The graven’s large feathers looked almost silvery in the morning light. As it perched on the battlement, the elegant creature preened, waiting to deliver its message. Accompanied by two nervous stewards, Ashta approached slowly, taking the time to recentre after the mornings disciplinaries. She pulled a small white handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed away the speck of blood on her cheek.
“Speak, I haven’t got long. What’s so urgent?”
The glorious bird looked out over the hills outside the city, raising its head as if turning up its nose. Ashta chuckled.
“Oh don’t be like that, there are a number of important situations to which I must attend. I’ll come by the rookery later. Anyway, what have you got for me? I take it your partner stayed behind?”
The bird turned, apparently placated, and nodded. As per its duty, the graven spread its wings and lowered its head into a curtsy. Ashta reached out gently, and placed her left palm on the graven’s head. With the right hand, she lifted a small vial holding shimmering white liquid. Ashta popped the cap with her thumb and the white liquid evaporated into a misty vapour that surrounded the pair in a dense fog.
When the fog cleared, Ashta found herself floating high above luscious green meadows that she did not recognise. Soaring like this was always good for putting things into perspective. The world looked small from this high up, even manageable. Her vision caught a mountain range that she most certainly did recognise, and the location of this particular scout’s intel became clear. As if to confirm her hunch, the platform between Omir and the Occlewood came into view. The air suddenly felt cold, and luscious greens, now looked wild and dark. This was an unruly part of the world, and a smear on Ashta’s record. The idiot Principal of Nurba would not however be a hindrance for long.
Ashta scanned the lands, searching for the reason for this unwelcome reminder of her failures. At the same time, Omir came into view on the distant horizon, and an odd pair appeared from behind a hill, walking towards the village. The scout rose high, and flew fast, until Ashta had a view over the pair’s heads. She felt the tell tale rush as the scout’s eyes zoomed in on the walkers.
A Misvan and a Togi, nothing too interesting. Although the girls hair was bright pink, and she seemed oddly familiar. Ashta squinted, as though she had control of what she was seeing, straining for detail. Luckily her ever vigilant scout did its job well, and began to descend slowly for a better view. Ashta’s breath caught. The girl was Terran. She must have come in on the nearby platform. She was reading something, a letter. As Ashta muttered to herself, analysing the possible explanations, her attention snapped back to the scene before her.
Her heart sunk as she saw the second scout dive from the sky, only for her view to follow quickly after. With the wind rushing past her, Ashta knew this was a bad idea, and that these moron birds had made their last mistake. She watched as the graven’s attacked. Although they clearly had made the same connections as she had, they lacked the foresight and patience to wait. This recklessness would have to be bred out.
As expected, the pair of graven’s got little more than a scrap of paper for their efforts, and now the Terran would know that she was noted. The fog began to reappear, and Ashta felt herself slip from the scene. Once it cleared for the second time, she was back on the battlements facing her scout. She glared at the creature, who clearly still hadn’t recognised it’s error. Its ignorance of its own incompetence was infuriating. Ashta thrust out her hand, “The paper?! Idiot bird.”
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The graven ruffled, then pulled the letter from its feathers, presenting it carefully to its master. As she took the letter, Ashta also grasped the creature around the neck. She stared into its beady eyes, and squeezed. The graven flailed in her grasp as her knuckles whitened. It took only seconds before the creature went limp. Frustrating though it was, at least its ineptitude would not represent her again.
Ashta dropped the bird over the wall, and turned her focus to the scrap of letter. She scanned the words, realising quickly that she did not understand the script. The mark at the bottom that signed it off however, she did know. Ashta called over her shoulder.
“Send a squad to Omir, immediately. A Terran with bright pink hair, accompanied by a Togi. The other scout should be there keeping watch. Make it quick, make it quiet. I do not need that Nurban fool giving me hassle. And cancel this evening’s meetings. And get me Olbert!”
The two stewards scrambled to retreat and fulfil their orders, as Ashta stepped up to the wall, looking out over the hills. She looked again at the letter, and again at the mark that closed it. The signature of a hazemaker was unique, and if Olbert was as good as he was paid to be, Ashta would soon know the identity of this one.
The agitated general took the longer route back to her offices in hopes to calm her mind. It didn’t work, but then it never did. Unregistered hazemakers were the bane of her existence, alongside pompous Principals that didn’t know their place. Ashta reached her estate, and headed directly for her workshop.
It was one of the few places that did calm her. The state of a hazemakers workshop told you everything you needed to know about them, and this workshop revealed a level of order, precision, and perfection, that was apparently unique in this realm. Ashta’s mind slowed as she approached a cabinet, replacing a used vial, and reclaiming a new one.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “Come.”
The door slowly opened to reveal a steward nervously grasping at their tabard. “Speak!”
“I- have a Master Olbert for you General.”
“Send him in.”
Ashta twisted to face the door, and pulled the torn paper from her pocket. The old man hobbled in slowly, looking even more frail than Ashta had already thought him to be. There was no time for pity though, Ashta pushed the note into his old, wiry hands. She prodded at the hazemakers mark.
“I want you to find out who that belongs too. You have as many of the other scholar’s apprentices as you need.”
The old man’s face lit up, clearly not understanding the severity of the matter. “This is not some light research, scholar, this is important.”
His face dropped, along with his posture. “No, no of course, Madam, I mean no disrespect. It is just that I am happy to be of assistance, and I do not need any time or apprentices. I know who this is.” The fool stood tall, as though impressed that he was capable of the work he was already paid for.
“Well?”
“It is the Terran hazemaker, known as the Gardener, although it has been over forty years since he was last reported.”
“Can you read the script?”
The old man’s head hung, though this was answer enough, he still felt the need to speak.
“Alas, I cannot. However I have an apprentice studying Terran languages. I can take the text to them.”
Ashta interrupted quickly.
“The text, does not leave this workshop, bring your apprentice here, quickly.”
The ageing scholar handed back the paper, then stumbled back a few paces and turned as he rushed to comply. As the door closed behind him, Ashta took a seat and let out a sigh. Noticing the steward still standing meekly by the door, she waved him over.
“Go to the rookery, I want the other bird disposed of when it gets back. Get the featherman to look into its lineage and check for active offspring. They will remove any others of the same line.”
The steward nodded into a bow, and then made a hasty exit. Finally, there was peace again in the workshop. Ashta settled into the meditative practice of reorganising her shelves, as she pondered the possible implications of an unregistered Terran. From the girl’s interactions with the scouts she was clearly not prepared, and she was travelling with a Togi, which in and of itself indicated poor judgement.
Despite this, the name Gardener lingered. There was no reason to believe the pink haired Terran offered a substantial threat, but underestimating hazemakers was a fools game and Ashta was certainly not a fool.