Tales & Treasure Chapter 18

Vatis - The Tourney

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People passed Vatis in all directions, giving him sour looks as he stood in the middle of an unfamiliar street. He bounced on his toes and played with the loose sleeves of his new emerald-colored shirt as he searched for the arena. The shirt wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would have to work - he didn’t have any more time. His tan trousers were shabby yet presentable. He wore no boots as his only pair would have been more shameful than his bare feet. His matching green hat held a duck’s feather in the brim to complete the ensemble. He spent every coin he had on this outfit. He needed to make a good impression. 

“Good luck, Vatis-of-the-Road. I can’t wait to hear your story,” the organizer’s words echoed in his head from earlier this morning. This is my chance, Vatis thought, pulling out the parchment the organizer gave him from his breast pocket. He examined it thoroughly like a navigator with a map; it didn’t matter; Vatis couldn’t decipher the informal shorthand. Where’s the arena? He tried to retrace his steps from this morning. All the streets looked the same. The once beautifully random-colored buildings that charmed Vatis when they entered Yimser now infuriated him as he couldn’t remember any landmarks. 

“Get out of the road,” a deep voice called from behind Vatis. 

“Terribly sorry,” Vatis said, looking for the voice. After a short search, he gave up and tapped a man in a gray tunic on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Where is the arena?” 

“Go back to where you came from,” the man said, shouldering Vatis out of the way. 

Next, Vatis approached a woman with two children by her side. Perhaps a mother will be a little more kind. “Pardon me, miss. Where is the arena?” The woman pulled her children into a protective embrace. The boy of about five began to say something, but his mother tugged him closer. “Go below the bridge where you belong,” she said, herding her kids in the opposite direction.

Vatis shuffled further up the street. The smell of freshly baked bread was a welcomed distraction to his infuriating search. A woman sat on a bench eating a sweet roll with creamy white frosting. Vatis gamboled toward her in what he assumed was a friendly, if not funny, greeting. “Hello, would you be so kind as to tell me where I can find the arena?” The woman did not answer; she didn’t even look at him. Vatis stomped. What is wrong with these people? He clenched his fists. I cannot miss my chance. Will none of these forsaken people help me? Vatis thought, looking through the crowd for a kind face when a quiet, gentle voice called to him. 

“Hey,” it said softly. 

Vatis looked around. 

“Hey,” the voice repeated. “Over here.” A girl no older than ten waved at him. Her brown hair was tied in a messy bun atop her head. She sat on a barrel tossing bread to a flock of pigeons. 

“Hello,” Vatis said cheerily. 

“The arena is up the road on the left. You can’t miss it,” she said.

“Thank you very much. What’s your name?”

“Mia, you know, like Mia-The-Maiden,” she said proudly.

“That’s a powerful name. Are you coming to the tourney?”

“No,” Mia sighed. “Feya wins every year. And she plays boring music on her flute.”

“I don’t play music. I tell stories. Wonderful, heroic, tragically true tales. Would you come see me?”

The girl shrugged. “You look like a bard. Last year, this stranger came to town and butchered my favorite story of Mia-The-Maiden. So, I threw a tomato at him,” Mia said. Vatis furrowed his eyebrows as he scratched his chin. “Don’t look at me like that. I missed. Everyone else threw things too; some people threw rocks.”  

“I promise not to butcher your favorite story,” Vatis said, smiling. “I’ll tell you a new story. Who knows, it might even become your new favorite?” 

“I doubt it,” she said. She hopped off the barrel and chased most of the pigeons away. “Just a warning, they don’t like foreigners, so you better be really good.” 

“Thanks for the advice, Mia,” Vatis said.

“But, you seem nice, so maybe I’ll come. Good luck,” she said, running after a straggling bird.

A few moments later, Vatis turned left down a wide road. Dozens of people funneled between two carved pillars; familiar faces of ancient heroes, bards, and kings looked down on the audience as they wandered toward their seats. The arena was two stories tall, primarily wooden, except for its stone foundation. Orange clay tiles lined a roof, covering only the seats reserved for the rich. The exterior was painted in a rainbow of colors; each entrance, arch, and window displayed a different vibrant color. The benches and marvelous architecture formed a half-circle around an elevated, square stage. 

Vatis drifted with the flow of patrons into the arena, taking a seat in the row furthest from the stage. The sun sank beyond the roof, illuminating the sky with a brilliant red light. Vatis arrived minutes before the first act: a local jester who juggled balls, scarves, and knives. The crowd laughed at his juvenile performance. Jugglers should be sent to freeze on Jegon, but at least he’s putting the people in a good mood, Vatis thought as the jester blindfolded himself and began juggling four knives. The crowd roared with applause when he finished his act by catching the hilt of a dagger in his teeth. 

The subsequent acts were local singers. First, an elderly woman sang a painfully pitchy version of The Widow in the Window, but the crowd awarded her with flower petals. Next, a young, elegantly dressed man with a well-groomed beard captivated Vatis with his rendition of The Road Around the Forest. Vatis sniffed back tears and swallowed a lump in his throat. The crowd seemed to have a similar reaction, as it took several seconds before they stood on their feet and cheered. 

The fourth act was a foreigner like Vatis. The audience appeared to straighten in their seats. A man sitting to Vatis’s right scowled and pulled a rock from his pocket. The foreign bard told the story of The Fairy and the Giant. He performed well; his pacing was a bit too slow, and the accent he gave the fairy was too childish, but overall, Vatis enjoyed the tale he hadn’t heard in years. The audience didn’t agree. They yelled and threw rocks and fruits at him until he left the stage in tears. 

Vatis rose from his seat, nearly falling onto a woman in front of him. His head spun; he needed space. His vision blurred as he pushed passed the crowd back into the street; fiery breath came through as his chest convulsed. He grabbed a nearby bench like an overboard sailor grasping for his ship. The sounds of wagon wheels, conversations, and street vendors blended into a dull hum. I can’t do this. I can’t do this, Vatis thought, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. He sat like that for a long time; he didn’t know how many acts he had missed. Then, someone tapped his shoulder. 

“Did I miss it?” a vaguely familiar voice asked. 

Vatis opened his eyes. Mia looked down at him, standing just a few inches taller than he was sitting. He met her gaze. “No. I just needed some air,” Vatis said, wiping sweat from his forehead. He took a deep, raspy breath. 

“Are you alright?” Mia asked, sitting beside him. 

“Yes. I’m fine,” Vatis said, trying to conceal his panic. 

Vatis could feel Mia looking at him. “When I get nervous, I pretend I’m Mia-The-Maiden, leading soldiers into battle. It helps a little,” she said. 

Vatis tilted his head, looking at Mia’s large hazel eyes that appeared to glimmer with genuine concern. You have no idea how close to the mark you are, girl, Vatis thought, standing up. We all need an escape from reality. He shook his arms and legs, cracked his neck, and smirked. “Brown bunnies bite brains because bored bunnies brought beavers,” Vatis said in a deep, performance-worthy voice. 

“Bunnies bite what?” Mia said, laughing so hard that she held her stomach.

Vatis smiled. “It helps loosen my tongue so I can enunciate better. Thank you, Mia. You reminded me why I love stories. I am in your debt, but I’m on soon. I hope you’ll come in and watch my performance.”

Mia shrugged. “Brown bunnies bite,” she stumbled over the words as Vatis waved goodbye. 

Vatis skipped to the other side of the arena. His confidence slowly returned as he sang himself into character. A pot-bellied man with a white beard and a tall, sapphire hat ran up to Vatis as he rounded the corner. “You’re on next. My audience does not respond well to late arrivals. Hurry, Cal is about to introduce you,” he said, pushing Vatis through a narrow door leading to the stage. He almost crashed into the announcer waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“Easy, son,” Cal said, sliding gracefully out of Vatis’s way. 

“I apologize,” Vatis said, adjusting his clothes. 

“You nearly gave my brother a heart attack, but I knew you would show. Gregory’s song is almost over,” the announcer said, wrapping Vatis in a sideways hug. He smelled strongly of spiced wine. The last few notes of a song faded away into cheers from the audience. A thin man wearing a blue tunic carried a lute as he walked down the stairs. 

“Wonderful, Gregory, simply wonderful,” the announcer said. “That performance could earn you a nightly spot at the White Raven.”

“Thank you, Cal. You’re too kind,” Gregory said, smiling. His expression turned into a frown as he glared at Vatis. The look sent butterflies dancing in his stomach. Gregory huffed. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, dear Gregory,” The announcer blew Gregory a kiss goodbye and turned to Vatis. “He’s a decent luthier, but Alec will never let him play at the Raven,” he said, laughing at a joke that Vatis didn’t understand. “Are you ready?”

Vatis nodded. 

“Splendid,” Cal said, walking up the stairs. “Follow me. Good luck, son.” 

Paralyzing nervousness returned as Vatis followed the announcer. He walked on stage silently, looking down as he confronted the crowd. Tremors reverberated through his body. Thin hairs stiffened on his neck and forearms, and sweat pooled on his lower back, trickling down his legs. A burnt smell filled the thick air like smoke, suddenly changing directions, making his eyes dry and foggy.

Vatis rehearsed Vidmar’s escape from Jegon diligently. He knew where to pause; he knew what to emphasize. He hoped the crowd would love a true story, not a new spin on a classic tale like The Fall of the West, but something unique they could tell their children and grandchildren. He always thought true stories were the best, the most believable, and the most memorable. 

He dipped forward into a clumsy bow as the announcer introduced him. The audience was an unidentifiable blur in front of a rosy sky. As the introduction finished and his performance began, the crowd came into focus. Cruel, judging faces, eagerly awaiting a chance to throw rotten fruit and stones at a foreigner. His tremors became more violent, moving from his arms to his legs as the light applause ended. 

“Thuh…” Vatis began. “Thank you. I… I am Vatis of the Road.” He stuttered his well-rehearsed introduction, the easiest part of the whole performance. The audience cohesively sat straighter, anticipating the chance to rise and pelt Vatis with an array of vegetables. 

“Guh, go on,” a heckler mocked.

The audience cackled wickedly. Vatis’s tremors worsened, and sweat dripped from his forehead into his left eye. He winced. He repeatedly blinked, trying to regain his vision as he surveyed the crowd for a familiar face. He took a deep breath, shaking his arms to release the tension. Where are you, Vidmar? Vatis needed something to focus on, someone to single out. Luckily, he found Mia standing in the back. She leaned against the right-side wall and smiled at him. His muscles loosened, and Vatis-of-the-Road reemerged. This story is for you, Mia, he thought, focusing on the girl, not the crowd. 

“I would like to tell you a story, a true story of an unknown hero,” he said, confidence returning to his voice. “Our story begins with our hero, Davas, in the small town of Aswar,” Vatis started, happy with how his chosen name of Davas sounded in replacement of Vidmar. I wish I could have used his real name, but I need to earn his trust. He will be Vidmar in his next story. “Davas was the leader of King Kandrian Ambita’s Outriders – an elite group of scouts who helped him win and keep his throne. Davas earned the King’s trust by finding and eliminating his enemies. He saved the village of Wolvesbarrow from an angry mob with no more than a knife and a torch. He killed the rebellious leader, Coil, with the criminal’s own sword and wounded the legendary giant Anaar, forcing the monster into hiding, but this isn’t a tale of assassination and trickery. No, this is a tale of bravery, morality, and love.” 

Mia looked engrossed as Vatis finished Davas’s introduction, well, Vidmar’s introduction. He didn’t bother to look at anyone else in the audience. Yes, he shifted his gaze, but it only bounced from blur to blur to keep up the appearance of speaking to the whole crowd. He always returned to Mia. Thank you, Mia. You have given me a chance.  

After a short pause, Vatis continued. “Davas scouted Aswar for a week, watching its people go about their everyday chores from the shadows. No one noticed him. The simple townsfolk’s lives centered around their mill. Men cut down trees, moved logs, and stacked wood. Most young women operated the saws or cleaned up sawdust and other debris; the others either taught the children in a small school or tended their homes. At night, each family would return home from an honest day’s work and have supper together – Aswar was an admirable town full of hardworking men and women. Davas didn’t understand his assignment. He returned to Barna and delivered his report to the King. 

‘Aswar seems completely mundane, sir,’ Davas said, ending his report. 

‘Tell me about this school,’ Kandrian demanded. 

Davas detailed the school’s structure and lessons from the day he spent in the rafters like a hawk watching field mice. ‘It seems like a standard education, not up to Numerian standards, but enough for future millers.’ 

Kandrian stood up from his throne, bit his thumbnail, and spat it on the ground. ‘Davas, do you remember how we usurped that idiot Pavao Begic and ended his dynasty that lasted decades too long?’

Again, Davas was confused. ‘We garnered the support of the people, then snuck into the palace and killed him.’ 

‘Yes, that’s what the stories will say,’ the King said. ‘But it’s because we were smarter. We had all the information. We struck at the opportune time because we planned and look at what we have created – a better world, a brighter Emre. The people are happy, though happiness only lasts so long. I cannot take the chance that another will match my intelligence and steal my throne. So I want you to burn down the school and kill the teachers as well as any students over ten years old. This will be our message to the world, our warning before we destroy all the schools in my kingdom.’

Davas nearly fainted. The King’s words pierced him like a spear through the gut. ‘Sir, there must be another way.’ 

The King strode in front of a tapestry of himself, smiling. ‘I want this message sent in two weeks. Do not fail me, Vid…’” 

Vatis caught himself before he revealed Vidmar. “‘Do not fail me, Davas,’ Vatis repeated. He paced back and forth across the stage like an angry king. Mia twirled her finger around her hair, eating bread and listening with wide eyes. Vatis dropped to his knees for the next line. “‘Please, sir. I can’t do this. I’ll burn down the school,’ Davas relented. ‘But why do the women and children have to die?’

Kandrian took Davas’s chin in his hand. ‘Because I commanded it. You have two weeks,’ the King said, holding out his enormous emerald ring for Davas to kiss. Davas’s fingers lingered on a dagger sheathed in his boot for a moment. He thought about killing the King and ending this madness, but his cautious mind told him the guards would kill him before the King hit the floor. Reluctantly, he bent forward and kissed the King’s ring. He knew there had to be another way, but he had to be alive to see it through. For now, he needed to confront Elisa.”

Vatis let the King’s threat simmer in the audience’s minds. Mia had moved closer, sitting on a bench behind a muscular, dark-skinned man. She was harder to see, but he managed - he still needed the distraction. “Now, you all have heard of our warrior princess Elisa Ambita; some say she’s the greatest fighter alive. Some say she’s the one truly ruling Emre. Others say she’s a witch or a sorceress. One thing is certain: Davas loved her, and she loved him. She often accompanied him on scouting missions. They challenged each other in all the ways that a good couple should. Davas was one of the few men alive who could spar with Elisa without bruising his ego. When Davas was in Barna, they spent their days and nights together, enjoying their loving company. But, unfortunately, it was all about to end.”

Mia leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands; her attention seemed to hang on every word. Vatis did a lap around the stage; when he reached upstage right, he sprinted downstage. The audience jumped back. “Davas ran to Elisa’s room. She wasn’t watching people from her balcony or reading in her study. Instead, Davas found her practicing her spear in the garden. It should have been the first place he looked. 

‘Tell me you didn’t know about Aswar, Elli,’ Davas demanded, catching her spear. Fury burnt in his eyes. ‘Tell me you’re not ok with this madness.’ 

Elisa pulled back her spear, holding it in front of her defensively. ‘I tried to talk him out of it, Davas, but you know how he is when he gets his mind set on something.’ 

‘I won’t do it,’ Davas replied. ‘How can you be ok with this?’ 

Elisa shouldered her spear and stepped closer to Davas. ‘What other choice do we have? If you don’t do it, he will find someone else. You can save most of the children. They don’t need to die.’

‘No one needs to die. The people of Aswar have done nothing wrong,’ Davas said, stepping back. 

Elisa gently tapped her spear to her forehead, her long black hair flowing in the breeze. ‘One of the teachers spoke unkindly of Kandrian.’

‘Then, this is all about revenge. Did all the men I killed speak unkindly of the King? I’ve sacrificed everything because I thought we were building a better world. If Kandrian goes through with this plan, he will be worse than Begic. Power has corrupted his mind. He’s not your brother anymore; he’s a monster,’ Davas said, clenching his fists. 

‘Careful, Davas. Kandrian has ears all over this palace. He will kill you for talk like that,’ Elisa said, gesturing around the garden. She stepped closer. Davas wanted to embrace her, but he forced himself to back away. ‘Davas, please,’ Elisa pleaded.

‘I don’t care if he fucking hears me. Whose side are you on, Elli? We did all of this to rid the world of tyrants, to save people like the millers in Aswar,’ Davas yelled. 

Elisa took a small step closer to Davas, dropping her spear on the ground as she walked. ‘Please keep your voice down. We’re on the same side, Davas.’

‘I almost killed him, Elli. My hand was on my dagger; I should have killed him, but I’m too much of a coward,’ Davas said, holding back tears. 

Elisa wrapped Davas in a tender hug. He resisted at first, keeping his arms at his sides, but eventually, he gave in. He cried as he nestled his face in her neck and held tight. ‘I’m on your side, Davas. We can figure this out.’ Deep, coughing laughter interrupted their embrace.

‘How adorable,’ Kandrian said from the doorway to the garden. ‘It’s about time that I ended this fanciful romance. Guards seize him. Davas, you have committed treason against your King. There is but one punishment for betrayal.’

Six guards swarmed Davas and Elisa. Two ripped him from her arms; Davas didn’t fight back. ‘Kandrian,’ Elisa started. 

‘Shut your mouth. I’ll deal with you later, sister,’ the King said, walking toward Davas. ‘Betrayed by a man I saved, a man I called brother.’ 

‘How have I betrayed you?’ Davas said as one of the guards tied his hands behind his back.

‘Don’t play dumb, Davas. I heard every word,’ Kandrian said, drawing his sword. ‘Your head will make a fine warning atop the wall.’

‘Brother, if you love me, you’ll spare Davas’s life,’ Elisa pleaded, grabbing her brother’s arm. The King slapped her with the back of his hand, knocking her to the ground.

‘Do you want your head to join his?’ Kandrian said, facing her. 

Elisa sprang to her feet like nothing had happened, grabbed her spear, and stepped in front of Davas. ‘If you want to kill him, you’ll have to kill me too.’ 

The King cocked his head to the side, laughed wickedly, then screamed. ‘Move, Elisa.’ 

Elisa stood firm. 

Kandrian screamed again before sheathing his sword. ‘Fine, sister. You win,’ he said, his hauntingly jovial laugh returned. ‘Jegon. I’ll send Davas to Jegon.’ 

‘No,’ Elisa yelled.

‘This is my compromise, sister; I am not without compassion. Davas served me well for many years, but he must be punished.’ 

‘Jegon is the same as death,’ Elisa pleaded, looking back at Davas with love and fear in her eyes. 

‘Argue again, and I will cut off his head right here,’ the King said, turning to one of his guards. ‘Put him on a boat for Jegon immediately. Davas is slippery; I don’t want him to escape. So long, old friend. Try to stay warm.’ Two guards followed the cackling King out of the garden. The other four stayed close to Davas. 

‘Don’t let him do this, Elli. Promise me,’ Davas said as the guards hauled him away. 

She mouthed, ‘I promise’ as she wiped tears off her cheeks.”

Vatis shuffled to the center of the stage, paused, and rubbed his eyes. He dragged his hands down his face, pulling his skin tight before hooking his thumbs in his belt. “For the conservation of time, I will spare you the details of Davas’s trip to the island Jegon and his first few months in prison high in the mountains. Aside from this, from the first day he entered his frozen cell, Davas planned his escape,” Vatis said, sitting down. He looked up. Mia had moved another row closer. He smiled as the girl seemed desperate to hear every word. He rolled backward and jumped to his feet as he continued the story. 

“Davas had been in Jegon for nearly four months. It was a miracle that he was alive; three cellmates had either died from the conditions or killed themselves, two of his toes had turned black from frostbite, and he even survived a game of Shadow. But Davas was resilient. He observed everything; his skills as a scout proved invaluable. He knew the guards’ schedules, and he knew which guards were lenient and which were strict. Davas memorized the prison's layout, tracing a map in frost each morning as he recalled his trip to the mines. Luck found Davas one morning as he chipped away at the ice, mining for gold. A finger-length shard of rock flew into the air, landing between his feet. He deftly hid the shard in his ice-crusted hair. He finally had what he needed to escape. That night, he formalized his plan. In the morning, he would either be free or dead.” 

Vatis watched Mia move yet again. He mirrored her movements, walking upstage as the girl drifted to the second row of the arena. Once she sat, he twirled on his heels and faced the audience for the climax of his tale. “A piece of stale bread bounced off the cell floor after a guard threw it at Davas. He listened to the groans and complaints of the prisoners about their breakfasts. He needed to move as soon as the deliveries ended. Davas knew he didn’t have much time before the next two guards would escort them to the mines. Once the guard moved to the next level of the prison, Davas pulled the shard of rock from his hair and began picking the lock. His frozen fingers didn’t have the same dexterity they once did, and the sliver of rock was more brittle than a pick, but it had to work. After several attempts, he finally heard the life-saving sound of the lock turning. Davas gently opened the door, but it squeaked on its rusty hinges, alerting the other prisoners. 

They whispered, ‘Let us out.’ 

‘I’ll come back for you,’ Davas lied. 

One ragged prisoner, nearing The Welcoming Darkness, screamed. ‘Guards, he’s escaping.’ Davas had hoped this particular prisoner would react obnoxiously. The old man shrieked from nightmares quite often, and the guards didn’t have their accustomed urgency when they checked on him. Davas slunk into the shadows and waited for the guard. 

‘What is it now, old man?’ a guard asked, walking down the stairs. 

‘He’s escaping. He’s escaping. He’s escaping,’ the man howled, pointing in Davas’s direction. 

‘What? Who?’ As the guard turned around, Davas plunged the shard into his neck. The rock bit into the exposed flesh. Davas covered the guard’s mouth as he fell to the floor, twisting his head for a merciful death. Certainly, The Darkness is better than guard duty on Jegon. 

Davas dragged the body to his cell and changed into the uniform, leaving the dead guard in his undergarments. He fastened the sheathe on his hip and slid the sword out - the feel of cold steel in his hand gave him confidence. The first part of his plan was a success. Now, he had to actually escape. He closed the door and threw the ring of keys into the cell across from him. ‘I don’t have time to figure out which key works, but I wish you luck in your escape. May your feet find the road again,’ Davas said to the other prisoners. He didn’t wait for their reply. 

Davas marched through the prison with the authoritarian entitlement that most guards have as he made his way to the yard. He walked by one guard unnoticed. In the next hallway, he slipped by a group of three, avoiding eye contact as they passed. The yard was one hallway away. With no guards in sight, Davas sprinted through the dim stone passage; his head light from hunger and exhaustion, he nearly tripped while looking back over his shoulder. His feet ached in the too-tight, stolen boots. He glanced back again. It can’t be this easy, he thought. Turning around, he knocked over a barrel. It splintered against the wall, spilling grain out in front of him. The barrel knocked him off balance, and the slippery grain helped his feet slide out from underneath him. He twisted slightly and crashed onto his right shoulder. A sudden, sharp pain reverberated across his upper body. He let out a muffled cry into the stone and closed his eyes. A brief moment of rest was all he allowed himself, a moment to clear his mind and find his strength.

‘I just need to make it to the yard,’ Davas said, dusting himself off. ‘Through the yard, over the wall, and down the mountain.’ He finally reached the door to the yard, but it was locked. He cursed himself for giving away the keys and leaving his makeshift lockpick behind. Fortunately, a guard walked up the hall a few moments later. 

‘Dermont, what are you doing up here? They are looking for you downstairs.’ The guard called. Davas didn’t turn around. ‘Dermont,’ the guard repeated. ‘What are you doing?’ 

Davas didn’t want to kill another guard, that wasn’t part of his plan, but he needed to escape. He waited for the guard to get closer, clenched his fist, drew his sword, and charged, driving the blade into his opponent's ribs before the guard could defend himself. The sentry collapsed, his helmet clanging against the stone floor. Davas pulled the keyring from the guard’s belt and tried to unlock the door. The first key didn’t work, and neither did the second, or the third, or the fourth. His hand shook more with each key he tried. Finally, the eighth key fit and turned. Davas opened the door and stepped into the yard, locking the door behind him. He hadn’t made it more than ten steps when he heard shouts from inside. 

‘He went this way. He’s escaping,’ shouts came from all directions. Davas sprinted to the stack of crates near the southern wall. He still was in disbelief that the guards let him stack the containers in a stair-like fashion, but no one had ever escaped Jegon, so they paid little attention to the escape-aiding stack. 

‘There he is,’ guards called from behind him. ‘Archers, take him down.’ Now, one man might seem like an easy target for archers, but with no enemies and no reason to stand ready, the archers were not quick enough to even fire at the lightning-fast Davas. Before so much as a bow was drawn, Davas was atop the wall. He looked down at the snowy slope below, gazed back at the prison, and jumped off the wall.”

A shocked murmur floated around the arena as Vatis jumped off the front of the stage. He looked to his left. Mia clapped. A few others near her tentatively joined in. Vatis smiled at the girl as he walked up the stairs back on stage, whistling an ominous tune to fill the momentary silence. When he returned to center stage, he began again, “Davas had escaped, but his life wasn’t saved yet. It took him three days to descend the snowy slopes. Another toe succumbed to frostbite. He nearly starved before he managed to catch a fish in a stream at the base of the mountain. Somehow, Davas reached the coast of Jegon without dying. He knew he didn’t have the strength left to swim across the channel, but he had to make it back inland. Again, it would be the crates that saved his life—the containers he filled for months with nuggets of gold, iron, and other minerals. 

In the cover of night, he crept to the docks. Once all but two guards were asleep, he slipped onto the boat, hiding behind a pile of crates in the ship's storage. Luck was on his side that night. In the morning, the boat crossed the narrow channel. Davas slunk off the ship unnoticed through a porthole near the stern. He dove into the cool water, floating with the current as far as his exhausted body would allow. Before he let the water take him out to the open sea, Davas swam ashore. He had done it; Davas escaped Jegon. He looked back at the mountainous island across the water; its snowy peaks shivered his bones, but the euphoria of escape warmed him quickly. Yes, Davas had escaped Jegon, but at what cost? He would have to run for the rest of his life. He lost friends. He lost his place in the world, and he lost his love, but he had his life, and maybe he could still try to make Emre a world worth living in,” Vatis said, finishing his tale with a bow. He stood tall, inhaled, and awaited applause.