A E Johnson

by alice johnson

  open. Harris listened as he sat at his desk, he heard

  the slow pounding of footsteps coming up the stairs.

  He glanced up to see the palace alchemist, Godfrey,

  slowly and exhaustedly he climbed the stairs.

  “I would’ve come to you myself,” said Harris as he

  watched Godfrey struggle up the last few stairs. His

  delicate frame concerned Harris.

  “No need,” laughed Godfrey, astonishingly out of

  breath he finally reached the floor of the office. He

  looked around to see the wonderful work that had

  been carried out, the once aging wooden floor was

  gone, now covered with extravagant parquet flooring,

  the windows were now intact with a light blue painted

  surround, the walls were a luscious cream, soft blue

  furnishings brightened the already large and airy room.

  The ceiling was painted white, with the beams painted

  a dark blue. The wall to the back of Harris’s desk was

  now covered with maps, Harris’s work.

  “I must say, you’ve made quite the impact so far,”

  said Godfrey as he slowly walked towards Harris’s

  desk, he seemed to struggle to lift his head, his neck

  was filled with age, his bones barely supported his

  weight anymore.

  “Impact?” asked Harris, “it’s what I do,” he said

  with a laugh, “I can’t seem to help it.” He watched

  Godfrey make his way towards the desk, he did not

  offer to help, knowing that at Godfrey’s age, dignity

  was everything, he respected his right to struggle.

  Finally, Godfrey reached his desk. Slowly, he sat at

  the chair opposite and placed a leather-bound box on

  the desk.

  “I assume you know what you’re doing?” asked

  Godfrey with a low tone, he stared towards Harris, his

  small eyes seemed to struggle to widen through the

  wrinkles.

  Harris reached forward, he slowly took the box

  and placed it in front of him. “You were successful?”

  he widened his eyes from under his brow towards

  Godfrey, his hands were flattened on the desk, either

  side of the box.

  Godfrey gave a single low nod. “Very,” his deep

  tone seemed to echo through the room. “Pestilence,

  Harris, it’s a dangerous game.”

  Harris did not pay any heed to his words of

  warning as he slowly opened the box, three separate

  vials of clear liquid were inside. The seemingly

  ordinary liquid would in fact, wreak havoc on the

  world.

  “I know, the Atlanti pissed off The Commander,”

  he said with a low tone, “the gods will now make them

  pay.”

  “You liken yourself to the gods?” asked Godfrey in

  a high-pitched tone, he sat back in his chair, unable to

  hold his laughter.

  “I play my part in this, if the gods believe I’m

  wrong, then may they strike me down.”

  “A piece of advice, from an old man,” said

  Godfrey as he began to stand, “your actions now,

  matter not to you at this moment in time, look to your

  future, your death bed awaits, the Kalanti on the

  bridge will weigh your guilt.”

  Harris had no guilt; his actions were clear. Slowly

  he stood, he placed the box into the draw of his desk.

  He looked to Godfrey from under his brow with his

  head lowered.

  “Tell me something, Godfrey.” He sat back in his

  chair; his elbows rested on the arms as his fingers

  caught in front of him. “Do you have any guilt, in what

  you’re helping me do?”

  Godfrey raised his ageing brows, his eyes seemed

  to grow weary. “None at all, Harris,” he softly replied,

  “you cannot replace a life by taking another.”

  “No, you can’t,” replied Harris, leaning forward he

  took his quill back in hand, “but it gives me a lot of

  satisfaction to try.” He continued his work.

  Godfrey stood, slowly he began to walk back

  towards the stairs, until a thought came into his mind,

  he looked towards Harris from over his shoulder.

  “Vengeance is a dangerous game, know who you’re

  dealing with, we live in a world of balance, create an

  imbalance, and you will suffer for it.”

  “Suffering is something I do best,” murmured

  Harris, his eyes remained on the paper in front. He

  looked up to Godfrey as he turned to leave. “I’m

  righting a wrong, I am the balance.”

  The summer afternoon brought rain to the city of

  Cronnin. The streets outside Harris’s window began to

  empty, the city turned to the pattering of rain, the

  voices were silent. Before his work was finished for the

  turn, Harris had one last job to do. Making his way

  from his office he donned a long black leather cloak,

  the hood almost reached over his eyes and to his nose,

  completely covering his face. He wore his braces and

  boots, concealing the many weapons he carried.

  Hurrying past Librye’s door he gave a quick

  glance, ensuring she was not there. The main hall was

  still as he reached the fountain. Balthus made his way

  towards him.

  “Off to the barbers?” Balthus asked in a sarcastic

  tone.

  Harris glared to him with his piercing green eyes.

  “Don’t try me, old man,” he warned with a twisted

  smile.

  Balthus called to him, “It would help your image!”

  Harris shouted, “My image is fine!” He did not see

  the need to cut his hair. Most of those who worked at

  the palace had the same boring crew cut, he liked his

  long locks of barbaric black hair. As he left the door,

  he mumbled, annoyed, “Nothing wrong with my hair.”

  Svend was ready to receive his rider, as he waited

  in the courtyard to the palace. Dark black skies

  poured with rain; it was Harris’s favourite weather to

  ride in. He quickly rode from the palace gates and into

  the city. The city had four main roads, the thick veins

  led to a further eight roads, each road was for the

  faster riders, usually used by carts, going by the roads

  on foot was far too dangerous. Harris rode to the west

  gate, out of the city and hurried towards the Grenhilda

  valley. The roads were now dark as he rode towards

  Roma, a large town west of Cronnin city. The town

  shared its boarders with the Grenhilda forest.

  The night-time wood was oddly comforting to

  Harris. The trees dripped with falling rain, the road

  splashed as Svend’s hooves thundered by. They soon

  came out of the cold black wood and into the town of

  Roma. The Travellers Rest was a tavern Harris was

  familiar with. Several of his favourite pornes resided in

  the tavern, but he was not there for any physical

  attention.

  Harris burst through the doors with his arms open

  wide. “Harris!” came a call from the long bright brown

  bar, as the bar keep, John, widened his smile. “Who

  are you here for today then, Commander?” Before

  Harris could answer, John called, “Beth! He’s ba
ck!”

  A young blond woman stepped from the back of

  the bar, her smile lit her pale face, her light blue

  shining eyes seemed to widen at the sight of him, she

  came towards him as quickly as she could, her slim

  frame did not even seem to have any effect on his

  solid body. He wrapped his arm around her tiny waist.

  “I’ve missed you,” she whispered with a breath.

  “And I you,” said Harris, with is deep powerful

  voice, “All of you,” he looked to the wide-open busy

  tavern, “however,” he said with regret as he looked to

  the young Beth, “I’m here on business, I’m here to

  see your father.” She released her grip and pouted her

  bottom lip. “I’m sure I’ll return soon,” he said with a

  promise.

  He lumped his elbows onto the bar, John glared to

  him from under his brow. “Another favour?” John

  asked with a low grumble, “how much this time?” he

  asked with a wide smile as he washed some tankers

  and began placing them back on the shelf. Harris

  reached into his coin purse, he took the heavy leather

  bag and heavily placed it on the bar. John stopped

  what he was doing and turned, he placed his hands on

  the bar and glared towards Harris, his eyes widened

  towards the leather bag. “How much, Harris?” he

  asked with a slight whisper.

  “There’s enough to see the tavern through to next

  year,” replied Harris. John’s eyes widened further; his

  lips parted towards the bag, “it’s a lot, John, but you

  know, I wouldn’t give a lot, unless I was asking a lot.”

  He knew he could trust the tavern, John had

  helped him before, but this was the biggest favour he

  would ever ask of anyone.

  “Shit, Harris,” commented John as he lifted the

  bag, “what you done this time?”

  Harris laughed, he looked to John and explained

  with a wide smile. “I’ve done nothing.” John busied

  himself by pulling a pint of Command Ale for Harris,

  he placed it in front of him. “You heard about

  Marrion I assume?” Harris asked with a low tone.

  John sucked air in through his tightly pressed lips.

  “Nasty business that,” he shook his head.

  “What part?” asked Harris as he narrowed his eyes

  towards John, he took a drink of his ale as he listened.

  “Nothing much is known about what happened,

  that Branwen, she was the only one who lived, but the

  nasty part,” said John as he turned to carry on drying

  tankers, “that was your battle, we’ve all been watching,

  waiting, for The Commander’s revenge,” a darkness in

  his eyes seemed to bring a silence to the busy tavern.

  The people coming and going passed quickly, not

  wanting to get involved, not wanting to bother the

  commander at all. “I can only assume now, that’s why

  you’re here?”

  “John, you can say no,” said Harris, his eyes

  relaxed, he did not want to bring danger to anyone,

  especially a family who had helped him so many times

  in the past.

  John replied with a quiet and sincere voice, “No, I

  can’t.” He stopped his work and turned back to

  Harris. “You’ve saved this tavern from many

  problems, the least I can do, is keep your secrets.” His

  trusting eyes forced Harris to take a small bag from the

  side of him, no larger than a coin purse. “What’s

  that?” asked John.

  Harris looked to John; his intense green eyes

  glared towards him. “This is The Commander’s

  revenge,” Harris replied, his voice was broken,

  knowing what he was about to unleash. “I need you, to

  take these, three vials, three pigeons, one to

  Marrion…”

  “It wouldn’t make it past the falcons,” John

  interrupted.

  “I know, that’s the idea,” said Harris with a low

  tone, “the second, is to go to the Atlanti camp, to the

  east of Tosta, the third is the settlement, of Belgravia.”

  He spelt warning in his eyes. “John, I need you to do

  this, do not open them, do not let curiosity take over.”

  John leant onto the bar; his eyes lit with curiosity.

  “What’s in them, Harris?” he whispered.

  Harris looked over his shoulder, the tavern was

  busy, but they were all busy going about their business.

  He looked back to John and whispered, “Death, I am

  death, John, no one takes from The Commander.”

  The first part of his plan was done, he knew John

  would send them that night, and so, he had to be fast

  with the second part.

  Harris was more cunning than most had given

  credit. He had his plan well in hand, he rode further

  west, towards the next village of Nortroma. The tavern

  there was small, a second travellers rest called, ‘The

  Old Bear Arms,’ stepping inside, the tavern was

  empty, the small beams above him were covered with

  years of dust, dirt, and grime, the floor was sticky, and

  a stench of stale ale hung in the air.

  “’Arris!” called the bar maid.

  “Cally!” called Harris as he gleefully stepped

  inside.

  “What can I get you?” Harris stepped towards the

  bar, Cally was a well-built woman, her curled locks of

  messy orange hair reminded him of the chaotic

  Tharacka tree in the heat of summer. Her round

  figure fitted perfectly with her rosy red cheeks and

  perfect smile. “Or you can just have me if you like?”

  she asked with a wink as Harris sat at the bar.

  He could not help but laugh as he gave a slight

  shake to his head. “Come on, Cally, the last time you

  nearly killed me,” he said with a frightened look of

  defeat, “I can honestly say though, given more time, I

  would gladly stay,” he lowered his tone. “I need a

  favour,” he sheepishly asked.

  Harris slammed a coin purse on the bar, along

  with a letter. The thud of the purse caught Cally’s

  attention as she glared towards it. “Oh! for the sake…

  what you done this time?” she asked, seemingly

  annoyed.

  Harris held his arms out, he replied with a high-

  pitched tone, “I’ve done nothing!”

  “Then why, Mr Bearwood, are you offering

  payment for a favour?” she asked with her brows

  lowered.

  “Cally,” sighed Harris, “just send the fucking

  letter,” he moaned, “don’t read it, just send it.”

  She narrowed her eyes and looked to him from

  the corner of her eyes. “Why do I struggle to say no to

  you?”

  Harris gave a broad smile. “Because you love me,”

  he laughed, “all letters to the taverns have to be

  marked from the sender, I don’t want trouble for you,

  the letter is to be sent to Enderton, to your cousin,

  Sam.”

  “Apologies, Harris,” said Cally, her tone of regret

  only made Harris smile, “but, me and Sam ‘ain’t

  talked in an age, letters aren’t getting through,

  everything is b
eing taken by the Atlanti,” she softly

  explained. Harris gave a burning look of glee towards

  her. Cally turned, her look of regret twisted as she

  spotted Harris’s cunning plan. “Unless that’s what you

  want?”

  Harris’s smile grew. “Cally, the least you know, the

  better, I would never put my ladies in danger.”

  Cally turned to place some plates on the shelf

  behind her. “Lady,” she laughed, “that’s something I

  ain’t heard in a while,” she commented. As Cally

  turned back, Harris was gone, the door to the small

  tavern was slowly closing. “Bye, ‘Arris,” she softly said

  with a loving look towards the door.

  His plan complete, Harris headed back towards

  Cronnin, the midnight moon hid behind the gathering

  storm clouds. An overwhelming feeling of doom

  seemed to follow him through the gates of the city as

  the guards lifted them. A feeling of danger lingered in

  the air. Revenge had been unleashed on the world,

  and before the end of the turn, the name of The

  Commander would carry a terrifying curse. He would

  be known.

  The smell of rain drifted in to Librye’s window, the

  early morning mist crept along the floor of the cooling

  city outside. A knock at the door startled her.

  “Come on, Librye, I want my sweetbread,” called

  Harris from the door.

  “One moment!” she shouted, as fast as she could,

  Librye rushed about her room getting dressed. As she

  removed her night gown, she was shocked to see the

  blood stain on the back of it. She had been bleeding,

  again, in the night. She rushed to get dressed, hoping

  that the bleeding had stopped. She could hear Harris

  tapping his foot as he stood impatiently outside. “I’ll

  be out soon!” she shouted to him.

  Finally, the door opened, Librye emerged. “Rough

  night?” asked Harris as he looked to the state of her

  hair. “You become more like me every day,” he

  sniggered. Librye tried her best to straighten her hair

  as they made their way towards the main hall.

  As they came down the stairs towards the hall,

  Harris dropped his enthusiasm as he saw a tall man

  stood with Brenin, Kailron and Afie in the main hall.

  “Ah!” the man called out gleefully as he saw Harris

  approach. His hair was fair, he wore robes of the finest