The Brush Tiger of Derven Ch. 32-33

Chapter 32: Messenger

Their afternoon is much the same as the last, the group spending their time holed away in Laren's office, teaching and instructing Irving on his fighting technique. As if Rick senses her need to process all of the new information, he leads the charge, falling easily back into his former boots of tavern owner. Mora watches the training without actually seeing anything; her mind and heart are struggling with the prospect of becoming a Sovereign Queen.

The evening and night is a blur. She feels herself replying when addressed but her mind is so far absent that she doesn't even realize she is alone in her room until Gladys reaches out and touches her shoulder.

"Queen Namora? Are you all right?" the woman's voice is soft and hesitant as she withdraws her hand.

Mora glances around, finding herself seated on the couch before her fireplace. She reaches up and rubs her face, "I think I just need some rest, Gladys. Thank you."

"Of course, my lady," with a stiff bow, the handmaid sees herself out.

Though her body says it is time to rest, her mind cannot even focus on that. Mora paces the length of the room before finally stopping in front of her desk and the large wooden box on top of it. It is not the time to deal with the secrets inside of it but she feels compelled to pull out the large book and the wooden cylinder. Perhaps forcing herself to decode some of the text will give her the ability to refocus her attention on something, on anything.

Her progress is slow; the symbols on the cipher are so vastly different from the writing she was taught. Their elegant strokes seem to flow from right to left, tiny details of added dots or tails on them change their meanings. It is almost as if the language itself was created to be art, to represent a beauty found within the world around instead of imposing a foreign symbol to represent it.

She knows better than to write the translation down onto paper, as that will make it more dangerous simply by making it easier for anyone but her to understand. Instead, she painstakingly memorizes each sacral, referring frequently back to the cipher, softly repeating the words aloud as they are revealed to her. When she finally makes it through the first full page, she discovers that the text is a fable about the origin of island that makes up the land.

They are the world builders, They are the life givers.

They are the beings who placed each star in the night sky, They are the ones who tasked the sun and moon with their cycles.

When They saw our world, our solitary drop of water, They took pity upon it.

They dove into the oceans and from the heart of our mother They pulled up the land.

Upon each land They bestowed a Gift of life: the spirit of steadfast, the charisma to accomplish, the strength to protect, the durability to withstand.

It is from this Gift that the first immortals were created, those who were tasked with guardianship, the shepherds of the first beings of man.

Upon completion of service, each immortals made a replacement, using the Gift that They bestowed upon the land, just as those before them had done, just as those after them will do.

It is our duty as these shepherds to not only protect our flock but to protect the Gift that They granted us, for without it life cannot exist.

Mora leans back in the chair as the fable washes over her. She has never been one to put stock in the tales of old yet she knows that every fable has some truth to it and she knows exactly what truth this one reveals—immortals are not born, they are made.

Quickly she closes the cipher and book, locking them both back into the wooden box. She attempts to shut her eyes, yearning for sleep to call to her yet it does not. Her mind, though scattered all day is now keenly focused on the fable. She speculates that if she reads further into the book, she will discover the process of how to create an immortal.

Before she knows it, she is on her feet; she sweeps the box up into her arms and crosses the room swiftly to stand before the fire. The knowledge in her hands is more powerful than any one should ever be privy to, it is dangerous and if someone else were to get ahold of it, it wouldn't just be Derven at risk, it would be the entire world. She leans forward, fully prepared to set the box in the flames, to remain in ignorance of all in order to avoid disaster. The heat coming off of the fire singes her delicate hands, yet she hesitates.

She does not know why.

Grabbing her cloak, she slips into the secret passage, placing the box just inside of it. Her heart races in her chest, her hands shaking as she stands in the darkness of the narrow hallway, staring downwards at the box she cannot see. Instead of gaining answers, all she has done is found more questions—what is the Gift? How did the immortals chose their successors? Was it her mother's intent to change her into an immortal as well? Who in their right mind chose Irron?

She spins on her heels and walks blindly through the passage until she has reached the cool night air outside of the castle. Swinging her cloak over her shoulders she breaks out into a run, darting across the open field to the forest's edge, seeking sanctuary in the trees before slowing to a walk. Her throat burns with the exertion but it is a welcomed distraction from the overwhelming feeling constricting her chest. Her entire life she felt like she was waiting for the opportunity to prove her worth to the world but never did she think that she would face so many challenges at all, let alone all at once.

A soft rustle of leaves instinctually halts her movement; she hears a quiet, low chirp, her head immediately turning to the source. Bathed in dappled moonlight, sits the lightly colored brush tiger. In this close proximity, Mora sees that he is larger than she initially realized, in fact he might be the largest male she has ever laid eyes on.

He makes the soft chipping noise again, his tail lightly flicking as he sits and watches her. She knows she should slowly reach down and draw the knife from her boot but instead she feels compelled to move forward towards it. His large, reflective eyes watch her, his ears perking up towards the sounds of her soft footsteps yet he does not tense, he doesn't attack nor does he run. Halting just a few feet away from the tiger, Mora's heart races when her hand slowly reaches up towards his head. Mere inches from his fur, she freezes.

The tiger raises his chin, his cold wet nose touching her fingertips as he smells her. A low rumble comes from within him; Mora almost panics when he moves but he doesn't attack, instead he steps forward and rubs his face against her thigh, marking her with his scent. A small sigh of relief escapes her; tentatively she rests her hand on his back, feeling the warm coarse fur slide underneath it.

A smile crosses her lips, "Namur," she names him, recalling the word that her mother often used when referring to the brush tigers. After he has circled her, his long tail gently swaying in his wake, Mora starts to walk forward, Namur falling in step beside her as if they were old friends.

Within the serenity of the forest her mind finally clears, the calmness of peace washing over her. As she curiously wonders how Greystar will react to her new companion, she alters her path to head towards the stables. At the edge of the forest, Namur tenses, raising his head to huff in the night air. Mora watches him curiously, wondering what he senses that she does not, until she hears the rustle of footsteps a ways off.

When a low growl escapes the tiger's throat, Mora sets her hand on his back to quiet him while she peers off into the distance towards the stables. From the trees a large figure emerges which, by the stature and movement, Mora knows to be Eric—however, she doesn't recognize the man that he roughly drags along behind him. Eric shoves the man into the stables.

Sensing no danger, Namur butts his head into her leg in farewell before turning and disappearing into the forest. Mora watches him until he vanishes before she follows Eric.

Inside the stable she is surprised to find him waiting near Greystar's stall; the Warden leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his intent stare fixated on a man sitting atop a wooden tack box. Even though there is little light being shone through the windows, Mora can still make out the teal tinge of his uniform. She stops when she reaches them, her brow quirked at the man.

He only briefly glances at her before he drops down to one knee, lowers his head and offers a greeting, "Queen Namora."

Her eyes flicker to the Warden before she looks down to the man, "Please, rise and explain to me why you are crossing into Derven under the cover of darkness."

The man rises though his posture cringes slightly; he wrings his hands, "I apologize for the secrecy of it all, my lady, but I was given explicit orders not to be seen by anyone other than you. I fear I have failed in my endeavor though, as this Warden caught me in the woods." He glances curiously at Eric, before mumbling, "However I don't know why someone of Sceadu is in Derven."

"I'm not sure how that is your concern," Mora frowns at him, "Now, who sent you?" When the man hesitates, she adds, "The Warden has my utmost confidence."

He swallows hard, "Prince Philip sent me, my lady. With a letter." After getting a nod from Mora, the man crouches down and opens up a small satchel at his feet, withdrawing a folded piece of parchment to hand to the Queen. When she takes it, she recognizes the teal wax impression as the royal seal of Geofen. She finds the entire matter very odd and even more so when the man adds, "He expressed to me that I was to wait for your written response and to return it to him in the same matter."

Skeptically, she raises her brow at him, "He expects me to read it and reply immediately? Very well. You shall wait here with the Warden while I return to the castle so that I may draft a reply."

The man nods and tensely sits back down on the wooden box under the keen gaze of Eric.

With swift feet, Mora leaves the stables and enters the castle; she takes care to avoid encountering anyone and is soon back in the antechamber of her room, sitting at the desk. She picks up a small knife and slides it under the wax seal before opening the letter.

I apologize for the manner in which I am forced to send this letter, Queen Namora—please understand that this is not how I seek to conduct business on a regular basis. I wish to express first and foremost that my concerns and interests are solely for my country; as it is, I find that in order to remain faithful to my people, I must go behind the back of my father.

Upon discovering the strength and brutality capable to those warriors of Sceadu, he saw an opportunity that would benefit him and I am afraid to say that he is making the moves necessary in order to put him into a position of great power. He and Queen Sheyenne have been meeting almost nightly on the border of our two lands; I am privy to their discussions as one of his personal guards is a dear friend of mine and is also concerned at where their talks are headed. He and the Queen have made the decision to elect her as the ruler of Alumenia, as there is no blood heir to the throne. Since the only other vote belongs to you, their majority will bring this plan into fruition. In exchange for his move on this matter, the Queen has agreed to marry my father to become his second wife, thereby creating an alliance between the three nations; this leaves Derven in a dangerous position and I am speculating that they mean to take your country by force.

I have gotten the impression that Queen Sheyenne has little regard for her son, Prince Varicken. It has also been said that she has a second son, Prince Treven, who lives in the land beyond the sea known as Barine. Her and my father have conspired to send word for him to return; in a panic, I intercepted that letter and had it destroyed, unbeknown to them.

I have placed myself in a dubious position by committing treason upon the crown of Geofen; if my father discovers my actions I fear that it will conclude in my death. As a result, I am sending this letter to you for reasons twofold: firstly, in hopes that you have a plan in mind to avoid the assimilation of Alumenia and therefore the alliance between the three nations that would leave your country at a disadvantage; secondly, to request asylum in your country should all else fail. I realize that this puts you in a terrible situation but I have exhausted all other avenues on my end to keep my country safe from the destruction of the current ruling entities.

Please reply in haste and my messenger will return the letter to me at once.

Yours,

Prince Philip

Mora clenches her hands into fists on the desk. She wants to scream out in rage, she wants to destroy something but instead she forces herself to remain deadly still. Part of her heart feels that this is a trap—she has felt betrayed by almost everyone she grew to love and trust and knows that it has caused her to be wary and paranoid in believing the words of others. But if his letter weren't based in truth, if everything he wrote of hadn't been completely plausible she would have known it to be false yet she cannot ignore the facts.

Rising to her feet, she walks to her chamber doors, opening it so quickly that she startles the guard outside of it, "Please summon Prince Varicken and Irving to my chambers at once."

The man bows before he trots off down the hall. Mora paces up and down the length in front of the fireplace, her mind reeling. She knows this is how a brush tiger must feel like when it is backed into a corner with no way out, only one option remaining. When there is a soft knock on the door, she barks out a reply, "Enter."

Irving and Rick both slip in, shutting the door behind them. Rick's face is wrought with concern, as if he is worried that Mora is injured. Irving, on the other hand, keeps his expression remarkably blank though his eyes follow her movements with precision. She points to the letter on the desk, still pacing, "Read it."

Rick picks up the parchment and reads it out loud. Towards the end, his voice is quiet and threatening, almost growling out his displeasure at the words. Once he is finished, he carefully places the letter back onto the desk; silence permeates the room.

Irving is the first who dares to speak, "It will be a surprise once they find out that I exist."

"That doesn't mean they will stop," Rick spits out, "if I know my mother, she will keep pushing until she gets what she wants." He shakes his head, "All these years I truly believed that Treven was dead...I know nothing of Barine."

"My knowledge on them is very limited as well," Irving adds, "I know that they are the country who Geofen primarily deals with while exporting goods. They have wealth, that much is obvious by the sight of their ships alone and their sailors always pay tribute to the Keeper of the Sea."

Mora shoots him a glance, "Keeper of the Sea?" The irritation grates on her voice though she doesn't intend it to be directed at him.

Irving catches her eye before lowering his gaze though it is Rick who responds, "It is the deity they worship. The temple is a large cavern on the coast where the sea rolls in; the fish and saltwater provide nourishment to the Keeper."

"And what, exactly, is a Keeper?" she snaps.

Irving shrugs, "It is a large tree, a very odd looking one at that, the trunk is sort of white and the leaves are teal in color. I believe that is where Geofen's royal colors come from."

Mora freezes in her tracks, so still she isn't even breathing. When the men glance at her, she turns around so that they only see her back instead of viewing the shock on her face. Another tree, in another cave; she swallows hard, her mind drawn back to the white metallic nuts that were in the box with the immortal metal and she comes to term with the horrible realization that each country must have its own tree. Her mind spins as she recalls her dream which suddenly she wonders if it was in fact something else entirely, if somehow she was viewing memory of a past life or slipping into the body of another creature.

She tenses, lost I her thoughts; Mora had hoped she would be able to deal with the fallout of the battle, to get everything settled before she delved into this convoluted bottomless pit of secrets but she now realizes that it is intertwined, that each country is tangled together into a twisted thicket of brush protecting a dark mystery. She feels it tickling the edge of her mind—the answer to a question she hasn't asked, the answer she doesn't want to know.

"What will you do, Mora?" Rick's voice comes from directly behind her.

She jumps as it startles her from her thoughts; spinning on her heels she discovers both men standing there, waiting for her to decide, "I don't know what to do, that is why I asked you two to join me. It seems that Prince Philip is being genuine, that he truly wants to help Geofen."

"I would agree with that assessment," Irving replies; when he sits down on the couch, he pats the cushion next to him and looks at her expectantly. Once she settles beside him, Rick takes the spot on her other side.

"I think it would be wise if I went to Geofen a day early," Rick speaks, drawing their attention, "I would be able to meet with Philip in private and discern his honesty in the matter. And," he hesitates, recalling her reaction earlier, "I could get a feeling of how he would take the proposal of a Sovereign Queen." He tenses, waiting for Mora to snap at him.

Slowing sucking in a deep breath, she stares off into the fire, frowning, "I don't want to be a Sovereign Queen. No one should possess that much power."

Irving slips his hand into hers, repeating the words she used against him during their first meeting, "And because of that reason, you are the only one worthy of it. It is a selfless sacrifice to promote peace, something only a true Derven wouldn't hesitate at."

Mora looks at him, a frown slowly growing on her face, "I suppose I deserved that."

Chapter 33:

Mora hasn't spoken for most of the journey. If she had her mind about her, she would have used the opportunity to get to know Irving on a more personal level as it is the first time since they met that they have been truly alone without the threat of an interruption. Instead, she sits quietly in the royal carriage, her gaze fixed on the rolling countryside beyond the window and while it appears that she is thinking deeply she is, in fact, truly lost in her own thoughts. Her focus is absent and each time she attempts to grasp ahold of an idea it slips away, like water or sand through her hands.

When Irving shifts, his movement draws her attention to him. He holds out a small folded length of fabric, "It would behoove me to offer you some education about the practices of Geofen."

Her eyes wander over the offering before she takes it into her hands; it is bright red, light and incredibly soft, unlike the thick Derven wool she is used to. As she unfolds the fabric she is surprised to discover that it is of a substantial length, woven so that the last third of it is sheer and see through. Puzzled, her eyes meet Irving's.

"I realize that when compared with Alumenia or Sceadu, Derven women seem incredibly modest. You dress to cover your bodies, you rarely show any skin beyond your hands and faces, there is minimal contact between the sexes and while Derven women are respectful of all they never hesitate to speak their minds." He shifts somewhat uncomfortably before continuing, "In a way, the women of Geofen are similar but perhaps more to an extreme. The way your dress hugs your curves would be considered scandalous; in fact, beyond their hands and on occasion their eyes, the women of the Geofen are fully covered at all times when outside of their homes. While no one would expect a woman from another country to abide by their customs you will receive a negative reception from the locals by exposing your face to them. I imagine that Sheyenne made that blunder."