There was a man named Jeremy Anderson who lived in Taelliwey. Samuel Ford had successfully invaded the man’s home to find it in a grim state of disaster. Judging by the vulgar aroma of mould and dust, Sam could assume the home had been abandoned for at least a few weeks. He picked up on another smell as he entered the dark building; very old books.
Sam shivered as he moved to the centre of the ground floor, and the sudden biting cold added to the eeriness of this place. The cold wind of the Northern Peaks collided with the sea breeze to the west, making Taelliwey a dreadfully chilly place in winter, and now that wind whistled through the broken wooden walls of Jeremy Anderson’s house.
Going upstairs, Sam found the books; a small library, in fact. It turned out that this Jeremy character was quite well read, although Sam deduced that he was fearful of something. The windows on the second floor were covered, boarded up, so as to keep the sunlight at bay, and perhaps other things. The room was an absolute mess. Paper littered the ground, drinks had been spilled and ignored, and food had been left out to be eaten by rats and roaches. Sam noticed a mug that was still half filled with tea; it was cold and mould had begun to grow on the side. “Jeremy left in a hurry,” Sam murmured. “Who were you working for, I wonder?”
Sam began to rummage through the files, turning over pieces of parchment, scanning bookshelves, emptying draws and boxes, however he found no traces of the stolen texts. Soon enough he shook his head and gave up the search. “They’re not here…”
His eyes then landed on a small grey photograph set in a silver frame, collecting dust upon the window seal. The image contained two men standing side by side, dressed neatly for the occasion of a party. One of the men was bulky and wore a wide brimmed feathered hat. “One of them must be Jeremy…”
A sound caught Sam’s attention; the glass patter of a bottle dropping lightly to the ground, followed by the creaking of a door, and the crunch of someone stepping on parchment. The soldier turned away from the photo and reached for his gun. He moved slowly through the collection of shelves and books. Could someone else have been looking for Jeremy’s texts?
The intruder appeared as a wild shadow in the dark and the gloom, all scraggly and unkempt. For a moment Sam thought it was a ghost, and fought the urge to shoot it right away. “You there!” he called. “Show yourself.”
The dark figure bolted, darting to the left behind one of the shelves and then running to the other side of the room. He toppled a shelf and Sam jumped out of the way before he was crushed. The man was running for the window. Sam vaulted over the broken shelf. “Hey! Stop damn you. Wait!”
With a loud crash and the shattering of glass the man hurled himself out the nearest window and rolled across a neighbouring rooftop, but his momentum carried him too far and he fell into the alley below. Sam followed, jumping through the window but stopping himself from falling any further. Looking down, he saw the escapee move with the agility of a cat down the length of the alley. Sam dropped down and continued his pursuit, shouting, “For god’s sake, I just want to talk! Stop running!”
The man ignored him, and when the alley came to a dead end, he scaled the wall to the left and disappeared over the rooftops. For a moment Sam dreaded that he had lost the man, but when he climbed up in pursuit he found that the only way they could go was straight across. The further they went across the rooftop the further the ground below seemed to become.
From up here Sam had a moderate view of the city. The great city of Taelliwey spanned out in all directions like a forest of buildings. Far to the east was the slightest glimmer of blue where the ocean collided with the sky. The royal palace was prominent as well; set within the centre of the city, its central dome glowed orange in the sun, and the east and west towers on either side soared high above the city, like great spears.
As he ran from rooftop to rooftop Sam began to sweat, but he was far from tired. Ever since he formed the freedom fighters he had been in excellent physical condition. He hoped the same couldn’t be said for the man he was chasing.
Eventually the path of the rooftops came to a halt and Sam thought he had the man pinned, but of course he wasn’t so lucky. The stranger jumped out and grasped onto a rope that was hanging from a small crane, and he swung around to the left onto another roof. Sam cursed and slid down onto a balcony below. From there he made a desperate leap into the window of a neighbouring building, placing him directly beneath the assailant. Fortunatey the building was not occupied, and Sam made a lot of noise as he charged across the floor. From the far window he witnessed the man drop down and roll onto a flat sandstone roof. Sam kicked open the window and jumped after him, and thus the chase continued. This isn’t getting me anywhere! Sam thought, angrily.
The man scurried left to where the buildings weren’t as high, and Sam immediately noticed that his footing was not nearly as stable. He had to be extremely careful or else he’d plummet down onto the street, and although the fall wouldn’t kill him, it would still hurt.
Sam drew his pistol as he ran and at last caught the man in his sights. This time, when he threatened to shoot, the man stopped, and without turning his head, he raised his hands. For the first time Sam caught a clear image of the man he was chasing. The man was tall and lean, dressed in a ragged green shirt, and his hair fell down in a thick mess onto his shoulders. “Don’t move,” Sam demanded. “Turn around. Slowly.”
The man turned his head, but his face was sheltered by the locks of his fringe, making him appear like some kind of animal. A dirty smile touched his lips, revealing yellow teeth within cracked lips. “Best watch your footing, mate,” said the man, and discretely he placed his hand in his pocket. “These tiles, awfully unsteady, you know.”
The man quickly tossed a fog-watch at Sam, who caught it out of reflex. The tiles began to crackle beneath his feet, and the scraggly man saluted him before the roof gave way and Sam collapsed into the building below.
Amidst the dust explosion, Sam managed to land somewhat comfortably upon an old sofa. He was overcome by a fit of coughing and his eyes stung. When he blinked the dust away he was confronted by a wrinkly old man sitting across from him, eating a bowl of noodles. They exchanged an awkward glance, but the old man barely reacted. Sam rolled forward and his back ached. I’m going to feel that in the morning, he mused. He apologised to the old man before spotting his assailant hop onto a balcony and drop further down to continue his escape. Sam rushed over to the window and sighed. “Great, more rooftops.” He collected an apple from a fruit bowl by the window, thanked the old man, and then threw himself down onto the next roof.
His back shot in pain as he rolled across the tiles, but he didn’t let it hinder him. He ran faster and faster, slowly gaining on the ragged man. When he deemed he was close enough, he hurled the apple and it soared through the air like a tiny green cannonball, colliding with the running man’s head with perfect precision. The blow toppled the man to his knees, granting Sam enough time to close the gap and launch himself forward. He tackled him off the roof and they tumbled onto another balcony below, but Sam landed on top, and the fall knocked the wind out of the man’s lungs.
Another rush of pain shot through Sam’s back, but he sat up, drew his pistol again, and aimed it point blank at the man’s face. When the hair fell away from his face Sam was surprised. He knew this man. “Jeremy Anderson…”
“Hold on,” the baroness called, during one of her sessions with Christel Saan. “You’ve missed something.”
“No I haven’t,” Christel replied.
“Yes, you have. You were with Hazel and Sam at Lady Ariel’s Basilica, and now Sam is in Taelliwey chasing this Anderson fellow. What happened?”
Christel leaned back, a little confused. “I swear I told you,” he murmured. “My apologies, my brain must still be a little fried. Are you sure this drug your filling me with is healthy? Not all of Devin’s inventions are perfect, you know.”
The baroness ignored the remark and gestured for him to continue. “The story, Christel, if you will?”
“The national archive,” Samuel Ford told his companions, as he pushed open the massive double doors and stepped inside. “The largest collection of information in Taelliwey, and the second largest in Noveria.”
When they had exhausted their information at the basilica in Surra, they decided that they had to look elsewhere for answers as to what the murderous thieves had taken, and why they had taken it. Sam suggested the national archive; “If the information exists then it can probably be found in the archive.”
Sam used his new authority under the king to get them past the checkpoint on the border between Suria and Taelliwey, which was located near the shanty town that used to be Riftsire. The small town had been obliterated during the war and recently had become some sort of den for bandits emerging from the dense forests in the East. Already Sam and his freedom fighters had cleared the town of criminals twice, however more and more returned until it was overrun and once again abandoned.
Seeing the dust and the rubble that remained from afar in the grassy plains as he passed by, Sam cursed the vile bandits for undoing his hard work, but alas, it was an issue for another time.
The officer at the checkpoint to the capital was young, fresh out of the academy in Sam’s eyes, but then again, for all Sam’s experience, first as an officer and then as a commander of his own division, he Sam was still quite young. During his official military days, Sam hid is age in his voice by summoning up as much authority as he could and acting it out accordingly. Not to mention, his physical prowess and broad shoulders were a testament to his ability in combat.
Once they were inside the city they swirled through a sea of seemingly redundant hairstyles and other excessive fashions creating an inexplicable display of colours throughout the streets. It was the norm in Taelliwey for the more esteemed people to dress up so as to match the speeding trends that swept the city. Sadly, the city set the standard of fashion for the rest of the continent, however the people of Rhaetalia were remarkably stubborn, and preferred to keep to traditional styles of dress; those more acclimatised to the abundant heat of the desert.
“How do you know so much about the archive?” Christel asked as they entered the city.
“My sister,” Sam replied. “Jaye Ford. She’s an apprentice book keeper there.”
Hazel turned to Sam with mild curiosity. “You never told us you had a sister.”
Sam shrugged. “You never asked. Besides, we’re not that close. I didn’t know about her until I was about fifteen, when one of the mentors at the academy brought it up, said I had a right to know. He showed me the official documentation recording our birth, but the information about our parents was removed. Turned out she was only my half-sister. Anyway, don’t expect any rainbows and sunshine,” he expression became grim. “We all know what it’s like to be raised alone.”
The library was as big on the inside as Christel and Hazel imagined. It was as though they were standing within a massive canyon of books, with the great shelves standing in rows, one after another, down the seemingly eternal length of the building. In the centre of the ground floor were desks and lamps for reading. Great pillars supported the second floor, which housed a balcony on both sides. Christel could smell the musty aroma of paper and dust. This is where Devin used to go when gathering information for their heists, however he did not use it excessively due to the record that was kept of all the books that were accessed.
Christel loved the wonder in Hazel’s eyes. She often made such an expression when staring up at the stars. “How many books are there?” she asked. “There must be millions!”
In return, a stout female voice appeared. “Around six million to be precise.” Jaye ford seemed to emerge from the books. She swung her hips when she walked, like a large cat, and she wasn’t at all what Christel and Hazel were expecting. At least ten years older than her half-brother, Jaye was remarkably womanly. Her grey eyes were set deep in her pale face, her lips full and red, and her hair was thick and orange and knotty.
Her ran up and down Christel and Hazel, but she ignored the two for now and turned her attention to her brother. “Hello Sammy, what a surprise, you haven’t written to me since that whole business with the Shemn. Don’t care to keep up with your dear big sister anymore?”
Sam’s smile carried a hint of sarcasm. “I’ll be sure to invite you to my next dinner party.”
Jaye chuckled. “Cute. Who’s your friends? I had a feeling you didn’t come here just to see me.” When Sam introduced Christel and Hazel, Jaye remarked, “Such a happy couple!”
Sam tried to remain on topic. “We need information…”
“Of course you do.”
“Recently someone broke into Lady Arial’s Basilica in Surra and stole a hidden artefact. We need to know what it is they stole. This is king’s business.”
Jaye inclined her head. “King’s business? So they roped you back into service after all!”
“Who am I to refuse His Majesty?” he replied reluctantly. “But it’s serious this time, sis. If this is some kind of weapon then I can’t let it fall into the wrong hands. Can you help us out?”
She shrugged. “Well, if you put it that way, come with me.” She led them to an area upstairs and presented them with several smashed glass cases. “I could have figured you were involved in this,” she growled at Sam. “Some time ago a man come in here and made off with a number of Holy Texts and a very old historical encyclopaedia. They’d be worth a tidy sum, but with you here after the same books, I’d say the man you’re after could be this same one.”
Sam was glad. When he came here he wasn’t expecting to find a direct lead to the culprit. This business with the Holy Texts however left a pit in his stomach; the anomalies popping up was a big enough problem, and now someone was playing around with divine power. He was expecting to meet again with Ariana, the goddess who helped them end the last war, any time now.
Sam investigated the pedestal where the books once rested. “Do you know what information was in these texts?” he asked.
Again Jaye shrugged. “I haven’t read them myself, per say, but I’d say old Mrs. Maisy knows.” She pointed to a withered old lady who seemed to have no sense of where she was, and who moved like a sloth, gradually sliding a dusty book onto its shelf.
“What about the culprit himself? Did you see him?”
“I did, and I set the police onto him. Don’t know who is was, though. I’d suggest heading to your old barracks. They’re like to point you in the right direction.”
As soon as the police identified Jeremy Anderson as the thief it didn’t take long for Sam to accidentally track him down in his apartment, and after the exhaustive chase along Taelliwey’s rooftops Sam had the man in his clutches. Jeremy had stashed the texts in a safety deposit box while he searched for a buyer, and fortunately they were still there when Sam and the local police searched it.
Christel appeared to stop in the middle of telling the story to the baroness. His eyes became distant and his face grew pale. For the briefest of moments, he had forgotten where he was, as if he had delved too deep into his own thoughts and suddenly just woke up. The baroness had notice this behaviour a few times already. The truth serum was working. He had regained a piece of his memory.
This was the third day of interrogation, and for the baroness this was another small victory. “What did you learn? Was it truly as terrifying as Sam feared? Christel?”
The young thief made no immediate response, and then he blinked a few times and glanced around. “I’m sorry…” he murmured.
The baroness was patient. “I asked what you learned from the stolen texts?”
Suddenly Christel erupted in laughter. “Oh, it wasn’t good! In fact, it was most horrendous. No wonder I forgot it so easily…” He paused again and the baroness had to urge him on. “Right… A part of the text was marked around something called Ludovic’s Cage. From what I recall, whoever we were chasing wanted to unlock the cage and unleash some dark power upon the world…”
Christel noticed a hint of surprise in the baronesses features. “Ludovic’s Cage…” she whispered.
“Do you know it?” he asked.
The baroness corrected herself. “There are few who do. It’s an ancient legend, long since forgotten in the eyes of the Faith. The story goes that Vivica, the great goddess of darkness, had a daughter, a demi-god child forged in her own image, and her name was Ludovic. The child was evil, and bound to human form she was a blight on the land that the goddesses were sworn to protect. Vivica could not control her daughter, and much like how Ariana chose you to defeat Garn, the goddesses selected a champion who would slay the unholy child.
“But the goddess of darkness could not bear let her child die, and so she banished Ludovic, according to the legend, by turning her into a raven and locking her up in a cage within the stars.”
Christel nodded, and the tale of Ludovic served to help re-jog his memory. “That’s right…” It frustrated him sometimes, when the memory rested on the tip of his tongue, and yet it seemed so far away. “I can remember…” He closed his eyes. “A ritual was required to open the cage. Steps written in code within the Holy Text that we recovered from Anderson. It took us some time but…
“The Aprillian Codex, sacred artefact of Aprillen, goddess of death, to show the way to the five summoning stones. There was once a time when Lady Arial’s Basilica was in fact Lady Aprillen’s Basilica, and the people of Surra had it changed, however the sacred artefact was never removed. This is what the thieves were after, so they could find the summoning stones.
“The stones themselves possessed great power. They were the very essence of our reality, but separated as they were, they could not serve their real purpose. I remember that all five were required to get into the cage but… I don’t remember how.
“And the stones are worthless with the other codex, The Vivicanian Codex. The stones can take you to the cage, but you have to know where the cage is, and its location is hidden within that codex…”
Christel paused for a long time, as if he had hit a roadblock in his mind, but the baroness knew what came next. “The final piece of the puzzle,” Christel continued to say, “was the key, Merida’s Key, to access The Vivicanian Codex.”
The baroness suddenly leaned forward so her dark hair drooped over the table. The key was the reason for all of this, the reason why Christel was ever imprisoned in the first place. They thought he had it, and had hidden it away somewhere. That’s what the old baron believed, at least. As for this new one, he wondered if she shared those thoughts, if she believed as he did that Christel had hidden the key. “Where is Merida’s key?” she asked.
Christel shook his head. “I told you,” he cried. “I don’t remember! Have you ever considered that maybe there is a good reason why I would have hidden it? We clearly believed that Ludovic’s Cage was dangerous. What do you possibly hope to gain by going back there?” He stood up abruptly. “I’m tired of this. Who are you people and where are we? I may have lost my memory however I know damn well enough that my friends will come for me!”
“Enough!” the baroness yelled. “This session is over. You’re clearly very stressed and tired. I’ll have you escorted back to your cell, and I will send for you in two days’ time.”
He didn’t speak as Lemara the gaoler led him grumbling through the dark labyrinth of cells. He wished he could remember more, he even prayed for the first time in a long time, but nothing came. The serum was the only way he was going to get his memory back. In the dark of his cell he curled up in the corner and tried to think of happier times, catch glimpses of his old life. He saw her smile as she fell into his arms. He felt so alone, and he whispered, “Where are you, Hazel?” Slowly but surely a long and disturbed sleep came over him.
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