Meeting With the Insurgency

At the rate the oversized hares moved, it was only half a day’s travel to reach our destination, and by early afternoon, the fresh ocean air greeted us as we descended the hills towards the small coastal town of Fearnemyst.

The Bay of Silvmar, where the town rested, had mountains on either side of its inlet and forests to accompany them. But that was far beyond the area where the sleepy town was located, which contained mostly hills butting into the barren belt that led back to Fallowfield.

Though here, the pleasant atmosphere was anything but barren. The lush green fields swayed in the coastal breeze that led to the town, written as an ode to the small coastal hamlet near my home.

What was originally designed to be a joke location, after putting time and effort into it, quickly became one of my favourite locations in Moal’aw. This town was a small gem hidden in a harsh and unforgiving continent.

Excitedly looking out the windows of the stagecoach, I admired the stone cottages that were built into the hillsides. Colourful flowers filled planter boxes and cute little signs hung out front of every yard with the household’s family name.

“Whoa,” Aesandoral gasped. “What’s that?”

I turned, following her gaze, to see it locked on a grand garrison atop the largest hill at the edge of the town.

“That’s the Gonquin Garrison.” I explained, “It was erected in Thirty-One-Fifty-Seven Post Great Cataclysm and acted as a fortress armed by Sutin’eli in the Two-Generation War. It served to guard against Anak’hati and Talir’sahn forces landing ship in the Bay of Silvmar.”

“Hehehe—” Sharzin snickered. “You said erected.”

I looked to the other girls, who quietly chuckled.

Damn…she got me there.

“Oh, come on!” I coughed up in response, peeling my vision away from them. “Don’t be childish. Anyways, it’s a premier hotel now, so we’ll be staying there.”

“What?!” All of them exclaimed with excitement.

Though we wouldn’t be stopping at the Gonquin Garrison Hotel yet. First, we would be making our way to the other edge of town, to one of the last streets and nearly last houses. There, a nondescript cottage, no bigger or smaller than any other, stood with a white picket fence around it. A small sign that read “Seed” hung on the waist-high gate that creaked as it opened.

The sun had begun its slow descent towards the horizon by the time we had disembarked the stagecoach and were entering the residence, which was fairly standard-sized for a family of faeries. The house took cottage core to the max. They had the lace curtains, vintage vanities, embroidery hoops, and a wall of pressed plants in antique frames. It smelled of fresh ground coffee, and I knew that if they had access to it, there would have been a phonograph record playing.

Blueberry led us to the kitchen, where she moved the table off an antique rug before throwing the heirloom aside. This revealed a trap door beneath.

Hoisting the entrance open, she motioned us forward.

“In.” She spoke nonchalantly.

“What?” I asked.

Whoa, this took a dark turn. Was I wrong about something? Am I going to have to put the lotion on the skin for Blueberry Bill here?

“Get in the hole.” She continued.

“Okay, not any better.” I continued, looking to my peers who stared at me. Though, to be fair, I was the one setting up this whole ordeal, meaning it shouldn’t have been me looking to them for support at this moment.

“Can you tell me if we’re going to be meeting with the resistance? Or, at least, if you’re going to kill us and use our skin as upholstery?”

“I have no intention to kill you. Now, get in.”

“Okay,” I mumbled and shrugged.

In for a copper, in for a gold.

“You heard the woman. She’s not going to kill us.” I made sure to noticeably stress that statement as I looked to Blueberry for a reaction.

Absolute poker face. I can’t get a read on this gal.

Stepping down into the darkness, I stepped beyond a point where a magical tingle itched the base of my skull. The next step I took, the darkness lifted, and I was in a well-lit basement. It was sparsely furnished with a table and a few chairs.

At the far end was a bookshelf with a variety of tomes that, within seconds of me taking my final step, opened, revealing a secret door.

“Oracle.” Basil Seed spoke as he emerged.

A faerie standing a few feet tall was before me. Though, unlike our first meeting in Squalls Crossing, no glamours hid his actual form.

His arms were covered in tattoos that reached up his neck to the sides of his face. More than simply artistic ink, I knew that each one of them was, in fact, a spell waiting to be activated at a moment's notice.

I noticed his right eye had a scar that cut at an angle, though most of it was hidden behind a fixed black eyepatch with a pentagram branded into the leather. The scar appeared to bleed over the patch, forming a jagged break through the emblazoned image, which was the symbol of his resistance movement.

Finally, his short salt and pepper hair was hidden beneath an emerald beret.

The only thing that remained hidden on his body was a pair of faerie wings that I knew only came out when death was sure to follow.

“General Seed, nice to see you as you truly are,” I spoke and extended a hand towards him.

“Not completely.” He replied coldly, ignoring my outstretched hand.

Yikes, this family. I remember writing them as suspicious, but not this much.

“I am no enemy, so there is no reason to show me your wings.” Withdrawing my hands, I held them up to show I was no threat. “Please, I only come to aid those fighting for freedom from oppression.”

“Aye, lad,” A new, quick speaking and hard to understand voice echoed from the secret passage. “But there are plenty of spies that would claim allegiance as well.”

I looked over as a stout dwarf revealed themselves as they stood in the threshold of the secret door. Their hot pink, messy mohawk and broken nose revealed their identity to me before they could introduce themselves. I didn’t need to see the long wizard's robe with sabretooth fur on the collar and cuffs, or the gold pocket watch tucked into their wild west attire.

“Yes, Desta, but do I appear to be the same as any Anak you’ve come across?”

The figure inspected me closely before releasing a curious hmph and adjusting their gaze to Basil.

“So, an Oracle you say, eh Basil?” They said, finally entering the room with the bookcase closing behind them. “Could be quite fortuitous if true.”

“The ‘if true’ is what we are here to determine.” He looked between me and the triop.

I suddenly remembered my companions were also here with me as I turned to face them. They wore varying expressions of confusion and concern.

“These are my companions,” I jumped into the conversation. “I owe my life to them many times over. If you can trust me, you can trust them.”

“Well, it is time to see if we do,” Basil spoke sternly, sitting at the table and motioning for me to sit across from him. “Tell me your tale, boy. And make it a good one.”