As the clock ticked towards midnight, Völundr briskly made his way through the empty streets of Havana. The lampposts cast a warm glow upon the cobblestone paths, while the moon illuminated the dark corners with an ethereal light. The city was asleep as he could only hear the sound of the night insects.
With each step, Völundr's anticipation grew. He scanned his surroundings, his keen eyes taking in the sight of the colonial adobe houses that lined the streets. The air was thick with humidity, causing beads of sweat to form on his forehead. Despite the stifling warmth, he remained determined, dressed in his signature attire - black slacks, a black frock overcoat, a white shirt, and a hat.
Guided by his instincts, Völundr continued his stroll through Havana's downtown. The minutes turned into half an hour as he weaved through the labyrinthine streets. As he turned a corner, he spotted a familiar sight - a bull poster, weathered by time and the elements.
"The one with the bull poster," Völundr whispered to himself, a surge of excitement coursing through his veins. He paused next to a lamppost, the paved road giving way to a dirt path ahead. The voice of a woman broke through the silence, drawing his attention.
"Here," the woman said.
Völundr turned around, his eyes meeting the figure of a woman in a flowing white dress. Recognition washed over him, bringing a smile to his face.
"My goodness!" Völundr exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine surprise. "It's been so long since the last time. How long has it been?"
"The last time we met, I was just a ten-year-old girl," the woman shook her head, her eyes twinkling with memories. "Now, I'm forty-two."
"You've changed so much," Völundr marveled, his gaze taking in her tall stature and flowing blond hair that cascaded down to her waist.
"You are so silly. I was just a child back then," she chuckled, her laughter echoing in the night.
With a sense of familiarity, Völundr fell into step behind her as she led the way. As they approached a grand adobe mansion with pristine white walls, Völundr couldn't help but be captivated by the sight of the beautiful garden that adorned its entrance. Moonlight danced upon the petals of the flowers, casting an enchanting glow.
A bull's poster fluttered in the warm breeze next to the entrance, catching Völundr's attention as he discreetly wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. The woman gracefully opened the massive wooden door, inviting Völundr into her abode.
"How's your family doing, Kristen?" Völundr inquired, his voice filled with genuine interest.
A soft smile graced Kristen's lips as she replied, "I have a twenty-year-old son. He's fast asleep in his bedroom. As for my husband, he's currently away, tending to his sugarcane plantations in the countryside."
Völundr raised a brow in curiosity. "Sugarcane plantations?" he asked, seeking further clarification.
Kristen nodded, her eyes glimmering with pride. "Yes, indeed. Would you like something to drink? Perhaps wine?" she offered graciously.
"I would prefer water, please," Völundr replied, his throat yearning for refreshment.
She led him to an elegantly furnished living room, its walls adorned with tasteful artwork and shelves lined with books. Völundr took a seat on a plush sofa, sinking into its comfortable embrace. As he settled in, she disappeared momentarily, only to return with a crystal-clear glass and a jar of water. Völundr eagerly accepted the refreshing drink, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat.
“I didn’t believe you would come. Thankfully, you did,” she admitted, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and surprise.
Völundr nodded, his gaze fixed on her. Memories of their shared past as a teacher and a student flooded his mind. It had been a long time since they had last seen each other, and their paths had diverged, leaving little room for connection.
“I was surprised when I read your letter. I was your Thaumaturgy teacher a long time ago, but we never kept in touch after that,” Völundr confessed.
She smiled softly, acknowledging the truth of his words. “I kept track of your actions in the newspaper, you’re a pretty famous character. I want to go straight to the topic,” she said, her voice growing serious. She cleared her throat, preparing to reveal her intentions. “I know you want to destroy the Sørensen clan and uncover their crimes.”
Völundr's brows furrowed in confusion, his mind racing to comprehend the implications of her statement. He instinctively reached for the revolver concealed within the folds of his black coat, ready to defend himself if necessary. The revelation that his plans to dismantle the Sørensen clan had been laid bare unsettled him.
“What do you mean by that?” Völundr demanded, his voice edged with suspicion.
“Please, lower your guard. I am not Kristen Sørensen anymore. Release the weapon you’re hiding… I don’t mean you any harm,” she implored, her eyes pleading for understanding.
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Reluctantly, Völundr withdrew his hand from his coat, his grip loosening on the revolver. He remained on high alert, his senses heightened, but he was willing to listen to her explanation.
“Explain yourself!” he demanded.
Taking a deep breath, she began her tale. “I’m not Kristen Sørensen anymore. I’m Cristina Rodríguez. I have changed both my first and last name since I came to Cuba.”
Völundr's eyes widened in surprise, his mind struggling to process the truth she had just revealed. The name change signaled a break from her past, a desperate attempt to distance herself from the nefarious Sørensen clan.
“What does that mean?” Völundr inquired, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Her voice trembled slightly as she continued, her words painting a vivid picture of a life marred by tragedy. “My father forced my first husband to commit suicide. He was the father of my son. Afterward, he sent me away to be the Danish ambassador to the Ottomans. I managed to escape and found my way to Cuba, hoping for a better life. Here, I met and married my second husband, a Spanish landowner, and together we had a daughter.”
Völundr felt a surge of conflicting emotions wash over him. The unease that had gripped him moments ago slowly dissipated, replaced by a mixture of sympathy and understanding. He had been unaware of the painful history she carried, and he couldn't help but feel remorse for his previous ignorance.
“I didn’t know that about your first husband. I'm so sorry,” Völundr bowed his head.
She shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you for your understanding. It means more to me than you can imagine.”
Völundr stared at her as her shoulders slumped, the weight of her past evident in her every movement. “My father found me three years ago. And took my daughter into his custody.”
Völundr's eyes widened in shock. He couldn't imagine the pain and heartbreak she must have endured. "What?" he managed to utter, his voice barely above a whisper.
“My daughter was born with a high affinity to Wind, just like him." She sighed. "He even called her a prodigy!”
Völundr's mind raced, trying to process the depth of the injustice. "Didn’t you or your husband resist against him?" he asked.
“We were in one of my husband’s plantations when my father found us," she explained, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "Father killed many of our guards and servants, burned down all our fields, and surrounded our house with his army of Peacebuilders. He threatened us to give him my daughter, if not we would be killed. My daughter, of her own volition, ran toward him trying to protect us. Then he left.”
Völundr closed his eyes, feeling a wave of sorrow wash over him. "I’m so sorry," he murmured.
“My father knows about you," she continued, her tone shifting to a more serious demeanor. "He knows that you want to take over the clan and uncover them. And I would like to say that you're quite easy to read, even I was able to track your movements!”
Völundr's eyes shot open, his mind racing with questions. "How does he know my plans? How did he find out?" he demanded.
“He tortured me until I told him everything I knew," she replied, her voice filled with a mixture of pain and defiance. The words hung heavily in the air; the weight of her suffering palpable.
"Tortured you?" Völundr repeated, his voice laced with horror and disbelief.
"Well, he had his men rape me that night," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. Völundr felt a surge of anger and helplessness rise within him. "In front of my family. My husband and son were beaten almost to death. Father stopped when my daughter asked him to. I noticed her powers that night; my daughter screamed ‘Leave them alone!’ and all the Peacebuilders and my father stopped, even my father was unable to move.”
“Word Thaumaturgy?”
“The most powerful of its kind,” she chuckled. “Not even he could resist it.”
Völundr closed his eyes, everything she confessed made his thoughts and heart race.
“The clan’s patriarch had entrusted my daughter to inherit the clan, she was engaged in a political arrangement and would get married in about a year.”
Völundr's heart ached for her, his mind reeling from the sheer cruelty and brutality of her words. "Peacebuilders? Did he bring them?"
“Yeah," she confirmed, her voice heavy with the weight of the memory. "About twenty. Enough to massacre thousands."
Völundr's mind reeled with the implications of her words. The danger they were facing seemed insurmountable, the odds stacked against them. But he knew he couldn't let fear paralyze him. With renewed determination, he resolved to fight for justice, for her and for all those who had suffered at the hands of her father.
“How old is your daughter?” Völundr asked, the beads of sweat drying on his forehead.
“She’s ten,” she replied. “She’s marrying Ricardo Alban next year.”
Völundr's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Alban Industries' heir? The ones that make the Alban airships?"
The woman nodded. “Yes. Not only that, Ricardo’s mother is Gran Colombia’s President. Also, my grandfather, the patriarch, completely hates the current Danish king and is planning to have him assassinated. Father even joked about making my daughter the new queen”
Völundr's mind reeled at the implications. He couldn't help but blurt out. "That would make her one of the most powerful people in the world!"
A heavy sigh escaped Völundr's lips as he processed the magnitude of the situation. "That’s why my grandfather, patriarch, needs you in Africa," the woman continued, her voice trembling slightly. "The scramble for Africa is only a distraction; he would have you mediate between European powers only to have you away. He plans to have you killed in Africa."
Völundr's heart sank at the revelation. Those are not news I like," he admitted.
Curiosity mingled with concern as the woman asked, "What are your thoughts?"
There was a moment of contemplative silence before Völundr spoke. "I know the Sørensen clan is behind the Coup on Iram of the Pillars. Unfortunately, I won't be able to do much there. That's why I would like to prevent something similar from happening to Kalahari City."
The woman's eyes widened, a glimmer of hope igniting within them. "Do you know somebody there?"
Völundr nodded, a flicker of confidence crossing his features. "Yes, a merchant I know is dealing with information gathering."
The woman's voice grew hesitant, "Father has had a hard time getting spies in Kalahari, but he might succeed eventually if nothing is done. You should visit Kalahari yourself."
"I will," Völundr promised.
"El Dorado is giving him a hard time though as much as he's struggling in Cíbola."
“I know that much at least,” he sighed.
"Would you work with me?" she asked, extending her hand towards Völundr.
Without hesitation, Völundr reached out, his hand enveloping hers in a firm handshake. "Yes," he declared.
"I will continue providing you with information, I want you to help me get back my daughter."
A sense of shared purpose filled the air as Völundr and the woman stood there, their hands clasped together, united in their determination to bring about justice.