My‑re’s escort led her to the Isle of the Eye Academy. The buildings were white with blue spiral roofs topping the three main towers, and they were the largest and most prominent structures on the island. The outer walls were oval and seemed more fitting for the design of a sailing ship than a castle. It sat on a hill overlooking buildings, homes, and trees below.
Red bricks paved a long mall leading to the academy. Short flights of three steps were added periodically to provide a tiered aspect. Circular areas were also laid down the length of the mall, where trees grew throughout the stonework in five patterns, like on a dice. As they passed the large fountain dominating the entrance, water magically shot into the air in soothing designs. She glanced up at the silver, spiral metal piece of ‘art’ in the middle, which resembled a flame. Stories told that it magically appeared one night thirty years ago. Sheila enjoyed it, which was probably why it was still there. To My‑re, it did nothing but block the water from spraying upwards and soaking anyone drawing too near and was an eyesore.
The buildings had intricate yet simple curved patterns and designs interwoven into the walls, enhancing the calming atmosphere. When they entered one of the buildings, she saw these were also finely decorated, with swirling forms painted on the floor and wooden motifs adorning the walls and ceiling. Candles spaced throughout provided dim light but highlighted the soft white and blue tile throughout. The smell of incense sticks permeated the air. They moved off the main entrance to a quaint, smaller area.
“Stay in the waiting room and don’t leave until summoned,” Captain Darion said, closing the door behind him.
My‑re scanned the tiny room within the Academy of the Eye, better known to Lord Protectors as the Stronghold Academy.
There were no pictures on the walls here, but lanterns provided light. My‑re winced at the confines. Two people would have to turn sideways if their paths crossed. The room was not designed for comfort and, if anything else, the exact opposite. The space in a broom closet would be considered luxurious. Even the air had a heavy presence and seemed to push down on her.
The room had four chairs facing forward with an extension to write on, making it crowded. Three were already occupied: Phetmolge, the captain of the ship the Nightie, the tuxedo colored were-cat Ssskah, and Anusha. The two women were writing on a sheet of paper with large, white-feathered quills. They looked up as she entered, then went back to writing. Phetmolge’s quill lay next to his sheet of paper, turned over. He stared straight ahead at the fourth person in the room.
Opposite the chairs and only a few feet away stood an old desk. A venerable and meek-looking older man with thick spectacles supported by a crooked nose sat behind it. His head sported a fluffy snow-white afro and matching beard. His lips sunk into his mouth with paper-thin skin. My‑re wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d already seen his hundredth birthday five years ago. The older man didn’t glance up from his desk. He just pushed a piece of paper across his desk toward her, along with a matching white feathered quill.
“Please fill out the form and return it to me when completed.”
My‑re squeezed between two chairs and retrieved the quill, ink, and paper. She sat and glanced at the dozens of questions, one right after the other. She had never had to do anything like this before, so she followed her colleagues’ example and began to answer the questions.
Name: My‑re.
Job: Yes.
Style: Trendy.
What is your current problem? I need more gold.
What did you do to resolve your problem? I asked for a raise.
Did this resolve the problem? No.
Why are you seeking an audience with Lady Greywand? I’m not.
My‑re continued to answer similar questions where she put either ‘Yes’ or ‘No,’ but she didn’t understand why there was so much extra space for each. Every once in a while, Anusha snickered under her breath as she wrote while Ssskah scribbled at length on the paper. Phetmolge just stared forward.
Despite being last in the room, My‑re finished her sheet before Ssskah and Anusha, and she looked over. Anusha noticed her and covered her paper. Ssskah had lengthy answers to each question, unlike her few-word responses. My‑re looked at her paper, understood she could have elaborated more, and began to re-think her answers.
The door swung open, and Captain Darien stood in the entryway. “Lady Greywand is waiting.”
As they all began to rise, the quiet old man’s head snapped up and said, “Their paperwork needs to be turned in before anyone sees my Lady. There are procedures for these types of things, you know.”
“I don’t have time for this, Jenkins,” Darion huffed.
Jenkins knocked his glasses to the edge of his nose so he could stare at the captain and replied, “My Lady has time for this. Therefore, you have time for this. After all, this is for posterity’s sake.”
The captain removed himself from blocking the entryway and stood outside waiting.
My‑re watched old man Jenkins, who extended his hand and waited for the paperwork. They all rose to turn it in. Ssskah’s was nicely filled out with exquisite handwriting, and Jenkins nodded in appreciation. Phetmolge handed his in but had only placed the letter ‘X’ next to each question. Jenkins turned it back and forth, but all the responses were the same. He sighed and lay it on top of the other. Anusha handed her sheet in and snickered.
Jenkins stared at it, brought it closer to his eyes, then away. Turned it over then back and asked, “Is this written in Rathiri?”
“Of course, it’s written in the Khan’s tongue. I’m a Rirorni,” Anusha stated proudly.
Shaking his head, Jenkins set it down and smiled warmly at My‑re, like an elderly professor seeing his favorite student.
My‑re stepped up, more than a little embarrassed at her meek, few-word answers.
Jenkins took it and viewed it momentarily. His brow wrinkled, and he sighed. He seemed to struggle to respond and merely said, “May the gods bless your little heart.”
RAP! RAP!
Captain Darion had hit his knuckles hard on the wooden door and left. His indication was clear: Follow.
The four followed Captain Darion down a few corridors, some long and others short. It wasn’t long before she became completely lost. Lit sconces lined the walls, and My‑re glanced at the hanging artwork. Many were masterpieces of various objects, fruits, people, and landscapes, but one caused her to stop. The centerpiece depicted a high circular doorway on a hill with a raised stone framework. It appeared to be an artifact of unfathomable age, built by beings as far beyond her as she might be above a rodent. Etched and carved around the entire frame were oversized and intricate runes. She had seen it before and never wanted to again: a Chaos Gate. Surrounding the structure were battle-hardened warriors wearing the white mantle of the Lord Protectors supporting wounded companions and retreating toward the gate’s opening. A few valiantly protected their flank and held off a horde of abominations, many of whom had flailing tentacles, oversized mouths, and serrated teeth. They were creatures not of this world. The title etched on a brass display located on the frame read: Gateway.
“Ahem.”
My‑re looked up and saw Captain Darien and the rest of the group several paces away, waiting. She gave the painting a last glance and then followed.
They traveled down another long corridor with well-lit, etched sconces, and the stone material seemed of higher quality. My‑re could tell they were getting to someplace important as they started to tread on a red floor runner, which seemed surprisingly clean. They heard voices, which preceded two figures hurriedly approaching in the distance.
My‑re recognized Spymaster Timshard. Seeing them, his bright blue eyes narrowed. He half-walked and half-jogged behind a female, trying to keep up with the taller figure.
The woman had straight, raven black hair and brown eyes. Her olive skin covered wide cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a long nose, a feature that made her more striking than beautiful. Across her chest, she wore a dark-brown, hardened leather breastplate, which had probably been boiled a dozen or more times. It had a sheen, and likely even the sharpest spears would have difficulty penetrating it. Strategically placed leather sections also protected her shoulders and forearms. Her black boots were of the same material, with an additional protective portion extending past her knees to the middle of her thighs, but the back of her legs remained exposed to allow free movement. Underneath the armor was the finest black silk garment that wouldn’t tear easily. A simple wand housed in a case hung off her belt, which she periodically touched to ensure it was still there.
“Captain Darien, your arrival was expected some time ago. Necessary delays?” the woman asked.
“Lady Sheila Greywand,” Darien said, bowing and grumbling, “The scribe indicated the paperwork required completion.”
“I presumed as much,” Sheila said, putting on matching decorative and fingerless gloves. “Paperwork is Jenkin’s concern. It is not mine. Is it understood when a summons is made, it is of the utmost importance and not to be delayed except under the most imperative of circumstances.”
“Yes, Lady Greywand,” Darien said, bowing his head.
“Now that matter is settled, allow me to greet my guests properly.”
Timshard stepped forward and began, “This is Ssskah.”
Sheila interrupted him, “Timmy, they are my guests. I am aware of who I invited.”
Widely known, he disdained the nickname. Timshard’s face went red with embarrassment.
Ssskah curtseyed elegantly. “Sheila, it’s been way too long.”
Timshard snapped, “It’s Lady Greywand.”
Sheila ignored the comment and said to Ssskah, “Yes, indeed it has. As situations necessitate, much effort goes into daily activities.” Sheila touched Darien’s arm and mused, “I even require an extra pair of eyes just to ensure the boys don’t cause untold havoc on the Isle.”
“Another vacation soon?” Ssskah asked.
Sheila smiled and said, “A holiday would be ideal. However, as you recall, it took two weeks to clean things up the last time I left the boys in charge.”
Captain Darien snorted in hesitant acknowledgment.
Sheila then moved to Anusha. The Rirorni stood straight and stiff. After a heartbeat or two, Anusha slightly nodded her head in respect.
“Confidence. Something I admire. I dare say if the Rirorni men were half as strong as their women, we’d be speaking the Khan’s tongue of Rathiri now.”
Anusha smiled at the compliment and nodded a little deeper in admiration.
Sheila then moved to My‑re. She attempted to mimic Ssskah's sophisticated greeting, but it turned into a mess of a curtsey and, after failing that, a half bow. Not a good first impression, My‑re scolded herself.
“My‑re, the Blood Games champion of Valamantis. Anyone who can humble men the way you have in the past is someone I would like to call a friend,” Sheila said.
Sheila moved to Phetmolge and said, “Thank you captain for coming. I would have understood otherwise. The forced retirement of the Nightie was a necessity. However, I will be the first to admit that better choices by myself could have been made. As the situation now dictates, the Isle of the Eye must call upon the Nightie to set sail one last time.”
“Lady Greywand, I still must protest your actions as foolhardy,” Timshard said.
“Careful, Spymaster,” Captain Darien announced and stepped forward.
My‑re watched the stand-off between the two men. They each seemed very protective of Sheila Greywand. She admitted that Sheila had a certain intelligence and confidence about her, which made her charismatic. She also valued her respect for women, and knocking the ‘boys’ down a peg or two didn’t hurt her opinion. She wanted Sheila to like her, and knowing she appreciated strong women prompted her with enough courage to speak, “Lady Greywand, may I ask why we were summoned?”
“Did Captain Darien not say?” Sheila looked to the captain and closed her eyes in amused understanding. “The good captain does love his theatrics. The reason for the summons is simple. I will accompany you on the hunt for the Lake of Mists’ monster.”