Tales & Treasure Chapter 28

Vatis - Bards

Start from the beginning - Tales & Treasure Table of Contents

Vatis waited by Kytia’s door, tapping his foot and trying to come up with a believable story; he couldn’t tell the truth. Most of the patrons had either gone home or retired to their rooms. Vidmar and Mia dragged Kamet upstairs shortly after Vatis’s outburst. I should never have chased Vidmar’s story, he thought. Don’t get attached.

He watched the innkeeper silently curse his guests as he picked fish bones and clam shells off the floor. A door hinge creaked as Kytia emerged. “Come in,” she said, emotionless. 

She pushed a stool out for Vatis and sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed. Her black robe appeared metallic as the firelight reflected off its surface. Hay inside the mattress crinkled when she adjusted her seat, waiting. Again, Vatis searched for words. For a man who knew hundreds of stories and delighted in conversation, words seemed to evade him now. He could see them in his mind: Hello. I should have written. I’m sorry. His tongue and lips wouldn’t cooperate until he finally managed something, an observation as his curiosity exceeded his apprehension. “Is that a copy of Timun’s Bestiary?” Kytia didn’t acknowledge the question. “It’s incredibly rare,” Vatis continued. Kytia remained silent. Her penetrating stare wanted no part of the diverting question. “May I see it?” 

“No.” Her flat answer ended his inquiry without debate. She was a different person in her room. Her façade in front of the audience melted like snow in spring, revealing shriveled foliage beneath.

“Kytia, I don’t know where to begin,” he relented after another torturous minute of enduring her gaze. 

Kytia laughed, not playfully but forcefully. “We searched for you for months.” She closed her eyes and bit her lip, smudging her black eyeliner as she rubbed her face.

Vatis inhaled deeply as if he were about to perform. In some ways, he was. He had to tell her something, anything, but it didn’t have to be the truth. She deserves honesty, his subconscious interjected. But I can’t; there’s too much at stake. His aching shoulders relaxed as he exhaled, beginning his story. “After the attack, I hid,” he began. “I hid from the bandits, from the Guild, from you, from myself. It was my fault, after all.” Vatis paused for a potential response, but Kytia was unmoved. He thought that an admission of guilt would move the lie along quicker. It didn’t work. “I was in shock. They slew Kleon in front of me.” He paused, adding a stutter for dramatic effect. “I can still see the arrows in his chest.” At least this was true; the best lies are forged from small truths. He did see images of Kleon lying dead, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth when he couldn’t sleep or worse when he was asleep.

“It was chaos.”

Kytia’s scowl intensified as he built upon his lie. “Do not perform for me. Tell me the truth or leave,” she said.

The urge to continue the lie was undeniable; however, Kytia remembered him too well. She knew all the tricks and subtleties of a good performance. “I was taken captive,” he began again.

“I said, tell me the truth.”

How did she know that was a lie? Vatis bit the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from shouting. The floor creaked beneath his bouncing toes. He couldn’t hold the truth back any longer. “I ran,” he said, looking down at a knot in one of the floorboards. “They killed Kleon, and I ran. He was the brave one; I was only there to keep him company.”

The sound of hoofbeats rumbled like thunder in his head. He closed his eyes. Two dark arrows splintered as Kleon fell face-first next to him. Vatis squeezed his temples like the pressure could somehow erase his memory. Finally, he forced his eyelids open only to face Kytia’s unchanged executioner’s expression.

“If I hadn’t been lying down, they would have killed me too. There were too many. I rolled under a bush just before they passed, and then I heard screaming and swords clashing, and I ran. I ran until I collapsed in the tulip field outside of Wayland. When I woke, I ran until I reached Curma. Truthfully, I haven’t stopped running. My pace has slowed, but I never stopped. I can’t stop.”

Kytia sniffed, wiping her nose with a silk handkerchief embroidered with the Guild’s emblem – an open book with a quill in the center encased in a diamond. “I can’t believe Likhas was right. How could you abandon us? We lost three bards that day; I lost four friends. Where have you been for the last twenty years?”

Vatis saw the pain and confusion in Kytia’s eyes. His stomach twisted into a tight knot. “I ran for the first year, maybe longer; honestly, I’ve lost track of time. I made it as far as the Emerald Isles before I stopped. I met a shipwright there who dreamt of constructing a vessel strong enough to sail west into the uncharted waters.”

“Focus on your story,” Kytia interrupted. 

Vatis scratched his chin and nodded his apology. How much does she need to know? “I lived on the isles for a while, mostly out of guilt. I couldn’t return to the mainland, not yet. So, I wallowed in my cowardice and became a wretch to anyone who crossed my path. I allowed things to happen that harmed many people; I may have caused more than a few deaths, though not directly. I am a coward, not a murderer. My home for that time was a seaside shack that looked almost as decrepit as I felt. But, again, I don’t know how long I tarried there; I only left because a hurricane destroyed my home. That storm did far worse to the villages a few miles south,” Vatis said as his body convulsed, and his long-hidden secrets revealed themselves like starfish on low tide.

He hunched into a ball to stop the shaking, but the wobbly stool only accentuated his movement. Vatis looked up, meeting Kytia’s gaze; she didn’t respond. Instead, her look of perplexed horror reminded him of his walk through the destroyed villages after the hurricane – buildings toppled, corpses floating in the water, and children crying for their parents. 

He choked back tears and continued.  “After the storm, I ventured from village to village, helping the locals rebuild their homes. It was then that I rediscovered my passion for storytelling; talking with the villagers about their lives, struggles, and dreams led me to my current endeavor. The Stories of Emre, I call it. It is a collection of tales and poems about the everyday heroes and villains who truly affect our world, not just kings and knights and wars, but a recollection of history from the people who experience it,” Vatis paused, waiting for Kytia to comment on his idea, his life’s work. She did not. 

Vatis rubbed the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “I knew if I wanted The Stories to be accurate, I would have to return to the mainland. It took months to work up the courage and even longer to accumulate enough coin for passage, but I returned. I landed in Numeria a few years ago and began searching for stories.”

Kytia shook her head. “How has no one in the Guild seen you? It doesn’t make sense.”

Vatis shrugged. “I searched for stories far to the south, between Numeria and Jegon, where I knew the guild was seldom active. It took a while to develop a character who could persuade others to divulge their secrets, but after some trial and error, I uncovered some marvelous stories. Unfortunately, though, there are only so many tales worth telling in that region, so a few years ago, I began venturing further north. It wasn’t until I met Gunnar that I began performing again. Now, there was a hero whose story ended too soon. His unmatched charisma, incredible swordsmanship, and proclivity for helping those in need could have made him the next Dabin.” 

“Focus,” Kytia said, adjusting her position on the bed.

Vatis nibbled on his thumbnail and forced a curt nod. “Sorry, Kytia. As I was saying, it wasn’t until a few months ago that I began performing again. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to regain my confidence. With Gunnar as my guide and muse, I played a few small taverns south of Basswood. I perfected my voice around campfires, though my presentation still needs work. Yet, somehow, I’ve been invited to perform in Barna at The King’s Tourney,” Vatis said. He felt a smile creep onto his face. “More importantly, I may have finally found the story that will mend my relationship with the Guild and make Vatis-of-the-Road known throughout Emre.”

“I do not care about your petty accomplishments or your ideas. You’re still as arrogant as you were when we were students – arrogant and overconfident. Do you truly think a story can repair the damage you’ve done?” Kytia said. Vatis tried to respond, but she held out a finger, silencing him. “What aren’t you telling me?” She furrowed her eyebrows and forced each word out slowly. “Why haven’t you aged?”

As Vatis searched for an answer, someone pounded relentlessly at Kytia’s door like a battering ram. “Kytia,” the muffled voice called. “Kytia.”

Kytia huffed as she stood, tightening her robe as she walked. “Coming.”

An old man burst into the room a second later, followed by a black dog. It was Ister. The blind man from the common room. “I’ve got a story for you,” he said, pointing to his eyes. “I can see again.”

Kytia didn’t respond to Ister. Instead, she turned toward Vatis, her eyes wide with comprehension.