The town of Canath,
residing within the plains of Relecour, was tiny, no more than a dot
on a map. The only reference that Marmelee had managed to find
regarding it had been concerning some of the crafting and merchant
fairs that had occurred there, but that had been long ago.
Karin had deemed silly
all the research into every little town and village that met their
path, but to Marmelee it was important: the history of the world
wasn’t only there to preserve the mighty deeds of nations, kings
and rulers, but also the commonplace plight of regular people, living
out their lives while much more grandiose events occurred around
them. Canath was the sort of town that would have only risen to fame
if a famous battle had occurred near it and alas, it had failed to
gain even that distinction.
Yet history, and its
effect, permeated the place. A cursory look at the main features of
the town showed that it had started small, had rapidly expanded and,
upon reaching the zenith of its fame, slowly faded into obscurity:
this could be easily judged by the rather oversized, yet now
abandoned homes that dotted the perimeter of the settlement. Canath
had contracted down to a smaller core, leaving its edges to the
ravages of time and nature: falling apart, overgrown, or a mixture of
both.
While Karin had went
off to gather necessary supplies, Marmelee had taken her notebook and
asked some of the few remaining townspeople about the history of
Canath. The replies had been fairly standard, echoing the tales of
many other struggling communities: a curse had afflicted the town,
people had disappeared (more oft than not, further enquiry merely
revealed that they had left the town out of their own volition), and
the town had struggled with no influx of fresh blood. The main square
also alluded to glories gone and lost, with a weather-worn statue in
the middle of it, an inscription below it reading “Marek, last of
the Canath Family”.
Further questioning
elucidated the meaning of the plinth: the Canath had been the
original founders of the town, a rich merchant family. The statue had
been raised shortly after the loss of the last member of the lineage,
although most could not remember what had actually happened to him.
There was little more
to Canath: by all common reasoning, it was likely that its decline
had simply been due to one of the nearby city-states surpassing it
economically. Having finished visiting most of the town as the
mid-day sun arose, Marmelee reflected sadly that even in an
historical volume of her own writing (or, if she ever felt so bold,
maybe an auto-biography), Canath would be little more than a
footnote. The little stories, much like Canath itself, are always
lost to the ravages of time.
Marmelee made her way
back to the Inn. The Inn's location was another clue pointing towards
the relative unimportance of Canath, residing as it did near a
crossroad. If people had had motivation to actually visit the town
itself, such a busy Inn would have been nestled within the heart of
the town. Instead, the original innkeeper had decided to build it
much closer to the source of traffic.
As her thoughts
wandered, something caught Marmelee's eye. Near the perimeter of
Canath, a small wisp of smoke rose from a lonely chimney: a single
house still inhabited amongst the other deserted abodes, like a
single flame in the middle of an icy wasteland. Although initially
reluctant to disturb whoever lived there, Marmelee still had plenty
of time before she was due back, and it wouldn't hurt to quiz someone
else about the history of the town.
A small alley lead to
the house, flanked by wild brambles and vines. As she finally caught
full sight of the defiant house, she could see that it was being
maintained, although time still had had its effect on the outer
walls. Nature, on the other hand, had been held at bay: many of the
encroaching brambles had been neatly cut off before they reached the
walls, and a plain yet tidy garden could be spied behind a gate.
Marmelee hesitantly
knocked on the door, but as soon as she did, the door slowly crept
open, the lock on it seemingly having rusted to uselessness. The
inside of the house was relatively dark: even near midday, the
tightly packed housing and foliage meant that not a lot of natural
light filtered through. The entrance hall was fairly standard: old
chairs, a sofa, shelves stacked with books (the latter of which did
pique her interest).
“H-Hello? Anybody
home?” said Marmelee, in a whisper that almost defeated the purpose
of the question.
The only response was
silence. A few seconds passed, with Marmelee vacillating between
closing the door and heading back now,
or waiting a few seconds and then doing the same. Something caught
her eye, however: one of the walls was covered by countless statues,
each depicting a different animal: a trussa there, a dog (or maybe a
wolf?) and other animals native to the lands of Indines.
Even
from a distance, Marmelee could see that the craftsmanship was of the
highest order, an attention to detail that seemed to pick out all the
tiniest details, down to the individual hair. Gingerly stepping over
the threshold, Marmelee approached the statues, drawn to their beauty
more than anything else. On one of the shelves, she saw the most
beautiful statuette of them all: an insect, some sort of beetle, its
stone wings unfolded from their carapace and outstretched, so thin
that the stone was almost transparent. Marmelee carefully picked up
the beetle, bringing it up to her eyeline, inspecting it from all
sides.
“That's
my principal hobby, you know...”
The
unexpected voice startled her. Time slowed as the beautiful
sculpture danced in her hands, finally freeing itself from her grip
and falling to the floor, shattering the wings and chipping the main
body on impact.
“I'm
sorry, I'm sorry! Please forgive me, I didn't...I wanted...I will pay
you back, I swear! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother, I can leave,
please...I know that...” a deluge of apologies was uttered by
Marmelee, as the heat of embarrassment flushed her face.
“Calm
down, calm down”, said the man in a conciliatory way, “The joy is
in the making, and not just in the displaying.”
It
took a few minutes, and many repeated assertions that no, he didn't
need to be repaid for his loss, and that no, she didn't have to leave
and finally that yes, he would be more than happy to answer a few
questions about Canath.
“But
first, if you'll indulge me, I have a few questions of my own. You
are a Dryad, are you not? Do you hail from Amalao?”
A
shy nod was the response to both questions.
“Ah,
Amalao. Once again risen, yet still so hidden.”
The
panic now over, Marmelee was able to take more of a measure of the
man: his face was weather beaten, his hair grey but neat, and he
appeared to be around 50 years old for a human, yet his frame still
appeared strong. It was his eyes, however, that were the most
prominent feature of his face: behind squared spectacles, she could
see intense grey eyes.
His
name was Aden, and he had lived in Canath as long as he could
remember. His knowledge of the town, even before his time, seemed to
be encyclopedic, and Marmelee almost struggled to keep up as she
quickly took notes of the many stories that Aden told. Many of
Marmelee's theories seemed to be confirmed, especially in regards to
the decline of the town, but Aden seemed to know even about the glory
days. The hours lengthened and Aden lighted a few candles to
supplement the fading light, continuing quickly from where he had
left off once he was sat back down.
“Ah
yes, the titular family of Canath! Let me tell you, this place was
barely a farming village before they saw how valuable its location
would be to trade. They made a deal with the local baron, if I recall
correctly, although I'm not sure if that particular dynasty still
rules or was eventually supplanted,” the man continued, his
familiarity with history plainly clear.
“And
what of Marek? What happened to him?” enquired Marmelee, thinking
back to the statue that she had seen earlier in the day.
“The
famous last member of the Canath family. Truly, some say that the
fall of the town followed his disappearance, but who truly knows,”
said Aden: it was clear that he was taking some delight at being
questioned so.
“Is
that when the statue was raised?”, asked Marmelee while adjusting
her glasses, ready to take more notes.
“Yes,
just after he went missing. Maybe it was a way to cling to the past,
a way to show that the old, venerated family, even though now gone,
was still present within the heart of the city. Foolish really, but
when I was commiss...”
An
awkward silence followed. It was louder than the constant chatter
that had filled the room in the last hour or so, and Aden looked
flustered, like he had suddenly realised that something was wrong.
Marmelee only now realised how dark it was actually getting. After a
minute, Aden seemed to compose himself.
“Anyway,
anyway, as I was saying...” but his words were lost, as waves of
realisation washed over Marmelee. The statue in the square, old,
pitted and worn, yet the detail clear beneath the years of decay. The
precise, detailed knowledge that Aden seemed to possess. The scorn
towards the perceived thoughts of people that had long left the
living world. And finally but most importantly, the slip at the end.
Marmelee could feel cold dread building up inside of her.
“I
must leave! It's late, I m-must go...” she blurted out suddenly,
cutting him off mid-sentence. She quickly stood up, yet she was not
prepared for Aden's own speed, as he grabbed her by the arm.
“I
think NOT!”, he said, as he quickly but purposefully slipped down
his glasses. That was when she felt it, a force of magic erupting
from his eyes, like a dam broken, letting the river flow freely.
“Let
go of me!”
It
was unclear if it was the force of her own voice, or his own surprise
at the failure of his magic that sent him stumbling back. As soon as
he looked away, Marmelee could feel the magic essence ebb away.
“How?
HOW? You... you must be..,” said Aden as he stepped back, “You
came specifically for me, didn't you?! But no, NO, you won't get me,
I won't be taken!”
The
last few words were said almost in a shout, as Aden quickly turned
and ran from the room. Taken by surprise, Marmelee stood still,
gathering her thoughts and concentrating in order to bring her magic
powers to the fore, ready for anything.
Cautiously
she approached the door that Aden had gone through. Beyond, the room
was filled with different statues, this time not of animals, but of
various humans and other sentient races, some standing, some sitting,
all with a shocked expression on their faces. Room after room
followed this pattern, yet Aden himself was nowhere to be seen. And
as night approached, Marmelee knew that she would be missed if she
didn't head back soon.
As
she left the house, closing the door behind her out of some
unfathomable force of habit, her mind went back to the studies that
she had conducted in regards to her own race, her true race. No one
truly knew how many dragons had been left after the fall of the
Dragon Empire, or how many had decide to hide themselves, disguised
as humans. She knew one thing: what she had seen today was a mere preview of the the horrors that would be wrought upon the world if her father was allowed to awaken. In the past she had merely used the historical records to back her beliefs, but today she had seen living proof, and this steeled her with a fiery determination to do anything to stop the Dragon Empire from arising, once and for all.
