Beginnings: Five Heroic Fantasy Adventure Novels

by Lindsay Buroker

  Chips? This time the word came with the thought of Mee Nar walking along the coast. Toward the Komitopis house, Yanko hoped, though he had no idea how he was going to slip out to talk to the man, not when he was being grilled for intelligence.

  “That’s about all I can tell you,” Yanko said, feigning another yawn. When Koanani’s smile faltered, he felt guilty about his deception, but if he learned what he needed to know from the neighbor, he could leave without endangering the family. Just because the kids wanted a battle did not mean he should hurl one at their porch. “I’m still hoping they won’t come at all. Honored Host, might you have a place where my friend and I can sleep?” He waved at Lakeo, trusting that Dak could arrange his own lodgings. It would be good not to have to share a cabin with him anymore. He didn’t snore, but he was big, and when there were only two hammocks in a room the size of a closet, one didn’t get a lot of sleep.

  “Of course, Yanko,” Mela said. “This way.”

  “Let me get another glass of water first, please.” He held up his cup and nodded toward the kitchen.

  “I can get it for you.”

  “Oh, no. You’ve already done enough.” He smiled at her, ignoring the way Akstyr rolled his eyes, then hustled into the kitchen, hoping the taro chips were not hard to find. Ah, good. The basket was sitting out on the counter. He swiped a handful, hoping it would be enough to satisfy his bird ally.

  Chips! came another cry when he touched the basket. What had he started with this connection? Was the parrot telepathically monitoring him? Could a bird do that?

  He stuffed the chips in his pocket, filled his glass, and hustled back out to find Mela waiting. The twins and their other family members were hunched over the map, pointing and discussing. Dak had scooted closer to join the conversation. Lakeo’s eyes were bloodshot. Yanko’s probably were, too, since he had been up all night and only dozed a couple of hours before they reached port that morning. Too bad he had no intention of going to sleep yet.

  “This way.” Holding a whale oil lantern, Mela led them down a back hallway. She paused in front of a door and looked back and forth between them. “Two rooms?” she guessed.

  “Yes,” Yanko said.

  “Aw, Yanko.” Lakeo slung an arm around his shoulders. “You don’t want to take this opportunity to get cozy?”

  “I’ve been sharing a tiny cabin with a giant Turgonian for the last week. I’m looking forward to having my own room. Besides, you have twenty pounds’ worth of pamphlets there to study.” Yanko waved a hand at her pack.

  She lowered her arm and shifted it away from him. “Fine.”

  “He’s actually only a couple of inches above average for a Turgonian,” Mela said with a smile. “Their children eat well over there.”

  “I’ve heard,” Yanko murmured, trying to keep the judgment out of his voice. Whatever struggles his people were having now, it wasn’t as if he had ever gone hungry.

  Mela pushed open a door. “Sleep well.”

  The window Yanko had been hoping for occupied the wall on the other side of the bed. As soon as the door shut, he dropped his pack and charged over to it, banging his knee on a trunk in the process. A candle burned on the nightstand, but its light did not travel far. He pushed aside the curtains and opened the window.

  He was in one of two wings of the house that cupped a lush courtyard with a gurgling fountain and numerous flowering plants that sent their aroma into the room. It would be a nice place for a tryst with a woman, but he only had trysts with Nurian men in mind for tonight.

  Yanko closed his eyes, reaching out into the fields and orchards behind the house, searching for the parrot. He did not have to search far. He hadn’t had the window open for more than thirty seconds before wings flapped outside and the sleek red-and-blue bird landed on the sill in front of him. It tilted its head, a beady eye staring straight at Yanko. Actually, straight at his pocket.

  Can you take me to the human? he asked, placing the image of Mee Nar in the bird’s mind again. At the same time, he held out a couple of broken taro chips. That beak came perilously close to removing a chunk of skin in its eagerness to snatch up the treat. But he did not have to ask twice. The parrot flew out of the courtyard.

  Yanko grabbed his sword, climbed out the window, and ran after him.

  After seeing the size of the property, he worried he would have to run miles to meet up with Mee Nar, but the man must not have made it all the way home before the parrot caught up with him. He was waiting behind a mound-shaped earthen building with processing and distilling equipment visible through an open door.

  “Greetings, Honored Neighbor,” Yanko said when the man came into view, leaning casually against the back wall, as if he belonged there. Yanko wished he felt like he belonged here. Instead, he kept glancing nervously back at the house. “I sensed that you might wish to talk to me.”

  The parrot squawked from atop the distillery.

  Yanko winced at the noise. He shared his gratitude with the bird, then gave him the suggestion that more chips might be obtained in the kitchen. Wings flapped, and he took flight.

  “Interesting,” Mee Nar said. “There aren’t many young people in Nuria who study the animal sciences any more. Or have things changed since I left?”

  “They haven’t changed. I’m mostly self-taught and do prefer the earth sciences, but animals are a part of the earth. I find them easy to be around. Mee Nar, have you lived here long? I’m seeking an artifact. If the stories around it are true, it could change the lives of our people. I...” Yanko hesitated, not certain how much he should confess to a man he had just met and knew nothing about. Could he get his help without saying more? Did Mee Nar know anything useful to start with?

  “Artifact? Some treasure? You’re not seeking the Ebony Dragon, are you? Or the Chalice of Eternal Life?” Mee Nar sounded disappointed. Understandably so, since those were, as far as Yanko knew, nothing more than items mentioned in fables.

  “No, nothing so silly.” Or so Yanko hoped. He stretched out with his senses, making sure nobody was nearby. He sensed only the people in the house and more in the bunkhouse up the road, but nobody else was roaming around outside after dark. Good. “Have you heard of the Golden Lodestone?”

  “No.”

  Yanko relayed the story, explaining the lost continent, what it might offer for Nuria, and how the lodestone was supposed to be able to find it. Mee Nar listened without interrupting. It was too dark to see his face, and Yanko couldn’t tell if the man believed anything he was hearing or not.

  At the end, Mee Nar asked, “Was it your idea to come here or the Turgonian’s?”

  “To Kyatt?”

  “To this house.” Mee Nar waved at the land around them.

  “Dak’s idea.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Why?” Yanko leaned forward, his fingers twitching, as if he might pluck the answers from Mee Nar’s mind. He supposed he could try, but spending a week reading a book on mind science didn’t make him an expert, and if Mee Nar was a Sensitive, he would feel the intrusion.

  “The Komitopis family is descended from the original colonists. I suppose most Kyattese are, if you go back far enough, but this family has been important throughout the islands’ history and has led the government at times. They’ve also had this land since the beginning, and there are a lot of interesting secrets in their attic.”

  “You’ve been up there?”

  “I’ve not been invited.” Mee Nar chuckled. “We get along admirably enough, but they’ve known from the beginning that I send reports back to our government. I’m retired ostensibly, and my Kyattese wife and our daughters don’t know I’m still in contact with the Great Land, but I’m often able to supplement the embassy’s reports, giving them information about things that happen outside of the city. In other words, I keep my ears open.”

  “And you’ve heard about this attic. Any chance my lodestone might be in it?” Yanko did not truly expect that, but allowed himself a wishful smil
e.

  “I wouldn’t be shocked if it was stuffed in a box on a shelf up there. If nothing else, you might find old journals or newspapers that aren’t in the library, the information that could lead you to the artifact.”

  “Written in Kyattese, I suppose.” Yanko desperately needed an ally he could trust who could read the language.

  “Old Kyattese, if you’re talking about the era around their founding.”

  “Oh. Can the average person here read that?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t suppose you can.”

  Mee Nar chuckled softly. “Even after twenty years, I can barely read the newspaper.” He patted Yanko on the shoulder. “You’ll have to find your own way to do that research, but I’ll wish you well and that you haven’t been sent on some farcical errand. I would love to see our land brought back to its former power and glory.”

  “Thank you. One more thing?” Yanko added when Mee Nar turned away.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you know who Dak is?”

  “I have some guesses, but that’s the only name I’ve heard anyone mention.”

  Before Yanko could ask about those guesses, he sensed that they weren’t alone any more. He gripped the hilt of his sword, then immediately let go. He recognized the person. With dread curdling in his stomach, he walked around the earthen building until he came face to face with Dak.

  The lights behind him kept his face in shadows, but his tense stance told Yanko he had heard... far more than Yanko would have wished.

  * * *

  Yanko sat in a chair in a book-filled study while Dak and Mela argued back and forth over his head in Kyattese. Dak had already spent fifteen minutes arguing with someone through a communication orb before Yanko had been brought in. That conversation had been in Turgonian, though not many of the words had been audible through the door, not that Yanko would have understood them, regardless. He was going to have to get a book on languages—maybe Akstyr would loan him the one about complimenting women—if he survived the night. He didn’t know yet how much Dak had heard, and he didn’t think his conversation had been terribly condemning, but he also doubted Mela was going to invite him up into the attic.

  He lifted his gaze toward the timber-planked ceiling, wondering if he would ever get the chance to snoop and wondering if it would do him any good, with the language barrier.

  “It’s my history, Dak,” Mela said, switching to Nurian. “Not yours.” She walked out, shutting the door hard, leaving Yanko alone with his bodyguard. His big Turgonian bodyguard who appeared even less pleased now than he had when he had shown up by the distillery.

  Dak leaned against the desk, his fist on his hip, and stared down at Yanko. Yanko thought about standing, so he wouldn’t feel he was in such a meek position, but what would it matter? Dak still towered over him.

  “The neighbor you’d never met?”

  “What?” Yanko asked, though he understood just fine. Dak was calling him an idiot for confiding in a stranger. He might be right.

  “I can understand not sharing your secret mission with me, but with a random man you just met? A man who’s been a spy for decades?”

  “Well, he was a random Nurian man.”

  “A Nurian man. So automatically, he’s your ally. Yanko, there are about eight different factions vying for power in your country right now. You have no idea which one he’s reporting to. Even if he talks to a legitimate government operative, there are spies all over your capital right now. Why do you think there’s an assassin trying to shove a dagger up your ass right now? I highly doubt Zirabo decided to send those people along to incentivize you.”

  Eight factions? Yanko had been thinking of these rebels as a single entity. How was it that his foreign bodyguard knew so much more than he did about what was going on in his own country?

  Because your bodyguard is a spy, idiot.

  Yanko rubbed his face, wondering again why the prince had thought someone so young and—yes, he had to admit it—sheltered would be the right choice for this mission.

  “I needed someone who spoke and read the language,” Yanko said straight to... Dak’s chest. He had not vetted Mee Nar well, and he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit Dak was right, not out loud.

  “And the spy next door was the obvious choice.”

  “My first thought was Akstyr, because I doubted he would care one way or another about Kyattese history, but I didn’t think he would be able to translate anything that didn’t involve women.”

  “Akstyr was your first thought?” Dak coughed. “If Akstyr and the spy next door are your choices for confidants, it’s clear the prince didn’t choose you for your ability to find and utilize allies.”

  “No.” Still staring at his chest, Yanko muttered, “I haven’t figured out why he chose me.”

  Dak sighed and started pacing.

  Yanko took a deep breath and lifted his chin. “I may not know why he chose me, but he did, so I have to do my best to find what he wants and bring it to him. It’s hope for my people, and I’m bound by my family’s honor, by my honor, to obey the Great Chief and his kin, to help the Great Land. Or to die trying.”

  “And what happens when obeying the Great Chief isn’t what’s best for the Great Land?”

  “I... do not know that I’ll ever be fit to judge the Great Chief, but I would have to put helping my people first.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Dak said softly.

  Was he? He didn’t sound sarcastic, not like before, but Yanko couldn’t imagine a Turgonian caring one way or another what happened to Nuria.

  The door clicked open, and Mela walked in with a yellowed newspaper in hand.

  “I thought you weren’t going to help,” Dak said.

  “I wasn’t. I’m not. Even if I wanted to help the Nurians, which I don’t, my daughter would be the one you would want on your team to hunt for artifacts.” She had started out speaking to Dak, but now, she was addressing Yanko.

  He sat straight in the chair, looking at her and resisting the urge to squint at the newspaper, but he couldn’t deny the curiosity—and hope—that burned in his chest. Might they help him, after all?

  “Your story reminded me of something from when I was a girl,” Mela said. “At the Polytechnic, we’ve long taught history, archaeology, philology, cartography, and other subjects useful in finding old things. We have fielded some of the most renowned archeologists in the last couple of centuries, but...” Her mouth twisted wryly. “We’ve also fielded some of the most infamous relic raiders too.”

  Mela held the front page of the newspaper up so Yanko and Dak could see.

  “Uhm, I need a translation, please,” Yanko said.

  “Heanolik Tomokosis, better known as the Mausoleum Bandit, was an archaeology student who turned into a pirate and a relic raider. He made a fortune unearthing ancient treasures and selling them to the highest bidder. But apparently, hunting in remote jungles for booty wasn’t enough. Seventy years ago, he staged his biggest heist ever, bringing in his team of pirate underlings to rob the Kyattese Interpretive Museum, the home of countless historical documents and artifacts from our own history.” She laid the newspaper on the desk, grabbed a pencil, and circled an item in a list.

  “What does that say?” Yanko leaned forward, hoping she had the answer he wanted.

  “Old lodestone, gold.”

  “Descriptive,” Dak said.

  Yanko was not sure whether to feel optimistic or disappointed. He had no idea what the artifact he sought looked like, not that the newspaper article had a picture, anyway, and he also had no idea how many gold lodestones had been lurking around that museum. The only lodestones he had ever seen had all been grayish black. Was a golden one rare, or had altering their natural colors been trendy a few centuries ago?

  “If it’s the artifact I was sent to find, would they have had it out in a display case in a museum? If it could lead people to a continent that your ancestors didn’t want anyone to find aga
in... at least not for a long, long time...” Yanko searched Mela’s face, wondering how much of the story she knew. Was she like the librarian, who might have been lied to her whole life and had no concept as to where her people had truly come from?

  “It came out of the vault under the museum, not a display case.” Mela pointed at the second paragraph of text. “All of the pieces the raider stole were from the vault, and there have been numerous expeditions sent out in search of the pieces over the years. My daughter even went on one about ten years back. That’s why I thought of this story when Dak mentioned a lodestone.” She tapped the newspaper.

  Dak squinted thoughtfully at Mela.

  “What happened to the pirate?” Yanko asked.

  “Turgonian warships took down his vessel about six months after this heist. It sank to the bottom of the ocean with his bones aboard.”

  “The bottom of the ocean?” Yanko slumped back in the chair. “A deep part of the ocean?”

  “About five hundred feet or so, actually. It was inaccessible until the Turgonian flugnugstica came along.”

  “The what?”

  Mela shrugged at Dak. “Is there a Nurian word for them yet?”

  “They’re calling them underwater boats.”

  “Regardless, my daughter’s expedition went down in one, searched the entire wreck, and didn’t find any great treasures. This wasn’t surprising, given that months had passed between the date of the heist and the date that the ship sank. Many historians believe that the Mausoleum Bandit had multiple hideouts and caches all throughout the island chains in this part of the ocean. Booby-trapped and difficult to find. As far as I’ve heard, nobody has discovered any of them.”

  If countless historians and archaeologists had not found the pirate’s stash, how was Yanko supposed to do so? For that matter, how was he supposed to know if this was even the right lodestone?

  “What else was stolen at the same time?” Dak pointed to the list.

  Mela bent back over the newspaper. “A book of maps, a sextant, a journal, a sure-sight artifact, and the broken wheel from one of the founder’s ships.”