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[I] 7. Confessions

Chapter Seven: Confessions

“See… it’s the boy. He matches the description.”

Finneas had managed to get back on his feet. Despite having no weapons, Finneas was ready to fight. It was obvious he was going to lose. Nonetheless, he had no choice. Crouching down, Finneas picked up a tree branch lying nearby.

"No point fighting, kid," the guard continued. "Give yourself in and we won't hurt you."

Although he had no experience with a weapon, Finneas knew perhaps a simple whack over the head would give him enough chance to make a run for it. Neither guard had brought out their weapons yet. Finneas wondered if they took his threat seriously. There was only one way to tell.

Finneas charged forward, holding the stick above his head. He yelled a war cry as he attempt to slam the branch on top of one of the guard's heads. The man was swift, moving out of Finneas’s path with ease. With his staff, the guard thumped it at the boy's back, knocking him to the ground.

"Looks like we've got a fighter," the guard laughed. "Boss didn't say he was the one to bite."

"Probably wrong intel," the other remarked. "They say his brother can have violent outbursts. Maybe he's the same."

Finneas found his face covered with mud. Luckily the ground wasn't that hard – the rain had at least softened the soil. He rolled over, facing the guards. The two men towered above him, ready to strike.

“I won’t fight,” Finneas begged. “I won’t…”

The guards didn’t respond.

“Did the boss say anything about bringing him alive?”

"No… no, he didn't."

“Thinking what I’m thinking?” the guard said coarsely. “Killing him might give others the message: you don’t cross the Republic. Plus, killing him now probably saves whatever torturous death the boss plans up. What you think?”

“Sounds fine… s’pose you do the first strike, then?”

The guard, who proposed the plan, lifted his staff. He readied it, aiming to crush Finneas’s skull. Before the man could thrush the staff into his face, Finneas quickly rolled over again, making the guard miss.

“You lil’ chaff,” the guard snarled.

He prepared for another forward slam. This time, Finneas knew the man wasn’t going to miss. He closed his eye tight, anticipating the eventual hit. But the strike didn’t come.

Finneas opened his eyes. The guard was still towering above him. However, the man had paused. Finneas quickly noticed a spearhead had sliced into the guard’s neck plunging through his throat. The man began to chock as blood dribbled down his chest. The weapon quickly retracted, causing the guard to fall to the ground. The man grabbed hold of his neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. As the guard lay there, he stared intensely at Finneas. Finneas was unsure if the man was still conscious. The eyes were still open, yet the face seem vacant.

Looking upwards to see who his sudden rescuer was, Finneas quickly realised it was Cymon who had killed the guard. The Water Taper stood defiantly; his spear ready to strike again.

"Not you!" the other guard remarked, slowly taking steps back. “You’re Joses’s younger brother, Prince Neco?”

Cymon didn’t respond.

“Royalty or not,” the guard stated. “You attacked an imperial guard. I… have… to arrest you…”

“That’s not happening,” Cymon said coolly.

Realising the man wasn’t going to budge, the guard also ready his weapon. Aware of what had happened to his fellow guard, the man’s hand shook violently. Although nervous, he stood his ground. Eying his opponent, Cymon waited for an opening. He didn’t have the element of surprise this time.

The Water Taper lightly jabbed his spear forward, making the guard flinch. Cymon moved forward, again, this time a harder thrust towards the man. The guard attempted to block the attack, but Cymon quickly retracted his weapon. The guard had left himself open, having swiped to the left. With the man exposed, Cymon did another lunge, this time penetrating the man’s stomach. Drawing closer, Cymon pushed the spear upwards. The guard tried to say something, but gobbles of blood dribbled from his mouth. Cymon fiercely retracted. The guard fell to the ground, clutching his stomach.

Cymon quickly ran to Finneas, who was still lying on the ground. The Water Taper grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him to his feet.

"Where are the others?" Cymon probed.

“Lochen’s in the temple,” Finneas answered, his voice rather shaken. The two guards were lying there, dead. "Kist was at the inn, the last I saw him.”

“I’m unfamiliar with the inn,” Cymon remarked, "but I do know where the temple is. Go and find your friend. There's a lake with a tree growing in the middle. It's just north of this village. We'll meet there.”

Finneas didn’t have the chance to reply. Cymon began sprinting towards the temple. Finneas stared back at the guards, their dead bodies lying in a puddle of blood and guts. People around the village were beginning to crowd around, to see what had happened. Too many eyes. Finneas had to get away quickly. He pushed through the crowd. Some of them tried asking him questions. Finneas ignored them. He couldn't even remember what they'd asked.

He made his way to the inn. Finneas barged in. He was in such a rush, that he hadn't noticed the ruckus he’d caused. The innkeeper yelled, probably telling him off. Whatever the man uttered – whether it was Finneas being noisy, or walking inside with muddy sandals – Finneas couldn’t remember. Nor did he care. It wasn’t like he was listening anyway.

“Kist!” Finneas called, walking into the common room. His friend was sitting on one of the inn’s couches, reading what appeared to be a newspaper. “We need to go!”

His friend seemed surprised.

“Whoa…!” Finneas’s friend remarked. “What’s happening?”

“We've no time. We got to leave now."

Since both boys had lost their backpacks, having left them in the forest temple, they didn’t have to worry about collecting their gear. Finneas placed a coin on the inn’s bar – it the most he could give, especially since he’d muddied the carpet. Kistoph followed Finneas, without asking him what had occurred

They finally made it to the lake, the place Cymon agreed for them to meet. Neither the Water Taper, nor Lochen, was there yet. Emotionally tired, Finneas dropped to the ground. He breathed heavily. Finally getting his breath back, Finneas decided it was best to update his friend.

"Guards ambushed me," he explained. "They'd worked out who I am. We're wanted, I think. They've been told our description or something like that. Dear Maker, what've we gotten ourselves into?"

“Where’s that Native kid?”

“Cymon’s gone to get him?”

“Cymon’s back?” his friend appeared to be staggered at the news.

“He rescued me,” Finneas explained. “Cut those guards in half. That crowd you saw, they there because of…”

“…Cymon?”

Finneas nodded.

“What’ve we done? Have we made a mistake?”

“It’s all good,” his friend tried reassuring him. Finneas could tell his friend was unsettled. It was unusual for Finneas to be so emotional; not like this. “I guess Cymon’ll be back soon... if you're right."

Just as his friend said that a towering shadow appeared over them.

“Sorry for taking our time,” Cymon explained. “Had to talk the villagers out of… well… you don’t need to know.”

“You didn’t kill more people?” Finneas remarked, tears dripping down his face. He almost choked, trying to say even a few words. "Like those guards?"

“Heck no,” the Water Taper exclaimed. “Nothing like that. Well… I guess I have some explaining to do.”

"You're a prince or something?"

“The youngest brother, to be precise,” Cymon further explained. "Besides my brother, the king in exile, I'm next in line."

Lochen, who had been standing back, suddenly knelt. He bent his neck downwards, as if in servitude.

“You’re highness.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Cymon laughed. "I'm no king or anything. Not that I want it. Plus, stuff like that – the kneeling and all – just makes me cringe."

“Sorry…” Lochen apologised, now standing up. He blushed red.

“I guess I’ve something to confess too,” Finneas decided to admit. “I’m the Seer… or that’s what the Sensor thinks I am.”

“The Seer?” Lochen seemed startled.

Finneas remembered back in the temple Cymon mentioning the Seer – the Water Taper already knew either Finneas or Kistoph was the Seer; he just didn’t know exactly who. However, this must have been news to Lochen.

“That guy who discovered magic?” Lochen asked. “The guy that enslaved us… I mean… founded the Order, too?”

"Not exactly," Finneas confessed. He wasn’t sure either. Sebastos barely explained what the Seer was. Was he the reincarnation? Or did he simply have the same ability as the Order's founder? He'd heard about the superstition of avatars – spiritual beings entering a person. Had that occurred? "I can see writings," Finneas explained. "Words, or symbols only I can see. They meant to open some portal. Restore magic or something. I'm not all certain myself, what I am."

Lochen didn’t respond. Finneas hoped this didn’t cause ill will between them.

“You were born with this ability,” Cymon remarked, placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I highly doubt you are the Seer, the one from the past.”

“Avatars… and stuff,” Lochen mumbled.

“That has nothing to do with this?” Cymon explained. “Avatars are a myth.”

“You think so?” Lochen said, sounding uncertain.

Cymon didn't respond. Instead, he looked towards the village. A commotion could be heard.

“We better get moving,” he said. “We’ve made enough trouble for one day.”

The group avoided the roads. Although it was uncertain they would cross paths with any guards, let alone ones that would recognise them, the group didn't want to take the risk. Instead, Cymon led them up a hilly pathway. There were a few markers; small stone pillars with ancient writings on them, which directed them along the trail. Besides that, there were no discernible tracks. Perhaps long ago, when the path was used more frequently, there would have been at least some crude roading. Now the pathway was long forgotten, only known to a few like Cymon. Unlike Hlath Forest, the hilly area had very few trees, a few scattered here and there.

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They stopped for the night. Cymon had found a patch of flat ground. Since the rain stopped, they were able to sleep in the open. Lying down, Finneas stared up at the skies, admiring the stars. For a moment he saw a shooting star, burning across the sky. It soon faded into nothing. Knowing they had a long journey the following day, Finneas drifted asleep.

As the sun rose, they continued their journey. The pathway now diverted, westward towards the sea. The mountainous terrain became more jagged and perilous. This meant they couldn’t avoid the main road anymore. The group made their way down a narrow, yet tangling stairway made of old slabs of stone. Although made with care and craftsmanship, time and the elements had battered the stairway over the aeons. Now and then, the steps would simply disappear, making any traveller guess to discern the path. As suddenly as they disappeared, the stairs reappeared again.

Instead of wandering down the main highway, Cymon insisted they moved northward by the coastline. By late afternoon, they had reached a small seaside village. The hamlet had only a few buildings – Finneas could count at least four structures; an inn, two farmhouses, and a barn.

The village had a fenced paddock that contain a herd of ash’q lizards and a few bison. Although bison were a common sight in Estmere, used mainly to pull carts around, ash’q were far rarer. Ash’q were large bipedal reptile creatures. They originated from the Sanlands, where nomads would ride them into battle. The beasts were quite big. They could strike fear into anyone standing in their path. When Finneas was younger, he remembered seeing an ash’q being sold at one of Angluem’s marketplaces. His brother was obsessed with those things. He remembered Kenelm insisting he was going to be an ash’q rider when he grew up. Racing ash’q was common up in the Riverlands. Sadly, his brother’s dream most likely wouldn’t come true, unless he travelled north. Somehow, ash’q racing never caught on in Estmere, which probably explained the lack of them in the region. Because the people of Angluem seemed uninterested in the creatures, information was scarce. This meant his brother would scavenge any newspapers for articles on the latest races. He would even hog the radio just to listen to live coverage of ash’q racing. His brother always had a fondness for large beasts. Kenelm even liked the bison, despite describing them as smelly ‘dumb’ things.

Cymon was at first wary about staying in the tavern. Kistoph’s nagging convinced the Water Taper to at least stay there one night. Kistoph insisted it wouldn’t be much harm. The place was out of the way. Surely no one was going to recognise them there. Cymon paid for two rooms – Finneas and Kistoph would share one, while Lochen and Cymon shared the other. Kistoph was becoming more hostile towards the Native boy, having now realised Lochen wasn’t going to be leaving the group anytime soon. Cymon seemed to sense Kistoph’s frustration and decided it was best to avoid conflict. They certainly didn’t want any attention drawn toward them, especially if a fight broke out.

Finneas entered the guest room. Although it was rather small – enough space for two single beds, one on each side of the room – the room felt somewhat homely. Finneas leapt onto one of the beds. It had been ages since Finneas had slept in a comfortable bed. While the bedding back at the orphanage wasn't anything to sing praises about, having to sleep mainly on the floor made Finneas appreciate what he had back at home. The inn's beds were the best he had ever experienced. The pillows were filled with feathers; the ones back at the orphanage were hastily stuffed with straw.

His moment of retreat ended abruptly. Kistoph wasn’t showing the same enthusiasm. His friend seemed to be turning his nose up at the room. Kistoph groaned, making his discomfort more evidently. It dampened the mood somewhat.

For the past few days, the two friends hadn't had time to talk alone. Since the incident with the guards, they had been at a hearing distance from either Cymon or Lochen. Whatever had been brewing in Kistoph’s mind, it was certainly starting to boil over.

“What’s up?” Finneas asked his friend.

Kistoph didn't respond at first. After a few brief moments of intense silence, he finally spoke. "You didn't have to tell them you're the Seer."

“Didn’t have a choice,” Finneas replied.

“You did,” his friend snapped, his voice croaked, now sounding uncertain. Perhaps Kistoph already realised just how stupid it was to keep secrets from people. “Why should we tell these savages anything?”

"I know you've got a dislike for Natives, but don't you think this is unreasonable? Plus, Cymon knew already.”

“He knew one of us was the Seer. He just didn’t know who. Not till you blabbered.”

"You acting like it's your burden or something," Finneas responded. “You didn’t have to come with me. I was willing to go by myself.”

His friend sneered.

“You’d be lost without me,” Kistoph mumbled under his breath.

“It was my choice to decide,” Finneas defended himself. “And I think I can trust Cymon.”

“What? The man who didn’t tell us he’s some kind of royalty until it suited him. The man who’s probably kept more secret than any of us. And what about Lochen? It’s not like we want him to come either. He just barged in, without asking, and expected us to follow whatever chaff tradition his people seem to make up.”

“Kist… I don’t know what’s gotten into you? You trust me right? We’ve been friends for… like, I don’t know… forever. I’m a good judge of character, I think, and I can feel Cymon seems… well… genuine.”

His friend didn’t reply. Finneas quickly realised his friend wasn’t in the mood to discuss anything. He felt he’d struck a brick wall. He knew Kistoph had his problem with the Native population. It simply hadn’t become so apparent before. Finneas decided it was best to leave his friend alone, in case a fight brewed. He wandered downstairs to find something to drink.

Finneas was too young to drink alcohol. However, the innkeeper was willing to serve him a glass of water. A girl his age rinsed and cleaned the mugs, placing them back in a cupboard. Finneas had overheard how the girl was the innkeeper’s granddaughter. Seemingly timid, the girl occasionally stared at Finneas with a nervous smile. Finneas gulped the glass of water down rather quickly. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed Lochen reading a newspaper. He was surprised the Native boy could read. He thought only city folk learnt that type of stuff. It promptly dawned on Finneas; he barely knew anything about Lochen. He'd barely had a chance to talk to Lochen alone.

“Hey,” he said, simply.

Lochen ignored him.

“Hi?” Finneas said again.

Once more, Lochen didn't acknowledge him and instead continued to read his newspaper. Finneas thought about ripping the newspaper away from him, in an attempt to get Lochen’s attention. He decided, however, against doing that. It was only going to aggravate him further. Lochen seemed to want to remain alone, at least for now. The Native boy probably needed time to come around to the fact that Finneas was Seer. Whatever the previous Seer did, it offended Lochen so much that he refused to even talk to him. Perhaps it was best to leave him alone.

Finneas made his way outside. The sun was beginning to set, the mountains in the east obscuring the light. Wandering onto the beach, Finneas removed his leather sandals. Carefully, he placed his feet on the sand. The sun’s blaze kept the sand warm. Cymon was meditating, sitting cross-legged close to the water's edge. Now and then the sea would drift inwards, submerging the Water Taper’s lower half. He seemed, however, unfazed. Finneas sat down beside him. He’d never really meditated before. He had no idea what to exactly do. A few sailors back in Angluem use to do that sort of stuff, as a way to gather their thoughts and nerves. Meditating never appealed to Finneas. He’d more than likely fall asleep if he tried.

Cymon’s eyes were closed. He appeared calm; so unlike the man who’d impaled those guards earlier. The Water Taper didn’t flinch even an inch. Finneas wondered whether he should even bother the man.

“You’ve been around a bit, Cymon. Ever been to the Imperial City,” Finneas finally asked.

“You’re correct,” Cymon replied, “I have travelled to a lot of places. As for the Imperial City… yeah… once.”

“Once?”

“Not officially,” Cymon explained. “An exile prince cannot openly walk through the heart of the empire.” He laughed. “Not like I can openly walk through Rivetia either. Funny how I’m returning home.”

“You be staying there long?” Finneas questioned. “Once we get there, of course.”

“I’ll stay a bit, I guess. Maybe a few days. Depends on if my brother and I butt heads. But I’m sure you’ll cope once I’m gone. Sebastos will be there. And my brother.”

“Sebastos…”

"Did he explain?" Cymon asked. “About what you’re meant to do?”

“No. Not really.”

Finneas was so eager to leave Angleum, that it didn't occur to him what the consequences were. He knew he wasn't going to see his friends and family again for a long time. Yet Finneas didn't understand what it truly meant to be the Seer. He'd seen Lochen's reaction. If Lochen took offence to him, how would the rest of the Native people react? Finneas knew nothing.

"There are prophecies, I think. You know it?"

"I was forced to read a lot when I was young,” Cymon explained. “Scholar Titos forced me to read the ancient texts, both the scrolls concerning the history of my people and the imperial codices. Long tedious tasks. But I did find something you'd be interested in. Not a prophecy, as you would call it. But information on the Seer. The original one."

“What’s that?”

“He didn’t work alone,” the Water Taper stated bluntly. “He had help.”

“Help?”

"Goblins, the elves, or just some smart men. Who knows who truly helped Resnater Resurbi. But one thing’s for sure, a legend doesn’t come from nothing. Remember that.”

Cymon left, leaving Finneas to ponder solitarily. It was the first time anyone had mentioned the previous Seer's name. It sounded strange and foreign, yet it sounded familiar. Had he heard the name before? A previous life, perhaps. Lochen mentioning avatars got him thinking. He couldn’t be the reincarnation? Finneas was unsure how it worked. Before all this thinking could make his head hurt, Finneas decided it was best to return to the inn.

Standing up, Finneas walked away from the shoreline. He made sure to brush off any sand from his feet. Strolling back into the inn with grubby feet would appear disrespectful, he’d decided. Being satisfied his feet were clean enough, Finneas put back on his sandals and made his way back inside. Although he didn’t have plans to return to his room immediately, since Kistoph wasn’t talking to him, Finneas thought he hang out in the common room. Finneas wanted to delay going to bed as long as possible. He knew he had to go to sleep eventually; and since Cymon had paid for the room, it would appear rude of him of turning down a comfy bed.

The common room had plenty of spare couches; barely anyone was staying in the inn, anyway. Finding the most comfortable one, Finneas made himself at home. He closed his eyes, hoping to pass the time daydreaming, somewhat. Although there were newspapers piled up on the side table, Finneas couldn't be bothered reading them. He wasn't too keen on reading anyway. Instead, he was more interested in simply doing nothing.

Before he could relax, however, someone forcefully knocked on the inn’s front door. Yelling was heard outside, although the muffled tone made it difficult to discern what was being said. Someone eventually opened the door.

"We've got an order to search the premise," a person demanded rather loudly.

"You've got a permit?" the innkeeper asked.

“Step aside, old fella,” the man replied. “We don’t need no permit.”

As Finneas listened to the two men countered exchanges, the innkeeper’s granddaughter approached him. Placing a finger over her mouth, the girl signalled Finneas to remain quiet.

“Come,” she said. “You need to hide.”

Remaining silent, Finneas followed the girl. She directed him towards the corner of the room. Removing the floor rug, she revealed a hatched door. Opening it, she told Finneas to jump down. He did as he was told. Finneas waited there for about a minute when Cymon, Kistoph, and Lachen entered. Cramped in a small space, with only the slight creaking from between the floorboards above, they remained silent. There were footsteps. Yet no one thought about inspecting the trapdoor. The girl had highly likely covered the hatch with the rug.

A quarter-hour passed before knocking was heard above. The innkeeper opened the latch, unleashing a bath of light into the small hideaway. Eager for an open space, the group hurriedly climbed the ladder to escape the dark below. Finneas was glad to breathe air that wasn’t stifled.

“Seb told me you’d pass through,” the innkeeper stated. “Hopefully the hiding place wasn’t too cramp.”

No one dared complain. They were glad to not be caught.

“You’ve heard from Sebastos?” Cymon asked.

“A few weeks ago, in person,” the old man clarified. “But he did send me a telegraph a few days ago. Said there’d be a kid travelling with an older Native boy. Didn’t think it was you at first. Wasn’t expecting more people.”

“Me neither,” Cymon explained. “They’ve been searching places recently?”

"Not here… till now. But I heard from friends it's becoming more common. Especially after that attack on those guards a day ago."

“Yeah… about that.”

"You weren't involved, were you?" the innkeeper probed. “Don’t worry… I’m no supporter of the Imperials either. Can we police ourselves? We don't need no one appearing behind our backs."

Cymon didn't respond.

“Well, you better be getting to bed,” the old man said. “I assume you’ll be leaving tomorrow.” Cymon nodded his head. “Okay… okay… if anything occurs, I’ll warn you.”

The night remained quiet. Laying in their beds, neither Finneas nor Kistoph talked to one another and instead pretended that each other wasn’t there. Kistoph was still annoyed at Finneas for some reason, and Finneas wasn’t sure how to repair their friendship. Finneas’s friend would eventually have to forgive him for his supposed crimes; they were after all going to be together for some time until they reached Rivetia City. He decided it was best not to worry. His friend would come around eventually, he was sure of it.

The next morning, after saying goodbye to the innkeeper and his granddaughter – Cymon promised to visit the next time he was in Estmere – the group continued their journey north. They made their way northward, using the beach as their path. Travellers would occasionally pass them, merchants with their wares. No one paid too much attention, nor were they stopped for any reason. Even the guard they passed didn’t blink an eye.

By late evening, it began to rain. Although only a few drops here and there, the dark clouds were becoming ominous. There was an old abandoned shack along the way, which they decided to stay in for the night. Again, the next morning they continued northward. They travelled for another few days. Each night Cymon would find a place for the group to stay, whether an old building or a dry cave. The scenery didn’t change either – the sea to the west, while trees obscured the mountain range to the east. Eventually, on the fifth day since leaving the inn, they notice small structures in the far distance. Greyest smoke was drifting above them. They'd reached Hilding, the northernmost town in Estmere.

Finneas had heard stories of the town from sailors. He’d even seen photographs of the place. While smaller than his hometown, Hilding was a decent-sized settlement – three or four dozen buildings sprawling around an inlet. It was far bigger than the other villages they’d visited. The town’s main road curved around the cove, with storefronts facing the sea. There were two more roads, although smaller, which also ran parallel with the main road. Down these two roads were residential buildings. Small pathways connected the three roads. Unlike Angleum, there were no factories and machinery insight. There was, however, a small pier with several docked boats. Although usually, these boats would be out in the middle of the inlet fishing, similar to those back at home, the recent storms had kept them docked. No fisherman in their right mind would sail out in weather like this. Although it’d calmed, the grey cloud showed no promises.

Cymon seemed to be familiar with the place. The Water Taper went straight to the town's tavern. He knew the owner rather well. After a quick discussion, the tavern’s owner found them a table.

“I’ll be gone for a while,” Cymon told them as they sat down. “Stay here, please. We don’t want you grabbing the attention of any local guards. Who knows how much word has spread.”

Finneas nodded, although the other two boys simply groaned. No one was content with the situation. Yet, they all knew they could risk it. They waited patiently.