Tales & Treasure Chapter 41

Vatis - A Puppet's Story

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The rope on Vatis's wrist burnt his tender skin. It had been a long, uncomfortable journey to Haran. Hogtied in the back of Emre's ricketiest wagon, Vatis's lips were chapped and crusted with dried blood. His eyes were nearly swollen shut, and he feared his nose was now more jagged than the Cemil River. Vatis couldn't see much in Alcin's underground hideout. He only knew they were there because of the unmistakable smokey aroma burnt into his memory. He scooted across the stone floor with his ankles tied together; someone kicked him, his kidneys taking most of the damage. He could only see two pairs of boots, one under a table, the other to his right.

The rhythmic commotion in the hideout ended abruptly.

“Zidane,” Alcin’s diabolical voice said. His feet crossed under the table. "I didn't think we'd see you so soon without a certain crippled treasure hunter. What's that?"

The boots to his right shuffled. "That is our ticket to finding Vidmar – Vatis, or Dainius, whatever he calls himself these days," a high-pitched voice said. He wasn't sure if the voice belonged to the boots to his right, but as they came into focus with their ornate purple laces, Vatis realized it was Zidane. Vatis's breath fogged the cold stone floor.

"Who?" Alcin asked, uncrossing his feet and picking his heels off the floor.  

Vatis was lifted off the ground by his binding. The rope seared deeper into his skin. 

"Vatis, the bard that had been traveling with Vidmar," Zidane said, stepping to the side and gesturing over Vatis like a merchant selling a rug. 

The table skidded into Vatis's thighs as Alcin stood to inspect him. "So it is," he said, sitting back down. "I didn't recognize him with all the bruises. You should treat your companions better, Zidane."

"It was the cart that did most of the damage, but I'll take credit for that hideously crooked hole he calls a nose," Zidane said. Vatis could feel Zidane's club pummel him outside Bridgeway. I should never have left the bar. He'd done some stupid things in his life, but that might have been the dumbest so far. 

Vatis had grown overconfident and reckless and didn't think Zidane, with no guards, posed a threat. He was wrong. Even with a head start in the cover of night, Zidane caught him quickly. Vatis barely made it a mile down the road before the eccentric bandit chased him down. Zidane was much quicker and stronger than he anticipated. After numerous strikes from some sort of club, Vatis gave up. A few hours later, he woke up with his hands tied behind his back as he was being dragged, face-down, across the road. 

"And the men call you weak," Alcin said. Vatis detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He felt a small smile creep onto his face, despite knowing this was most likely his last night on Emre. At least my curse will go to one of these degenerates, Vatis hoped, though he wasn't entirely sure how the curse found a new host when and if he died. Does it matter? 

"I suppose you're expecting a reward?" Alcin finished.

Whoever held Vatis up released their grip, and he crashed onto the floor. His head bounced with a hollow thud next to Zidane's boots. Vatis wasn't sure if it was from another blow to the head or if Zidane was nervous, but his shins trembled like he was standing barefoot in the snow. “Well,” Zidane started. The shaking intensified. "I wouldn't object."

"Why do they all want rewards, Tycar? What happened to being pleased with a job well done? Fine, if you want a reward - a reward you shall have."

Zidane's legs stopped shaking. Vatis rolled onto his back to see Zidane's face, but he was kicked in the gut as soon as he glanced at the bandit's sinister smile.

"You may live," Alcin said plainly. 

Zidane's legs quivered so rapidly that his heels tapped against the floor. “Alcin, Sir, I,” Zidane stuttered. 

"As a man from the slums of Haran, I thought you would seize whatever opportunity I gave you. But maybe I'm wrong to give you this chance. You may live and continue your task of finding Vidmar. Bringing me some worthless bard does not erase the debt you owe me," Alcin said. Vatis could feel the weight of the threat from beneath the table. Zidane's feet inched together as he rubbed the back of his calf with the opposite foot like a shy child. 

"Sir," Zidane's voice cracked. 

Alcin slammed something on the table. The wooden legs rattled against the floor. "Find Vidmar or find whichever god you worship."

"Yes, sir. I will not fail you," Zidane said softly.

"Good," Alcin said. "Now, do me a favor before you leave. Drop the bard in my study. I'd like to have a few words with him." 

Zidane yanked Vatis to his feet. "Yes, sir." 

Alcin stood from his table. "Do not disappoint me again." 

Vatis watched Alcin limp toward the bar as one of Zidane's men dragged him through the parlor to an all-too-familiar room. The heavy door creaked open, and they threw Vatis into the desk. Blood stained the gray stone floor. He wondered if that was Vidmar's blood or if it belonged to a collection of unfortunate associates of Alcin. He wondered if his blood would be added to the cluster of stains. 

"Let's see you talk your way out of this," Zidane said with much more confidence than he had in front of Alcin.

Vatis moaned as he rolled to face Zidane. "Something tells me your story will end more tragically than mine," Vatis said, spitting out blood.

Zidane laughed. "Something tells me that your story will end sooner." 

"I hope that you're wrong."

Zidane furrowed his eyebrows, adjusted his hat, and scratched the black stubble on his chin. "We will see. Have fun, Vatis," Zidane's laughter penetrated the iron door that slammed shut behind him. We will see, Vatis thought.

***

"Get up," an unfamiliar voice said.

Vatis only replied with a moan, shaking his long bangs out of his eyes. 

"I said get up," the voice said. Vatis struggled to crawl onto his knees. The new guard was shorter and thinner than the brutes usually accompanying Alcin. He looked like Vidmar with longer hair. It can't be, Vatis thought. The guard deftly cut his bonds with a knife. It can't be. As he cut Vatis's feet free, he noticed the guard had all ten fingers. His moment of relief dissipated instantly, followed by a feeling of regret that he would never be able to know how the treasure hunter's story ended. I wish I were there to see more of your story, Vidmar. 

"On your feet," the Vidmar-looking guard said, cutting the last of his bonds. 

The air stung his chafed skin, hurting worse than when Vatis was tied up. "Thank you," he hissed through the pain.

"Don't thank me yet," the guard said almost sympathetically before knocking twice on the door. 

A few seconds later, Alcin limped in, followed by two more guards. He sat down at the desk opposite Vatis. The guard Vatis was pretty sure was called Tycar threw his pack onto the desk.

Vatis wanted to call out. My stories. Everything he had was in that pack; somehow, he restrained himself.

Alcin tore through the two small compartments on the front of the bag, pulling out a small coin purse and the invitation to the King's Tourney.

"I guess congratulations are in order," Alcin said. "Though my sources told me Feya couldn't lose." 

Vatis wasn't sure how to answer, but he was confident that Alcin knew Feya had died. "The organizer found me the day after the tourney and awarded me with an invitation." There was no need to divulge all the details. The half-truth seemed plausible enough.

"We aren't going to get very far if you're going to lie to me, Vatis," Alcin said, skimming through Vatis's copy of The Lost Forest. 

Vatis's throat tightened, making breathing extremely difficult. "The crowd hated me," he admitted. "I didn't receive applause. Instead, they awarded me with fruit, stones, and bruises. But the organizer was a man of the arts; he appreciated my story. Unfortunately, Feya died tragically the night of the tourney. The next morning, the organizer found me and handed me the invitation. I don't know how she died, but he wished me better luck in a city that doesn't hate foreigners."

Alcin clapped. "Was that so hard?" 

Vatis shook his head.

"Now, for the rest of our," Alcin paused. "Meeting … I'd like complete honesty. I want every single detail. If you shit in the evening instead of the morning, I want to know. Do you understand?"

Vatis nodded again.

Alcin closed the book. "Good. Let's begin."

Vatis tasted blood. He sucked the thick metallic liquid through the cracks in his teeth, realizing he had lost a tooth somewhere between Bridgeway and Haran. 

"Where's Vidmar?" Alcin asked.

Vatis coughed on his blood, spitting specs onto his dirt-covered pants. He looked up. "We parted ways in Vicus."

Alcin's smirk quickly faded into a scowl as he rubbed his eyes. "I assume you know what he's hunting?"

“Yes, the crown of Slavanes Greco. The crown of the true king of Emre."

Alcin looked satisfied. "Why did you part ways?"

"I wanted to go to Barna, and he was trying to decipher a new clue," Vatis said.

Alcin moved his fingers to his temples, pulling his eyes into narrow slits before he pounded the table with both fists. "He found another clue. Where? What is it?"

Vatis forced himself to take a deep breath. "It wasn't so much a new clue as it was a new lead that could translate an old clue."

"I knew that shopkeeper in Yimser was useless," Alcin grunted. "Continue."

"Yes. The shopkeeper didn't help much, but he found a man in Vicus who could help him." 

For the first time since Vatis had met him, Alcin looked confused. "A man from Vicus. Who?" 

What do I say now? Vatis had no love for Hobb, but he didn't want to bring an army to his doorstep. What if Vidmar is still there? What about Mia? 

"Who," Alcin yelled. His guards stepped closer. 

"Hobb," Vatis said, the name spilling out under pressure. 

"Hobb," Alcin mimicked, trying to place the name.

Vatis swallowed, still tasting blood on his gums as his tongue played with the hole left by his missing tooth. "Hobbill, he goes by Hobb. He has a farm on the northeastern edge of town."

Alcin ran a fingernail along a ridge in the wooden table. "Why would a farmer know anything about the greatest treasure in the history of Emre?" 

Vatis knew he had to be careful here. He didn't know what Alcin would do if he knew how powerful Hobb was. What would be believable? Suddenly, his face smashed into the table. He felt the hole in his gum widen as more blood gushed down his throat. Dark clouds crept onto the edge of his vision, but, unfortunately, he didn't pass out. He felt the guard behind him punch his kidney. The pain was worse than having his head thrown against the table. His foot slipped, and he tumbled onto the floor. Vatis no longer wondered if his blood would join Vidmar's amongst the crimson stains. 

"I told you I want honesty, and I want it quickly. I will not wait here while you conjure up some story in that simple mind of yours," Alcin said. "Pick him up." 

The room spun as one of the guards threw Vatis back into the chair.

"Now, I'll ask again, why does a farmer know anything about the crown of Slavanes Greco?"

Vatis coughed. Blood splattered onto the desk. "He's more than a farmer," Vatis said weakly.

"Get this fool some ale. I can't understand him," Alcin said. One of the guards handed Vatis a flask. It was potent but smelled sweet, too, like apples on a fall day. Vatis coughed the first sip down. The alcohol felt like bees stinging his mouth as he swallowed, but he kept drinking. He needed something to numb the pain. The subsequent sips warmed his belly pleasantly. 

"Thank you," Vatis said, wiping his mouth.

Alcin glared at Vatis. "Now, who is Hobb?"

Vatis had to answer. If he lost any more teeth, no crowd would respect him. "Hobbill or Hobb runs the farm on the northeastern edge of Vicus, but he's more than that," Vatis paused, trying to think of what to say next. A quick-moving guard ended his thinking sooner than he would have liked. "He's a member of The Pact. He calls himself a guardian."

The joints in Alcin's neck cracked as he rolled his head around his shoulders. "I told you I didn't want a story." Alcin nodded ever-so-slightly. A fist to Vatis's other kidney followed the nod. Vatis wanted to collapse onto the floor and curl into a ball, but the guard held him by the collar to keep him from falling. The rough homespun choked him as he tried to balance himself. "Hobbill of Vicus is much more than a farmer. He is one of the last remaining members of The Pact. He protects their secrets."

"Give him another drink," Alcin said.

The ale was not easy to swallow, but Vatis got more down. His throat burnt as stomach acid, ale, and blood forced their way back into his mouth. Vomit covered the gray floor.

"Gods," Alcin said, sliding backward in his chair. Vatis couldn't see what was happening as he continued to get sick, but he could vaguely hear shuffling behind him. Then, a freezing bucket of water splashed over him, trailing down his spine into his pants. A guard forced Vatis to lift his head. "The Pact disappeared centuries ago. How did Vidmar discover this guardian?"

Vatis tried to speak through his convulsions and shivers, but only a croaking sound came out. A guard grabbed his collar roughly.

"Give him a moment," Alcin said.

Vatis wiped a combination of water, ale, blood, and vomit off his face. "Thank you," he whispered. Each word felt like a knife in his throat. Vatis let the blades continue their butchery as he worked through a new story. "We had a revelation after Yimser. The shopkeeper confirmed that Vidmar's stone contained The Pact's symbols. I remembered seeing similar symbols inside a tower near Hobb's farm and on the cane he used. We thought through all the possibilities and returned to Vicus. I was there when Hobb revealed his identity, but I don't know more. Vidmar and I had an altercation about where to go next. It escalated, and he forced me to leave. So, I made my way toward Barna for the tourney." It was the best performance he could muster under the circumstances. Vatis tried to swallow saliva to ease the fire at the back of his mouth. 

Alcin didn't look at Vatis. Instead, he stood and washed his hands in a basin at the back of the room. "A member of The Pact in Vicus, this all sounds like tales from a children's story, but fortunately, I believe you. You are a fantastic performer; however, I have another question. Why should I let you live?"

The guard lifted Vatis from the chair and slammed him on the desk. Alcin returned from the basin with a black dagger in hand. "No, please. I'll do anything," Vatis said, struggling beneath the guard's grip. The chandelier cast haunting shadows on the walls as Alcin stepped closer. 

 "That's your best effort? I thought we'd get a better plea from a bard," Alcin said, smiling. "Though there might be worse fates than death for you." Alcin licked his lips.

Vatis realized what Alcin meant. He meant to cut out his tongue, his livelihood, the only thing that separated him from a homeless wanderer, the only thing that kept him sane. If he couldn't tell stories, there was no point in living. Sure, he could write them, but only a fourth of the population knew how to read. His stories would be lost in dusty libraries. Just kill me. Alcin stepped closer with his glistening dagger. Vatis's whole body convulsed. He tried to speak; words wouldn't form in his aching throat. 

A voice in his head whispered to him. "Vatis," it hissed. "Death offers no rest. Use your gift; give him what he wants most." It was the voice from Hobb's Tower, the Kokor Forest, and the Emerald Isles, the voice he thought he'd beaten. It was the voice of the only unoriginal character inside him - the voice of his curse. Vatis struggled against Tycar's grip, but the guard was formidable. Darkness crept into the edge of his vision; he tried to escape the encroaching abyss, but he couldn't. He wasn't strong enough. Vatis gave in to his captor, the voice in his head, and his curse. 

"Let me tell your story," Vatis mumbled as Alcin pressed the dagger onto his tongue.

Alcin pulled back. 

Vatis exhaled. "Let me tell your story—the story of Alcin, the people's champion. I could make you a hero known throughout Emre. I can make you more than a whisper on the tongues of thieves. By the new moon, you'd be on the mind of half the world. By year's end, the people would beg for their hero to take power. Let me tell the story of Alcin – the story of Emre's salvation." 

Alcin placed the dagger on the table. "Now, that is a plea worthy of consideration." He nodded and smirked as he paced back and forth. 

"I could tell your story at the King's Tourney. I could put fear in the heart of your biggest rival. Alcin, you have a story that needs to be told. I beg you to let me tell it. My words could garner more support than a lost crown ever would," Vatis said, letting the cursed character take more control.

“Let him up, Tycar,” Alcin said. "We have a lot to discuss."

Vatis sat up; a smile slithered onto his lips. He clenched his fists to stop his disobeying extremities. Vatis-of-the-Road, Dainius, and others screamed in the back of his mind. The curse pushed them away, close to obscurity. A new voice hissed through his teeth. "Where should we begin?"