Servants and Followers (The Legends of Arria, Volume 2)

by Courtney Bowen

  “No, Janus, no. I’m different from you, you’re younger than you think, in terms of strength and vitality. I’m older. I’m too old now to change my ways, and I’m still too committed to Coe Aela to abandon it forever. Somebody has to stay behind to help Lord Fobata take care of things here, and I am still that man. My daughter would not like it if my allegiance still remained with Lord Fobata, so why bother her about it? Let her be happy without me, she probably won’t see me again.” Marlo said.

  “You’re too stubborn, Marlo, just like her. Good-bye, Marlo.” Janus said, shaking Marlo’s hand one last time before he turned away to rejoin Nisa as they went out the aperture with the rest of the servants, many of whom sang:

  “Give praises to the season of Plig,

  As we sow our bright futures in the dirt--

  Never forgetting the former Sna season,

  when harsh clouds of snow reigned.

  Sing this song and hope for bounty still,

  Remember how Za and Wan also plowed,

  And reaped their own benefits,

  Upon the land that belonged to them alone.

  When our seeds are firmly planted,

  Then we will walk forth with bearing--

  Never running, across the fields

  With the cadence of our hearts beating.

  We shall head right of the rising sun,

  To the shelter of Mother Earth,

  And to the welcome of her golden sons,

  To reap the benefit of our bright futures.”

  “I’ve never heard this song before. Where did it come from?” Nisa asked Janus as they walked into the forest.

  “It’s a code song.” He laughed. “We made it up when we thought we would be leaving the harsh oppression of Coe Aela during the Plig season—actually, Gnat made up most of the words.” He said. “‘We shall head right of the rising sun’, south from the eastern direction, ‘To the shelter of Mother Earth, And to the welcome of her golden sons’. Coe Kiki was named after the mother of King Marvola, a queen of Arria.” He said.

  “That does make sense. Quite clever, actually.” Nisa remarked as they faded away from Coe Aela’s view.

  “I know. Gnat does show promise.” Janus sighed as they vanished into the forest.

  “Good-bye, Janus.” The old steward said, watching him go before he turned back to rejoin Lord Fobata.

  “Thank you for staying.” Lord Fobata said to Marlo as he approached.

  “Don’t mention it,” Marlo muttered, going past his lord and back into the castle.

  “Well, I suppose we shall have to adjust ourselves to the absences of our servants,” Lord Fobata said, turning to his other clerks and assistants. “Find some way to organize ourselves to maintain the castle and our living standards.” He paused a moment to think before he commanded them, “Scrounge up whatever food stuffs you can find in the kitchen, and then we shall have a breakfast meeting this morning, as soon as possible. We need to assess our situation financially as well, to see if we can hire a few more servants and guards to help us out here, preferably those unfamiliar with this place. So bring your ledgers to the grand banquet hall as well. You are dismissed.” He said, and the clerks and assistants went out to follow his orders.

  The duke of Coe Aela went back inside, to be confronted by his last remaining guests from his birthday party almost two weeks ago, the freeloaders who would not go away, no matter what happened. But after he told them all what had just happened, that all of the servants of Coe Aela had just deserted, and now they would no longer be getting the kind of service that they had come to expect from Coe Aela before, the guests had started storming off, grumbling to themselves as they probably planned to pack up and leave as soon as possible. That was one good thing about the servants’ rebellion, repelling the freeloaders.

  He entered the grand banquet hall, empty of anyone except himself at this time, and began to pace back and forth as he waited for the clerks and assistants to arrive here. He should have been braver, and refused to let them go without a fight, instead of giving up to them so quickly and easily, he thought to himself. He should have stood up to them, and said--delayed rebuttals began to swarm his mind, rebuttals that he could have used against the servants, instead of just letting them go with a few short, sharp, swift words. But now they were gone, too far away to hear his scalding words, or to be affected by his anger. He was left on his own, to fend for himself, and no one was on his side.

  Lord Fobata sat down at a table, tired of pacing when it got him nowhere and did little good to relieve his stress, but he was still restless, angry at himself and his impotence. He reached down into his coat pocket and tugged out a white handkerchief with crimson stitching, which had ‘K&M’ on one side, and ‘Blessings, Your Sisters’ on the other. Holding it up to droop across his hand, he stared at its crimson stitching for a moment, remembering Kala, the woman, his second or third or fourth cousin, who had given it to him so many years ago. What would she think of him now?

  “It’s a wedding favor, for guests who came to my wedding,” Kala said, pressing the handkerchief into his hands, “See the stitching? The Sisters must have worked for hours on this one and the others.” She pointed out before she turned around to close the flap on her pack. “But you get one because we had so many left over after the wedding. Would Goga like one, do you think, for when he comes back?” She asked, looking back at him.

  “I suppose so.” Fobata said, and Kala turned back around to open her pack again.

  “I’m afraid this is the last of the guest handkerchiefs,” Kala said, pulling out a similar one to Fobata’s and handing it over to him, “All that’s left is my own.” She sighed, closing the pack again. “All of the guest handkerchiefs are the same as my own, except that their gift to me had indigo thread, not red.” She smiled sadly as she turned back to Fobata. “They stitched all of these handkerchiefs just for me. I never thought that they would, after the way that I left them, but that was my fault. Still, I chose my path, and I’m glad of it. Glad,” She said, patting her pregnant belly. “I got to enjoy my life with him, if only for a short while, and I don’t regret that one bit.” She said softly, almost crying.

  “Are you sure you can’t stay?” Fobata asked her.

  “No, Fobata, no. I told you, I’ve got to go.” She said, turning around to mount up her horse, although Fobata had to help her up. “The Sna season is almost upon us, and I have to reach my destination. I’ve lingered too long already.” She muttered.

  “Please, Kala, please, it’s not safe--” He pleaded.

  “Fobata, I’m going to be fine, it’s you I’m worried about. You and my little sister…oh, Fobata, I almost forgot.” Kala said, looking down at him. “I told my little sister Niobe that if she were ever in any kind of trouble at all, she could always depend upon you to help her. She can come to you for help if she is in trouble, can’t she?” Kala asked.

  Fobata sighed. “Of course I will help Niobe, whatever is wrong.” He said.

  Niobe. Goga. Oh, gods, what horrors had come from that, Fobata still remembered. Kala would only despise him for his cowardice and ignorance, for allowing such indignities to happen in his house, if she ever saw him again.

  Lord Lagotaq led the group members to his study, where they could talk privately, and the guards closed the doors behind them. A study seemed to be a common thing amongst lords and noblemen, or those that aspired to be just like them, a study where they could retreat, and work out the problems that plagued their estates. The study was sparse, containing just a few pieces of furniture with a weary desk, some threadbare covered chairs, and one or two long, low bookshelves half full of ragged volumes. A plain parchment rug covered the stone floor in the empty part of the room, and that was it, no tapestries or paintings covered bare stone walls.

  The group looked around, intrigued by the decor insofar as it might give them a clue as to their benefactor’s character, and whether or not they may be able to trust the man. Lord Lagotaq’s Coe Wina see
med to be starker and greyer than Lord Fobata’s Coe Aela. Though Coe Aela was squat and square, disguising its ugliness and decay through lavish furnishings, grandiose celebrations, and displays of pride--much like Lord Fobata himself in his decadence--Coe Wina appeared to be both exposed to the elements, like a bone left out for dogs and other wild animals to strip clean of its meat, and bristling with defenses against these elements, such as the guards sent out on patrol and the hillside barricades.

  Coe Wina was narrow and full of ridges, split between the lower half where most of the ordinary servants and guards lived and worked, bustling with activity on the outside and probably inside of the small buildings, and the upper half where the castle loomed over everything, haunting and wild on the outside, but half empty and gloomy inside, with barriers between them. The group did not know what to make of Coe Wina, nor did they know what to make of its lord, but they knew that they may not find much comfort here.

  “I want you all to know, the humans amongst you,” Lord Lagotaq started to say, omitting Fato as he sat down behind his desk, “that you are or might be descendents of the Knights of Arria, as your abilities to wield the Swords of Arria without getting hurt seem to indicate that your ancestries lie in that direction. I understand that you have some knowledge as to the Swords--” He said, stopping Basha and Gant in particular from speaking, even though Fato was in a bit of a huff, “But I wanted you all to know, for certain, that this is what it means. Magic is generally passed down through bloodlines, with strong or weak tendencies depending, and sometimes skipping a generation or two, but usually it crops up somewhere. And you can expect that your ancestors had some of your specialties, and owned the Swords that you wield. Your ancestor, Monika, for example, wielded the Blue Sword because his or her specialty laid in that direction, as did yours, Oaka, towards the Red, and Basha and Gnat--” He said, turning to the young man and girl. “Your ancestor wielded the Black.” He said.

  “Our ancestor?” Gnat asked, stunned. “But we’re not related, your Grace, Basha and I have only just met. We have no common ground. I grew up in Coe Aela, he grew up in Coe Baba, how can we be related?”

  “Humans and magic, why do they get all of the magical abilities?” Fato muttered to himself. “Birds could use magic as well, we need it more than they do, and we would do a lot better job at handling magic.”

  “I don’t know how you two can be related, but of course you two are related, how else can you both have touched the same Sword?” Lord Lagotaq asked Gnat, ignoring Fato. “Your ancestor might be from twenty years ago, a hundred years ago, or a thousand years ago, but in some way, you two are related.” He insisted.

  “How can--” Basha started to say, but then stopped a moment, stunned. His heart pounded as he realized Your ancestor wielded the Black—could this be true? Could this be something true about his family’s past? “How can you know this, your Grace?” He asked, his breath caught in his throat.

  “Ever since the Red Sword came into my possession, as lord of Coe Wina, I have studied the matter of the Swords of Arria thoroughly, and I know a great deal about them.” Lord Lagotaq told him, and then he began to state some simple facts about the Swords of Arria already covered by Monika in the cave behind the waterfall. Out of politeness, Basha listened to him, and Gnat paid attention as well, because she had missed part of this conversation in the cave.

  Meanwhile, Oaka marveled to himself, “The Red Knight, he must have lived in Coe Baba. There is no way that he could have lived anywhere else. All of my ancestors, as far back as I know, grew up and lived in Coe Baba. The Red Knight, he or one of his descendents, must have started up The Smiling Stallion inn in the first place! That would be something to boast about.” He remarked.

  “That would be a laugh!” Fato remarked from Basha’s shoulder.

  “So it’s true, then, that I had an ancestor who wielded the Blue Sword? Who was a Knight of Arria?” Monika asked, and then sighed. “Of course it’s true, it’s bound to be true.” She said, answering her own question before anyone else could. “I just wish it wasn’t.”

  “What is your problem with that?” Oaka asked Monika.

  “My people were exiled from Arria hundreds of years ago, forced to wander the Za Desert to this very day by the Corricans and their descendents, not to mention all of the wars and disputes that have arisen since this displacement, and I have a Knight of Arria as my ancestor, the ultimate Corrican warrior? I am bound to have some very mixed-up feelings in this regard.” She remarked. “I grew up with stories about how Arria really does belong to us, the Zariens, and that the Corricans stole it.”

  “She’s got a point there.” Fato remarked. “You humans are certainly a bit messed up when it comes to peaceful societal relationships.”

  “But surely—it was so long ago--” Basha tried to say, caught up in between the different conversations.

  “My mother and my grandfather had a distinct dislike for the Corricans who exiled their ancestors, passed down to them over the generations.” Monika said. “Plus, they still had to fight some battles in their own time period, against Arria and Pakric and Pinal, battles that never would have happened if we had Arria, or some other country to call our own, besides the Za Desert. Though it might be barren in many areas, it’s still a hotly contested piece of territory. I suppose I did share in that sentiment.” Monika said. “Part of me does not want to be even distantly, remotely, related to the Corricans, and yet I have the Blue Sword in my possession. It is a source of strength for me and a part of my identity now. I don’t want to lose that part of myself, and yet I might very well be Corrican because of it. I am very confused at this point.” She added.

  “Lord Lagotaq, if you know so much about the Swords of Arria, then can you tell us, please, who wielded the Black Sword, who specifically amongst the Knights?” Basha asked, turning back to the Duke of Coe Wina, who had finished his lecture.

  “I would also like to know who wielded the Blue Sword, who specifically, if they were or were not Corrican.” Monika remarked.

  “Can’t you give that hatred of the Corricans thing a rest?” Oaka asked her.

  “It’s hard. It takes time to cope with it.” Monika said. “I heard these stories for years, it’s not like you can easily forget them. Plus, I don’t really want to be descended from the Corricans, especially when I am—or will be—or should be--ugh.” She said, slapping her face.

  “What?” Oaka asked.

  “Nothing, nothing, nothing.” She waved him away. “It’s just something that is really important to me and my family. You probably wouldn’t even care.” Monika muttered.

  “I might, we might care, if you would tell us.” Oaka remarked.

  “Now is not a good time or place for it.” She said. “Maybe later.”

  Oaka groaned to himself as Basha continued, “Can you please tell us their names, your Grace, or anything else about them, the people that I--Gnat and I--” Basha said, and then, before Lord Lagotaq could speak, he interrupted, “Wait a moment, Gnat and I, we don’t know anything about our ancestors, not even our own parents.” He said, slamming a hand down on the desk lightly. “And what about Goga?” He asked, horrified. “Goga wielded the Black Sword as well, according to Gnat!”

  “Oh gods no!” Gnat cried. “Not him! Please say we’re not related to him!”

  “You don’t know anything about your parents?” Lord Lagotaq asked, staring at both of them. “How is this possible?”

  “I do know something about my mother, your Grace,” Basha said, “A few things, but precious little. She died giving birth to me, her name was Kala, my father’s name might have started with an M, he died before I was born, my mother had sisters--”

  “Wait a minute, stop, stop, stop,” Lord Lagotaq said, holding a hand up. He stared at Basha with an intensity to rival a stone’s face. “You said your mother’s name was--”

  “Kala. Do you know of it?” Basha asked, curious, beyond all doubt that he might find something out here.

/>   “Never speak that name aloud.” Lord Lagotaq told him in a low, furious voice. “Never speak that name aloud, the further south you go, especially in Coe Kiki. It’s too dangerous down there. Only speak that name aloud in a safe, secure environment, a peaceful place where you will be certain that you will be safe, amongst friends. Coe Kiki is too dangerous a place to utter that name.” He muttered to himself.

  “How harsh can you get?” Fato muttered to himself.

  “Why? What is wrong with--” Basha started to say, his heart breaking.

  “Did she die giving birth to you, or did she die because of her pursuers?” Lord Lagotaq countered. “Was she weakened by the chase, or was it because--”

  “She died because of me, it was my fault!” Basha cried, ‘her pursuers’ barely crossing Basha’s mind.

  “Not neccessarily.” Oaka said, interrupting them. “My mother and father, Habala and Geda, they raised Basha alongside of me, and they were there on the night that Kala, Basha’s mother, arrived at the inn, as were many of the townspeople.” He said. “People in town say Kala came to the inn with a bloody sword, half exhausted, and that a man’s body was found in the snow--”

  “Those are just rumors!” Basha cried, turning around to face Oaka, as Monika, Gnat, and Fato gasped in astonishment, having never heard that fact about Kala before. “Rumors and lies! She didn’t--she couldn’t have--” He fumbled, trying to find the right words. He never had wanted to believe that it was possible that she had killed a man, fearing that his mother might be revealed as a villain of some kind, but this talk of pursuers—

  “They chased her, the Followers and Servants of Doomba, they chased her all the way from the south to the north,” Lord Lagotaq said, turning Basha’s attention towards him. “Hundreds of miles, across the roughest terrain, into the coldest months of the year, carrying you inside her belly. They practically chased her until she died, but she got away, did she not? She survived long enough to deliver you. That was what she wanted.” He said.