Part 2

Truth Bringer:

Five weeks passed. Most of the time she trained privately under the brutal sun. She was taught how to defend against and create more complex fire blasts. Apparently, many hand motions could summon a variety of fire attacks. Kilin, Ms. Holt’s cousin, educated Arin in how to summon and control her fire. The two immediately bonded over their love for her deceased caretaker.

            Sword fighting also became easier; Coyasko worked her hard during most days and the rigorous exercise was paying off. Mila sometimes caught her training, but it was always Kilin or Coyasko that took her punishment.

            Sadly, because of her intensive training schedule, Arin never got to see Loid or Scarlet. Mila sometimes caught her training, but it was always Kilin or Coyasko who took the blame for her. Thankfully many opened up to Arin, making her time with the Crimsons a lot better. Despite the growing love for her, none were able to provide answers to Arin’s many questions.

            “Arin!” a Crimson furiously banged on her door. “It’s time to wake up!” She opened her eyes, hungry and tired. The Crimson knocked again, a little laugh in her voice. “We have breakfast waiting for you.”

            “Ugh, coming.” Clearly her day was already planned out. Perhaps Kilin was going to train her again. Arin slipped into her day’s training uniform, reassuring the Crimson constantly that she was coming.

            Arin finally left her room, deciding not to bring her sword. Two female Crimsons, dressed with brown leather armor, waited for her. Both held spears, shields on their forearms. They greeted Arin with a bright smile and a day’s blessing. Arin smiled in return.

            “While our forces are out today, Coyasko asked us to introduce you to someone.” They gestured for Arin to follow.

            “Are you sure it is safe? They might be a spy.”

            The two laughed at the silly thought. “Oh, no no. This Crimson is a friend. You can trust him.”

            “Yet you won’t tell me his name?”

            “Well, Arin, we don’t like talking about people before introducing them. Here we try not to be biased towards others or create a false image of them. No disrespect to you, it’s just how we were all raised.”

            Arin was quiet, not wanting to upset the two respectful Crimsons. She still had a lot to learn. “Where are we going?”

            “The eighth floor where his study is.” Already being trusted to go to a forbidden floor? Arin rose her head, a proud smile spread. Was she finally trusted to go to one?

            The Crimsons took her to the staircase, climbing in silence. Arin stumbled up the stairs, still groggy from her late night. It was important to focus on this new day. She knew that she would figure out who this stranger was shortly. She had faith that this person could be trusted. As they walked, Arin imagined what he might look like. Tall perhaps? Would he be wearing the brown training attire everyone wears, or a suit that a general would have? Maybe he would wear a silk robe, he lived on a special floor so clearly this man was of importance.

            One opened the door for Arin at the designated level. She bowed her head as thanks. It wasn’t uncommon to see empty hallways, but here Arin felt vulnerable. The wall was open for wind to drift through.

One of the Crimsons placed a hand on her shoulder, causing Arin to jump. “It’s nice, isn’t it? We should keep going, we don’t want to keep your biggest fan waiting.”

            Fan? Everyone Crimson must know her name by the sound of it. They made their way to their destination. Arin was anxious, but with all of her training a simple Other would be no match for her. Turning down a narrower hallway, a tall door lied at the end. This was it.

            As they approached the room, Arin drilled herself what proper manners were. Closer and closer, she wrung her hands. One of the Crimsons knocked on the door. Arin trembled as they waited. Someone finally beckoned them to enter with a hearty shout.

            “We’ll wait out here for a minute. You can enter now, Arin.”

            “T—thank you.” Arin pulled the heavy door open, struggling a little.

            This stranger’s study was almost the size of a library. Shelves and shelves of scrolls and thick musty books. There were no ladders or stairs reaching the shelves or the second floor. On a table towards the back was the Plaque. Leaning against the table was a staff with a red jewel on the top. Nearby there was a rattle. Hanging outside the open window, chimes swayed in the wind, sometimes bumping into each other.

            Arin continued to survey the room. “Hello?”

            “Hold on, one second!” he called from an upstairs room. Arin remained still, twirling with her hair and swaying back and forth. “All right,” he shouted, “I’m coming!”

            There was thumping above. An incredibly tall avian humanoid rushed out of a room, carrying a tray with him. His chocolate feathers fluffed up, clearly he was excited. The stranger spread his wings, hopping from the second floor, landing without a single grunt of pain. Arin scurried back, frightened by him. He straightened his posture, towering a few feet over her.

            “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Arin!” he smiled. “My name is Oshwa and I’m the Crimson soothsayer.”

            “U—um, hello . . .”

            “Please have a seat. I made you some breakfast. Otara’s letter said that feeding you makes you happy so I made us some scones to share!” He turned away from her, green cloak following his movement.

            Arin followed him to the table, sitting against the wall. Oshwa pushed the Plaque to the side, his sharp talons might have left a scratch on it. He then set the filled plate of scones in front of her. They were incredibly large, clearly not made for a human-sized mouth.

            “You read Ms. Holt’s—Otara’s—letter?”

            “A hundred times perhaps! I analyzed every sentence, trying to obtain as much knowledge as possible. In fact, I made this meal as instructed in the letter. I know your time here has been shaky, so I decided to bake this to make you happy!”

            Arin reached for a scone, taking a bite from the cinnamon pastry. It was dry, and not too great. “Thank you, sir.”

            “Please call me Oshwa.” He squealed, swallowing a scone in two bites. “I’ve been dying to meet you since you arrived! I wish Mila would have let me sooner.”

            “Why didn’t he let you?”

            “Because he didn’t think it was ‘worth my time’,” Oshwa puffed out his chest, impersonating Mila. Now mocking him, Oshwa continued, “the human may have read the sacred Plaque, and may be the key to our salvation, but we should totally put it off because I refuse to be wrong.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

            Arin snorted, “sounds about right.”

            “I know you’re nervous about this, but we both have questions for each other. How about I go first and after my question is answered you can ask a question. Fair?”

            Smile gone, Arin nodded. “I have a lot of questions, sir.”

            He winked at her, pulling out a foggy sphere from his cloak’s pocket. “This is the Sphere of Visions. We aren’t going to be using it, I just need to keep my eye on it. Ya’ see, when the Crimsons are out I keep an eye on them and make sure everything is okay.” She nodded. “I’m going to grab some parchment. I’ll be back in a second, feel free to evaluate the scrolls already set out.”

            Oshwa stood up, knocking his chair over. He ran off, embarrassed. Arin continued to eat, pulling a scroll in front of her. The handwriting was a little messy, but still legible.

Inferno of Sincerity

Bush of Ferocity

Bolt of Courage

Ocean of Selflessness

Darkness of Knowledge

Children of Destiny?

            Arin giggled. It was a misinterpreted version of the prophecy. She continued reading Oshwa’s poor interpretations of the prophecy. How did he know what it was in the first place? His notes began to talk about strange symbols. Signs, omens, his visions.

            Arin stopped reading. He would explain it all soon. Oshwa returned, taking a seat in front of her. He tidied up the table, placing the food to the side and bringing the Plaque to the center.

            “May I start?” Arin nodded. “Can you still translate the Plaque?”

            It was in English, but for some reason only Arin could read it. “Yes. I can still read it.”

            “Can you please tell me what it says. Say ‘new line’ whenever it breaks off.”

            Arin read off the same prophecy as before, tearing up as she remembered the Lightfoots. Oshwa wrote her words down, delighted by this. Arin rubbed at her eyes, trying to push the memories away.

            “Thank you so so much, Arin. Now as promised, you can ask me a question.”

            Arin lowered her gaze, trying to think. She could ask about Mila, why the Others are evil, why the war even exists, or even what creature Oshwa was.

            “Well, for starters, what are you exactly? Are you from Fynne?”

            He laughed, forcing his beak shut so he didn’t sound rude. “I’m called a Pure Avillian, sweet child. My kind is indigenous to Fynne, yes. I prefer not to talk too much about it though.” Arin apologized, fidgeting in her seat. Oshwa spoke again, “so, my next question is . . . how are you able to understand the Plaque? Like is there a special ritual for it to change languages or are you born like this?”

            “No. It called out to me, when I touched it, the Plaque changed languages. Ms. Holt—Otara—later told me that by touching it, the spirit inside can hear it. I think he only wants certain people using it though.”

            “I see. Well, I know what my question is going to be next round. Give me a second before you ask.” Oshwa dipped his talon into the inkwell, continuing to scribble everything down. Sometimes he glanced at the Sphere of Visions to make sure nothing bad was happening.

            I should ask him about the war, or maybe about my importance. Who am I to these people?

            “Okay, I’m ready.”

            “Um . . . can you tell me about this war? Like why you’re even fighting?”

            “Well,” he leaned back, “it’s a long story. You sure you want to hear it?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            He smiled for a moment. Oshwa pulled a book close to him. “This book contains the detailed history of Fynne. I’ll just give you a general summary, okay?”

            “Okay.”

            “So, basically at the time of the human arrival there was this war which was called the Great War. This part is kinda unknown since the humans were so new to the world, they weren’t able to get the whole story. Anyways, after this war the humans settled right around here. They called themselves the Crimsons. The Crimsons split, a faction of those who sought power rose. They are what you call Others. Their group proceeded to conquer the Crimson minority. Centuries passed, the Crimsons continued to work under the Other’s brutal rule. In the Crimsons’ time of desperation, the prophecy was proclaimed. Although just a bunch of words, the Crimsons felt hope.” Oshwa stood, raising a fist high, “they rebelled, Arin. They chased away their oppressors to the north, and gained their independence!”

            Fascinated by the intensity in his voice, Arin was captivated by the tale. Oshwa lowered his hand. His triumphant tone vanished, “but the Others swore revenge. They still see us as a part of their kingdom, all of this is just a little rebellion. We want our freedom, and the Others want us back in their control. Now that you’re here, you can bring us peace . . .” Oshwa sat down again, grabbing Arin’s hands, covering them in black ink. “Although many see it as a story, you drove us to hope. Now that the legend is clearly true . . . Arin, you can find the Children of Destiny. You can save us all. I know Mila is cruel but—”

            “Oshwa, I don’t know how to find the Children of Destiny. I don’t know how I can help you.”

            “It’ll come, Arin. It’s best if we don’t force it. You can always come to me for guidance. Prophecy related or not. Okay?”

            She nodded, “I would like that a lot, sir.”

            “Now for my next question—” The fog inside the Sphere of Visions began to churn. Oshwa hastily picked it up, staring into it. “Interesting . . .”

            “What’s wrong?”

            “The Crimsons are losing.”

            “What do we do.”

            “Let us watch for a moment, I’ll need to fill out a report.”

            “Can I help?”

            “Sure,” Oshwa chuckled, “tell me everything that happens inside that sphere.”

            He passed the light object down to Arin. She rubbed the ink off with her shirt, then stared inside.

            Clad in golden armor, Mila aimed his lance at the black fort in front of the group of Crimsons. He was shouting orders, or perhaps motivational words. Following their leader, Crimsons swooped into battle, engaging the Others in fierce aerial combat. Crimsons dove after oval objects, gently placing them inside saddle pockets. Were they eggs?

            As the Crimsons fought, Arin explained everything happening according to the Sphere of Visions. Oshwa would sometimes ask for more detail, wanting to hear about the Crimsons’ injury. There were burns, concussions, falling. The Crimsons did do damage against the fortified building. Mila and Gage lead the Crimsons fearlessly. Even with their awesome power, the fort was too sturdy for them.

            The scene changed, now high above the ground, focused on a humanoid like Oshwa. White feathers, golden beak, this Pure Avillian was kingly in appearance. Would the great sword on his back live up to his awesome appearance?

            Diving into combat, the Pure Avillian tackled an Other off their dragon mount. Immediately, the winged warrior moved onto their next foe.

            “There is another Crimson that looks like you?”

            “Ah yes. His name is Hawthorne, a good friend and warrior. I don’t want to talk about Hawthorne too much though. This report comes first.”

            When Arin returned to staring into the sphere, the scene had changed once more.       

            Mila and Gage fought against Croun and his massive purple dragon mount. The two Crimsons were winded, Gage could barely keep his balance. Mila stroked his partner’s armored neck, then held his fist high, a light emitting from his wrist.

            Mila and Gage merged into one.

            Pearl feathers sprouted across their body, the tips of many of them were a sun yellow.

            Mila advanced to Croun, dodging every burst of ice thrown at him. He stretched his arms out as he neared his opponent. Talons and claws locked. Wings of both kings flapped heavily as they tried to control themselves. Croun’s dragon used her curved horns in her favor, jabbing Mila’s neck. His armor strained to protect him.

            Coyasko and his mount collided into Croun. The golden miniature dragon wrapped his small claws around the horn puncturing Mila, pulling it away.

            Words were exchanged, hopefully Coyasko was trying to convince Mila to retreat. The Crimson king nodded, calling out to everyone. Quickly, the Crimsons finished their skirmish before turning away. Many dove to help the wounded, refusing to leave any behind.

            The Others allowed them to leave, hovering in the air.

            As the Crimsons fled, the vision blurred. Then it disappeared. Now the sphere was just an empty glass ball once more.

            Arin set the Sphere of Visions onto the table. Everything she saw was both frightening and awesome. Oshwa finished his report, wiping his talons on a towel.

            “I should alert the doctors. Do you want to come?”

            Arin nodded, “all right. Will I get in trouble?”

            “No.” Oshwa stood. “C’mon, Arin. Let’s prepare for the Crimsons’ return home.”

            Together, they raced out of the room, leaving the Plaque and Sphere of Visions behind.