Novels2Search
Vega Of The Wastes
Chapter 17: Sour Souls (Part 2!)

Chapter 17: Sour Souls (Part 2!)

Chapter 17: Sour Souls (Part 2!)

The sun was now shining overhead as Amir finished his porridge. Bread and porridge might be the meal an Iozian eats for most of their lives. It wasn’t bland, but after a month in Core Civitus tends to sour one’s taste.

Skaldi also soured Amir’s mood, since the elf was leaning on him. His breath reeked and disturbed as he was trying to teach the girls.

“Hey Amir… can you stop speaking that stupid language? It’s hard to think when you’re saying those dumb words.” Amir knew that Skaldi was having a bout of being a bitch.

“Skaldi, can you please shut up?” Florato was also in a mood, that being disappointment. The elf slowly shifted away and now was leaning on Vega.

“Just ignore Flo, Skaldi usually gets like this on trips.” Valiato offered an excuse, which Florato disliked.

“Can’t believe you guys are gonna try to rob a bank. You’re screwed.” Florato complained.

But there was nothing she could do but to listen to her, afterall she was trying to catch up to her in terms of language. The actress saw her alert eyes, tracking the lessons Amir made. She was amazed but also a bit ashamed. She was a solid decade younger than her and was outpacing tenfold.

“~Florato, count with me.~” Amir noticed the sheet which the actress was stuck on, so he started to count with his fingers. Florato slowly sounded out the words, with Amir confirming by a singular puff from his nose.

“~ And ten… sorry about my pace.~” Florato cracked her fingers.

“~Don’t be.~” Amir said quickly before the actress continued her study. Vega also was studying. It looked like another mysterious parchment of commanding lettering was in her backpack.

“Hey guys? Did ya-ya put any weird stuff in here?” The scarecrow quiered.

“Yep, this big juicy ass!” Skaldi chuckled. Valiato looked at Bolato briefly to see if he was the one that put the believed ass in the pack. The soldier shook his head no. Skaldi’s drunkard persona continued much to the party’s disliking of it.

Vega again, seemed to be studying something. Not with her eyes, but her none existent ears.

“Hey guys? Do ya-ya hear that? Sounds like people laughing!” Bolato turned his head to the left, staring at the icicles still in the vines. A hard wind blasted through and the clashing of ice made a weird song. The chomping and throaty bounce of the jungle sounded, it that instant, like children snickering. It was a mocking laugh, like a mischievous plan was about to be activated.

Bolato knew something was off.

“Amir. You’re with me.” He signaled to Amir to get ready, as the large Tripol rose pulling out an axe at his side.

“Florato, if you see anyone rushing the cart, you get out of here as fast as possible.” The actress was taken aback. This was the first time that Bolato appeared in a routine. His posture was tall and firm, and the way he pulled out his sword and shield was that of a flower blooming. Natural and elegant, an odd pairing for the round Bolato.

The two men squeezed through the environment, with Bolato at the front. In a couple of seconds, they discovered the source of the mockery. An outpost looking like that of a terrified corpse. Ice formed spilling guts, the wood cut skin, and the mudbrick foundation a crushed head.

The laughing ceased, along with the chaos of the scene. The noise was the silence that followed a fierce argument, tranquil and striking.

Amir made a fist to Bolato and pointed it to the left. Bolato saw a shadow, malformed and almost posed in a coughing position. Bolato made two slashes in the air, and Amir got the message. With the strength of a bear and the speed of a viper, Tripol threw his spear at it.

Clang!

As the spear ricocheted off the metal, sparks flew. Now shaking in clear light, what they had thought to be a threat was only a rusted set of Tripolian armor. Not a poor set, crafting weapons of war is no dismissed task. But the orange leaves that was the rust on it reflected what it was. A tool that had long since it was useful. At least to the pair.

“Huh, they must have left camp a long time ago. Still, armor takes a long time to break down like that.” Bolato knelt down to battered helmet and laid a thumb on it. He had a simple question, why waste this manufactured beauty and let it fall into disrepair and failure? “Whoever they were, they didn’t care about their stuff.”

Amir agreed as best he could. So he just coughed in the direction of the soldier. Walking around the forgotten outpost, the men looked for other signs of its age. Most of the equipment belonged to the conscripts, those to whom that fighting was a mark of being elite. Long boney spears, and beside them thin wicker shields. Bolato understood well the weakness of the Tripolian war, particularly relating to technology.

Most of the empire was considered backwards, such as a disturbed and sickly elder. Plenty of the wondrous and advanced innovations that the Oligarchs made yearly resembled divine magic to the Tripolian clans. If I had to compliment Ani, he was obsessed with proving that the Oligarchs weren’t the only ones that could create marvels of progress.

Their shields could take a bullet from a sling, but any blade or arrow cleaved through them and the unfortunate soldier. Three shields were present in the camp, which Bolato imagined to be accidentally left behind. Amir picked up a pomegranate that was beginning the process of rotting. He breathed in the familiar scent, now a distant relic of a time long past.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The elder Tripolian breathed smoothly in the moment, no coughs or disturbance.

The pair walked back to the cart, as Florato helped Bolato back on.

“So, you guys haven’t died. What happened, was it just the wind or something?” Florato asked as she drove the centuries to move forward.

“Or the clap of my ass cheeks?” Skaldi offered, not aiding Bolato’s quiet fear. The Tripolian recognized the tone of the question, and while not knowing the words, knew what the answer had to be. Amir laid a hand on Bolato’s shoulder, assuring him that he wouldn’t need to deliver the news. The soldier reclined beside Vega, who was still gambling with Valiato.

“~The Tripolians are here. We saw one of their camps in the forest. Someone will do something because it needs to be done. There is no need to fear.~” He had believed that his direct and orderly listing of the events taking place would numb the blow to Florato.

“~Oh. Okay.~” Florato said. Amir was correct.

“...Oh god oh shit oh fuc-” Amir was correct for a moment.

Now using the vice of gambling to forget, Florato was joining the game with the kid and scarecrow. She observed the dice rolls of the two, Vega’s being very swift and Valiato’s being very long.

An seemingly insignificant difference, but a notable one if you were the right observer, that being Florato. In her time as an actress she had witnessed those without worry play dice quickly, not much caring about the result and more about the thrill. And those that took a long time shaking the dice in their palm tended to be in debt and whispered small prayers. I have seen this myself and it is very funny. To see a man so longing for coins that what they do is to shake them in their hands.

I mean, it’s not like the dice are suddenly going to grant you fortune just because you bounce them around longer. Silly addicts.

The noise of rumbling dice was breaking Bolato’s focus. He looked for a landmark, a sign that order would be in place. His eyes found a distant aqueduct, modest and made of terracotta. Finally, a symbol of power in the Oligarchy. Seeing an aqueduct reassured me that a city was coming up.

But within minutes that confidence broke yet again. Bolato saw a sewage plant. A forgotten sewage plant. The city coming up didn’t have proper sewage treatment.

Core Civitus is the exception when it comes to cities in the Oligarchy, and for good reason. The Oligarch of Suncatch spent more time and money ensuring that the city and systems would be funded, at the cost of his own army.

In its water soaked walls, Civitus didn’t have the malaria of mosquitoes or the stench of excrement. Tidy, the city was the clear skinned cousin to a family with acne. By using two soul gems, the Oligarch of Suncatch ordered no pests carrying diseases could enter and that sewage would disappear when the correct ritual was performed. This led to very upset priests, but no price is too great for a healthy city.

Exhausting soul gems was no easy decision and the Oligarchs were very careful about their use. Except Oligarchs like the one of Periatus. He and many others spent their money on their own lives, not sparing any on their subjects. While those bratty fools didn’t spare a thought for money, they did for soul gems. Yet, the Oligarch of Periatus only thought of them as how he could use it to have fun.

As they reached noon, they reached the outskirts of the city. Spreading out like a deck of cards, the city folded atop the forest hills of the land. Its color was that of suffocated skin, bluish and hideous. A few empty gardens formed red stab wounds, as their over growing plants made specks of blood.

Every fourth person in Jinmai was the descendant of a slave. Their lives weren’t far worse for the average Iozian, but they didn’t have an easy time. A majority of the city were freemen, not having the same privileges of the citizens. Think of the citizen as a middle class man, owning either a house or a luxury apartment. Comparing that to a freeman whose house was shared with extended family or an unsafe and flammable apartment, it's not a pleasant life. And knowing your distant ancestors suffered similar to you doesn’t inspire much hope.

Slaves in the old Oligarchy were only tools, that being the literal meaning of the word in Iozian. Tool-hands is a humorous name for a person treated the same as cattle if not worse. I have to admire the Iozians for their humor!

The wagon approached the gate of the city which was made of splintering logs. Bolato stood up, looking at the thin towers beside it, checking for anyone. He saw only the faint shadows of the inside, nothing else showing life.

“Hey, Vega. You wouldn’t mind giving the inside a check?” Bolato gestured to her to come over.

“Sure-sure! But how do I get in?” Bolato immediately lifted her off the ground and held her like a javelin. “Man, ya are real smart.” Vega looked at Bolato, but he was visibly planning for the right target to pelt her at.

“Just look for the guards. If you don’t find them in five minutes, just open the gate and come back. Got it?”

“Got it.” Kaliba confirmed for the scarecrow, as he seemingly got a head start and flew off the wall.

“That’s the idea!” Bolato pulled his arm back, and hurled Vega into the tower. Flying into the room, Vega bounced off the stands of equipment, like a ball to the wall. Eventually after a while of knocking over everything, Vega picked herself off and began her search.

Exiting the tower, the scarecrow was consumed by the smoky atmosphere of the city. These thin blue veins of smoke were broken as Vega walked past. One sign that had collapsed on the ground read ‘Jinmai’. Upon reading, Vega waved and smiled at it.

“Hello Jin! Nice to meet ya-ya. You wouldn’t happen to know where the guards are, would ya?” A brick fell on the street to her right.

“That way?” Another brick fell, which Vega took as confirmation.

“Alright! Thanks Jin!” Climbing up the hill, Vega swam through the smoke. The song of this town was notably hard to hear. Not none existent, more like the murmurings of a disturbed priest. The cracking of a distant flame paired well with the tempo, forging a mysterious chant. Vega loved this song and began to write it down.

Her attempt to translate the noise of Jinmai could only be best called cute and juvenile. In reality it was more random nonsense Vega made. However her writing stopped as she came to the apartment. It was the only building of the city which had candles as well as the hard to hear whispers Vega loved. The rest of the city were failing organs while the apartment was still thinking brain.

Coming to the door of the apartment, she peered an eye into its cracks. The room she saw was packed with people, worried and anxious. All of the various shades and stripes, stacked closely like coins Most of them were ugly, weathered by both work and the situation. Plenty of children were restrained by the mothers and grandmothers while a few men argued amongst each other.

In a lonely corner was a priest. He held a charm close to his mouth, almost sucking on it.

“I never knew babies could look like that. Cute-cute.” Vega continually learned into the door. The vocal battles between the men increased in vigor and volume. After a moment, a man grew tired of arguing and pulled out a blade.

“I’m done! Either you can help me hunt this Snake Skin, or I’ll do it alone.” A pair of women pulled on his shirt, pleading for him not to go. Vega stepped back, giddy with excitement.

“I can’t wait! More people!” She whispered to herself. The door swung open and the whole room was stiffened like statues. Vega, being the social scarecrow that she was, leapt onto the man.

“You need help?! I can help-help ya!” Again, the room didn’t move. A tense encounter with an animated being was the most incredible event they had ever seen, much less thought would happen. In their minds, they asked whether or not she was a demon or a ghost. A voice answered.

“Praise be to Recor! He has sent us a spirit to cleanse our city!