Tales & Treasure Chapter 10

Vatis - Signs of Life

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Vatis wandered through a field of carrots, kicking dirt into the air as he dragged his feet between the neatly planted rows. The sun rose over the eastern horizon. Small, jagged shadows swayed back and forth with the cool morning breeze. Leafy carrot tops created fairy-like shadows. Vatis imagined small creatures diligently working to help the vegetables grow. The self-created distraction temporarily soothed his never-resting mind.

Images of Vidmar’s massacre two days prior still plagued him whenever he closed his eyes. His mind wandered like his feet, dragging through the dirty memories until he returned to the Raue Tavern, an entire inn captivated by his stories, each member of the audience waiting with bated breath for the conclusion. He pictured that simple tavern and the carefree folk of Basswood, and his thoughts, as they often did, created poetry. He sat in the dirt, pulled out his journal, and wrote.

A single lantern sways outside the Tavern
To locals, it’s relief of pain
for soldiers, it’s free rein
A simple lantern shines outside the Tavern
Lustful whispers from a jar

Vatis bit the end of his quill. What’s next? Gluttonous patrons from afar? Ah, that’s no good. The pacing is all wrong. 

“What are you writing?” an innocent yet curious voice asked. Vatis jumped. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Taldor finished, coming into view over Vatis’s shoulder. Damnit, boy.

Vatis forced a laugh as he tried to compose himself. “It’s fine,” he said, breathing deeply.  

“Don't mind me,” Taldor said as he pulled carrots from the ground. “Are you writing a story?”  

Vatis put his writing supplies away. “A poem, actually.”

“Can I hear it?” 

“No,” Vatis answered in a colder-than-intended tone. “Sometimes it's better not to know,” Vatis finished trying to sound empathetic while picking a caterpillar off a leaf.

“I don’t know about that,” Taldor said. “I can’t stand it when I don’t know something. Pa says I’m too curious.”

Vatis further examined the tiny greenish insect on his fingers. “I used to be the same,” he paused. “So curious, so inquisitive, but when story after story and question after question yields terrifying results, you begin to think of the world differently.” The caterpillar crawled between Vatis’s thumb and forefinger. Vatis gently stroked the thin white hairs of the squirming creature. “There are very few happy endings, Taldor,” he added as he squished the insect, green liquid dripping down the length of his thumb. 

Vatis brushed the remaining bits of the insect off his hand. He heard the boy dropping carrots into his basket but nothing else until Taldor spoke. “Do you know any happy endings?” he said after a long silence. 

“Huh,” Vatis said as if he snapped out of a trance. He thought for a moment. What is a happy ending? All the stories end the same. “Perhaps Mia-The-Maiden or Dinardo. They both disappeared and, by all accounts, were generally happy.”

“Who’s Dinardo?” Taldor asked, his voice cracking. 

Vatis didn’t answer. He cleaned his thumb on his pant leg. 

“Are you alright, Vatis?”

“Hmm,” Vatis said, staring vacantly at the dirt. 

“Are you alright?” Taldor repeated.

“What? Yes, I’m fine,” Vatis answered after another long silence. “I apologize, Taldor. I didn’t sleep last night; too many thoughts ran around my head. It certainly doesn’t help that Vidmar snored like an ox.” His practiced, cheery disposition returned slowly like a carrot emerging from the ground. “I’m sorry, Taldor. I meant no offense.”

“When I can’t sleep, I like to sneak out and explore the woods but don’t tell Pa. He doesn’t like me going into the forest, especially at night, but he’s a worrier by nature. Anyway, thank you for telling those stories last night.” So young, so full of optimism. Maybe you’ll have a happy ending, Taldor. He thought as the boy rambled about his favorite parts of the stories. “You should enter a bard's tourney. Have you tried?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Vatis said, forcing a smile. 

“Why not?” 

“There’s something about being on a stage that frightens me.”

Taldor stood and picked up his basket full of carrots. “You tell stories in taverns. What’s the difference?” Damn, you’re persistent, boy. 

“The crowd, fewer drinks, the formality, the competition. At a tavern, I can relax, have a drink, and be a part of the crowd. It’s more intimate, but I can’t muster enough confidence to perform my tales in front of a large crowd,” Vatis said. 

Taldor bent down and ripped a weed out, placing it in the canvas satchel on his hip. “Well, you’re the best storyteller I’ve ever heard, and I think you could win. Pa, Ev, and I went to the tourney a few years back, and you’re miles better than anyone I heard then. We’ve only had a few tournaments in town, but I think they have them every year in Yimser.”

Vatis’s smile felt more natural. “Thank you, Taldor. I will consider it.” 

Taldor smiled and gently slapped Vatis’s shoulder. “Well, I better get my chores done before Pa breaks out the belt.”

“The belt?” Vatis asked. 

“Oh, he’s never hit me, but that doesn’t keep him from threatening it,” Taldor laughed as he ran off. There’s something strange about Hobb, Vatis thought as he remembered the intensity of Hobb’s glares last night. I should ask Vidmar about him.

Vatis roamed the farm for a while; he didn’t know how long. He listened to the cows munching grass. He watched Hobb harvest grain. He ate delicious red apples in the shade of a large oak tree. But his thoughts always diverted to the watchtower at the edge of the property. Something about that tower was strange yet familiar. It beckoned him, but at the same time, something inside Vatis warned him to stay away. It was another internal conflict he battled, another skirmish in the war for his sanity. He walked toward the watchtower, no longer capable of resisting its pull. He needed to know what was inside. Vatis. A haunting voice echoed in his head. Not a voice he practiced but an unfamiliar, terrible, low voice that seemed to come from the tower.

He heard the metallic scraping of stone on metal as he walked. The sound brought hastily buried memories to life. Images of swords clashing and men dying enveloped Vatis in yet another nightmare. 

“You were up early,” Vidmar said, distracting Vatis. Battle-like images shattered like glass as he was pulled into reality. “Was I snoring again?”

Vatis stopped walking. “What? I’m sorry?”

“Was I snoring?” 

“Huh, no. Well, I mean, yes, but that’s not why I was up.”

“Thoughts of Zidane again?” Vidmar asked, placing a small knife in a leather sheath. Vatis nodded. “I thought so. You’ve been distracted since we ran into the peddler and his friends. The images fade with time, but it's crazy what reminds you of battle. After my first, whenever it rained, my mind was flooded with images of men dying around me. What’s weird is that it didn’t rain during the battle, but the sound of water hitting the ground was eerily similar to boots marching over a field. I still get a little jittery when a heavy storm passes through.”

Vatis tried to smile, but his lips wouldn’t cooperate like they were anchored into a melancholy frown. “Thank you,” Vatis said. It was all he could think to say. Thank you for the comfort. Thank you for the nightmares. “Taldor thinks I should enter the Bard’s Tourney,” Vatis said, changing the subject.

“I’ve attended a few, not in a couple of years, mind you, but from what I remember, you’d have a shot.”

“I’d need to go to Yimser to qualify,” Vatis said. 

“Yimser,” Vidmar added. “I do need to see an old friend up there. We’ve come this far together. What’s a few more months on the road? Though, I need to go to Haran first.” Vatis felt a wave of relief wash over him; he wasn’t ready to part with Vidmar yet. I still need your story.

Vatis was about to speak when Hobb approached. “Good morning,” he said. He turned and looked for the sun. “Almost good afternoon. Are you planning on staying another night? I’ll prepare enough supper if you are.”

“No,” Vidmar answered before Vatis could speak up. “I need to get to Haran. We need to get to Haran.”  Vidmar gestured toward Vatis. 

Hobb smirked. “Understood.” The farmer sauntered off toward the house, taking systematic steps with his cane. 

“Why don’t you want to stay a few more nights? It might be nice to relax for a couple of days,” Vatis asked, advocating for a stay he didn’t want, but he didn’t want to appear too eager to leave. 

“I don’t want to overstay our welcome,” Vidmar answered plainly. “And I need to get to Haran.” Vidmar looked afraid for the first time since Vatis had met him. What’s in Haran? He thought but didn’t ask. 

“I suppose I could be ready to leave in an hour or two,” Vatis said, scratching his chin. 

Vidmar furrowed his brow. “How would it take you two hours to pack? You have one bag.” He smirked.

Vatis scratched his chin, forcing a smirk onto his face. “Well, there are certain aspects of my daily routine that have not happened yet.” 

Vidmar smiled and opened his mouth to retort, but Taldor appeared yelling and running. “Pa! Pa!” he shouted. He halted when he reached Vatis and Vidmar. He bent over, clutching his calves and panting before he spoke again. 

“What’s wrong, Taldor?” Vidmar asked, patting the boy's back. 

Taldor shook his head, trying to catch his breath. “Nothing,” he said through deep gasps. “Nothing.” His breathing slowed, and he stood up, interlacing his fingers and placing them on top of his sweaty head. “The cherries are back.” He pulled a maroon cherry out of the sack draped across his back. “See. Where’s Pa? I can’t believe it. The trees are full of them. Yesterday, I didn’t see any blooms. Today there are hundreds of ripe cherries. I don’t know. I don’t know how this is possible. I have to tell Pa. Where is he?”

“He’s in the house,” Vidmar answered, looking at Vatis. Taldor ran toward the house, screaming his news. “We should follow him,” Vidmar added as they watched the boy joyously sprint home. Vatis nodded.

Vatis and Vidmar jogged behind the boy as he ran through the fields. Vidmar pulled ahead. Vatis watched him nimbly jump over a knee-high fence that separated the carrot and potato fields. He moved effortlessly. Meanwhile, Vatis struggled to jog; his head felt light, and air burnt his lungs each time he breathed. Hobb stepped onto the porch; the dog trailed behind. Taldor said something, but Vatis couldn’t understand until he limped closer. 

“What do you mean?” Hobb said sternly. Vatis joined the others on the porch in time to hear the end of the conversation. 

“The cherries are back,” Taldor almost screamed. “Look.”

Hobb mumbled something and glared at Vidmar. The old man’s examination continued onto Vatis. What? Vatis felt a warmth in his stomach that could have been from the short run, but it seemed to burn hotter as Hobb’s gaze persisted. Vatis turned away, looking at the dog. “Show me,” Hobb said. Taldor sprinted again toward the grove, stopping to make sure they followed. 

“Vidmar, Vatis, come, you have to see this,” Taldor said.

Hobb didn’t acknowledge his two guests. Instead, he proceeded on his path, annoyed that something had altered the order of his daily tasks. 

“Come on, Vatis. Let’s see ourselves a miracle,” Vidmar said, joining Taldor. 

“I’ve seen several cherry trees in my life. I’m going to pack,” Vatis said, sitting on the steps.

“Suit yourself,” Vidmar said. 

Vatis watched the group disappear into a thick grove of trees at the northern edge of Hobb’s property. He hummed an ominous tune of his creation and rubbed his heavy eyes, struggling to reopen them. Now was his chance, his chance to see the watchtower. Its pull was undeniable. 

After a short yet challenging walk, a decaying silver-gray tower stood before him. Loose stones sat on the ground near the entrance; dark green vines crawled up the sides. There was nothing remarkable about it. He had seen dozens of more interesting towers traveling throughout Emre, but there was something strange about this one, like a familiar voice calling his name. Vatis, Vatis, Vatis. He could hear the voice in his head. He was unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him or if there was a voice from the tower calling to him. He walked in. 

The air felt heavy inside the tower, like walking through a mist. To his left lay a pile of rubble, and to his right, a staircase. Part of him felt that the stones were hiding something, but the voice in his head urged him to climb the stairs. The staircase wound up through the tower; narrow holes looked like footprints of broken stones. Vatis ran his hand along the wall as he climbed, stopping when he stumbled across a strange triangular symbol carved into the face of a stone that, at closer inspection, looked more silver than the rest of the gray bricks. This is no natural decay. What is it?  He continued his examination, pressing every inch of the stone for additional clues. When his search proved trivial, he continued up the stairs. 

As he neared the top, the voice returned. Vatis.

“Who are you?” he said, feeling foolish for speaking. What are you? 

No reply came, but Vatis continued his climb. He was four steps away from the top. He could see the sun reflecting at the tower’s peak. The voice called again. Not in its soft, ominous tone as before, but as a loud warning. Vatis. It yelled. The sudden change in tone startled Vatis. His ankle slipped and twisted. Vatis desperately searched for something to grab, a handrail, a jagged stone, a strong breeze, anything that would steady him. His nails scratched the wall on his way down. He twisted as he fell, landing squarely on his elbow. Pain shot through his forearm like an arrow. He somersaulted backward; his leg scraped on a loose stone, and his head cracked on the hard floor.