The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.
~ * Visitors Unanticipated and Uninvited * ~
Lulu was bored.
Extremely bored. Excruciatingly bored. Utterly and entirely bored.
The boy lay upon the massive boulder that marked the western outskirts of the tribal village. The slab was deeply entrenched in the earth, grass springing up around it, a natural defense as well as a place where those attuned to such matters informed others that the spirits sang especially loud and clear.
It also made an excellent sunbathing spot.
That was exactly what Lulu was using it for. The boy was sprawled out across one of the smoother, flatter areas on its surface, the stone cool underneath his back. His arms and legs braced against the rock, fingers slightly spread, tapping intermittently in time with the vague melodies he hummed briefly. The tunes were half-formed, much like most thoughts in his mind save for one underlying theme.
(This is so boring… Nothing ever goes on here…)
Idly, his thoughts drifted toward the subject of Aila and her assignment to accompany Sergeant Jordi on his message-bearing mission. The pair had been gone for quite some time. True, Lulu didn't know exactly how long it took to cross from the Grasslands all the way into the heart of the ironheads' territory, but still, surely it couldn't have taken that long, correct?
It wasn't like he was jealous of her or anything… okay, so he was. So what?! He had every reason to envy Aila for what she'd been entrusted with! It just wasn't fair!
Lulu understood why the huntress had needed to tag along with the sergeant on his trip to the ironheads' capital: the bunch of chiefs that governed the Zexen territories as a whole were too thick-headed to accept that a Duck Clan warrior could serve as a Karayan messenger. That was probably because the Council couldn't seem to get along with anyone else very well. Why should they believe a bunch of so-called barbarians would be able to live in harmony with others when they themselves couldn't?
(But why did Aila get to go and not me? I'm the Chief's brother, after all! That would've been proof enough for the Council, right? Besides, Aila didn't even want to go anyway!)
Lulu, meanwhile, had definitely wanted to go. It sounded like the perfect excuse to see what life was like outside the Grasslands. He wanted to find out just what was supposed to make the way the ironheads lived so grand, why they seemed to think they were so much better than anyone from the Clans.
But, no, Luce refused to let him go off on this adventure. Nothing he'd said or done could sway his mother's stubborn stand on the issue. There was no way she'd let her precious youngest son, her 'little baby', head off on even the most important and exciting of quests. The way she coddled him, it was like he'd never handled a weapon in his life, like he was some completely defenseless little clay doll that'd break the instant it strayed from her side.
Rolling over so that his stomach rested against stone, Lulu rested his chin in the small space between his crossed arms and sighed. It was too bad it was Fubar's turn to serve as lookout for the village; it meant he couldn't even run off with his pal and spend the afternoon exploring what little he could.
(Still, there's nothing keeping me from at least staying with him…)
At any rate, anything was better than just lying around while absolutely nothing remotely interesting happened. Pushing up off the rock, Lulu slid down to land on both feet. The boy then started toward the village gates, figuring that at least he'd be able to slip off with Fubar once his shift ended. Somehow, though, knowing that most likely Aila was having an interesting time exploring the Zexen capital didn't improve his mood any as he trudged along the well-worn dirt paths, absently kicking at pebbles as he went along.
~ * ~
Fubar sat just outside the set of poles that served as the village 'gates': there were no doors or walls to speak of surrounding the Karayan settlement, for the tribe saw no need for such precautions. Round ebony eyes gazed out over the road winding toward the entrance, following the simple dirt path up the hill it wove alongside until it curved out of sight.
Though the village was in no way the fortress that Brass Castle or even Vinay de Zexay had been turned into, that didn't mean it didn't have its own special precautions set into place. Archers and warriors patrolled just outside its perimeters, always searching for the slightest sign of anything amiss. Most travelers knew it was best to simply stick to the main road that wove around the cliffside and down into the valley where the village rested.
Fubar was another method of keeping the peace. Sometimes those who would think of threatening the clan would reconsider their options after getting a good look at him. Few were particularly eager to learn just how destructive his talons and beak could be if anyone dared threaten his homeland.
Ever since his egg had first been discovered by some hunters fifteen years ago, the Karayans had raised Fubar to help protect the village. Having a powerful griffon around helped put some minds at ease, not to mention it was a slap in the face to the Zexen Council. The ironheads simply didn't have the touch to handle such divine creatures of the wild.
Actually, few among the Karayans were capable of keeping Fubar under control at times as well. It was no accident that Chief Jimba happened to be one of those who could approach the griffon when the beast slipped into one of his more feral moods. Fubar was practically tamed to his hand, and to the hands of his mother and younger brother.
Fubar liked them because they didn't try to treat him as a beast of burden. His latest fit had occurred when a couple of upstart warriors decided, after a few drinks, they could pile onto the griffon's back and force him to fly them around. One of those drunkards now sported a lovely scar across the upper half of his left arm for his presumptions.
Snorting, Fubar pawed at the ground, shifting his weight back and forth, his talons digging into the dirt. The griffon stretched his wings out, flexing them idly while fighting the urge to lay down. He knew enough of the habits of the chieftain's kid brother to be aware that the boy was likely to want to run around the plains after his friend was finally freed from guard duty. It would be nice to rest first, especially since little actually happened while he was standing at the gates.
Fubar's head bobbed, the tips of his wings drooping slightly as he warred with the desire to get some sleep before the boy showed up. He was fun, but he was also annoyingly loud and shrill at times, and didn't seem to always understand when Fubar would rather go hunting or rest for a bit…
The griffon's head dipped further, then abruptly shot up at the same time that he sprung to his feet. Unfamiliar voices tickled at his sensitive hearing, growing louder and more strange-sounding as their owners drew nearer. His mane of fluffy white feathers ruffled up, Fubar assumed a defensive stance, his earlier drowsiness forgotten. The voices of the intruders drew nearer, and Fubar stood before the entrance, listening, tensing, waiting, watching…
~ * ~
"We're just moving from one Clan to another, huh? Think the Karayans'll actually listen to what we have to say before skewering us with arrows?"
"That'll probably depend on whether or not you can keep your yap shut long enough for them to actually listen to the rest of us," responded a blunt female voice.
"Feh," snorted a male voice, this one far deeper than the first one. "Good luck on that ever happening."
"Why you…"
"Settle down, Ace," commanded a husky male voice that sounded bored, detached, and used to being obeyed.
"Right, Boss…"
The speaker then sighed deeply, an exaggerated noise, and stretched lazily. Hands covered by black gloves that only exposed thick fingers from the knuckles upward reached toward the sky before folding behind the man's head, ruffling his already messy dark brown hair. He looked every bit the part of a ruffian, from the leather breastplate strapped over his tan and black tunic to his camouflage pants to the metal plates on his boots to the twin sais dangling from his belt.
His companions were a decidedly peculiar group. Each bore little resemblance to the others save for the common thread of having distinct styles of dress. Their outfits stood out even more compared to that of the native Karayans, a far cry from the leathers the tribesman favored.
The man walking immediately alongside the swarthy fellow appeared to be the oldest of the group. The neatly trimmed moustache underneath his long nose punctuated his stern, sharp features, and equally thick black eyebrows were drawn down over his narrow, disapproving dark eyes. The rest of his thin raven hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. His garb was simple, matching dark violet jacket and pants decorated only by yellow trim and the various bead necklaces looped around the thick collar.
The only female of the group also cast a scornful look back at the ruffian, rolling her deep brown eyes when she turned her attention back to the road ahead. An absent flick of her gray-gloved fingers flipped the feather ornament in her short ebony hair back. The white feathers matched the fringe on her turquoise jacket and the tight tunic worn underneath. A sword dangled from her belt, and it was clear from the way her other hand rested on its hilt that she knew how to use it very well.
Beside her walked a man with even darker, unkempt sable hair, several strands of which hung over the simple swatch of black fabric covering his right eye socket. His dark overcoat was lined with plates of metal that were bolted together in such a fashion that the armor was flexible as well as protective. He also carried a sword at his side, though the sheath was noticeably wider and longer than the one that hung at his female companion's side.
The last member of their assemblage walked silently behind the rest of them, his expression unreadable. A huge contraption rested upon his deceptively slender back: there must have been at least some muscle hidden underneath his long blue coat, for how else could he carry such a weapon without buckling under its weight? A white bandanna kept his pale fringe of light blonde hair out of his blue eyes, which betrayed no emotion one way or the other over his companions' argument.
Despite his clear inclination to stay out of whatever squabbles his teammates might get into, there didn't appear to be much chance that the group would stay quiet for long. Indeed, shortly the ruffian in leather gave a impatient snort, flexing his arms back while keeping his folded palms pressed against the back of his messy brown locks.
"So just how many Clan Chiefs do you know, Boss?" he called to the one-eyed man in front of him. "First Zepon, then this guy. What's next, are we gonna head on up to the Duck Clan Village to pay a visit to your old friend Chief Donal?"
"At least Geddoe has some friends in high places," the man striding beside him interjected, following this with a mutter under his breath of, "Unlike some cretin I happen to know…"
"Oh, nice." Ace shot his partner a dark look, but the irritation shadowing his swarthy face became a humored smirk as he stated, "But it's nice to know we have some clout with the locals if you get drunk off your magic-blasting ass again and wreak the local tavern…"
"Shut up!" the older traveler snarled, aiming a swipe at the ruffian's head and scowling when he scuttled out of the way. "You're just as bad as I am, you know!"
"I never blasted the barkeep because they weren't gonna serve me liquor anymore!"
"Only because you don't have any element runes on you! Besides, I only did that once!"
"Once was more than enough! We can't afford you pulling that sort of stunt again, Joker! You're lucky the guy decided not to have us arrested for it!"
The two continued to argue, prompting the female member to roll her eyes again at their childishness. She cast a glance past them to the boy in blue, idly wondering if she should explain what they were going on about. After all, the incident had occurred before the young marksman was drafted into their unit…
But she couldn't tell from the blonde's neutral expression whether or not he even cared about the quarrel. His pale blue eyes were averted to one side; apparently the wispy clouds of dust wafting along the side of the path were infinitely more interesting to yet another feud between the ruffian and the old man.
She started to chide the pair again, but her lips hadn't formed the first syllable before the man beside her lightly gripped her wrist. Turning back toward him, she saw him incline his head slightly forward, silently signaling her to turn her eyes back to the road. Doing so, she immediately saw the problem, and reacted immediately.
"Heads up, guys, we've got company!" she warned, whipping out her sword.
The quarreling pair stopped in mid-rant and turned widened eyes toward those before them even as she and the other sprang to one side. The expressions on their faces were almost comical when they beheld the squalling spear of claws and feathers barreling toward them on fully spread wings.
"Oh SHIT!" they screamed at practically the same time and volume.
With an enraged screech, the beast landed where seconds before the intruders had been standing. Its front talons ripped deep gashes in the dirt path, its furiously beating wings spreading clouds of dust everywhere. Realizing it hadn't landed upon any of its targets, the griffon's head swiveled about, dark eyes searching for any sign of its prey.
Fubar knew the strange voices had come from this direction. When the sources came into his view he'd immediately recognized them as not belonging to the village. They weren't wrapped in sheets or accompanying large carts the way peaceful visitors came. Instead they carried weapons -- those things that hurt when you were poked with them. That made them threats to his home, threats Fubar was going to deal with.
A bolt whizzed just over his beak, and the griffon spun to see the invaders gathered together. One of them, the pale one in the blue coat, was pointing some hefty, strange-looking device at him. It resembled the bows carried by some of the hunters enough for Fubar to understand it was the source of what had nearly clipped his beak.
"Kuueeeeee--!" he screeched angrily, beating his spread wings and turning the rest of his body to face the trespassers.
"Man, this thing's pissed!" observed one of the men -- the one with the voice Fubar found the most annoying. Yanking his small weapons from their sheaths, he spun the three-pronged dagger-things in both hands. Looking over at the dark-haired warrior with the shiny metal sewn onto his coat, he asked, "You want us to take this thing out, Boss?"
Fubar didn't wait to listen to whatever the other might have to say. The griffon had his own views on the matter. With another ear-piercing shrill, the beast sprung back into the air, beating his wings savagely.
"Try not to hurt it too badly," 'Boss' instructed the rest of his group, his voice remarkably calm considering the fact they were being attacked by a mad griffon. "I believe this one happens to belong to the Chief's family…"
"Lovely…" the female muttered under her breath. Eyeing the flapping, screeching terror before them, she warned, "I don't think it's going to afford us the same courtesy. Watch out!"
The fierce pounding of Fubar's wings raised a column of wind before him, and the griffon let out another shriek before sending the blade of air flying toward its enemies. Again the group moved to scatter, but this time not all of them were able to dodge the current. It clipped one of the ruffian's legs and flung him roughly into the jagged cliffside. One of his sais clattered to the ground right before he fell beside it, the wind knocked out of his lungs.
"Kuuueee!" Fubar shrieked, victoriously, lunging for the fallen man.
But before talons could pierce flesh, a streak of crimson flame burst in front of him. Fubar squawked and recoiled, veering away to avoid the blaze. The old man smirked and lowered his raised palm.
"Got any complaints about my magic now?" he asked smugly.
"Your timing could be a little better, Joker!" shot back his partner, shooting him a glare even while standing up and retrieving his dropped sai. "You nearly roasted me with that shot too, ya know!"
Joker muttered something unintelligible about 'ungrateful louts' before both men turned back to face the griffon. The flying beast looked even more pissed that the wind blade hadn't taken out even one of its opponents. It continued to shriek angrily, its shrill screeches slicing through the air.
The two men tensed to attack, but the female waved toward them, signaling to knock it off. It wasn't difficult to understand why: their adversary's screams were doing a wonderful job of attracting the villagers. Several Karayans had already gathered, with most of the adults and several of the children sporting weapons. The ruffian gave a shrug and sheathed his own weapons, aware it wouldn't help anything to keep them out.
The man called 'Boss' stepped forward, addressing the crowd at large.
"We have an urgent message for your Chief. Where is he?"
"What do you want with my brother?"
A boy with bright red bangs elbowed his way past two archers near the front of the crowd and approached the group. He regarded the five visitors warily with his huge green eyes, one hand resting on the hilt of the dagger at his side.
"Who are you, and what do you want with my brother?" he repeated.
"…Geddoe," the one-eyed man replied after a pause. Gesturing back toward the rest of his group, he added, "My companions and I came from the Great Hollow to speak with Chief Jimba. Will you take us to him, kid?"
The lad's face scrunched up into a distrustful grimace.
"I'm not a kid," he grumbled, then added, a bit louder, "and I'm not so sure I wanna take you to see Jimba. Why should I?"
"Because it's very important that we speak to him as soon as possible," the woman replied, stepping forward and kneeling so that she was on the same level with the kid. "Can you at least run and tell him that Geddoe is here to speak with him?"
"……" The native boy looked at her for a long moment, turning his head slightly to one side. "You'll wait for me to get back?"
"Get back?" she echoed, a little concerned. (That didn't exactly sound too promising…)
"What is going on over here? Lulu, are you there?"
When that deep female voice boomed out over the crowd, the boy stiffened. Then his shoulders slumped, and he rolled his round green eyes, trading his suspicious expression for an annoyed one. The crowd of villagers began dispersing, allowing a large, kindly-looking woman to make her way over to the visitors.
"Well, now," she stated upon spotting the travelers, folding her arms in a not-unfriendly fashion over her ample bosom. "What have we here? Lulu, are you and Fubar pestering these poor travelers?"
"Not hardly, Mom!" shouted a red-faced Lulu. "They were asking me to go get Jimba for them. They said it was important."
"Really, now…" Turning to Geddoe, she said, "My name is Luce; I'm Chief Jimba and Lulu's mother. I'm afraid the chief isn't here to speak with you right now. If you don't mind waiting, you can stay at our home. I'll show you the way if you want…"
"That would be fine," responded Geddoe with a curt nod.
A broad smile spread over Luce's face, her friendly eyes lighting up at the promise of having company to entertain. It would be so nice to get to know these travelers that had come seeking out her eldest son. Such a shame this one didn't seem eager to open up to her, or much of anyone, for that matter. Already formulating plans on how she might be able to change that, Luce turned to her younger son.
"Coming, Lulu?" When the boy answered her question with a dark glare, Luce shrugged lightly and invited, "Well, if that's the way you want it, then go ahead and run along. Just don't stray too far, all right? Our guests are probably hungry from their trip, so I'll likely be fixing dinner soon."
With that, Luce placed one arm over Geddoe's shoulders, the other around those of the only female of the group, and started guiding them toward her home, chattering happily. Lulu turned and stomped over to where Fubar was. He ran both hands over the griffon's back, soothing the still riled beast and smoothing out his soft feathers. The other three members of the visitors glanced at each other.
"Well, what now?" inquired Ace of his fellows, grinning. "Shall we join them, or take a closer look around the village first?"
"…"
The blonde in the dusty blue coat turned and walked off without so much as a word to his companions. Ace blinked at his departing back.
"Guess that answers my question…" he muttered, shaking his head ruefully. "Jeez, Jacques, would it kill you to be a bit more sociable?"
"If you're the company he has to keep, then probably," interjected Joker with a smirk.
This, of course, prompted another argument to erupt between the pair. However, Lulu tuned out their grating voices, too annoyed with his mother to pay attention to the visitors.
(Man…! If Mom hadn't come when she did, I could've run off to see the meeting with the ironheads! Having an important message to relay would've been the perfect excuse to go to the treaty…!)
But once again, his mother's interference kept him from having a chance to leave the village. Lulu dug his fingers into Fubar's thick feathery mane, venting his frustration by petting the griffon roughly.
(How am I gonna prove to everyone I'm not just a little kid if I never get a chance to do anything important?)
Fubar gave a low warble; while he appreciated being petted, the boy's stroking was getting a little too violent. Lulu lessened the force he was applying when he heard the griffon's warning. He continued to run his hands through his friend's feathers, gazing out over the plains outside the village.
A flicker of movement at the edge of his vision caught the boy's attention. Turning to face the direction where he thought he'd glimpsed it, Lulu squinted, straining his eyes.
The ground seemed to ripple, and Lulu's eyes widened. A pale girl in a strange dress that looked almost more uniform than elegant stood there. She gazed at the village, evidently unaware of the fact she herself was being watched. Lulu had a clear view of her profile, but didn't know what to make of what he could see of her expression. Her doll-like features were composed, yet there seemed to be a hint of sadness touching her pale blue eyes.
Abruptly those ice blue eyes shifted to connect with his. Lulu gasped, every muscle in his body tensing as their gazes met over the expanse between them. The girl's lips stirred, forming words he felt more than heard, a silent command that nonetheless burned into his mind:
(Come…)
She turned on her heel and fled, moving swifter than her fragile appearance would lead most to assume. Lulu started, the contact broken, and gripped at Fubar's neck.
"Kue?"
The griffon's soft coo questioned his friend as Lulu swung up onto his back. The youth wrapped his arms around Fubar's neck, fingers tightly gripping the downy fringe, and he leaned upward slightly.
"Go," he whispered urgently in the beast's ear.
"Kuuuueeeee!" Responding more to the unusual seriousness of the boy's tone than to his command, Fubar beat his wings and let out a louder, more confident cry. The griffon charged off in the direction Lulu spurred him in, sensing they were on the hunt.
The two travelers cut off their argument long enough to stare as beast and boy bounded away from the gates, heading toward the plains in pursuit of something only the young rider knew of.
"They sure left in a hurry," Ace observed dryly. Glancing at his partner, he added with a smirk, "Care to see what exactly they're after, old man?"
"Save your energy," snapped Joker, already heading in the same direction Lulu and Fubar had gone. "I get the feeling you'll need it just to keep us with us…"
"Hah!" Ace snorted and jogged past him. "Just try and keep up, old man."
"Quit calling me that!"
~ * ~
By this time, Luce had not only led Geddoe and his female companion to the hut she shared with her sons, but was preparing a simple repast for her guests. The jovial woman chattered amicably as she bustled about, having struck up a bit of a rapport with the latter already.
"It's really too bad you didn't arrive sooner," she clucked, a slight shake of her head causing her short brown hair to flounce about her head. "Jimba left for the treaty meeting just after sunrise this morning. I'm afraid it might run longer than we expected; you know how the Zexens can be. I'd send you with an escort, but…"
"That's quite alright, Luce," the female traveler replied. She reclined in her seat, one leg folded comfortably over the other. "We don't mind waiting until he gets back."
Even as she offered this reassurance, however, she cast a surreptitious glance in the direction of her cohort. Geddoe had chosen the chair closest to the doorway, and sat straight, arms folded over his chest, single good eye almost completely closed. She knew him well enough, however, to know that he was watching the leather flap over the doorway, ready to spring up at a moment's notice.
Luce asked her something, and she turned back to the Karayan matron with a smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes, exchanging her pensive mood for a receptive, pleased one with a practiced ease. The two engaged in a lively conversation, leaving Geddoe to his silent contemplation of the entrance.
Geddoe didn't join the conversation because he couldn't find the heart within him to do so. His message remained undelivered: he didn't want to burden this kind-hearted woman with the real reason why they'd hastened to this village.
He doubted the mother of the Karayan Chief would respond well to the news that Chief Zepon of the Lizard Clan had been assassinated. Nor would it be wise to inform her that the ones apparently responsible for doing so were the Zexen Knights.
Geddoe had his doubts about that last part, despite the fact that he and his men had faced down and been soundly defeated by someone claiming to be Chris Lightfellow, current commander of the elite Zexen Knights. There had been something ultimately surreal about that entire encounter.
For example, during the battle, Chris (or she who claimed to be the Silver Maiden) had landed a solid blow on his left arm that should have left a scar, or at least a bloody gash. Yet he had only felt a blunt impact, not steel slicing through his flesh.
Then, too, the rest of his unit had raised their own questions about the skirmish afterwards. When all was said and done, all Geddoe knew for certain was that Chief Zepon was dead. At the hands of whom… that remained to be seen. One thing was certain: whoever or whatever was responsible for the venerable lizard's death wasn't likely to stop with the murder of only one Chief.
(Be careful, Jimba.) Geddoe's single good eye glittered in the relative darkness of the hut, lit more by concern than by the light streaming through the thin space between the woven flap and its frame. (Until we know what exactly is happening, it'll be far too easy to play into others' hands…)