Meeting With the Insurgency

At the rate the oversized drove of hares moved, the typical day-and-a-half trip was only half a day’s travel to reach our destination. I was thankful for this, as the tight quarters were uncomfortable, and by early afternoon, I was beginning to lose feeling in my legs. It also didn't help that on top of the cramped space, the oppressive heat and stale air of the cabin slowly suffocated us. And while rolling the windows down refreshed our supply, it also created an atrocious throbbing sound that messed with our ears. Thus, our only reprieve had to be used sparingly.

By the time the Bay of Silvmar, the body of water our destination rested upon, appeared in our sights, everyone was ready to disembark. Rolling down the window a final time as we descended the hills towards the small coastal town of Fearnemyst, the smell of fresh ocean air greeted our desperate senses. The breeze, noticeably cooler than the inner continent of Moal'aw, entered the cabin, allowing each of us to exhale a relaxed breath as the anticipation of freedom became intoxicating.

As the road shifted and I was given a view of the town, I took the opportunity to marvel at my creation. What had originally been designed as a satirical location resembling the small hamlet a few hours away from the apartment that claimed my life, eventually transformed into one of my favourite locations to design in Moal’aw. This town became a shining gem hidden at the outskirts of the harsh and unforgiving continent. Placed at the edge of the foothills overlooking the bay, the sleepy town we approached had a beautiful view of the distant mountains that flanked Silvar's inlet and the deep green pines that framed them like a Rob Boss painting. Though technically butting up against the same Barren Belt that Fallowfield and Squalls Crossing rested, the pleasant atmosphere of Fearnemyst was anything but that. The closer we got to the town, the more the dry, drab colours of grains and grasses gave way to lush green fields swaying in the coastal breeze.

"Wow," I remarked softly, as tears formed in my eyes. "Beautiful. It's beautiful."

Maintaining a constant watch from my stagecoach window, the carriage eventually began to slow as we entered the outskirts of the town. There, I admired the stone cottages built into the hillsides that combined a rustic coastal theme with that of a fantasy shire that I had based the groundling race on. Colourful flowers filled planter boxes and cute little signs hung from white picket fences, marking each property with the household’s family name.

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

I turned, following her gaze, to see it locked on a grand structure atop the largest hill at the edge of the town. My heart raced as I observed this piece of Moal'aw history still standing proudly, its grey stone walls a monument to a time long passed.

“That’s the Gonquin Garrison,” I explained as I began my lore dive. “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 ships in the Bay of Silvmar. Mages would stand guard from atop the towers and launch fireballs and lightning bolts into the bay.”

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

I looked from Sharzin to the other girls, all of whom quietly chuckled.

Damn it, Zin. I thought, unable to stop myself from smiling at her childish remark. Here I'm trying to be serious, and you throw that at me. Okay, fine, she got me there.

“Oh, come on!” I coughed up in response, peeling my vision away from them. “I can't with you right now, you little goblin. Anyways, it was made into a premier hotel a few decades ago, so we’ll be staying there.”

“What?!” The triop exclaimed excitedly.

Though we wouldn’t be stopping at the Gonquin Garrison Hotel yet. A fact made obvious to me as the stagecoach veered to the side and began down a main road towards the other edge of town. We continued moving away from the ocean and back into the hills before eventually coming to one of the last streets and stopping at one of the nearly last houses. There, a nondescript cottage, no bigger or smaller than any other, stood with a white picket fence around it and hung to the waist-high gate at its front, a small sign that read “Seed."

The sun had begun its slow descent towards the horizon by the time we had disembarked the stagecoach. Tumbling out, I nearly collapsed to the ground as my barely functioning legs battled with gravity.

"Gyah! Sand!" I groaned, grabbing at the limbs in an attempt to massage the blood flow back into them. "Sand in my legs. I'm glad to be out of that carriage."

"Heheh," Sharzin chuckled, disembarking without issue. "Little baby. It wasn't that bad."

"That's easy for you to say, pipsqueak. It was perfectly 'you-sized'."

"What can I say? Get smaller, I guess."

"You know what? Next acid spray, you're on your own."

With that, before mine and Sharzin's playful spat could continue, Blueberry dismounted the driver's seat and pushed the gate open with a loud creak.

"This way." She ordered us as she withdrew a set of keys.

Watching as she opened the door, we entered the residence, which was fairly standard-sized for a family of faeries. As we pushed into the inviting space, our senses were immediately assaulted by the smell of ground coffee. The lace curtains that hung from the window allowed in a dappled light that cast a glow over a house that took cottage core to the max. At a glance, I examined vintage vanities and upholstered floral furniture that flanked finely crafted coffee tables. From the walls hung embroidery hoops, beautiful paintings, and pressed plants carefully preserved between panes of glass and hung in antique frames. 

Man, I didn't realize I made the Seed family cottage so hipstery. I thought as I followed Blueberry towards the kitchen. I'm sure if they had access to it, there'd be a phonograph record playing.

"It kinda looks like Mama's study," Rionriv spoke up, directing her remark towards her sister. "Just replace the smell of coffee with old books and fyreweed."

"You know," Aesandoral replied as she touched one of the framed plants. "I was thinking that too. But on a cramped scale."

"Very cramped."

"Stop there." Blueberry ordered us from within the kitchen. "Give me a minute."

"What'cha doing?" I asked, watching as she began to remove cups and plates from the table at the center of the kitchen. "You need help?"

But Blueberry ignored my offer, instead preoccupying herself with the task she had taken upon herself alone. Moving the heavy table from its resting spot atop an antique rug, she made enough room to throw the heirloom fabric aside. As she did, my heart thudded anxiously as she revealed a trap door beneath.

Hoisting the entrance open, she motioned us into the hole.

“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 some lotion on the skin for Blueberry Bill here?

“Get in the hole.” She continued, looking from the darkened entrance and back to me.

“Okay, not any better.” I continued as I glanced at my peers who stared blankly in my direction. 

Though, in their defence, I was the one who had set up the whole ordeal, meaning it shouldn’t have been me looking to them for support at that moment. So far, the information I knew concerning Shatter had been spot on, with no deviation from the original story. Basil had been in Squalls Crossing around Solstice, and the patisserie was still a front worked by Rosemary and Blueberry. This meant that Fearnemyst was likely one of the primary Shatter homebases, with the Seed home having a secret entrance to their literal underground network.

I just need to trust the process...I guess.

“Can you tell me if we’re going to be meeting with the resistance?" I immediately asked, not trusting the process. "Or, at least, if you’re going to kill us and use our skin to upholster your next chaise longue?”

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

“Okay,” I mumbled and shrugged. “You heard the woman. She’s not going to kill us.”

I made sure to noticeably stress the latter half of the statement as I looked to Blueberry for a reaction. But she merely locked her distant stare in my direction.

Absolute poker face with serial killer eyes—I can’t get a read on this gal. Anyways. In for a copper, in for a gold...I guess.

Stepping down the narrow steps into the unnaturally dark space, I eventually reached a point where a tingle itched the base of my skull. With the next step I took, the magical darkness lifted, and I stood in a well-lit basement sparsely furnished with a table and a few chairs. At the far end of the spartan space was a bookshelf with a variety of tomes that, within seconds of my final step, opened, revealing a secret door.

“Oracle.” The familiar, nasally voice of Basil Seed spoke as he emerged. "Welcome."

The small man approached the table confidently, and while his height had remained the same from our last encounter, everything else about him had changed. No longer wearing a glamour to conceal his identity, standing before me was a faerie with a powerful presence eyeing me through a single, stone-grey eye. His arms were covered in tattoos that reached from the backs of his hands and 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, much like the bottle bombs the bandits had wielded. His face, no longer that of an innocent baker, proudly wore a scar that cut at an angle across his right eye. Covering most of it was a fixed black eyepatch with a pentagram branded into the leather, with the scar appearing to bleed over the fabric, 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 that hung to the side.

The only thing that remained hidden on his body was a pair of faerie wings that I knew only came out when combat was initiated. Even I had no idea what they looked like, only putting into writing that to see them was to be in the presence of death.

“General Seed, nice to see you as you truly are,” I spoke, extending my hand towards him. "You're—"

“Not completely as I am,” He replied coldly, ignoring my outstretched hand. "But you must know that, eh?"

Yikes, this family. I thought, taking in a nervous gulp as I attempted to calm my breathing. I remember writing them as suspicious, but not this much.

“I am no enemy, so there is no reason to show me your wings.” I quickly responded, withdrawing my hands and holding them up to show that 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're plenny o'spies that'd claim allegiance a'well.”

I looked over at the stout dwarf who revealed themselves at 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," I directed my reply to them. "But do I appear to be the same as any Anak you’ve come across?”

The figure inspected me closely before releasing a curious huff before shifting their gaze to Basil.

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

“The ‘if true’ is what we are here to determine.” The faerie looked to me before glancing over my shoulder.

Suddenly remembering my companions were also here with me, I turned to face them. Glancing them over, they wore varying expressions of confusion and concern as they looked between Basil and Desta.

“These are my companions,” I hastily spoke, turning to face the two inquisitors. “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 replied sternly, adjusting his seat at the table and motioning for me to sit across from him. “Tell me your tale, boy. And make it a good one.”