Old Book Continued...(Go read pt. 1 before)
Someone mentioned last time that the book is written in a very modern tone. And that's partially my fault. There's only so much I can do to avoid my own modern biases when it comes to translating this, but I will also add; there's a bit of strangeness to it all. Lao seems particularly out of place for something written circa 7th century anglo-sphere. I suppose we'll just have to continue.
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In the morning, they woke slowly but steadily. Durin had been the first to wake, and had spent the early morning gathering the needed things for a small fire. He did not plan to cook, but it was still early in spring, around April, and the morning air was still cold. He had returned and caught the tinder when Lao and Isabelle had woken up as well. Quinn remained asleep, sprawled out unflatteringly in a mess of tangled hair, bedroll, and wool blankets. They ate a politely bland meal of raw pemmican on barely softened hardtack as Quinn finally rose. She packed her bedroll and gathered her hair into a simple crown, similar to Isabelle's. She finally ate her own portion as the others packed their bags and they finally began their journey again.
They kept off the road still, though there were other trails and paths they could take that did not veer too dramatically from the flagstone paved road. As the sun rose in sky and they drew ever closer to their destination, the forest of tall pines grew more and more dense. What started as only a handful of birch and pine had been filled with spruce and larch as the brush grew dense and thick as well. Their travel slowed as the trails they took grew thin and windy. Rocks protruded from the ground and threatened their every step. Walking carefully, they pushed through shrub and brush until they suddenly came upon a small grove and dell. The sun shone bright through the treetops, though the sky was not all blue, there was grass that grew tall and green in the base of the shallow dell, where a river must have meandered before man walked upright, and the green needles of the larch and pine bristled softly in the cool spring breeze. It was quiet, far enough from the road that not a sound could be heard, if even there was anyone passing by at the moment.
A felled log lay on its side in the valley of the dell, nearly hidden by grass, it lay covered in a thin layer of moss; a gentle blanket of green draped over the old grey wood. Durin brushed dirt and dry needles aside and lay his pack against the base of the log. The moss was cool and soft, and the log was shaped in such a way that it was almost more comfortable than his leathery bedroll. He placed his hands beneath his head and basked in the glowing rays of the sun that broke through the trees.
Brushing the tall grass aside, Quinn and Isabelle both removed their bags from their shoulders and set them against the log. Lao held his for a moment longer, taking two dried sausages from his pack and, after breaking them in half, handed Quinn, Isabelle, and Durin each a piece. They each thanked him as he took his own and sat against the log. Isabelle snapped hers into another two pieces and tossed one in her mouth whole. Lao watched as her face changed from one of mild boredom, to a pleasant enjoyment at the dried meat, then a sudden sharp decline to wrath.
"By God what is this?" she questioned.
Lao looked puzzled "Dried meat?"
"No, no, this..." she continued to chew. She had never had a food that fought back as this meat did. How could she even describe it? Her tongue felt as though it may jump out of her mouth in search of a stream to douse itself in. She liked it. Quinn and Durin held their pieces, hesitant to bite down as Isabelle had so quickly done. "In the name of Our Lady you'll tell me what magic you've placed upon this meat! This is the most striking food I've had in my life!"
Lao laughed. He had not considered that these three, whom had all lived their lives within the confines of northern Erde, may not have yet experienced the simple beauty of the peppercorn. "No magic, Isabelle. Just spice. Sichuan peppercorn."
Isabelle finished the first and immediately went for her second piece of meat. She chewed vigorously, enjoying every bite. Turning to Durin and Quinn, she shouted "You two must try this! It is exceptional!"
They both bit down on the meat, Durin spat his out nearly the moment the spice kicked in, while Quinn was perhaps just a bit more adventurous.
“It’s uh…” Quinn thought for a moment.
“Awful!” Durin interrupted. “Awful is what it is! I can’t say I’ve ever had my food fight me back like that! My apologies, Lao, but please never give me…whatever that was again.”
Isabelle beamed with delight and quickly reached for the rest of Durin’s snack. “More for us, then! I’ll happily take your share! Say, Lao. How much more of that peppercorn stuff have you got?”
“Another week’s worth. But I have the ingredients to make more."
Quinn finished her piece, and though she was polite enough to finish, she did not seem too enthused to have another.
“It’s quiet..” She considered her words carefully, wanting to avoid being rude “Strong.”
Lao chuckled again “You may use stronger words if you please.” He was not offended, finding their reactions more amusing than anything else.
“No, it’s good; but it’s like Durin said. I’ve never really had food fight back before.”
She rested again against the mossy log on which Durin remained laying. It was cool on her back, albeit a bit uncomfortable; but it was better than walking. Lao lay flat in the grass; tall and green towards the base, a strong growth since the winter. He placed his bag beneath his head and rested his eyes for a moment.
“I’d like to thank you, all, again for your aide.” he spoke, his eyes still closed and hands held together across his chest.
“It is a rare thing to help a stranger like that.”
“Don’t speak too soon." Durin opened an eye and glanced at Lao "Isabelle may well still lob your head off if you get a little too suspicious.”
Lao sat up and glanced at Isabelle with the slightest sense of unease, who was also sat leaned against the fallen log. She looked to him and stared in mock intimidation, brows furrowed and eyes wide.
"You did strike me as the zealous type. If I may be so bold as to return the question, then; whom do you serve, Isabelle?"
"Why the Good Lady Herself, of course! What sort of paladin would I be to serve an Angel? No paladin at all, I say!"
"I should have guessed. How long, then, have you been a paladin?"
"Since I could hold a sword. I took my vows when I was 14, and left the monastery when I was 19. But what of you? Or are you oath-sworn to secrecy on your vows as well?”
“Ha, no, I can speak on that matter. It’s just that I don’t really remember much of it. All of the details are a bit fuzzy, you see. If my numbers are right, though, I was about 19 or so when I took my oaths.”
Isabelle raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t unheard of for an Angel or similar to weave a cloak of secrecy around their doings and their followers, but it was far more common among the less savory of the magical influences.
“And you have no qualms with your inability to recall such an important event?”
“I did, a while ago. But my Lady has been very good to me, and I have the utmost faith in them.”
"I see. So you consider yourself a paladin as well?"
"Not as such. We don't really have such a thing in Canton. The warrior monks in the north are the closest one might come to the idea of a paladin, but they don’t often act offensively."
"Then what do you call yourself?"
"I’m a Maobisi, but uh..."
He thought for a moment. Hand to his chin, he brushed the stubble of his beard in thought.
"There's not really a word for it in Anglican. I suppose the closest would be something like a 'temple maiden' if there were a male equivalent to the word."
"Interesting. I've heard Angel worship is common in Canton, is that true?"
"Quiet so. There are temples dedicated to Maria, but they’re few and far between."
"Is it true that Han children can cast magic natively? Without the need for study?" Quinn interjected.
Lao laughed at the notion "No, not at all. I knew many who sent their children off to learn magic at a very young age, but I've never heard of anyone casting without training. You seemed to recognize Guangdong, though. How did you come to be so familiar with the region? I've met very few here who have even heard of Canton."
"I grew up in a noble house. And my father was fascinated by the distant regions of the world. He had a library's worth of books on places like Canton and Munchen."
"How did you come to a life of mercenary work if your parents were nobility?"
"I was adopted when I was young and had seven older siblings; so I was never in line for anything other than table scraps. And I wasn't particularly interested in being married off."
"I see. How'd you come to meet these two?"
"Durin and I worked a number of jobs together in Milton when we were both starting out. Happenstance, I suppose. And after we saved Isabelle from a band of harpies she pledged loyalty to us and we haven't been rid of her since."
"And you never will."
“What do you plan to do when we reach Annsbrook, then?”
“Look for more work, I suppose.” Durin answered. He sat up and dusted moss from his back. “We’ve been short on gold for some time now and the Duke of the county announced a charter for mercenary work.”
“Well, I pray for your success.”
“Thank you. And you? Once you reach your destination then what?”
“I’m not sure. I was tasked with reaching Annsbrook but was shown no guidance beyond that. If I must, I’ll stay, and if I must, I’ll leave. Whatever path I’m guided, I shall walk.”
“Such piety!” Isabelle shouted, startling the birds nearby. “Ye’d make for a good paladin were ye circumstances different.”
“Hm. Perhaps so.” Lao answered. He laid back down and adjusted his sack. A pleasantly cool breeze blew through the grove, and it was hard for any of them to remain awake. But they were in no rush, and so they spent just under an hour resting and sleeping in the grassy dell. Birds and cicadas chirped, the sound carried by the wind through the grass, and they all four woke again, the sun held high in the sky, partially obscured by the lightest of clouds. They got to their feet and tossed their bags over their shoulders, ready to continue their march. And march they did, steadily and swiftly they followed the winding trails and paths through dense foliage and stones. Within the hour, they broke through the forest, and came upon a wide open expanse of grass and brush. Not far off, perhaps only two miles from them, they could see the city of Annsbrook; and just beyond, the Great Tyrrhenian Lake, which spread out to the horizon in both directions.
Before the city, only barely peeking above the tips of grass, were entire blocks of ruins; stone rubble and walls that still stood, despite their promises having long been lost. It was not uncommon for a large city to be surrounded by the echoes of greater days, but that did not mean the present was dreary, far from it. The city of Annsbrook was a marvelous achievement of planning and urban infrastructure. Its great stone walls stood proud against the threat of decay, and there were plenty of buildings within the walls that towered even higher above. There were only a few small homes that stood outside the walls, farmers and ranchers who lived along the highway out to the wilderness. The path they had taken had led them some distance to the north of the highway, which approached the city from the west, and they kept to the edge of the forest until they were back upon the main road. It was well paved and maintained, close enough to the city that it wasn’t difficult to do so. As they drew closer to the towering walls, they passed a number of other travelers and merchants wishing to sell goods that they perhaps couldn’t sell within the city for one reason or another. It was mid afternoon, as late as 3 when they reached the small hamlet that protruded from the wall; which was hosting a small market gathering near the portcullis. Pushing past a great number of travelers and laborers they reached the gate, where four soldiers waited, stamping and reading the papers of those who deigned entry.
They, too, would present their papers to the guards, one charter for three mercenaries, and one letter of safe conduct for a pilgrim. Entering the city proper, they were met with a strong smell of fish; the fishermen had just returned from a long trip, and the markets were more than happy to sell. The city bustled with people, nearly 8,000 lived there in total, and it was difficult to navigate through the crowd as people shouted and waved, each in search of their supper. As they reached further into the city, away from the docks to the south, they found it easier to travel, though the streets grew smaller as they traveled further into the city. Finally, they reached the oldest part of the town; a center of buildings around a small square and fountain. The old town had stood there for longer than most settlements could claim, and the library which Lao sought had extensive records dating back to even The First Age; so long ago that dwarves, elves, and other beasts of fancy still roamed the world. They stood, gathered in the square as a bell tower began to ring a block away; it was quarter to 5, and they were hungry.
“I say we search for a tavern on inn before we find the library.”
Durin offered. Quinn and Lao agreed, both weary and ready to rest their feet, but there was much energy left in Isabelle. She wandered the square, admiring the decorative fountain in its center. It was carved of granite, and featured a statue perched atop a number of spouts and falls. She read a small plaque which denoted whom the statue depicted:
“The Illustrious Bridget, who held the line against The Dark at the Battle of Ashbourne, 1916 II.”
Isabelle stood at the base of the fountain, and looked up to the statue. It was of a woman, clad in armor of a long forgotten army, and her long hair flowed in the false wind as she held her shield and blade steady against the forces of terror. She stood proud atop the fountain, a lost history writ upon her shoulders, and she seemed to look upon Isabelle with the kinship and sorority of a long lost cousin.
“Thoughts, Isabelle?” Quinn called out. They had spoken to a passerby while Isabelle was daydreaming, and she asked them to clarify again.
“There’s a tavern nearby and an inn on the same block. We’ll be getting food and rest before finding the library tomorrow.” Quinn explained.
Isabelle nodded and turned from the fountain. After a quick pass through a claustrophobic alleyway, they found themselves at another wide road filled with townsfolk on their ways home. It wasn’t far to the tavern, only a few buildings down the street, where they sat and rested over a freshly made meal of rye porridge and whole trout. Isabelle offered a prayer and blessed the food and drink once their meal was finished, and left a small stone on her plate before they four left the table. They stepped outside to find the city at dusk, the sun casting a blended hue of pale purple and orange which streaked long and dark rays of shadow along the underside of a great spring storm which had rolled in unseen. It would not be long before the storm descended upon the city, and even shorter before the sun dipped completely below the horizon. Durin was adept at retaining directions, and they had little trouble finding the inn that had been recommended to them by a passerby.
They ducked into the inn as twilight began and the rain began to fall; gently, only a mild spring shower late in the evening. A bell chimed as the door closed behind them, and the voice of an older woman called out from a door hidden behind an empty counter.
“Be with you in a moment!”
They waited patiently, surveying the room to see a door to the left of the clerk’s desk, as well as an open entrance to a small bar for patrons only opposite. The door opened and a kindly looking lady placed a pair of reading glasses on the bridge of her nose. She opened a ledger book hidden behind the counter and asked for their names.
“A room for four, if you have space.” Durin asked. “The names are Durin Balinson, Quinnanira Moreau, Lao Chonghuan, and Isabelle Beaumont.”
The woman ran a finger along the names listed in the ledger and hmm’d and haw’d until she found what she was looking for. She tapped her finger on the book and addressed Durin.
“You’re Master Balinson?” she asked.
“Ahh…yes? That would be me, ma’am.”
The woman smiled, and retrieved a set of keys from a drawer beneath the counter. Holding them out to him, she nodded to the door to her right.
“Your room is the third on the right, and the bath is at the end of the hall. There should be enough space for the four of you. Please keep it tidy and don’t lose your keys.”
“I apologize, ma’am.” Quinn began, “Perhaps you’ve confused us for someone else. I don’t believe we should have a room.”
The clerk looked down again at her ledger.
“Hmm, no. I see a private room request for a group of four under the name ‘Durin Balinson’ for 7 days. It was requested and paid for this morning. And you four match the description given.”
“I’m sorry, ‘paid for?’ By who?” Quinn pressed.
“A young fellow came by just this morning. I presumed he was a servant?” she answered.
“No…we have no servants.”
“How strange.”
“Quite.”
There was a pause between the five. Each glancing at the other, suspicion between them all.
“Ah.” the clerk continued “There was one other detail.” she said politely, looking to Isabelle “I was told to tell Isabelle ‘take a look at the key.’”
Durin handed the key to Isabelle, still a bit more than confused. But as she looked the key over, her demeanor changed on a dime. She beamed with fervor and grabbed the hand of the clerk suddenly, shaking it vigorously.
“Thank you, ma’am.” she left the counter and began walking towards the door on the left “Tis’ this way?” she asked.
“Hold on a moment.” Quinn demanded “You don’t think this is the least bit suspicious? Shouldn’t we take at least a moment to consider?”
But Isabelle simply held the key up, her smile beaming through the room. There was a mark on the bow of the key, a plain “000” carved into the metal.
“Tis’ a sign.” she said “A glorious sign, Quinn. The Lord provides us with all we need, and here, a messenger of the Lord has provided us with shelter on our journey. Nary shall our pilgrim worry, for The Martyr’d Lady protects.”
Lao raised a hand.
“Now, I don’t mean to be a lone voice of dissent, but how do you know that, exactly?”
“No, Lao, you’re right. Isabelle what are you talking about?”
Isabelle marched to Quinn, and with her face near touching hers, looked in her eyes with such a righteous indignation it threatened to bring the very building they stood in to its foundation.
“The Messengers of The Martyr’d Lady show their work through their signs, Quinn. The triple zero is a holy sign of guidance and protection. I know not through what mechanism these blessings were bestowed unto us, but we’d be grave fools to ignore it.”
Thunder rumbled from outside. Quinn sighed and relented.
“Alright. We can take a look. But if there’s so much as a hair out of place, we’re gone faster than a jackrabbit in heat, understand?”
Isabelle stepped back as well, a bright smile of great satisfaction on her lips.
“Very well.” she beamed as she threw her arm around Durin’s shoulder and pulled him towards the door.
“Shall we?”
Quinn and Lao followed through the door, and entered into a long hallway. There were a handful of doors on either side, and they approached the third on the right, as instructed.
The four eyed the door as Isabelle placed the key in the lock and the door creaked open, complaining as it did so. It revealed a shabby room of four beds, a coat rack, a small vanity table, and two lone side-tables beside the beds. The far wall house a plain window, which revealed a small courtyard tucked away from the public streets. Rain pattered on the window as Quinn moved a curled finger through the air and whispered a spell beneath her breath, lighting a tallow candle on a nightstand.
Beyond the banality, there seemed nothing out of the ordinary in the room. And despite what would become nearly an afternoon of thorough searching, nothing nefarious nor divine was found.
“Satisfied?”
“Maybe.” Quinn answered, side-eyeing Isabelle. “Someone might still come by while we sleep.”
“If you’re worried of assassins” Lao offered “I know a few warding spells. I could set a trigger on a simple thaumaturgic spell if anyone opens the door?”
Quinn sat on the bed furthest from the door and untied her hair. She raised an eyebrow and questioned Lao.
“Sure, but you’d need to stay up all night to stay focused on the spell. And if you’re doing that we may as well just take shifts.”
Lao reached for his staff and cleared the small jewel at the tip. Taking a small glass bottle from his belt and removing the cork, he dipped the jewel into the bottle, wetting it with quicksilver. The liquid was soaked into the blue hued jewel and, after returning the bottle to his belt, he passed the staff through the air, gathering the unseen threads.
“Not necessarily. You can tie threads together to set a trigger for a spell. It’s a little tricky and the spells it works with are quite limited…”
The small blue jewel at the tip of the staff began to glow a faint light as Lao wove the staff in an intricate pattern across the floor near the door.
“But it’s relatively easy once you get the hang of it.”
He concluded confidently as he spun the staff a final time. There was a faint glow across the floor near the door, but it bore no other obvious signs of magic. Lao reached over, careful to avoid reaching into the space he had just cast the spell, and opened the door. As the wood entered the unseen space, the faint glow suddenly vanished as the sound of a bell loudly chimed through the room.
“See?”
Quinn stood from the bed suddenly and grabbed her own staff, leaned against the wall.
“Show me.”
