“I am Lord Fobata, Duke of Coe Aela,” The rotund man pronounced as Basha, Oaka, Monika and even Fato bowed before him. “Thank you. This is my steward Marlo--” He gestured with his handkerchief to the old man that stood beside him, whose gray hair had almost conquered his original chestnut hair, in plain clothes with a pointed chin and goatee. The steward bowed to the guests solemnly, attempting to hide a brief smile.
“And this is Captain Goga, head of my guards,” Fobata pointed disdainfully at the guard that had ordered the men to stand down, and was now alighting upon the ground. Captain Goga turned his frown upon the newcomers before he looked away in disgust. Goga had a thick, bushy head of curled blond hair whipped into a frenzy, raw angular cheeks that appeared to have been shaved too closely with nicks, stern eyes and thin lips. He wore dark clothes of a commanding presence underneath thin armor.
“I am Basha of Coe Baba,” Basha spoke up, a little surprised at himself for being so bold in the midst of some unpleasant company. “This is Oaka, also of Coe Baba, Monika of the Za Desert, and Fato the falcon, royal messenger bird.” He said, introducing his companions in turn as they bowed their heads.
Fato frowned. “I can introduce myself.” He muttered under his breath.
“Welcome, and be merry, for you are safe from those Black Wolves.” Lord Fobata said, tucking his handkerchief into his coat pocket and nodding his head. “Nothing of Doomba’s horrors could ever pierce these thick limestone walls, which have stood for over a thousand years.” He gestured towards the walls. “And be merry as well for you have come at a most prodigious time, for it is my birthday celebration.” He smiled. “Come join us this evening in the grand banquet hall and feast to your delight, while you are entertained most heartily,” He pronounced, turning away.
“We humbly thank you, your Grace, for sheltering us, and we are most honored to be here at such a fortuitous time,” Basha said, bowing again and feeling uneasy with this whole experience. Lord Fobata’s invitation and assurance, while it was most welcome, (welcome, welcome, everyone was welcome) seemed to be cold and awkward to him as if it was not truly meant, but he supposed that was just his own discernment after the discomfort of being chased by Black Wolves and nearly threatened by Captain Goga’s guards. There was something else nagging him about Lord Fobata’s appearance, but he couldn’t remember what it was.
“Marlo, see to it that they are settled in suitable quarters,” Lord Fobata told his steward, without any more regard for his new guests, and then walked away back towards the castle. The crowd parted once more and he waved to everyone that surrounded him before he went back inside. Fobata shuddered to himself as the doors closed.
“All right, everyone, there is nothing more to see here.” Goga said, turning towards the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your business. That means you, too, gents,” He said to his guards, and they dispersed, muttering disquietedly amongst themselves as they glanced back at Basha and his group.
“Well, that went well,” Oaka muttered.
“It will be all right, Oaka.” Basha said. “We’re just not used to this sort of thing and we must have made a horrible, shocking first impression on them, running in here being chased by Black Wolves--no wonder they distrust us, or something like that.”
“Are you trying to make excuses for them?” Oaka asked.
“I don’t like the look of Lord Fobata and Goga.” Monika said, shaking her head. “Especially Lord Fobata. That wig is disingenuous, like the rest of him. Nothing here is sincere.”
“I agree with you there,” Fato said, nodding.
Basha blinked; surprised that Monika felt the same way he did about Fobata’s greeting. “We just have to get used to this place,” He said, staring up at the walls and then at the castle. “My Tau...do you see all of this, Oaka?” Basha laughed. “This is a real live castle, like the ones in stories! Monika, have you ever seen anything like this before?” He asked her.
“I’ve seen fortresses and the like,” Monika said, “In some cities, though nothing like this castle before now, I have to admit,” She said, though almost disdainfully. Perhaps the castle was not as beautiful as it was imposing, but Basha thought that it was suitable to take shelter in, especially if Fobata was right about it being a thousand years old. It certainly looked that old, in any case, but at least it had lasted this long.
“Wait till you get to Coe Kiki.” Fato remarked, smiling. “The sight of that palace, and the whole city, is liable to take your breath away.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Oaka said, nodding. “Right now I’m just glad to be here alive.”
Marlo the steward approached them. “Gentlemen, and lady,” He said, nodding and bowing as they bowed back. “You may take your bags, and this servant here,” He nodded toward a thin, small servant about 5 years younger than some of them with black hair, “will take your horses to the stables.”
Basha, Monika, and Oaka hesitated about giving up their horses to someone who seemed too young to be a servant, unused to being served by somebody else as well, but they gathered up their belongings and handed the reins over to the servant as bidden. “Thank you, and don’t worry,” said the servant who sounded like a girl, “I will take good care of them, you can count on that.” The servant added before leading off Talan, Deja, and Joko towards the stables.
The group members stared at one another before they, too, were led away by Marlo.
The Black Wolves, his Hyena Wolves, had failed once again to capture their prey, Doomba thought to himself, and then they had to be called away from the pursuit in order to give others a chance to succeed. It was frustrating for Doomba to have the hunt halted so abruptly, just as he was beginning to enjoy it and just as the Wolves were starting to give him a good, small hint of his prey, several people on horseback, but which one was the tiger? All of them seemed to be good candidates at this point.
However, it was necessary, even crucial to him at this point, that the hunt should be called off, to lull the group into a false sense of hope and security in Coe Aela. The Black Wolves could not penetrate the walls of Coe Aela, after all, which Doomba had recognized through the blur of the chase, and it would be pointless of them to try. He had forced the Black Wolves to turn back around and surrender the attack, when they were not needed here for now.
Let others take control of the situation, and give them the chance to prove their worth as Followers of Doomba for once. Maybe they would succeed where others had failed, although would they know that these newcomers were the ones he sought? Would they know that…no, he would not underestimate them, all he had to do for now was wait for some news of the outcome, and hopefully it would be good news for once. Coe Aela had disappointed him in the past, but it was their turn now, let them toy and play the gambit. He couldn’t wait.
Waiting, waiting, his whole existence had boiled down to waiting, for at least 26 centuries he had spent in this interminable state, and he was tired of it. When would be his chance to shine? All he wanted to do, after so many years of waiting for Coe Pidaria to open up, for the destruction of Arria, and for the tiger to show up, was to stand up once more and march out into the world on his own two feet, to rule and conquer as he wished, but he could not even do that. It was so very little to ask for in the end, but what more could he want? Mobility, power, freedom, this was what he desired.
The rottenness inside his body was so pervasive that he could not even heal himself properly. There was no way to restore the body, much less preserve it in its current state, after nearly 3,000 years of existence and decay. It would continue to decline, and he might fail along with the body, or become nothing more than a mere shadow himself. To be a mere shadow was to be insubstantial, prone to weakness, exploitation by others, and doubt from his Followers and Servants, until he finally did fall from power. This would not do, after so long spent trying to control himself and others. He was not about to let go of power.
Yet what was the point of obtaining and controlling
so much power in the first place if he could not even use it properly in physical form? No, he had to correct this, he was not about to let himself go. He would do something, perhaps to stymie the loss of his body, and sustain it for as long as he could until he transferred his consciousness onto another host, perhaps that of the tiger. From what he had gathered or sensed, the tiger would be the perfect host for his self. The strength, youth, and vitality of the tiger’s body would sustain him for 26 more centuries, and allow him to wield his powers in full while maintaining physical strength.
Memba’s body was bound to have been even weaker than the tiger’s body at the outset, after all, and look how long this body had lasted, despite deterioration. Perhaps it would be possible to obtain the tiger’s body and, instead of killing it, invade it, purging the tiger’s consciousness of everything that made him who he was to make way for his own. Of course, Memba had not even vanished completely from the body that Doomba now possessed, having passed along some of his feelings and memories of humanity onto the demon. So there may be some small trace left of the tiger inside Doomba’s new body, but Doomba could choose to ignore whatever the tiger had to say, and it might even make such possession fun, to control and overrule the tiger, to make him feel helpless for centuries, just like he did.
Doomba had a habit of taking apart whatever he most despised and making something new out of it, perhaps hideous and horrible to others, but he gained a sense of pride and accomplishment from the act, feeling that he had created something worthwhile, perhaps a living, breathing thing that would go on to cause great damage. This would be a major accomplishment, one that could be recorded for all of history to behold, marvel at, and despise. Although it could be weeks, even months before the tiger was close enough for Doomba to possess him, and even then, the tiger was bound to resist, it was a possibility that Doomba was willing to consider, tempting as it was to make such fiendish use of the tiger of light’s body, and corrupt his memory. The tiger of light would hate what he had become.
Whatever occurred, however he might accomplish the task of preserving his body or obtaining a new one, next time, he would not waste precious hours and years waiting for something to happen. He would use his powers, and let the kingdoms of this world tremble and crumble about him.
There was a knock on the door and Doomba groaned. “What is it now?” He called out.
A gringrok poked its head in and said, “A Trolla from the Pits is here to report on yesterday’s escape attempt.”
“Escape attempt?” Doomba gasped when such a thing was unheard of, or at least it had been for the past few centuries. “Would someone please explain to me what has gone wrong at the Pits?” He asked.
Iibala held open the front door, and with Sisila’s and Mirari’s help, carried in her father. “His room is in the back, by the stairs,” She said as they navigated through the parlor, careful not to hurt Sir Nickleby too much, and entered his bedroom. “One moment,” She said, pulling back the quilt and blanket on his bed before she and the other women transferred him onto it. “That should do for now, I think, thank you,” She said, glancing towards the other two women as they moved away from the bed in silence to the doorway. It was almost like a funeral, how awkward they all were with their voices and their heads down.
“I do not know for how long I shall be in town this time,” Mirari said, glancing towards the bedroom window. “There are other places I travel to during the seasons of Reda, Plig, and Suma. But I shall check in on him whenever I am in town and if you want me to, for a small fee though.”
Iibala slowly nodded. “I suppose that is all I can expect.” She sighed. “We can talk about payment, perhaps on a monthly basis, whenever you do come by next.” Her voice hardened as she knew it was time to talk business.
“I will not accept payment for what I have done up to now, though,” Mirari said slowly, lowering her voice and head even more as she softened. “That was out of kindness, and I suppose I had to for his sake. Not like I would ever leave somebody by the side of the road, especially in his state.”
“Thank you,” Iibala said softly. Mirari was a good woman, even though she sometimes had to act harsh for whatever reason she had.
Sisila glanced around, and then looked down at Sir Nickleby. “You certainly did an excellent job, though,” She said, approaching the bed and examining the wounds from afar. “For though he might have been attacked by the wolves not that long ago, it already looks like it has been healed for about a month.”
“That’s just my skill,” Mirari said, looking up sharply. “I bandaged and cleaned his wounds right, making sure they were tightly wrapped, and then I gave him a potion that would allow him to sleep soundly so that his wounds would heal themselves.” She defended herself. “He’ll be fine with further treatment--I can guarantee there will be no infection.”
Iibala slowly nodded and glanced at Mirari, wondering why she had been so fiercely defensive. “All right. I suppose we should let my father rest. Does he need any treatment now, or will he be fine for awhile yet?”
“He’ll be fine for awhile yet.” Mirari said slower. “I’ll come by tomorrow, once I’m settled in at the inn, if you need me.” She turned away. “He might need another dose by then.”
“Yes, thank you, do come by then, and--” Iibala hesitated before she grabbed Mirari’s arm. “Don’t say a word about this to anyone.” She told Mirari firmly, making her own demand. “We do not want people to know what has happened to my father.”
“What? Why?” Mirari asked, glaring at Iibala as Sisila gasped.
“You do not know what kind of an effect this will have on people,” Iibala said, glancing over at Sisila. “You see, he went out with Basha and Oaka, the sons of the innkeeper Geda, on a quest. And they will fear what has happened to Basha and Oaka if they find out what has happened to my father. Please, please do not tell them, at least not yet.” She begged.
Mirari gaped at them. “Why, you should not keep a secret like this, or ask me to keep such a secret,” She wiggled out of Iibala’s grasp, “from the good people here in Coe Baba, especially from Basha’s and Oaka’s family, who will find out eventually. I don’t know how you can hide this secret for very long.”
“I do not want to worry them, and they will not find out for awhile,” Iibala said. “I have a way of avoiding notice. In any case, I can and will face the consequences when they do come. You do not have to worry about being blamed.”
“Please?” Sisila asked Mirari uncertainly, without really knowing why Iibala had to ask this of Mirari.
“Fine, I will do so, but I will hate every moment of it,” Mirari said, glaring at the two girls. “I do not know what is going on here, but I will want a full explanation out of you next time, Iibala,” She said, leaving the ranch house.
“Iibala, you are…” Sisila shook her head and approached the other young woman. “I do not know if I should thank you or…are you quite sure we should not worry the others unless absolutely necessary? I do not think we are going about it the right way.” Sisila said.
“It is the only way, for now.” Iibala said, turning to her. “If you are so sure that Oaka is still alive, then Basha might be alive as well, and thus far my father has survived…we have to believe what we must believe or else all hope will be lost for us.” She said, turning to face her father.
She had to review the facts in her head. She had to talk to the Old Man. Ever since her father had revealed to her what little he knew about the Old Man, Basha, the tiger and the Black Wolf, the tenuous connections that might exist between each, leading to a whole web of intrigue, not to mention what little she had seen herself with the crows, and now…she had to question whether it was true, that Basha might be the tiger. She had to know before she could speak to Sisila about what she suspected. She trusted that Sisila would be able to keep this secret, as her beloved Oaka was involved, and Sisila had to know what was happening.
Sisila slowly nodded. “Thank you. I shall be going home now, un
less you need me to help you.”
“I suppose I can manage with my father on my own,” Iibala said, slowly nodding, “But you can stay if you like, if you need some company. It can be tough living on your own, I imagine, especially with Oaka traveling.”
“I have company right now staying at my house.” Sisila said, looking down.
“What? Who?” Iibala turned back around to face Sisila.
“Jawen. She...sort of moved out of her home soon after accepting Basha’s proposal of marriage. She could not bear living with her family any longer, after finally being freed in a sense, and even with Basha gone, she found it intolerable there with her father and the rest of her family making her feel uncomfortable. She decided it was best that she leave, and try to start a new life for herself.”
“How has that worked out so far?” Iibala asked, shocked and curious. Jawen and Sisila living together? Of course they would be together; they had always been together, even when the three of them were friends. Jawen had always been closer with Sisila than either one of them had been close to Iibala, but she had gotten used to it.
“She has tried to get a job for herself at a shop.” Sisila shrugged. “Not much luck so far.”
Iibala shook her head. “Will wonders never cease?” She muttered to herself, walking over to her father’s bedside. “Well, good bye, Sisila, and good luck with you and Jawen. Hopefully she will keep you company.” She said. Perhaps she shouldn’t begrudge them their friendship, but sometimes it could be lonely to be the odd one out.
“Do you suppose Mirari will keep our secret?” Sisila asked, looking up towards Iibala on her way out.
“I believe she might,” Iibala said, looking down at her father. “Especially if I threaten to tell her secret to the rest of the townspeople.”
“What secret is that?” Sisila asked.
“Mirari knows and uses magic to heal people.” Iibala smiled. So many secrets.
Servants and Followers (The Legends of Arria, Volume 2) Page 16