Volonians: Mysteries of The Vondercrat
Chapter Six
Judgments
It’s early afternoon in Upper Volonia. Vamo’s golden beams shine down to warm the Volonian sector where citizens joyfully crowd the streets. Vendors occupy the corners to sell artifacts, trinkets, snacks and sweet-filled breads. The aroma of freshly cooked food floats through the air. Above the city, a massive ball of fire momentarily distracts the townspeople from their activities as it races high above. It has the formation of a comet, leaving a trail of fire as it tears through the bright sky. Children point up and stare, and then run, trying to chase after it. Its velocity is too much for their small legs, however. They slow to a defeated walk, realizing they’ll never catch it.
An older man sits on a stoop and moves some game pieces on a table. His head rises as he senses something in the sky passing in his direction. “Isn’t she a beauty?” he says. Beside him sits a younger man, his eyes glued to the sky. “Class Eight!” says the older gentleman.
“How would you know that?” the younger gentleman asks.
“Easy, I know her. Powerful and seductive she was, in her younger days. We shifted together.”
The younger gentleman turns away in disbelief. He’s had enough. “Lies! Voosh! Voosh! Why must you fabricate about something as shallow as this?” The old gentleman merely smiles and turns his attention back to his game. He picks up a piece with his withered and shaky hand and turns back to the younger man.
“That’s a woman you’ll want to stay away from.”
“You’re losing it, old man. I’m late. Catch you tomorrow.” The younger man exits the stoop and dashes off toward the Transit Portal System, or TPS as the youth like to call it. He places his wrist over the reader and enters the portal. The older man packs his game pieces into a small bag. He rises before feeling around for his cane. We now notice that he is blind. He locates the cane and picks it up. With the bag of game pieces in the other hand, he wobbles on his cane down the crowded street. Suddenly, a scruffy, unshaved man magically appears in front of him and snatches his small bag then disappears as quickly as he appeared. The older gentlemen shouts, “Help! Someone help! Anyone?” He adds with a snarl, “Dreaded Pop-in…” He limps away, disappointed, again victimized by a Pop-in: a Volonian whose restricted powers allow them only to disappear and reappear.
Several miles away, the ball of fire comes to a mid-air halt, hovering over an ancient castle. A massive body of water occupies the space in front of the entrance. A drawbridge descends to allow the ball of fire to bullet itself inside. Slowly, the fire floats down a long hallway. At the end of the hallway, doors magically open and the fireball glides in. The room is quaintly decorated with ornate, gold furniture, and vases of purple flowers are placed attractively around the dimly lit room. The ball of fire hovers in the center of the room before morphing into Olivia. She stands with her hands firmly wrapped around her petite waist, which is wrapped in a fitted purple robe hanging elegantly to the floor. A gold chain adorns her slender neck. Every part of her wardrobe is in place. Her eyes search the room, apparently unsuccessfully; then, she walks to the door, her robe dragging behind her. She yells out, “Roman! Honey?” He doesn’t answer. She lifts her hands and the door magically closes. She focuses, eyes fixated on a blank wall in the room. She whispers, “Vladimir?” It’s quiet. She closes her eyes and focuses more intently. “VCO VY ASAM MA VEE.” Nothing happens. Her eyebrows lift curiously, annoyed. Arms folded, she shifts her weight to one side. “Vladimir!” She shouts. A hint of smoke traces an outline on the wall. Lightning cracks in the room’s skylight. A frenzied wind whips her hair into a mess. Lifting her hands, she summons a glass shield to protect her from the harsh winds.
A hologram of Guardian Vladimir’s face magically appears, floating on the wall. “Why have you summoned me, Olivia?”
“Oh don’t be like that Vladimir, you know we have unfinished business.”
“Olivia there isn’t much more to say.”
Olivia paces the floor as a commander would. She has a plan. “Let’s cut the pleasantries. You have something I want and I suggest, no, I urge you to relinquish it now.” Olivia steps toward the hologram threateningly. “Because this could get ugly.” Guardian Vladimir doesn’t budge; instead, the floating hologram magically morphs, and Guardian Vladimir now appears as a full hologram, face-to-face with Olivia. His presence is commanding and absolute. This thrills Olivia. She antagonizes him with a few sarcastic claps. “All this for me? You shouldn’t have.” In response, the hologram flickers brightly, its energy intense. It’s too powerful, forcing Olivia to take a few steps back.
“Olivia, this is not about you.”
“When are you finally going to wake up? I’m destined to rule, Vladimir! It’s in my blood.” Olivia seductively bats her eyes. A snake appears. It wraps around her shoulders and slitters through her fingers. She smiles.
“I’m bored with your antics, Olivia. The power you’re seeking doesn’t belong to you.”
Olivia chuckles. “I am the most powerful witch in all of Volonia! No other warlock or witch stands up to me. It is in my lineage.”
“Olivia you wouldn’t know power if it was at the edge of your fingertips.”
“I’ll destroy this planet if I can’t rule it!”
“That’s a chance that I and the other Guardians will have to take.”
“The Good Samaritan act is getting old, Vladimir. It’s boring and useless.” Guardian Vladimir turns his back to Olivia. She rises to the challenge, her hazel eyes now glowing a bright red. Snakes wrap seductively around her petite frame as she glides forward.
“Let us not forget who gave you those powers, Olivia. The Guardians!”
“I earned them!”
“We are finished here.”
“What are you hiding, Vladimir?”
Guardian Vladimir turns towards Olivia, his temper growing, and his voice deeper. “I hide nothing from you.”
Olivia pauses, realizing something, and her smirk fades away. “Where is the Vondercrat, Vladimir?”
“You’ll never find it.”
“But she did!” shouts Olivia. Guardian Vladimir silently morphs back into a floating head. “How did she get the Vondercrat, Vladimir? She’s only a Class Six.” She screams her frustration at him, “Tell me at once!” Olivia conjures a ball of fire in the palm of her hand and forcefully hurls it at the hologram. The ball passes through the shape, its fire creating an explosive impact on the wall and shaking the room slightly. Olivia stomps in frustration and then morphs into a ball of fire. She crashes through the door, her exit dramatic as she sizzles down the hallway. Her screeching voice echoes through the halls of the castle. “This isn’t over, Vladimir!”
Guardian Vladimir continues to float in the empty room, nervously searching for an answer. Slowly he disappears. The faint sound of his voice floats from a distance. “We’ll be ready for you, my daughter.”
A woman with four-inch heels walks business-like down a hallway. A few spectators gather in the halls whispering among themselves. The woman turns off the hallway and into a circular-shaped room. It resembles a small coliseum. Bleachers ring the outer wall surrounding a large, marble table. This is the Lords’ Judging Chambers. A small audience of about one hundred people are scattered about the bleachers, sitting patiently for the judgments to start. The high-heeled woman stands at the center of the floor and motions to a thickly built man who rushes over to her. On the back of his robe reads Volonia’s Vop cast.
“Hey Boris, are we all set? We should be starting in about 20 minutes.”
“Yes. Everything is set. Shall we do a test?”
The woman lifts a hand. An object with a shape something like that of a microphone appears for her to grab. “Okay, I’m ready,” says the woman. The man lifts both hands out in front of him. A beam of light shoots straight out from the palms of his hands, forming a squared electrical image.
The woman combs her fi
ngers through her hair before pulling her gold streak behind her ear. “We are live in the Lords’ Judging Chambers for today’s sentencing.” The man gives the woman a thumb’s up, and the lights in the room start to dim.
The woman and man rush over to the side where the audience sits. A massive table rests on a pedestal at the center of the room. Spectators lean in as they ready themselves for the show. Led by a pair of guards with staffs, the five Lords of Volonia enter from a side corridor. They are dressed identically in white robes with gold trim. The robes are heavier than most, and solid gold crowns adorn their heads. Lordess Raven uses both hands to lift her robe as she steps onto the center pedestal. The audience is silent, yet their anticipation is palpable. One man solely applauds and shouts, “Banished from Volonia forever!” A nearby guard frowns upon this outburst.
The Lords take their seats. The room is quiet. The five Lords wait as late spectators scramble for the few remaining seats. Lordess Raven proceeds over the judgments. Her voice carries easily in the stadium-like room. “Thank you for your patience. We may now begin.” She nods to a guard and he lifts his staff to open a large, gated corridor. A huge, enclosed, glass case glides from the corridor into the room. Inside it stands a woman, her body pressed against the glass. Clearly, she wants out. Her clothes are slightly torn, and her face is covered in dirt. Lord Vondell sniffs as though sensing something unpleasant, and then averts his eyes.
“How does she plead?” asks Lordess Raven.
The guard speaks loud and clear, “Not guilty!”
The woman yells through the glass, her voice slightly muffled. “I am not guilty my Lords! You’ve got to believe me! I only wanted to eat.”
“Is this her first offense?” inquires Lord Vondell.
Lordess Semelia reads from a scroll; then she stares the woman in the eye and states, with conviction in her voice, “She’s a drifter.”
Lord Vondell mutters under his breath, “Pathetic.”
“I have no food. I needed to feed my young,” implores the woman.
“And what did you do with your three daily spells?” asks Lord Vondell, accusingly.
“Well,” she stammered, “that’s not a lot of spells to start with.”
Annoyed, Lord Vondell shifts his attention to his notes. “That is all, thank you.”
“If I may inquire,” interjects Lord Roman, “what was your class, before your downgrade?”
“Class Five.”
The audience gasps. Lordess Raven motions for silence, “Quiet, please! Let us not throw stones.”
The woman falls to her knees, clutching her hands together. “Will you spare me, Lords? Will you?”
Lord Vondell rolls his eyes. “Let’s vote, or else we’ll be here an eternity.” A few of the audience members yell out “Pop-in! Pop-in!” “Exile her!” “Downgrade her!”
“Enough! We will sentence her,” declares Lordess Raven. She turns to Lordess Semelia. “Lordess, the Law, please?”
“Under Volonia’s Book of Law, Amendment V3, stealing of any kind is prohibited. Food, spells, magic or class fraud, all fall under this law. I am sure you understand the eviction from your class for the previous circumstances. As a Drifter, you were given the opportunity to demonstrate that you were capable of living among the Volonian people in an altered state. You have shown yourself to be unable to do so. Please stand for your sentencing.”
The woman rises to her feet, desperate for sympathy. She hangs on Lordess Semelia’s every word. “Pop-in is your sentenced downgrade.”
“No!” yells the woman. The audience waits in anticipation for the final verdict.
“We will now vote,” says Lordess Raven as she stands to address the row of Lords. “Pop-in.” The four other Lords dramatically rise one by one, each rendering their vote
“Pop-in!” they collectively agree. The woman collapses to her knees. Tears flowing, she yells at the top of her lungs, “VCO VAMORE, my Lords!” her life changed forever.
Lord Vondell’s face brightens. “May I do the honors?” Lordess Raven agrees with a nod. Lord Vondell blows toward the woman in the glass case. A mighty wind issues from his lips; it’s magical and bright. Suddenly the case is filled with a glowing light, forcing even the audience to shield their eyes. The woman scurries away as the beams move to engulf her. She tries to escape into a corner of the glass box, but there is nowhere to go. The light finds her, and her magic slowly drains away. She is now a Pop-in. She sits motionless as two guards raise their staffs and magically remove the glass case from the judging chamber. Lordess Raven looks on with a face of mixed emotions. She has helped to seal the fate of yet another Volonian. All the Lords stand and raise their right hands toward the sky and utter the word, “Departure.” Without warning, Lordess Raven she rises and exits the chamber, her white robe dragging dramatically after her.
Noticing Lordess Raven’s departure, Lord Roman chases after her. “We will reconvene in ten minutes.”
Lordess Raven attempts to compose herself in one of the holding rooms. Her face is drawn with hurt. A single tear falls from her eye.
Lord Roman enters, concerned, “Lordess, are you all right?”
Lordess Raven hurries to wipe away the tear. “Yes, Lord Roman.”
“I am sure you are aware that the duties here can be emotionally draining.”
“That’s putting it lightly.” Lordess Raven walks over to a bench and sits, exhausted. A painting of Guardian Vladimir seems to look down over her heavy-heartedness. “I question if it’s all worth it,” retorts Lordess Raven.
Lordess Raven fixates on the painting. “How do you think he feels? When we strip one of our own of their class inheritance.”
“It’s a choice one has to make. If holding this seat is priority.” Lord Roman stands.
Lord Roman looks into the distance. He chooses his words carefully and his voice deepens. “If we traded places with that woman, she would do exactly the same thing to you or me.” Lordess Raven stands facing the painting, her back to Lord Roman. “Doing what’s right for the House of Lords is top priority.”
“That’s the oath we took,” adds Lord Roman. He backs away from the Lordess and turns to exit.
Lordess Raven turns, her tone revealing a renewed calm, yet tainted with sarcasm. “The parallels are quite chilling, don’t you think?” Lord Roman takes a step toward the door. “Is exiling Varah and your children the right thing to do for the House of Lords as well?”
Lord Roman seems to be frozen in place, his face emotionless. His sharp intake of breath gives way to a quick reply. “I think you know the answer to that.” Lord Roman exits the room, leaving Lordess Raven searching for redemption.
In the main hallway, two guards lead yet another large, glass case. They move quickly to dodge spectators in the crowded hall. Inside the case is a man. He stands six feet, four inches tall-- the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. His chiseled physique is revealed as bulging shapes in his robe. His uncovered arms show off his well-toned muscles. His gold streak is a wide, bold swath on top of his perfectly formed head, and his bone structure reflects the idolized perfection of a model. He’s simply beautiful. The only aspect marring his appearance is the glowing device around his neck. His bright, hazel eyes dart occasional, unconcerned glances at the spectators in the corridor, who aggressively bang against his glass case. “Drifter!” A man screams out, but the man doesn’t flinch. He stares ahead, undisturbed. A second glass case carrying Varah proceeds from the opposite end of the corridor. A look of boredom pacifies her usually demonstrative face. Spectators also bang up against her case, and guards usher them away with their staffs. The two glass cases move towards one another. Unified chants of “Drifter!” and “Pop-in!” echo throughout the corridor. The guards force people out of the way to make room for the passing cases. They are within inches of each other now. A young woman wearing glasses and a very revealing dress winks at the man
in the case, but he’s focused, staring straight ahead. He doesn’t know she exists.
Varah’s case comes closer, and soon the man and Varah meet eyes. Her heart thumps. She’s caught off-guard by a sudden wave of desire as her eyes take in his masculinity. Her gaze lingers on his full lips, and she examines her pulse. She notices his gold streak, and she whispers, “He’s still Volonian; how interesting.” The man can’t take his eyes off her, either.
His gaze moves up and down her body. Time seems to stop for their moment. The glass cases are the only thing separating destiny and reality. He stares ahead then shouts through the glass, “Guard, who is that woman?” The two cases pass each other-- a golden opportunity-- lost. “Guard!” The guard continues on his route, ignoring the condemned man.
A large corridor opens, leading into the judgment hall. The glass case, suspended off the ground, floats into the small stadium to an eruption of jeers. Spectators wave their fists angrily at the stunning man. He ignores them. The Lords sit patiently for the glass case to come to a halt. Lordess Raven motions with her hand for the guards to exit. “Case V.V.X, Citizen Melconian Copel has violated Volonia’s Class Law.”
The man in the case raises his head. He stares into Lordess Raven’s eyes and says, “Please, Lordess, Call me Mel.”
“Whatever you wish,” says Lordess Raven “Do you understand the charges against you?”
The man sits in silence, his countenance cold and his attitude bitter. “Get on with it!” Lordess Raven shifts in her seat, his stunningly good looks catching her off guard.
This prompts Lord Roman to intervene. He shuffles through his notes. “Why were you posing as a Class Six?”
The man grins sinisterly and continues his examination of the glass floor. “Why is that important, Lord? You have a job to do, right?”
Unimpressed, Lord Roman reconstructs his question. “I demand you tell us who you are and why you posed as a Class Six.”
The man places his strong, sure hands against the glass. He chuckles at the question. “I am sure you have the capabilities to figure these things out yourselves.”
Lord Vondell lifts his hands and magically a hologram of the incarcerated man floats in mid-air. “Sorry, but you have given us no choice.” Beside the image, the man’s entire statistical history is displayed. “42 cycles old, 1 ex-veil, out of sector three, no prior breaches. Class Five. No immediate home city. He has viable Lord references.”
Lordess Raven leans over to Lord Roman. “His record is clean.”
“I understand, but why would a Class Five risk everything?” Lord Roman replies.
“Under the circumstances, Melconian Copel, we must strictly follow protocol. Your record reads like that of an orderly Volonian, but under Volonian law, you’ve breached and failed to comply.” The man waves his index finger, ushering the Lords along.
“This act must not go unpunished,” says Lord Roman. The man takes a deep breath and rakes both hands through his hair in frustration.
“Can we end this misery already?” he says.
Lord Vondell eagerly stands to vote. “Stealth!”
Lordess Raven reluctantly stands as well. “Stealth.”
The remaining Lords stand and agree with their votes of “Stealth!”
The man chuckles sarcastically as he stands and bows to the Lords, his attitude unremorseful. “Job well done, Lords.” The audience hisses and cheers in agreement with the Lords’ decision. Debris is thrown at the glass case. The guards lift their staffs and the large corridor re-opens. The glass case exits to the excited shouts of the spectators.
Lordess Raven whispers to Lord Roman, “I find it hard to believe that a Class Five would give up everything so readily.”
Lord Roman stares after the glass case as it exits the judging chambers. “That’s what’s so frightening.”
The guards use their magical staffs to force the glass case into a small room. A single lantern gives dim light to the space. The man stands alone, glancing around the empty room; his fate is sealed. His glass case slowly vibrates as beams of light illuminate it from the ceiling. The man braces himself as the light seeps into his body, causing him to shiver uncontrollably. His gold streak slowly fades away until it has completely disappeared. He is reduced to Stealth status. He is restricted to three spells a day and cannot shift classes until he is reinstated.
Mel walks to the edge of the glass case, hoping to get a glimpse of life thru the squared hole in the door, but it’s too far away. He turns around and suddenly the sexy woman from earlier in the corridor appears before him. She winks at him.
“What do you want?” growls the man.
“If you’ve forgotten, then maybe you’re not the man for the job. Let’s not forget what’s at stake.” The woman morphs into Olivia, draped in a dark robe. It fits her body perfectly. Her gold streak hangs seductively over one eye. “So, do we have a deal?”
“I gave up a lot for this. Stealth?”
“Stop your complaining. You have three spells a day working in your favor. You’ll be greatly rewarded. One million Volos, as you well know.” Olivia’s cocky tone sends Mel into a rage.
His large hands grip her shoulders. “Do we have a deal Olivia?”
“Of course. Would I lie?” Olivia snaps a finger and disappears only to reappear outside the glass case. “Besides, there is someone I want you to meet.” Mel curiously walks up to the glass, standing face to face with evil. His hands are pressed up against the glass, displaying their massive strength. “Mel you may not realize this, but the greatest battle Volonia has ever seen will be forged soon, and you’re going to have a front row seat, so I suggest you pick a side.” Olivia smiles. Her plans have been set into motion. With the blink of an eye she magically brings Mel to the outside of the glass next to her. “Whose side are you on?” Olivia seductively holds her hand out in front of Mel, dangling in expectation of agreement. “What do you say?”
Mel contemplates his decision; He reluctantly places his hand in hers, and they shake. He’s made a deal with evil, unaware of what’s really at stake. Olivia hovers, exultant. She has one big secret Mel can’t afford to let out, and she holds it firmly for ransom.