The Scroll of Isidor
Holden Sheppard
Copyright 2017 Holden Sheppard
The Scroll of Isidor
Dervine, Eastern Flaran
For the past seven years, Lev had come to associate knocking on the Chief's knotted wooden door with a sense of suffocated dread. This night was no different.
Lev shivered. The corridor that led to the Chief's Den was just as cold as the outside. Magnus always insisted on leaving the window open for carrier Pekrons, though it had been years since anything exciting enough had happened for someone to employ one of the messenger birds in the middle of the night. Lev glanced through the window, half-hoping to see a flutter of deep purple feathers and the guttural, hypnotic croon, but no Pekron arrived. All that was visible beyond the window was the moon: a distant, tired slice of lunate light dangling in the navy sky above, waiting for dawn.
An icy gust blew unfettered through the window. Lev drew his black Furnik-hair cloak more tightly around his shoulders, re-fastening the single button that always insisted on unclipping itself, and rapped three times on the door to the Chief's Den.
The growl came through the door like the Chief was half-asleep. 'Not now, jecarro.'
The dialect word for 'young one' soured Lev's tongue. At twenty-nine, he may have been young for a deputy, but there was nothing juvenile about his war record. He sneered instinctively, glad of the protection the door offered.
'Chief Magnus, it's important.'
'Really, jecarro? Run out of bloodvine? Cellar key's under the mat.'
Rage flooded Lev's veins. He pounded the flat of his fist against the door. 'Chief, I've had a report of a rumbling in the mountain caves. Might be a wild Arkod. Worse, maybe another beast. We need to investigate. Slay it, if necessary.'
Something wooden clattered to the floorboards inside the Chief's den. A grunt of effort. Heavy, laboured footsteps. The metal bolt was thrown with a clank; the door swung open.
Chief Magnus stood in the doorway, a thick silken gown draped around his wide shoulders, exposing a hairy chest and enormous, flabby gut. Crumbs of something Lev didn't remember bringing him clung to the hairy trail between his protruding belly button and the strained line of his slip. The soft, pale feet of a young woman stuck out from the mountain of woollen bedclothes on his bed.
The Chief's face was thunderous. His bulbous nose was ruddier than usual - almost a luminescent scarlet.
'I am your Chief, jecarro,' he growled. 'Don't you think I read the scrolls that come across my desk? I do. And I talk to the other Chiefs, and the Halo, too. I know more than you know about this - and everything else!'
Lev's face burned, but he kept his face steady, teeth gritted. 'If something is rumbling in the mountains, we should know what it is. The village might be in danger. It is our job to protect Dervine, sir.'
Magnus feigned a look of surprise, then pressed a meaty hand to his belly. He burped unceremoniously; a stream of rancid air flew across Lev's face.
'It is my job, jecarro. You are my deputy. You're here to do what I tell you to do. And I'm telling you now not to worry about the noises in the mountains.'
'Then what are they?' Lev shot back. 'Tell me what's going on out there.'
Magnus wiped his nose. 'Do you remember how the Battle of the Bordunn Bridge ended, jecarro?'
Lev clenched his fist. 'You know I do, Chief.'
'That night, I was in the Neutral Tent with King Rowan and King Silas and the other advisers.' Magnus sniffed. 'We stayed up until dawn, brokering the peace deal, so that no more blood would be spilt between Flaran and Peterin. And we did it. I did it.' He narrowed his eyes, but his chapped lips curled. 'Where were you that night, again, jecarro?'
'In the infirmary, though I don't remember it,' Lev said quickly. He only had tales from his comrades to confirm what had caused the scars he'd lived with ever since. 'I nearly broke my body rescuing the villagers when the bridge collapsed.'
'Precisely!' Magnus boomed, wildly indifferent to the mention of Lev's renowned feat of heroism. 'Because you are a soldier. You went into battle when we told you and you retreated when we told you because you follow orders. The orders I give.' His eyes narrowed into piercing slits. 'I'm the Chief. When you need to know what's happening in the mountains, I'll tell you. Until then, go back to your lookout post. Drink some bloodvine if it keeps you calm. Stop being such a panicked little princess about everything.'
'Chief, if this is serious, we may need to -'
'Enough!' Magnus snapped. He scratched his belly, then brought his meaty hands together, rubbing his palms in a slow, methodical manner until a soft green light began to glow between them. 'For now, this is all you need my magic for.'
The green light sparked between his hands, elongating into lithe lariats of light. Magnus smirked and twirled his finger in a circular motion; the lariats began swirling, layering over one another, until the glow began to subside.
He had conjured a petite crown of flowers, the kind a girl would wear at her Ascendance ceremony: frail green stems, peppered with the signature periwinkle flowers of Dervine.
Magnus grasped the crowd and jammed it onto Lev's head, tousling his long brown hair.
'There we go. A pretty crown for a pretty princess.'
He chuckled to himself and without another word, swung the door closed.
Fury pounded through Lev's bloodstream - a fury he was tired of swallowing. He strode to the end of the corridor and grabbed the window frame, jamming it shut. Let the old bastard complain about it tomorrow. He'd had enough. Annoying the Chief was the only thing that gave him pleasure these days.
And no Pekrons were coming, anyway.
Lev charged down the staircase, sword bouncing along by his side, his boots clomping on the wood. The casual mention of the Battle of the Bordunn Bridge made his blood boil. His actions that night had saved dozens of villagers' lives and earned him the post of Deputy Chief, yet it was Magnus who crowed about his role in ending the war. Lev wished he'd been in the Neutral Tent that night. He was sure Magnus had sat on his backside and remained taciturn, stuffing his face with mead and salted leknuts, while the other leaders negotiated the terms of peace.
When Lev reached the entry chamber of the Chief's cabin, he saw Desma was still crouched by the fireplace, arms folded.
'I told you to leave,' he called flatly. Did nobody in this town respect him anymore?
The young woman's gaze flicked to just above his eyes. 'That's a pretty crown, Lev. Have you got a date for your Ascendance ceremony yet?'
Lev's face was scorching. He yanked the stupid crown off his head and, in a swift movement he hoped would impress, pulled his sword from its hilt, tossed the crown into the air and looped it around the sword's tip. He marched deftly to Desma's side, proffering the crown at blade's length.
'A gift from me to you,' he said suavely.
A reluctant smile curled Desma's soft lips. 'You know me better than that, Lev. I'm not one for adornments.'
She wasn't wrong: her brown cloak covered an equally drab grey tunic. Desma never dressed up - she said the decorations so loved by most women only got in the way of her work on the orchard. But she was a radiant woman all the same: there was a fierce pledge behind her green eyes, a tough beauty in her cheeks.
'It's rude to refuse a gift,' Lev said, stomach squirming not uncomfortably. He lifted the crown of twigs and flowers from the sword - already the green stems were crusting into brown wood - and placed it gently atop Desma's mane of auburn hair. 'Now, you should leave, like I said.'
'What did Magnus say?'
'You mean Chief Magnus.'
'Don't play with me, Lev.'
Lev steeled himself. 'We alread
y knew about the mountains. I had to check with the Chief if we were allowed to tell you. Unfortunately, that information is privileged.'
'Privileged!' Desma scowled. 'Are you talking about the information or that useless, fat slob upstairs?'
Lev fought a smile away. He couldn't be seen to indulge such insults, but he also no longer had it in him to demand the villagers respect their Chief: he had lost that respect long ago.
'Leave it with us. Just go back to your orchard. Your brothers will be awake in a few hours.'
Desma's eyes flashed. 'Yes, my little brothers!' she