Vala lay awake in her chambers, her eyes fixed upon the intricate kaleidoscopic pattern carved into the ceiling. Her heart raced slightly as the sounds of guards and servants slowly died down, replaced only by the footsteps of the night watch. She paused a few moments more, holding her breath, as she paid closer attention to the guard patrolling the halls by her chambers. One…two…three… she counted silently as the footsteps advanced closer to her chambers then retreated once more.
Vala slid off of her bed and knelt down beside it to retrieve the commoners’ garb she'd smuggled into her room the year before. She stared at it as she lay it on her bed. It had been a while since she last wore it. Not since… Vala blinked a stray tear from her eye as she quickly changed into the slightly uncomfortable clothing. She smiled slightly at the itching sensation, a reminder of a better time, before finally throwing a dark cloak over herself.
She pressed her ear to the oak door, listening intently for the retreat of the guardsman's footsteps before slowly prying the door open, praying that the hinges would not choose this rather inauspicious time to creak. To her luck, it didn't. Now for the easy part, she thought as she snuck her way around the palace. She'd memorized the placements of the guards and had gained an intimate understanding of the blindspots. “No matter how secure, there are always flaws to exploit. Both in sneaking, and in dueling,” Wystan had told her many times before. Vala felt a rush of adrenaline as she neared her exit: a small door on the side of the palace that the servants used and, in times of peril, served as an escape route for members of the royal family. Well, I suppose I am using it for its intended purpose then, aren't I? Vala smirked.
She crept out the door, the midnight breeze sending a chill down her spine as she hugged her cloak closer to her chest. She stared up at the full moon. Watch over me, will you? Watch how your beloved Vala gets revenge for your death. She clenched her fists and made her way into the woods, carefully stepping over roots and shrubs for well over a mile before she saw the dim light from the old hag's cottage.
Vala knocked lightly on the door, her heart racing and beads of sweat on her brow, both from trekking through the woods and from her nerves. Don't tell me she's fallen asleep, she thought as she knocked once more, significantly louder this time.
“Have you never heard of patience?!” Berta complained as she finally opened the door. She was hunched over; disheveled, thin white hair covering her back and hanging over her face as she beckoned Vala inside. “Now hurry and get inside girl! This draft'll freeze my old bones.”
Vala stepped into the warm cottage, taking a look around. For an old hag, she certainly stays quite well organized, she marveled. Not a single object was out of place, nor was there so much as a speck of dirt or dust covering the floor. She shook her head and cleared her throat before addressing Berta, “I take it you received my raven?”
“What do you think? Don't ask such obvious questions!” Berta snapped.
Vala gulped. “And? Will you teach me?”
“Now there's a question worth asking. As much as I feel for you, dear, I fear teaching you the divine tongue will only lead to disaster. You are unwell!” Berta turned away, tending to the small fire warming her cottage.
Vala crossed her arms, “I didn't travel all the way out here just for you to tell me ‘No’! You will teach me, that's an order from your princess!”
Berta let out a hearty laugh, “You do not command me, girl! But I do commend your spirit!” She sighed, “Very well, if you insist upon being a bother to me, I'll consider teaching you. But before I teach you a single word of Iorba, I must first get assurance that you won't turn into a Larsma.” Berta hung a kettle over the fire as she continued, “Tell me, Vala, what do you know about Iorba?”
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Vala opened her mouth to protest the old hag's blatant disregard for her authority, but held her tongue. I suppose she's much too old to care. And it's not as though I can have her held in contempt without what I'm up to becoming known. “I only know that it's powerful and that it's forbidden. Magic, isn't it?”
Berta rolled her eyes, “Bah! Magic! Only the ignorant masses refer to it with a term as vulgar as that! Tell me, why is Iorba known as the divine language? Or have you never even stopped to consider that?”
Vala paused. She hadn't ever given it much thought. “I…suppose it's because it was used by the Maker?”
“Well, not quite. Nobody can even come close to what the Maker could do. That's because the Maker never used Iorba. Iorba is…shall we say, an approximation.”
Vala nodded, “I see. Wait, so where did Iorba come from then?”
Berta smiled, “Good question. Who knows really? All that is certain is that Iorba allows those who know how to wield it the power to influence the world in a meager imitation of the Maker.” She sighed, “Or, as the ignorant masses will call it, magic.” Vala could sense the distaste for the word as it left Berta's lips.
“But why is it forbidden then? If it's so powerful and so useful, surely we should be using it? Is it because of Larsma?”
Berta nodded gravely, “Precisely. There are those who claim that Iorba is, in fact, a cursed language. And Larsma are the punishment for its misuse. It's theft of the highest order, claiming the power of the Maker for oneself.” She took the kettle from over the fire and poured the tea into two cups, offering one to Vala.
Vala blew over the hot liquid before taking a small sip, recoiling and coughing at the strong herbal flavor. “What is in this?!”
Berta chortled and took a sip of it herself, “Prove yourself worthy, and perhaps I'll teach you this as well. Do drink up your tea, dear. Don't want to be rude to an old lady, that would be rather un-princesslike of you, wouldn't it?”
Vala grimaced and took a deep breath before taking another sip, her face contorted. She glanced up and scowled slightly at Berta's amused expression. She's enjoying this far too much. She pushed the thought aside and asked, “So how does one use Iorba without turning into Larsma? Must I pray five times daily and drink this horrid concoction you call tea?”
“Oh, most certainly not! I assure you, even if you did pray to the Maker, he isn't listening. Probably. And the tea is just that and nothing more.” Berta took a long slow sip of her tea before pursing her lips, as if contemplating something. She took a look at Vala with her dark eyes, boring through into her soul with her gaze, before continuing, “To answer your question, first I'll provide a demonstration. Look here, at my ring—” Berta held out her hand. The black ring upon her left middle finger seemed to sparkle in the light of the fire. No, Vala realized as she looked more closely, those lights are in the ring itself. A sea of blue and yellow stars, twinkling like the constellations of the night sky glimmered, almost breathing.
Berta smiled warmly, nodding in recognition of Vala's observation. “Indeed, the ring does contain starlight. Well, not starlight exactly, but an image of it.” She fiddled with the ring on her finger, turning it and looking upon it with an expression of nostalgia. “My late husband's ring. The one that bound my heart to his.”
“It's beautiful…” Vala felt a twinge of heartache, the weight of Wystan's passing crushing her once more. She'd never be able to bind her heart to his, not anymore. She took a shaky breath before clearing her throat, “What does this have to do with Iorba?”
“Everything, my dear. It is the memory of his love that tethers me to my humanity, to my sense of self. Of course, it doesn't just take having this ring, I had to perform a ritual to give it the power to be my tether. But yes, with this, I may use Iorba without fear of turning. If you wish to possess this power, you will need something you hold dear. Whether that be a ring, or a dress, or—”
“—What about a sword?” Vala interjected, her first thought turning to the blade Wystan gifted her.
“…Or a sword, yes. And should you learn Iorba well, I shall assist you in performing the ritual. But be warned—once you perform the ritual, should anything untoward happen to your tether, your life will burn away as well. So choose wisely…” Berta warned, her eyes seemingly sinking into her head and the corner of her mouth tightening slightly. Berta glanced at the fireplace and cursed as she noticed the flame fading. She spat out, “Ignitia Xygnum kapsuro!” Instantly, the flame burst back to life, reignited by the power of the divine tongue.
Vala's eyes widened and she jumped backwards in her seat, nearly falling over, “Was that—?” She let the question trail off. There was no questioning it. Vala smiled shakily, her hands trembling slightly. Soon, my beloved. Revenge will be ours. She turned back towards the old hag, opening her mouth to ask further questions, but she was already sound asleep. The only sounds remaining in the little cottage were the crackling of the fire and the howling of the midnight winds.