“Basswood,” Vatis said to himself, changing his voice slightly to test the pitch before he met anyone. “The city of broken promises.” No one called Basswood the city of broken promises, but Vatis thought it had a nice ring to it. Vatis-of-the-Road loved to add these types of details to towns, cities, landmarks, and people – they added flavor to the world in his head.
An immense bridge adorned with stone bears spanned a quick-moving river before turning into the main road where Basswood’s shops were located. Two guards in polished green armor vetted a short line of travelers seeking entrance. Vatis skipped into the line of what looked like two merchants, a husband and wife, and a hunter carrying various pelts over his shoulder.
“Basswood, the city of broken promises,” Vatis repeated as he stepped into the line.
The tall, muscular hunter scowled at Vatis, stepped forward, and let out an exaggerated sigh. He was huge, larger than Gunnar, and carried the longest bow Vatis had seen; its thick dark wood looked almost like steel.
“What a lovely day. Hello. I’m Vatis, Vatis-of-the-Road. What’s the story behind those pelts and that bow?” Vatis asked with a graceful gesture toward the hunter. “You see, I’m a traveling bard.”
The hunter turned with speed that Vatis did not think possible for a man of his size. “None of your business,” he said, reaching for a dagger sheathed on his hip. His hard, scarred face issued one of the most frightening threats Vatis had ever received, and he’d been threatened a lot.
“Understood,” Vatis said, holding up his hands and cowering into the chest of an elderly woman who had filed in behind him. Now, this man might have a story worth telling. “Ah, sorry, ma’am.”
The hunter huffed and stepped forward as the guards ushered up the next travelers. Vatis followed but kept his distance, listening to the guards question the couple in front of the hunter.
“What brings you to Basswood?” one of the guards asked the husband and wife.
“We are passing through on our way to Barna. We were hoping to stay at the inn,” the man said with his arm around the woman.
On your way to Barna, you’re a long way off, Vatis thought.
“Where are you coming from?” the guard said.
“Numeria, sir,” the man answered.
“And what business would a couple from Numeria have in Barna?”
“Ah, well, that’s a matter of some discretion, sir. We … we have business with the King. I assure you we will be no trouble. No trouble at all. We only plan to stay the night.”
Business with the King, that could be interesting. Vatis desperately wanted to go to Barna. He dreamed of performing at the King’s Tourney, but he couldn’t even muster the courage to perform in one of the qualifying events. For now, his stories would have to live in his mind and small uncrowded taverns. Vatis rubbed his eyes to release himself from his daydream.
“What is the blacksmith's name in Numeria?” the other guard asked.
“The blacksmith,” the man said, scratching his chin. “I don’t have many needs for a blacksmith, but I believe his name is Alvor.”
The guards nodded at each other. “Welcome to Basswood. Over there with the lantern hanging in the doorway, that’s the Rau Tavern. There should be room for you.”
“Thank you, sir, thank you,” the man said as they gathered their belongings and walked across the bridge.
‘Next,” the guard said.
The hunter stepped forward. “What brings you to Basswood? Oh, it’s you,” the guard said.
The hunter pointed at the pelts on his shoulder. “You want to sell those, Elbert?” The hunter nodded fiercely.
“That’s all?” the guard asked.
Elbert. There’s a start. He must be from nearby, Vatis thought.
The hunter nodded sideways as if he was saying yes and no simultaneously. “Fine, just stay away from Ember. She wants nothing to do with you.” the guard said as his voice cracked on the empty threat. “Next.”
The hunter marched across the bridge, and Vatis stepped forward.
“What brings you to,”
Vatis cut off the guard’s initial question. “Ah, Basswood, the city of broken promises.”
“What? This is not the city of broken promises. No one calls it that,” the shorter guard said.
Vatis pointed at the hunter halfway across the bridge. “Well, I’m sure that fellow will do more than sell his pelts, so there is one broken promise already.”
The guard ignored Vatis’s observation. “What brings you to Basswood?” he said. He glared through the narrow slit in his faded emerald armor.
“I’m but a simple bard seeking an audience and shelter,” Vatis said, puffing out his chest before punctuating his statement with a perfectly executed, ball-worthy bow.
The guards looked at each other. Vatis could almost hear their brows furrow in confusion inside their helms. Then, they each nodded, trying to guess what the other was thinking. The shorter guards spoke first. “How long do you plan on staying?”
“Only the night, my friends. If you are off duty, you should come by the inn. I’ve got quite the story to tell.”
“Where are you coming from?” the shorter guard asked.
Vatis smiled. “The road.”
The guard grunted. “Where did you last perform?”
“Wayland.”
“Aye, what inn?” The tall guard said, stepping forward.
Vatis thought for a moment. What was that inn called? Red something. Ah, yes. “The Red Fox,” Vatis said confidently.
The guards shrugged, looked at each other again, and tilted their heads like a scale balancing. ‘You may enter. Welcome to Basswood,” the taller guard said reluctantly. “Stay out of trouble,” he added.
“I promise.”
Vatis skipped across the bridge, humming his song. The guards on the opposite end of the bridge gave him the same unsure look as the two who let him into the city, but they allowed him to carry on. Tall wooden buildings lined a well-kept stone road. A shop with a strange triangular sign caught his eye. Trivial Distractions. He curiously approached the building; a worn piece of parchment was nailed to the front:
The bird is not for sale
“Interesting,” Vatis said as he danced into the shop. There must be a story there.
The musty scent of old books immediately brought a smile to Vatis’s face. He didn’t have to act. It was his favorite scent in the world. One day he would have a library of his own with well-kept books that earned an intoxicating scent after years on a bookshelf. A shopkeeper wore thick, black-rimmed eyeglasses, so thick that Vatis doubted the man could even see. He looked up from behind a neatly organized desk containing various jars, books, and two stacks of parchment. A glass jar containing two dragonflies sat on top of a book called “The Lost Forest.”
“What do you want?” the shopkeeper said, returning to his document review.
“The Lost Forest, that’s one of my favorites,” Vatis said.
The shopkeeper looked up from his documents; his long eyelashes flickered against the murky lens of his glasses as if he were seeing the customer for the first time. His bushy grey eyebrows furrowed then rose as the corners of his dry, blistered lips turned slightly upwards. “You know ‘The Lost Forest’?” he asked.
There we are, a warmer greeting. I bet he doesn’t get many customers who can read in Basswood. “Know it. Ha. I’ve read it a dozen times,” Vatis said. “Some believe it’s a true story; that somewhere in the far northeast, there’s a forest with magical creatures. I don’t know if I believe it, but maybe someday I will try to find it. Don’t mind me. I’m just an old man with childish dreams.”
“You don’t look that old,” the shopkeeper said, adjusting his glasses.
Vatis forced himself to laugh. “It’s not how you look. It’s how you feel.”
“Aye, so they say. ‘The Lost Forest’ is a children’s tale, but I enjoy reading it now and again,” the shopkeeper said.
“There’s a lot of truth in children’s tales.”
“Aye. So, what brings you into my shop?”
“I want to see the bird,” Vatis said, looking around the cozy, candle-lit shop.
“She’s not for sale,” the shopkeeper said quickly. His interest in Vatis seemed to dwindle, and he scanned his documents slowly, marking an “x” in the bottom right corner before moving them to the neighboring pile.
“I don’t want to buy the bird. I just want to see her. A bird must be something special for you to nail that sign to the front of your door. Why else would people continually ask to buy a bird?” Vatis said.
“She is something special for a wren.” The shopkeeper bent down and brought up a black birdcage. Perched on a wooden bar inside was a common wren. It looked almost identical to the dozens of birds that he whistled along with this morning, unremarkable brown feathers over a tan underbelly, except its beak was gold, not a pale yellow, but gold like a king’s crown. Vatis whistled its morning song, and the bird cocked its head back and forth, listening. It flapped its wings excitedly when Vatis finished and echoed the tune.
“Where did you learn to whistle like that?” the shopkeeper asked.
“It’s just something I picked up on the road. I have spent many mornings in the company of wren; their song is one of my favorites. She certainly has an interesting beak. I have never seen one like that. Is it natural?”
“It is,” the shopkeeper said. “I found her outside my bedroom window one morning. She has been something of a good luck charm since, but the beak isn’t even the most impressive part.” He whistled sharply to get the bird’s attention. “Heppni, say good morning.”
“Good morning,” the wren squawked; morning sounded like marning.
Vatis’s eyebrows raised as he bent closer to the cage. “That is impressive. Does she say anything else?”
“A few other phrases, but she is best at saying good morning.”
“Good marning,” Heppni repeated. “Good marning.”
“Ha, that’s terrific. I can see why people would want to buy her,” Vatis said. He reached for his belt and pulled out a worn leather coin purse.
“She’s not for sale,” the shopkeeper said defensively as he pulled the cage behind the desk.
“I understand,” Vatis said, holding out an affirming hand. “I want to buy your copy of ‘The Lost Forest.’ It has been a long time since I read it, and I feel nostalgic today. How much?”
“Ah,” the shopkeeper paused. “It’s not really for sale either, but I could part with it for ten Kan.”
“Seven.”
“Ten.”
“Will you go to nine? I need enough coin to stay at the Rau tonight,” Vatis said.
“Aye, I can do nine,” the shopkeeper said as he pulled the book out from under the jar of dragonflies. The glittering azure bugs fluttered around as their container jostled back and forth.
Vatis counted out nine Kan. His purse was nearly empty, well, the purse he carried on his belt. Only a few coins rattled as he reattached it. He picked up the book and opened it to the first page. A large drawing of a tree surrounded by a circle of perfectly round stones sat above the tile: “The Lost Forest” He smiled and tucked the book into his bag.
“Thank you. It was a pleasure meeting you and Heppni. When I am back in town, I expect to be able to have a conversation with her.” The shopkeeper laughed, and Vatis bowed as he walked backward out the door. It was time to go to the tavern, where Vatis-of-the-Road shined brightest. Fascinating bird, but not story-worthy. Hopefully, I’ll have better luck at the inn.
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