A Summoner's Calling

by Jacquelyn Evans

  “Yes, sir. You there, take your group. Make sure every man, woman and child attends,” Gesthal orders.

  “I think adjustments will have to be in order. Unlike my father, her defiance will meet my merciless impatience. I’ll visit after this; will you be joining our little presentation here?” Vladimir offers as the coachman presses onward, picking up the pace.

  “No, I’ll be returning to the volcano,” Kosmos says.

  “So be it,” Vladimir nods.

  Just before they pass Nija’s threshold, Kosmos leaves and merges into his rift. Vladimir peers through his window at the Black Razors dispersing throughout the village. He knows his soldiers will extract everyone from each dwelling.

  Vladimir chuckles, comparing Nija’s primitive wooden homes to his steam-technologically enhanced castle boosting his pride. A footman opens the carriage door and stands attentively to assist him with exiting.

  He steps out, straightening his regal robes. “Let’s not have any mistakes this time, shall we? Cory Tempest, was it?”

  “Correct, your majesty. There will be no mistakes, sir,” Cory replies folding his arm and clenching his fist over his heart. Vladimir nods to him while observing the street. They’re parked in front of an enormous tree, Irba’s home, but magic hides it from his view. He can neither see the luminescence of the trees, nor feel the magic that infuses Nija.

  “Your highness,” Gesthal bows.

  “My friend, how’s everything proceeding?” Vladimir asks.

  “Smoothly, sir. Everyone is in attendance, sir.”

  Erryn and Drotonic begin descending the steps from the bridge. She clenches Drotonic’s hand as she witnesses Vladimir outside his carriage.

  Failing to recognize her, Vladimir heads to the stage, escorted by his men to await his introduction.

  His general, Gesthal, ascends the stage. “I’m General Gesthal Stoneforge, commander of the magnificent King’s vast armies. All hail to the king. Today I introduce to you His Royal Highness, King Vladimir, whom is honoring your village with his presence. Tonight, he’ll speak to you of matters which concerns you all. Please, welcome King Vladimir. All hail to the king.”

  Gesthal steps aside as Vladimir steps to the center of the stage, addressing the citizens.

  “Thank you, general and thank you, the kind people of Nija for allowing me to speak here this evening. I’m grateful that you’ve all chosen to attend. Today, I come to you not as a king or a leader, but as a father. It’s been some time now since I began my search for someone dear and special to me. I hold prayers, hoping for the possibility of her to return home. Though, I remain alone and frightened for her. She’s never experienced the outside world before disappearing. I wouldn’t wish this feeling on any parent,” Vladimir manipulates the spotlight.

  “How can we be sure this isn’t a farce?” asks a civilian in the crowd.

  “Yes, how indeed? But why would I fight so much to come here begging for help, thereby belittling my character as a man in front of all of you? Regardless of my outlook, I plan to reward anyone selfless enough to offer their aid in finding her. You all know how frugal I am in fiscal management. I don’t misuse the taxes you pay, but I plan to grant any amount to help get her back. The last and only lead which remains unchecked is her coming here,” he explains as the audience begins to mutter. Vladimir withholds the urge to smile because his plan was working.

  “What’re you willing to promise us if we aid you?” shouts a woman, carrying her child.

  “I would gladly grant protection from any outsiders to maintain your secretive nature. I would help expand your village’s size, increasing the number of homes with the possible option of introducing a more sophisticated technology to better your quality of life. All I ask is to help me find my child. All I promised will be given,” Vladimir scrutinizes the faces of the crowd. He has become adept at pinpointing who his enticements have influenced.

  “Bullshit! Those are only nice broken promises to prey on the hearts of Nijans only to gain your own desires,” yells Erryn from the back of the crowd. The crowd’s mutters and whispers seize.

  Gesthal steps forward, “Who said that?”

  “Someone that’s well-educated in your past, namely the atrocious acts you’ve committed,” She stands out of the crowd as Drotonic tries to pull her back in.

  “Child, you don’t know of what you speak. If you can manage to get up here, I invite you to share your false theories among us. Giving me the chance to clear your ideologies,” Vladimir says.

  “Why would I do you the honor? I have no need to abide by you.” She stands firm in her place, not swayed from Drotonic's urging nudges to leave nor Vladimir's insisted entreaty motivates her otherwise. Gesthal is visibly enraged by her upstarts of insolence and orders his men to retrieve the girl. Vladimir stops them, gesturing his hand and beckoning her with a chance to join him once more. Again, Erryn refuses to move. It causes him to burn inwardly at her rebellion. Still composed he shrugs. "Perhaps you’re shy, no worries. Gentleman, would you be so kind as to help this young lady up here?"

  Without hesitation from their king's command, the soldiers move on Erryn, and one approaches from behind her. He touches her shoulder with a satisfying smile as the air intensifies around everyone.

  “I don’t think so,” She returns the smile by elbowing him in his stomach, forcing him to double over from the pain. It’s followed by a concussive fist to his face, knocking him back.

  “It’s futile; just go on the damn stage. Play nice to the crowd and shut your trap,” The soldier says, helping his comrade up and glaring at Erryn.

  “And keep his dark secrets to myself? I don’t think so,” she says, dodging between him and his comrade beside him. Before they could turn, Erryn kicks both in their rears, knocking them face-first onto the ground. She spins left, stepping back to a safer distance to continue her verbal assault, but a soldier grabs a foot before both could be planted firmly from her evasion. His grip tightens, forcing flashes to surface from the Wyvern Castle’s water grate.

  “Gotcha,” he grins, but his acute attention becomes triggered witnessing an anomaly of Erryn's eyes slipping from their normal green to a blazing purple. She regains control of it with a deep breath, returning her power to a rested state changing her eye color back to normal. Erryn twists her body, side kicking him with her free foot loosening his grip. She thrusts her heel into his face until he backs up, putting up his hands and trying to block the rest of the barrage. Then Erryn hurries back onto her feet, managing to climb up one of the nearest trees.

  “Not bad for a young girl,” Vladimir claps.

  “Thanks, but your flattery means very little,” she crosses her arms, relaxing along one of the branches.

  Who is this child? He wonders, irritated, why three adults couldn’t subdue one child.

  “Now, if you feel better in your new placement, you care to clarify what you were professing about before?” he asks, caressing his chin.

  “Oh, you mean when I was calling you out for a scummy liar. Baiting good, honest people into a dream that they’ll never see—only for you to reap the benefits. Yeah, that,” Erryn says.

  “How dare you deface the king’s name! This slander is practically treason, my lord.” Gesthal signals for the guard.

  “No, let her speak. I’m intrigued,” Vladimir says.

  “Your past negotiations and voyages have only resulted in your own benefit. Same goes for the inhumane experiments that you hide while those you worked on get buried,” she stands firm.

  “It’s unfortunate that sometimes negotiations and voyages don’t work out for both parties. That’s just business. A business that I was taught by my father, the king before me. But this thing about experiments I thought was cleared by now. Gesthal?” Vladimir explains, attempting to stay cool. He can see that the girl’s words were starting to arouse conversation among the Nijans.

  “Your Highness, you’re cleared of such accusations a long time ago,” Gesthal says.r />
  “Look, I admire your determination and speaking to me of what you think to be true. However, you’re mistaken, and mustn’t let someone else’s views become your own. For example, I was told to give up on looking and move on. Yet, here I am because I believe my daughter is still alive and can be found.” Vladimir says, trying to use the girl’s conviction to his advantage.

  “Yes, true. You’re here, but there are witnesses and survivors who know what is really true. They’re the ones who need to be heard here tonight.” Erryn says.

  To which the king smiles devilishly. “If there are others out there who say I’ve wronged them, why not have them come forward? Are any of them here now?” She leans forward about to say something, but sighs and leans back against the trunk of the tree before she irrevocably jeopardizes her safety and Nijas.

  “No? Well then, all you have are baseless accusations that have caused you to become disillusioned with your king. I commend your youthful spirit, though, and for bringing this to my attention. I must strive harder to work more closely with the people I protect for all my people to know I love them, just as they love me. Let’s give her a round of applause for speaking here tonight,” he says. The crowd claps as Erryn jumps down from the tree and turns to leave.

  “Halt! How dare you turn your back to the king,” Gesthal says as guards come to grab her arms.

  “Let her go. She’s just a misinformed child with impulsive assumptions,” Vladimir says.

  “You know, I’ve sympathy for you, Gesthal, for you can only see a monster as a king. I hope they never learn of your dark failed transgressions below your kingdom,” She shrugs, and the soldiers move from her as she walks off. Vladimir stands there sweating, angered that no one could stop her from shaming him on the stage.

  “Kids, nowadays. Now please, if you have any information before we leave, please come to us. Speak up now if you know anything. Before returning to your homes, please see a soldier who’ll give the descriptions of the child in question if you choose to help. Farwell Nija,” Vladimir says as he notices the girl whispering to a man in cleric robes before taking off towards the temple. As he leaves the stage, he sees a woman with blood-red hair talking with Cory who is stationed at his carriage.

  “My Lord, an excellent speech, sir,” Cory salutes.

  “Give her the description so we can leave promptly.” Vladimir slams the carriage door. I need a bath. Peasant filth.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but here’s a document listing her features. I wish you the best of luck,” Cory says and falls in line with the other soldiers. After the information is shared, all the soldiers march with the carriage exiting Nija and heading back to the castle in Dragonar.

  “Sir, I’ve something to report,” Gesthal says through the window.

  “What is it? I’m in no mood,” Vladimir says.

  “It’s about that girl, sir.”

  “What?” Vladimir glares. “I should have had her thrown in chains.”

  “The soldier that pulled her down before she got onto the stage says he witnessed her eyes change color to a purple essence of some kind. This was before she commenced kicking his face,” Gesthal says, and Vladimir cackles.

  Kosmos phases into the carriage to witness Vladimir’s mirth.

  “Did I miss something?” Kosmos asks.

  “Stupid child. She will regret making a fool of me in front of such an audience,” He rolls his hands together.

  “Child?” Kosmos asks.

  “Sir?” Gesthal asks.

  “We must pick up the pace and return there to claim what belongs to me,” Vladimir demands.

  “You’ve found her,” Kosmos realizes.

  “She insulted him before all of Nija,” Gesthal says.

  “That does sound like her, but there are matters that concern you at the volcano,” Kosmos says. Conflicted by this reminder, Vladimir puts his foot into the compartment across from him.

  “Sir, if you like, I can retrieve her in your stead so you can take care of other matters,” Gesthal offers as Vladimir ponders looking to Kosmos.

  “Why not go back in two days’ time to allow for proper preparation,” Kosmos suggests and Vladimir looks back to Gesthal awaiting his call.

  “You better not disappoint me, Gesthal,” Vladimir warns as darkness sets in, and they approach his kingdom.

  Nija : Drotonic

  8

  Sneaking along the outskirts of the crowd, Drotonic gets closer to the aligned trees and waits for Erryn to finally descend. She hops down and hastens her steps and almost passing him when he grabs her arm.

  “Do you even realize how dangerous that was?” Drotonic asks, holding back his outburst of panic and realizing her arms are shaking with her face is pale.

  “I couldn’t let these good people fall victim to him like that. Hell knows I wish someone had done that for me,” she whispers. She takes deep, calming breaths. Drotonic shakes his head, understanding her intentions as they leave the event to go the temple. Before turning down the path to the bridge, Erryn swaps from Drotonic’s left to his right-side, whispering, “Why’s Irba talking to him?”

  “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea,” Drotonic watches Irba talking with a soldier as they walk past them.

  As Vladimir’s entourage leaves Nija, Drotonic and Erryn enter the temple. They step in, and Drotonic looks around to a very vacant temple. No one had returned yet. Its emptiness causes him to feel awkward and displaced, never having experienced this before.

  “It’s so weird in h-,” Erryn starts to say. Drotonic turns to see Erryn biting her lip as she faces the front doors. The temple attendants and clergy arrive and line up along the wall, surrounding them. Drotonic stands ready to take the full brunt of the blame of her anarchy. The bishop walks in, closing the doors behind him as the gap behind him fills.

  “Bishop, look, I had to. He would have ruined so many people,” Erryn pleads, but the bishop steps forward with a stern glare towards her.

  “My Lord, don’t punish her. It’s my fault. I didn’t stop her. I should have been more persistent. Let the punishment fall upon me.” Drotonic throws his right arm in front of her, and the bishop turns his gaze to him. A silent tension fills the room, applying weight upon their chests. Then the bishop makes a single clap as they all start clapping with smiles on their faces.

  “Wait, what?” Erryn looks around at everyone smiling.

  “You can relax, Drotonic,” the bishop laughs, patting his shoulder.

  “But, the stage,” Drotonic points towards the outside.

  “We were all there. We saw, but thanks to the boldness of a particular somebody, Nija’s people have gotten the proper warning. You spoke very much like the bishop before me,” He smiles to Erryn.

  “The bishop before you?” she asks.

  “Yes, she refused him, denouncing his authority much like you just did. He attempted to come back and claim Nija as his own but succeeded only in failing,” the bishop says.

  “I didn’t think bishops could be girls,” Erryn says as everyone chuckles. The bishop nods to them as they disperse back to their work.

  “Now, if memory serves me correctly, you’re in need of some much-needed sleep if you’re to make your first steps on becoming the next summoner tomorrow,” he says as the maids walk over.

  “But it’s still early,” Erryn says.

  “Trust me, you’re going to need every bit of energy you can gather for tomorrow,” the bishop assures her.

  With a big yawn followed by a stretch, she agrees and turns down the hall with the maids. Drotonic begins to walk off, assuming he probably will be needing the same rest. But as he reaches the hall archway, one of the guards stops him.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the bishop asks.

  “To get some sleep, so I’m prepared for tomorrow. Yes?” he says.

  “Not yet. First, we must ascend you as an official divine sage. After tonight you’ll no longer be my pupil,” the bishop smiles. “I’m going to put
on my ceremonial robes. I suggest you prepare.” Drotonic now understands why everyone is so active about the temple so late at night.

  “But, sir I’m in no way in the right attire for this. I’m not ready,” Drotonic’s hands begin sweating and his stomach knots.

  “You’re fine.”

  Moments later, the bishop returns dressed in his official regalia and stands before the prayer doors. The doors open as the clerics and scribes proceed in before the temple attendants. As harmonic bells ring, the bishop enters. Drotonic looks inside with disbelief. This is really happening right now, isn’t it? he thinks.

  Drotonic enters the room, and the attendees stand. He walks down the aisle, endeavoring to conceal his shaking knees. In front of the room, both the bishop and Irba stand. Irba’s wearing her high office attire, looking every bit the queen she is. Drotonic has never seen her wear it before.

  “I, Queen Irbessa, will commence this monumental ceremony as the last remaining witch on this coven. Drotonic, we congratulate you for making it here today,” she says, as two people come to collect his robes and leave him in his clothes.

  Meanwhile, having trouble sleeping, Erryn leaves her room. She can hear Irba’s voice down the barren halls. As she reaches the main lobby, she sees the prayer doors open, so she sneaks in to see what’s happening.

  “Psst, Erryn,” whispers a maid on the end who slides in. It allows her the perfect angle to see Drotonic at the front robe less.

  “Drotonic, we’ve stripped you of all attire connected to your apprenticeship. Today your focus, spirit, endurance and devotion will be tested to judge whether your worthy or not of aspiring as the next divine sage,” the bishop announces. Drotonic accepts, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. A clergyman approaches Drotonic with a bowl filled with crystal water containing a knife.

  “I take this knife, making my mark. I vow to give my whole self. I promise to do so now and in the coming future.” Drotonic takes the knife. He holds it over the inside of his arm, hesitating for a moment. He takes the blade and rests it on his skin. It’s cold to the touch. As he applies pressure, the tip pierces the skin partying it. He moves the blade down the inside of his forearm, trying to ignore the pain. After making the shallow wound, he hands off the knife to the clergyman and holds his arm over the bowl, repeatedly squeezing his hand, as he pumps blood from the wound to drip into the bowl. The blood shades the water a rust color.