Richard Tuttle - 13 Day War

“But you could no more hide on your island paradise and ignore the ills of the world than Jenneva could. I understand. What is the message you wish the water witch to receive?”

“Their help is needed,” answered Garth. “They are to return to the Isle of Despair as soon as possible.”

“That is it?” asked the Mage. “Will they understand? Or will you be there to explain it to them?”

“I am on my way to Tagaret for a final meeting before the war, but there are others on the island who can explain the situation to them. Will you do it?”

Fakir Aziz smiled. “You did not ask if I could do it.”

“No, I didn’t,” Garth smiled broadly. “I have learned not to underestimate you.”

“What you mean is that I am your last chance to contact them,” laughed the Mage. “Very well, I will try to contact Haditha, but there are no guarantees.”

“I understand.” Garth nodded in acceptance. “I should also warn you that you and your people are in a precarious place. War is coming soon, and the cities of the Federation will not be safe places for your group. As there appear to be few of the poor left unhealed in Farmin, perhaps you should be thinking of moving on.”

“Unless Farmin is where we need to be,” the Mage responded.

“Unless Farmin is where you need to be.” Garth rose and bowed his head respectfully. Without another word, the Knight of Alcea left the room.

Fakir Aziz continued to sit, staring blankly at the wall. After some time, he rose to his feet and walked out of the office. He passed through the curtain to the back room and left the building through the rear door. He paused thoughtfully in the alley and gazed skyward. The day was ending as the last rays of sunshine fled from the sky. The Mage walked through the alleys of the slums and then through the wider streets of the city, slowly making his way towards one of the long ramps that led from the city down to the waterfront far below the bluffs. When he finally reached the shoreline, the area was quiet. The fishermen had long ago retired to their homes, and the cargo ships that were planning to leave the city had already set sail.

The Mage slipped off his boots and waded into the water. He squatted and submerged his hands as the gentle waves lapped over his feet. Closing his eyes, he sent a message forth into the Sea of Tears. It was not a message of words, but rather one of feelings. The message carried a sense of anxiety and urgency, but the communication would not affect any but the higher life forms of the sea. With the message sent, the Mage remained unmoving, feeling the essence of the underwater world. He smiled contently as all within the Sea of Tears felt right. The smile soon faded as he felt far beyond the Needle. His eyes quickly opened, and he stared into the darkness as if he could actually see what was transpiring half a world away. The Mage’s brow creased with concern as he rose and returned to the shore. He dried his hands and feet on his hem and donned his boots.

By the time he returned to the infirmary in the slums of Farmin, the lines of wealthy patrons had disappeared, and the mages were getting ready for the evening meal and then bed. Fakir Aziz sat at the table with the six other mages. Crystil filled a bowl with stew and placed it in front of Fakir Aziz. The Mage looked up at the old hag and smiled. He ate in silence as the other mages discussed the events of the day. When everyone was done with their meal, he stood to get their attention. He then looked at each of the others before speaking.

“This is our last day in Farmin,” he announced. Several of the mages opened their mouths to object, but the Mage halted it all with a simple raising of his hand. “Our work is never done, but we have no more time for Farmin.” He turned his gaze towards the elven healer. “Eulena, I want you to lead the group northward. You may travel along the Federation Highway, or use the trails through the Dark Forest, whichever you think is safer. Do not call attention to yourselves. Times within the Federation are soon to become more dangerous than they have ever been.”

“Where will you be?” asked Atule.

“And where are we going?” asked Kalmar.

“I am needed elsewhere,” answered Fakir Aziz. “I will rejoin you soon. As for our destination, we will head towards Giza. That is all I can say at the moment.”

The Mage turned and left the room. Kalmar immediately rose and returned with four fat pouches of gold. He upended the pouches on the table, spilling gold coins out in front of him. Atule raised an eyebrow as he watched the young mage from Korocca count the coins and separate them into two piles.

“That is a fair return on my diamond,” stated Atule. “What will you do with it?”

Kalmar took the smaller pile of coins and placed them into one of the pouches. He tied the pouch closed and slid it across the table to Atule.

“That is a small return on your diamond,” stated Kalmar, “but it is enough to get us started in Giza should we make it that far. I would like you to hold onto it.”

Atule tied the pouch to his belt, but he still watched Kalmar closely as the young Koroccan put the rest of the coins into the other three pouches. When Kalmar tied those three pouches to his own belt, Atule’s eyebrow rose again.

“That is hardly a fair split of our efforts,” Atule remarked.

Kalmar rose and looked at the mage from the jungle. “I am going to find Bacar and give him the gold.”

“You are going to give gold to a thief?” quipped Atule.

Kalmar merely smiled and left the building, but Zynor answered the question. “Bacar is no more a thief than we are. He takes money from the rich to aid the poor. So do we. The only difference is that we give the rich potions to make them feel better about parting with their gold.”

“Bacar is as fine a man as you will ever be,” taunted Crystil. “At least he is honest about his shortcomings.”

Atule sighed deeply and shook his head. He rose from the table and disappeared through the curtain.

* * * *

The Cliffs of Ranool rose over one-thousand feet from the surface of the sea to form the southern side of the Needle. The face of the cliffs was stark, but there were a few caves, although the sheer rise of the face made those caves inaccessible to all but flying creatures. There was, however, one cave unseen by the ships moving through the narrow straight. It had no visible entrance because its opening was well below sea level. The inside of the cave was roomy, and it had several small tunnels that provided light and air while keeping prying eyes away. At night, even a fire was acceptable as the winds flowing through the Needle would quickly disperse the smoke and avoid giving away the hiding place.

Captain Gomery sat idly in the cave, staring at the large pool of water in the center of the chamber. His love for Haditha had kept him content over the months they had hidden in the cave, but he found himself thinking about the Alceans more and more with each passing day. He wondered if any of them were still alive, and what they might be doing. He wondered if the war between the two continents had started yet. Or was it already over? It was not as if he was growing tired of being with the water witch. He still loved her deeply, but his uneasiness grew stronger with each change in the tides. He did not know what to make of it.

A loud slap snatched the captain from his thoughts. He looked down to see a large fish sliding across the rock towards his feet. He stopped its progress with his foot and then let his eyes return to the pool. Haditha, in her mermaid form, stared back at him.

“Where were you?” she asked softly as she pulled herself out of the pool of water.

“What do you mean?” asked the captain, confusion evident in his voice. “I haven’t gone anywhere. I cannot.”