame.

  “If you do not know the troubles, then you cannot use magic. If you ignore the earth’s plea, then you are not fit to wield the staff. And you are not fit to rule.”

  The prophet made several more signs, one of which looked like two “okay” signs that she then released outward with a dismissive gesture, and then another where she made a “V” with one hand and slapped it against her forehead. This one made the star-eyed woman groan.

  “Cool it, Andrea. They get it.”

  Andrea glared at her. She pointed to the room at large, then made what Romney could only describe as a small salute.

  “That’s ‘don’t know,’” said Katrese. “She was really mad.”

  “We should be talking about solutions right now, not punishments.”

  Andrea made a pointer finger with one hand and passed it under the open palm of the other. This caused the night-eyed woman to frown.

  “Now you’re being ridiculous. How about we go over the new plan? The one we discussed on the way here?”

  Andrea signed out a word, and the star-eyed woman replied with her own gesture. It became an argument. Katrese leaned into Romney.

  “She argues there needs to be a severe punishment involved, so that it reinforces our message that magic is dangerous. But look, I’ve been doing this a long time and I think we should just go over the new plan. Divine punishment usually ends in pain and suffering, and then resentment. And there, she wanted to shock them with a bolt of lightning, just once, but I said no, stick to the plan.”

  “What was that part with the finger?”

  Romney mimicked the motion, index finger passing under palm, and Katrese smiled.

  “Kill, but she didn’t mean that. Like I said, really mad. Hang on, here’s the part.”

  Andrea made a swooping motion with her hands, then raised them to the ceiling. The magical amulets and rings began to slide back across the floor, gathering into a pile at her feet. Then she sliced at the air with an open palm, and the entire treasury streamed out into the night air. The shining, golden stream headed northward, toward the Prophet’s Mountains. Andrea reached out and her mighty staff rolled toward her, jumped, and landed in her grasp. She flourished it, then handed it off to her translator. The night-eyed woman continued reading Andrea’s hand signs aloud.

  “We will take the staff. Your kingdom is strong now, and you have no more need of magic.”

  Andrea made a dramatic motion toward Esmerelda, maybe a little too dramatic for the situation. The night-eyed woman continued on.

  “Your children need guidance, Esmerelda. This is why I must ask you to stay. Lead your children to the throne and teach them the troubles. And when your time comes, I will come to take you to your resting place.”

  Esmerelda was taken aback by this.

  “No, I must go with you. I am too old. Please take me home. I cannot lead them. What will they think?”

  “You will stay here and guide your children. You will place your people on the right path and they will say nothing, because they will know that what you do is right.”

  Andrea took Esmerelda’s face in her hands and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Then she signed.

  “Know that you are part of my tribe, always. All who do good for Andara will have a place by my side.”

  Esmerelda placed her hand on her forehead and smiled. So it was that the matron would stay with her tribe, for she would be the teacher and the keeper of knowledge. And she would guide the two sisters, and teach them both to rule as pharaohs.

  And all who do good for the kingdom in the sands of Andara have a place in the Lucana tribe.

  “The end?”

  “Sort of.”

  ◆◆◆

  Romney watched the scene dissolve back to the lake, but now there was a small temple on the opposite shore of the lake. Its ominous nature was underlined by plumes of fog rolling across the water’s surface. Romney didn’
t recognize this temple, and for once neither would Cora were she to see it. The small temple at the end of the lake was Hirna Andrea, the resting place of Andrea’s flock. It held the souls of her children, and of all those who had done good for their country. And it was said to hold Andrea Lucana too.

  Romney shivered at the cold.

  “What’s this?”

  “The end of Andrea’s story. Sort of. Stories never really end, per say. Stories travel. They go to new places to meet new people.”

  Romney smiled at that. It sounded nice. Like something one might put on a calendar or a social media post. But he was having trouble finding the point of all of it. The following silence became awkward.

  “You’ll need to hit me over the head with this one, because I have no idea what you’re getting at.”

  Katrese’s warm smile strained.

  “Where did Cora say Videra was likely buried? A pyramid, right?”

  Romney nodded. He didn’t actually remember this part.

  “Okay, but what did Andrea just say about people who do good for Andara?”

  “They get to be in her posse.”

  Katrese nodded.

  “There we go. If Videra did good for the ‘sands of Andara,’ like brokering peace with a foreign nation and establishing trade, also further spreading Andrean teachings into said foreign country through scrolls and, eventually books, whose posse would she be in?”

  “Andrea’s posse,” said Romney, now feeling insulted.

  “All right, and the last question, the one to really drive it all home: where is Videra actually buried?”

  Katrese made a flailing gesture at the temple to help him along. Hirna Andrea, the temple at the top of the Prophet’s Mountains. Romney was prepared to give this answer, his ego severely bruised. But he had just received a mouthful of cold water. And then a face full.

  Romney Balvance and the Secret History

  Modern medicine holds many wonders. In Romney’s time, circa 2015 ME, humanity had already found ways to cure many of history’s greatest ailments, through surgery and vaccines. Advances in medicine brought about the end of plagues, terrible diseases, and most importantly, acne. And even as we write this, there are newer and greater cures being devised in laboratories all across the world. But sometimes you need an old-school remedy.

  That is what Dr. Rico Ramos applied directly to Romney’s face. A bucket of cold water is a time-honored tradition traced all the way back to the infancy of mankind. Pictographs, found in caves along Camerra’s northern shores, depict a human using a square of sheepskin to carry water to a sleeping clansman. The runic inscription translates to “Uther never wakes with the sun.” The next in the line of pictures shows the water falling onto the sleeping clansman’s head, with the subtitle “Uther wakes with the sea.”

  Cold water can illicit an initial shock that increases heart rate and induces hyperventilation. A perfect way to start your morning. Dr. Ramos would later remark that he thought it might also help with Romney’s fever.

  Romney spluttered. It took him three deep gasps to clear his mind. He sat up and tried to piece the world back together. He was no longer tied up, which was a plus, but now the water was soaking through his jacket and into his dress shirt. He ripped off the jacket and flung it across the room. He stood before the new puddle on the ground had a chance to seep into his pants. Dr. Ramos hovered near him. He spoke in Andaran, because it was the only language he knew.

  “¿Como está?” asked the good doctor.

  “He wants to know how you’re doing,” said Tykeso, like sandpaper rubbed raw.

  Tykeso had spent the night tied up and left in the corner. At some point, he had found a way to move across the wall toward the window. This proved to be a more comfortable location. It allowed him to rest on his side. He looked exhausted.

  “I’m cold,” said Romney. “Soaked.”

  “Frío.”

  “Sí, comprendo. ¿Cuál es su nivel de dolor?”

  “Can you please go away?”

  “Vete,” said Tykeso. “Por favor. Necesita ropa seca.”

  “Ah, comprendo. Pero necesito hablar con Victoria.”

  The doctor vanished through the doorway, which was then filled by two armed guards. Romney looked to Tykeso, who sagged against the wall.

  “Where’s Cora?”

  “She got to sleep inside, because she knows the fearless leader. But we can’t be trusted, which is why we’re in this converted wine cellar. Did you sleep well?”

  “I need to talk to her. I think we’re going in the wrong direction.”

  “I didn’t,” Tykeso continued, “because it’s tough to fall asleep with your arms tied to your sides. And don’t worry about whether they listen in on us, because they don’t. They don’t listen to their prisoners when they ask to use the bathroom. Nor do they provide bare necessities like food or water.”

  This last part he croaked toward the doorway. The two guards didn’t flinch.

  “We don’t need to be in Andar, Ty. We need to go back to the Prophet’s Mountains.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Romney told him about the dream, leaving out the part where Katrese spoke to him and several other parts about her influencing ancient history, but adding in the other details he could remember. Tykeso’s tired eyes sharpened as Romney explained the dream. The elf stood straight as Romney concluded.

  “You called it Andara. They haven’t used that name in hundreds of years.”

  “We gotta get back to the mountains, Ty. There’s a temple up there and that’s where she’s buried. That’s where we find the crown.”

  Tykeso opened his mouth to speak but glared at the doorway. The guards had moved aside and revealed their glorious leader standing just outside the room. They were discussing something in Andaran. Cora was with her, keeping up with the conversation.

  “Maybe Cora convinced her to help us.”

  “I wouldn’t count on them,” said Tykeso, lowering his voice. “It’s a religious site. One of the most important places in Andrean lore. The Andaran military has a base at the foot of the mountain. It’s a felony to even trespass near the perimeter.”

  “Unless you’re a priest or something, right?”

  “A high priestess. Which is tough to come by. And I didn’t see anyone with robes on the way in.”

  Tykeso sagged. Romney followed his scowl to the center of the room, where Cora and the glorious leader, Victoria, were standing. They both looked well-rested, showered even. But Victoria had her arms crossed.

  “Cora says you are on a personal mission to protect Videra’s artifacts from our corrupt government. It appears I underestimated you. You are commendable, Romney. Taking this task into your own hands. And funding it all with your own money too. The current Andaran Council expressed interest in looting our heritage and selling it to art collectors for the highest bidder. They want to cover their debts with our heritage. You and I share a common goal, then.”

  A soldier walked in and dropped a heavy gym bag onto the ground. He left it there a few beats before he unzipped it with a single motion, all for effect. Then he pulled out two assault rifles, three pistols, and ammo magazines for everything. Tykeso’s mouth became a thin line. His eyes were fixed on Victoria.

  “But your methods leave something to be desired. I hope you were planning to tell us about these. This made it difficult to trust you. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Where did those come from?”

  Romney’s genuine shock ruled him out. Then again, Tykeso’s stony expression had already given him away.

  “Where did you get these?”

  Tykeso didn’t answer. His gaze softened as he looked to Cora, and then he looked down at the floor.

  “How did you even get those through airport security?”

  They all looked briefly to Romney, then drifted back toward Tykeso. It was a valid question. The elf shook his head.

  “I have ways,” said Tykeso.

&nb
sp; “It doesn’t matter. You won’t need them anymore,” said Victoria. “We will escort you.”

  The two armed guards stepped into the room and started divvying up their new guns.

  “We will head for the Kima pyramid,” said Cora, “but it’s a six-hour drive from here, so we need to prepare.”

  “No, Cora,” said Romney. “We need to go back to the mountains.”

  Victoria was the only one in the room to look at Romney. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Which mountains do you mean? There are many in Andar.”

  “The Prophet’s Mountains.”

  Victoria took a step closer, brow now furrowed.

  “I’ve already explained the situation,” said Cora. “Victoria will take us to the Kima pyramid, where we will find Pharaoh Videra’s resting place.”

  “Videra isn’t in a pyramid,” said Romney. “She’s in Hirna Andrea. It’s a temple at the top of the mountain.”

  The room chilled. All eyes were on Romney now. And judging by the looks from Victoria, she had nothing nice to think of him.

  “You are not going to Hirna Andrea,” she growled. “There is nothing for you there. Do not speak of the mountains again.”

  “What’s wrong?” said Romney. “You should be all for opening it up and showing the world.”

  “Some things are best left hidden. Don’t say another word about Hirna Andrea or the mountains.”

  “That’s a real shame,” said Romney. “I was starting to get behind all this revolution stuff. But it looks like you do hiding and corrupting of your own.”

  “Hirna Andrea would be a tremendous archaeological find,” said Cora. “It would need to be protected by people who know what they’re doing. If it even exists.”

  “It does,” said Romney, “and you’re hiding it from the people who need to see it, Victoria. We aren’t going to sit by and let that happen. Imagine if people could visit the Water Mirror and see it for themselves. Think of what that could do to your cause.”