Volonians: Mysteries of The Vondercrat

  Chapter Four

  The House of Lords

  Darkness falls over a clear sky. The streets are empty-- not a vendor is in sight. Suspicion and gloom arise as the centerpieces of a night that began as festive.  A small, sober gathering commences at the House of Lords, creating a formal yet intense setting. In the Great Hall, the Five Lords of Volonia, one representing each sector, sit solemnly around a large, half-moon table.  Ancient paintings line the dark walls, and ten-foot marble columns grandly hold aloft the vaulted ceiling, lending a voluminous and intimidating aura to the room. Lanterns handcrafted by Volonia’s finest artisans illuminate the magnificent space, reflecting an undeniable essence of Power. Only the Five Lords have the privilege to hold court here.

  Lord Roman stands. He paces the floor; then, seemingly pulled from his distraction by a disturbing thought, he quickly takes his seat at the center of the rounded table. Reflecting the inner turmoil of his mind, his frustrated hand pushes roughly through his thick locks. He turns to Lord Topher. “Where do we start?”

  Lordess Semelia opens a book of Volonian Law before turning her attention toward Lord Roman. She inhales with grave anticipation. “This is unprecedented; these breaches cannot be ignored, even under the circumstances, Lord Roman. The bylaws state…”

  Lord Roman turns abruptly toward Lordess Semelia. “I understand the bylaws, Lordess.”

  She removes her glasses and takes a sip of water. “Are you sure? The Vondercrat holds all the power of Volonia. Any Volonian conjuring it would have the power to cause mass destruction.” She pauses, reflecting inwardly on her next thought. “Or destroy our planet.” The room falls silent, each Lord pondering the severity of the moment.

  Lord Roman hesitates a moment to collect his ideas; then, rubbing his forehead replies, “I would like to assure The House that I had nothing to do with this.”

  Lordess Raven smiles briefly. “We know. It’s impossible, literally.”

  “But I think you owe us all an explanation,” interjects Lord Vondell. “Your ex-veil just happened to get her hands on the most powerful book of Volonia.”

  “Are you implying I had something to do with this?” retorts Lord Roman.

  Lordess Semelia stands. She stares intently into Lord Vondell’s eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It takes each one of us present to call the book forth.”

  Lord Vondell also stands, now face-to-face with Lordess Semelia. With a look of distain, he smirks, “So let’s say Lord Roman’s ex-veil isn’t at fault. What kind of message would this send to the Volonian people? This action is against Volonian law. It is stated clearly, here, under the bylaws: VUO VOO CU SAY.” Lord Vondell lifts his hand as the Volonian Book of Bylaws descends from a nearby shelf and floats directly into his hand.

  “We understand, Lord Vondell. No need for a crash course in Volonian Law,” replies Lordess Semelia.

  Lordess Raven persists in trying to shift the conversation. “Everybody keep calm. This breach is not the first, as some of you may recall.”

  Lord Vondell isn’t buying her alibi, and he adds, “But it is the first time the Vondercrat has been stolen.”

  Lord Roman rises from his chair and walks toward the exit. “I need a moment. Please excuse me.”

  Lord Vondell glances around at the other Lords with a smirk. “Sure, take all the time you need.”

  Lord Roman yanks open the door with the wave of a hand, strides out into the hall and then slams it shut behind him with another angry wave.

  “Lord Vondell,” Lord Topher begins, “I don’t understand the implications here. We serve the people of Volonia and owe them. It’s our duty as Lords. Feeding our own egos isn’t warranted.”

  In response, Lord Vondell lifts both of his hands and suddenly disappears.

  Lordess Semelia’s eyes dart around the room, her stare serious. “We will continue in 15 minutes.”

  Lord Roman walks swiftly down an empty corridor, his long robe dragging behind him. He turns a corner, walks another twenty feet and is met by two immense guards standing firmly in front of a silver door. Taking notice of Lord Roman, they quickly step to the side. “Good evening, Lord Roman.” He ignores their greeting, however, and waves a hand to magically unlock the silver door. It opens onto another corridor. Lord Roman stares down the dark space, seeing only a hint of light seeping from underneath the door at the end.

  “VCI VO VAY ARIVO.” Lord Roman levitates a few feet from the ground and magically glides toward the door. “VCI VO VAY MO.” Suddenly the door opens. He stands at the threshold. Varah, Shenzara and Broc sit on a hard, wooden bench. The dingy room is small and cold; only a few small lanterns illuminate the space.

  Broc lifts his head to speak. “Father!” Broc extends his hand for a shake, but Lord Roman ignores him, Shenzara, also excited, runs over to hug her father, but his eyes are unwelcoming; they lock on Varah.

  “Varah, explain yourself.”

  She steps in front of Broc. “I will do no such thing.”

  Looking to his children, Lord Roman asks, “Are you two okay?” Varah doesn’t mutter a word, but Broc speaks up. “I think so.”

  Lord Roman points to the door, his expression growing more serious. “Wait outside.”

  Shenzara steps in between Varah and Lord Roman. “But Father, what’s going on?”

  Lord Roman lifts his hand and the door magically opens. “Shenzara, Broc, outside. Now!” Lord Roman’s voice sends trembles down their young spines. Frightened, the kids move towards the door, but Varah stops them by placing her hand on Shenzara’s shoulder and grabbing Broc by the hand. She moves them to the side.

  “They’re staying.”

  Lord Roman stares at his ex-veil for a long moment, then shifts his eyes to the side. Magically, the door closes. “Fine.” Shenzara and Broc back away from their parents’ stare down and take a seat on the wooden bench. Varah, on the other hand, takes a step toward Lord Roman.

  “So what is it, Roman? Your seat is up soon and you need to ruffle some feathers?” Lord Roman turns away. He forces his hands together and a glowing sphere magically appears, floating towards the children. Their eyes widen as they silently move away, “What are you doing?” asks Varah, taking a step back now as well. The sphere descends over Shenzara and Broc, enveloping them to create a sort of bubble that blocks their hearing. The two shake their heads, hoping to revive their hearing; then, when they realize it is no use, sit quietly, “Who puts spells on their own kids?” She lifts her hands and chants, “VCO SOL SOY VOAY,” but nothing happens.

  “Your witchcraft won’t work in the House of Lords,” Lord Roman informs her. “Can we talk about what happened? Tell me, how did you do it?”

  Varah folds her arms and turns away. “Do what? Something you couldn’t do, Lord?”

  Lord Roman takes a menacing step toward her, his eyes piercing. “Varah, this is serious; you’ve breached a law.”

  Varah’s arms drop and the smirk leaves her face. She glances at Broc and Shenzara before inching closer to Lord Roman. “And what does this mean?”

  Lord Roman’s shoulders fall. “I really don’t know, Varah.”

  Varah concedes. Remorse creeps into her voice. “Roman, I didn’t think I could actually do it.” Lord Roman waves his hand, and a chair magically appears. He sits. “The kids and I needed a vacation, Roman. The Vondercrat wasn’t used in malice, I promise.”

  Lord Roman crosses his legs. “I’ve known you for twenty five cycles, Varah, and in all that time you’ve never done anything this foolish. This could really cost me.”

  Varah interrupts, “So this is about you, Roman? Your kids are in some cold dungeon and you’re thinking about your seat? Classic.”

  Lord Roman stands as he shifts his eyes. The chair magically disappears. “No, it’s about Volonia’s secrets, and as one of Volonia’s appointed Lords, it is my duty to protect them. So, I’m going to ask again.” Lord Roman walks over to Varah. He towers over her, causing her
to back away. “How did you get the book?”

  Varah inhales sharply and replies, “My father.” Lord Roman, now curious, locks eyes with Varah.

  “Lord Dex?”

  “Yes, he taught me a few spells when I was a young girl.” Varah steps away. She takes a seat on the bench while Lord Roman waits for an explanation.

  “…and?”

  “And, that’s it. Every so often we would practice them.” Varah’s gold streak lights up.

  “That’s against the House of Lords’ oath. Those spells are sacred, and no man or woman should ever speak them!”

  Varah has had enough. She steps forward again; her chin thrust forward, and says, “Tough.”

  Lord Roman grabs Varah by the arm, causing Broc to jump to his feet. “Let her go!” Varah raises her hand assuring him it’s okay.

  “But Varah, you don’t understand. You can’t retrieve the Vondercrat with a spell unless all Five Lords are present. That’s governed by the Guardians.”

  Varah holds Broc close, safely wrapping her arms around him. “Well I did.” Lord Roman turns his back to Varah, but she continues. “So what does this mean for us?”

  Lord Roman steps away, his rage intensifying. He breathes faster as he moves toward the door. “VCO VOO VAY VIAS.” The door opens. He turns and says, “I don’t know,” then bolts down the dark hall, lifting his hand to magically slam and lock the door behind him.

  The kids’ ears open; they can hear again. “Mom, what’s going on?” asks Shenzara, rushing to embrace her mother. Broc wears a look of worry on his face as he paces back and forth in the small room.

  “I knew we should have gone to the ceremony,” Broc points out. “Now we won’t be Class Three, Mom.”

  Varah points to Broc, “You’re making me dizzy, sit!” Broc reluctantly sits, exhausted.

  “Mom, I want out. You got us into this, so you’ve got to get us out. I can’t go through life as a Class Two forever. I just can’t.”

  Varah stands, walks to the door and tries unsuccessfully to unlock it. “VCO VOY ALLA SYE.” Nothing happens. She turns and glances at her children’s fallen faces. She turns back to the door, places her ear to the dark, heavy wood, and listens.

  Shenzara pouts, her back slouching on the cold, brick wall. “Mom what are you doing? My life is ruined.”

  Varah cautiously steps away from the door, whispering, “VISCERA, VISCERA!” A gold cloud of smoke oozes underneath the door. Broc and Shenzara stand, looking on curiously. Nervously, they move towards Varah.

  Broc whispers, “What’s that?”

  The gold cloud quickly fills the room and spontaneously, Viscera appears, clearly annoyed, his nose turned up as he surveys the small room. “Are you serious?”

  Varah waves away the lingering gold smoke, a sense of relief spreading across her face.

  She steps toward Viscera. “I didn’t think you’d hear me in here.” “You’re all the buzz around Volonia. It took you 40 cycles to achieve, but I’d say, well earned.” She grabs Viscera’s collar, forcing him closer. “We need a portal out of here.”

  Shenzara’s not convinced. Biting her nails, she says, “Mom he can’t conjure a portal, this is the House of Lords remember.”

  Viscera turns on his heel to face the girl. “Thank you for that spirited acknowledgement, which I resent, but yes, the dear child is correct.”

  Broc rises from the bench, his eyes alert as he motions to Viscera. “I can get us out of here.” He grabs his ear and yanks as he says, “VCO VU AMM VOSA,” but nothing happens.

  Taking charge of the situation, Varah points to the bench. “Both of you sit. I’m Class Six; my spells should work here.”

  Viscera cautiously takes a step away from Varah “Sorry to be a bearer of bad news, Varah, but as the dear child clearly stated, this is the House of Lords. All magic is void here except for Class Eights.”

  “Well then how did you get here?”

  “There are some perks to being a Guide, I can’t deny it.” Curiously, Viscera brings his hand to his chin. “How did I get here? Hmm.” Realizing something is indeed different, he says, “Your voice came to me clearer than ever before.”

  Broc whispers to Shenzara “That’s a first!” His wide smile annoys Viscera, who turns away. Varah has had it. She forces Viscera closer. “Enough! Give me your hand.” Viscera cautiously lifts his hand, which Varah grips tightly.

  “Go easy, Varah,” he winces.

  Varah turns towards Broc and Shenzara and says, “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

  Broc turns nervously to Shenzara. “You’re really going to leave us?” Varah forces herself to turn away; she’s torn.

  “I promise I’ll be back.” Varah squeezes Viscera’s hand then pushes him through the door, magically transporting them through to the other side.

  Viscera curiously moves from the door, to Varah, then to the door again. “How in bloody hell did you do that?” Varah winks, her confidence up again. She tiptoes down the dark hall.

  “Remember, I’m a bad witch, Viscera. They call me Class Six.”

  Shenzara drops her hands into her lap. “What do we do now?”

  Broc paces again, his nerves more on edge than ever. “We wait for Mom.” Shenzara ignores Broc’s comment, her eyes closing slowly. Quietly, she turns within. Broc shoves her. “Wake up. This is no time to check out. I’m nervous.” Shenzara opens her eyes, but Broc notices that her demeanor has somehow changed. It frightens him. He takes a step away, but his eyes are locked on his sister’s blank stare.

  Varah and Viscera hurry down the dark corridor and arrive at the silver door. They huddle, Varah leading the plan. Her tone is convincing, but she sounds worried when she says, “Okay, I need a convincing distraction while I find Roman.”

  Viscera nervously clutches his heart. “Is this really going to work?” Varah is ready. Pure adrenaline guides her. She grabs Viscera’s hand and cautiously but magically pokes her head through the door, noticing the two guards. She unlatches the lock on the door from the inside.

  “Okay Viscera, you can do this.” Without hesitation, Varah forcefully pushes Viscera through the door, causing him to fall to the ground at the feet of the guards. The god-like men lift their staffs. “Who goes there?”

  Viscera jumps to his feet. “I demand to see the Lords!” The guards take aim with their magical staffs, but Viscera bolts down the empty corridor.

  “Stop!” Both guards race after him.

  Varah pushes open the door and peeks out before opening it wider. One foot cautiously steps out, then the other. She looks to her left, then to her right, panicked. She scurries down the hall as her loose, flowing train follows closely behind. She stays close to the wall, hoping to stay out of sight. She creeps down the bricked corridor, the dust in the air forcing a sneeze. She clamps her hand over her mouth so as not to be heard while gripping the leafy vines, which cling to the walls and serve as guidance. Every step wobbles with the thought of capture. She hears a faint whisper coming from behind her. She takes a quick backward glance. No one is there. She walks faster. The corridor is a dead end; nowhere to go. Keeping her panic in check, she scans every crevice of the floor and the wall. “There!” She spots a hidden door to her right. Peering down the corridor to make sure it’s clear, she steps nervously toward the door. Her heart racing, she thrusts the door forward and whispers, “Roman? Roman?” Slowly she opens the door. “Roman?”

  Varah enters the room. Five exquisite paintings depicting the ancient Guardians of Volonia greet her. A few marble benches are arranged near each painting. The door slams abruptly, frightening Varah. She turns quickly, but no one is there.

  “Roman? Is that you?” She steps farther into the room. Now confident that she is alone, Varah walks over to one of the paintings for a closer look. It reads, Guardian Dumas Pritchard Vladimir. Varah stares intently at the painting, her eyes fixated on the man’s image. His bronze skin glows. He dons a colorful robe. Atop his l
ong mane rests a gold crown encircling his head. His eyes are hazel, his stance strong, hands opened as if welcoming Varah to his space. Suddenly, a hand touches Varah on the shoulder, startling her into a scream.

  “It’s Roman. It’s me. Don’t be afraid.”

  Varah cups her hand to her mouth. “You frightened me!” Lord Roman takes Varah’s hands into his own and leads her to one of the benches. They sit.

  “Varah, I want to help you, but you have to tell me what happened.”

  “I told you Roman. There is nothing else to say.” Varah quickly stands, her frustration brought to an immediate peak.

  “Come on, Varah. There has to be something else you did. Tell me everything.”

  Still, there is no response from Varah. “Is there no getting through to you?” Lord Roman’s voice softens. He steps closer to Varah and caresses her arm. His touch sends Varah directly into past memories. Her tone then softens too.

  “I want my name cleared, Roman.”

  “Honey I want to get you out of here as much as you do, but the other Lords have a strangle hold on this. They desire an answer.” He moves towards Varah, his body pressed against hers, forcing her to the wall. She has nowhere to go, and his aggression is all too familiar to her.

  “Roman what are you doing?”

  “Varah, I’ve never forgotten about you; it’s always been you.” Varah seems flattered; her pulse beats faster, her cold stare warms, and she musters a smile.

  “You mean that?”

  Lord Roman takes her hands and cups them in his own. “I don’t say things I don’t mean; you should know that by now.”

  “But what about…” Lord Roman’s places his index finger over Varah’s mouth halting her next word. His warm lips brush her earlobe ever so slightly.

  He whispers, his tone suddenly turning cold, “Darling, how did you get the Vondercrat? Go on, tell me.” Varah, confused, looks into Lord Roman’s hazel eyes, her heart beating faster. She is unable to look away; a lost love greets her again.

  Footsteps approach from a distance. Hearing them, Lord Roman tightens his grip on her arm. “Go on Varah, hurry! Someone is coming.” Lord Roman leans in passionately, kissing Varah. Her eyes drop, her heart races, her hands reluctantly grip the bricked wall behind her, and she ultimately accepts the kiss. Then, ending the kiss abruptly, Lord Roman laughs sinisterly. He winks at Varah.

  “What’s funny?” A cobra seeps along the ground from underneath Lord Roman’s robe, slithering toward Varah. Frightened, she steps away. Lord Roman lifts his hands, and suddenly Varah’s hands are magically fixed to the wall. A few white cobras burst through the bricks around her, wrapping themselves around Varah’s arms. She’s pinned! She screams! Lord Roman’s voice deepens and a blank, sadistic stare comes into his eyes. He’s in a trance. Lord Roman slowly reaches out and grabs Varah by the neck, his fingernails growing before her eyes, wrapping tightly around her neck. Filled with fear, Varah gasps for air. “Roman! What are you doing to me?” The white cobras slide up and down Varah’s body, the hissing sound intensifying as they slitter closer to Varah’s head.

  Writhing momentarily like one of the snakes, Lord Roman morphs into a wickedly laughing Olivia, draped in a black hooded robe. She lifts her head, enjoying the sight of Varah struggling yet failing at all attempts to free herself.

  “Olivia!”

  “Who else would it be? You didn’t actually think Roman still had feelings for you, did you Darling? You look absolutely powerless!” Varah squirms as the cobras slide to only inches from her mouth. Olivia grips Varah’s jaw, forcing it near. “How did you do it?”

  “You’re a Class Eight, you figure it out.”

  “I think I have something that will get you to talk.” Olivia lifts her hands. A ball of electricity ignites from her palms; her eyes glow like fire. She levitates, the rays of electricity blinding the entire room. Varah turns her head away from the light, feeling her fate fall in ruins. As she braces herself for a cruel death, the door behind her blasts open and two guards rush in.

  “You! Stop!”

  Olivia morphs into a ball of fire and ascends high above the ground. Suddenly there is a powerful burst through the ceiling. A loud rumble can be heard throughout the building as bricks come crashing to the floor. The guards quickly maneuver to avoid being crushed.

  As the magic wears off the cobras are released. A disheveled Varah collapses to the ground.

  Lord Roman rushes in, greeted by commotion. “Varah? Are you alright?”

  “I think so,” she mutters.

  “What happened?”

  “Your veil.”

  Lord Roman glances around the room. “Olivia? You’re lying, Varah. She wouldn’t think to come here.”

  Varah massages her aching neck, her eyes looking up at the hole in the ceiling. Her tone is sarcastic now. “I guess that hole just got there by itself, then, huh?”

  “This is worse than I anticipated, Varah.” Lord Roman wanders over to a bench. He sits, and his mood quickly shifts, doubt creeping into his voice. “They want to exile you. Broc and Shenzara, too.”

  Stunned, Varah rises to her feet. As she catches her breath, the words burst from her lips. “What?”

  “The Lords are gridlocked: two opposing and two in your favor.”

  Varah looks away; she wipes dust from her dress. She knows what’s coming. “And your vote, Roman?”

  “Conflict of interest; I’m exempt.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  Lord Roman rises and silently turns away. “A higher house. It’s in the Guardians’ hands now.”

  Lord Roman swiftly exits the room. Varah can’t believe what she’s just heard. Her heart is racing. She turns to the paintings on the wall and stands alone, looking up into their faces. Her fate rests in the hands of Volonia’s most ancient Guardians.