The Whispering Gallery: A Flamekeeper Archives Short Story



  "The Whispering Gallery"

  A short story based on The Flamekeeper Archives

  by Vina Lockhart

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real life people or organizations is purely coincidental.

  THE WHISPERING GALLERY

  Copyright © 2012 by Vina Lockhart

  www.vinalockhart.com

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition: August 2012

  For Wayne

  The long dagger glistened in the moonlight as Kayla drew it from its black leather sheath. She admired it briefly, tracing a gloved hand along the runes etched into its sharp silver blade. Tamyrian steel was precious and highly valuable in all the kingdoms, and it was often used as a status symbol for royalty and nobility. Kayla, of course, was neither royalty nor nobility. She was nothing more than a shadow, a whisper in the wind, a blade in the night. The dagger had come from a rival assassin, a mere thug that had gotten in her way a few years ago. He had been young, rough around the edges, and after she disarmed him, he had pleaded for his life. Instead, she gave his life to the spirits, using his own dagger to return his blood to the earth. She had kept it as a memento since, and as all good weapons had a name, she called it "Rend".

  Now, clutching Rend in her left hand, she brought her right hand to her face and tugged her glove off with her teeth. With a swift movement she sliced her own palm and clenched her first to let the blood drip onto the soil beneath the dark canopy of the forest. The willow tree in front of her rippled, its illusion fading to reveal a narrow stairway leading down into the earth. She glanced around at her surroundings before stepping into the blackness below.

  It had been years since she had last descended these steps. The Crimson Order rarely called their agents to the haven beneath the Sea of Willows. Contracts were delivered to minor hideouts throughout the kingdoms, and were distributed to agents from there. Only the largest contracts were given directly from the Nameless, the leaders of the Order. These were the contracts that would change the world, write history, end an era. Kayla had been given one such contract in the past.

  She drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders as the air grew colder and pulled her hood over her mess of short blonde hair. She decided she'd rather not think of her previous contract right now, or ever again. Some things belonged to the past. She hoped this contract would be different. She could feel the ground becoming more level under her feet as she neared the end of her descent, and sheathed her dagger, certain she was not being followed.

  There was only one room in the haven. It was a large, circular chamber, kept in complete darkness save for a small circle of lit candles in the center. Kayla's soft footsteps were deafening as they resonated throughout the chamber. It was designed to amplify and carry sound - a whisper uttered on one side of the chamber could be heard on the other side. This haven was known as the Hall of Whispers, the only of its kind. It was said that here, the Nameless could listen to the spirits themselves. It was here that the most important of contracts were given. It was here that the balance of life and death was maintained and the birth of change was witnessed.

  Kayla stepped lightly into the small circle of light, sinking her knees down into the soil. Her hand was still bleeding, but it was forbidden to trap blood in a bandage within the Hall of Whispers. And so she bled freely, her palm coated in crimson wetness. She waited in silence, staring at one of the pale candles in front of her, and waited.

  After several minutes, the flames of the candles began to flicker as a faint breeze blew from no source. The light from the candles twisted and became ethereal, humanoid shapes. Transparent hooded figures appeared and began to walk in slow, silent circles around Kayla. They did this for a long minute, circling her as she kept her head bowed respectfully, never looking directly upon them, as that too was forbidden. And finally, they spoke all at once, filling the Hall of Whispers with their hushed voices, creating a strange sort of music.

  "You have arrived, Kayla," one greeted her pleasantly.

  "This will be our last contract for you," another warned.

  "Your blood returns to the spirits soon."

  "You will die. Then, you will walk among us."

  In unison, they concluded and gave her their order. "You will deliver the Flamekeeper to her fate." Kayla closed her eyes, and her head was filled with a vision of her target: a middle-aged woman with dark skin and hair, ascending the steps to a lavish temple in the desert. It had to be in Tamyr. No other kingdom had such garish structures.

  When she opened her eyes, the Nameless were gone. Only silence remained.

  Not once in her long history with the Crimson Order had she ever questioned a contract. But this one gave her pause. Legend claimed that the Flamekeepers tended to the world, breathing life into the flora and fauna, taming the weather lest it rage and lay waste to the kingdoms, and changing the sky from night to day and back. There were only a small few Flamekeepers at any given time, and they were said to do the spirits' bidding. Why would the Nameless call for the death of one?

  And then there was the other part of their message.

  She stood slowly, brushing the dirt off her knees as she lifted herself from the ground. She did not fear death. The spirits bore all living creatures into the world, so being afraid of death would mean being afraid of returning home. No, it was not death that she was concerned with. It was the part about walking among them. Were they implying that she would become a Nameless, herself? She did not understand how the Nameless came to be, nor did she even know that they could add to their ranks. I guess it doesn't matter anymore, she thought to herself. I'll find out soon enough.

  She turned and walked back toward the stairs. As she reached the bottom of the long ascent to the surface, another mysterious breeze extinguished the candles. Plunged once more into complete darkness, Kayla made her way back up to the outside. Puzzling or not, she was honor-bound to carry out the assassination of the Flamekeeper.

  Kayla had opted to sail from Imara's capital city of Starfall to the bustling Tamyrian trade hub of Port Sovereignty. The crew members of the merchant ship did not ask questions as long as their pockets were weighted down with coin. The docks were overcrowded, and she was able to blend in flawlessly with the dark-clad workers and traders. She made her way toward the city proper, walking with the casual gait of a commoner running errands. She brushed against a particularly wealthy-looking merchant, and by time the shouting started, she was already at the city gate, a new coin pouch hidden in the recesses of her black cloak.

  The sun was high in the sky, so even the tall city walls offered little shade. The guards ignored her as she stepped through the open gates and into the city, and she immediately spotted the Flamekeeper Temple. It was large, towering over even the city walls, and it was brightly painted and polished so that it reflected the sunlight in an explosion of lurid colors. As rich and prosperous as Tamyr was, its skill in design ended with weaponry. The bright architecture gave Kayla a headache.

  There was a large inn on the main street, its doors open to reveal a welcoming hearth inside. Kayla could smell freshly-baked breads and pies, and some sort of meat roasting on a spit - perhaps horse or even camel. The scent was inviting, and the thought of a stationary bed to sleep in was almost enough to stray her from her course. She pressed on, deciding to scope out the temple and observe her target before finding a place to rest. Before she reached the gate leading into the temple grounds, however, a strong hand reac
hed out and grabbed her arm, yanking her unceremoniously through a doorway, tossing her to the floor. Her attacker slammed the door shut, plunging the room into darkness.

  Someone lit a candle. The man who had brought her into the house roughly pulled her to her feet and let go of her wrists, instead choosing to hold her by her right shoulder. She tried to remove herself from his grasp, but his large fingers dug into her shoulder painfully. She reached for Rend but it was missing. The large man grinned at her, his bright teeth flashing in stark contrast with his almost black skin. He held her dagger up and chuckled to himself. Brutish and fast, Kayla thought with a grunt.

  The one who had lit the candle stepped closer to Kayla. She could make out long black robes, a hood, and curly brown hair cascading down a small chest. A woman, then. She had painted lips, dark red that went well with her dark skin. The woman lifted her head to inspect Kayla, and she could see silver eyes enhanced with black eyeliner. Kayla's breath caught in her throat. The Flamekeeper.

  "Pull down her hood," the Flamekeeper said. She spoke so quietly that Kayla couldn't tell if she were making a request or a demand, but the man listened and gently removed Kayla's hood from her head, revealing her own bright green eyes. The smallest of