It felt like only moments later that the three found themselves gathered around a small, round, cedar table in the “luxury suite” of the Akashiman inn. Dimly lit by an oil lantern and candles, the bedroom was eerily quiet, the curtains of white and red lace added an odd romantic touch to a military inspired conversation. An attentive older woman knocked politely at the door to deliver two large steel carafes of percolated caffeine. The trio would need to keep their coffee cups warm and high; there would be no more time for alcohol until this charade was over. A few bowls of porridge were rifled through, as they spoke little while attending to ravenous hunger. Storm’s eyes barely moved off of Terrance Edim, who appeared to melt into his bench seat beneath the glare.
Chickenshit moron. Folded like a goddamned wicker chair under the first hint of trouble. Now Red knows all about the artifact, and its usefulness, and all of our cards are on the table, you imbecile. If you couldn’t translate the words of those cat people, I’d have left you to fend for yourself on the streets.
“You know what we’ve got…” Storm began, whispering quietly as if enemy informants were literally hovering over his shoulder. He tried to speak to Amari now, in a tone direct, discrete, and simply. If the loose-lipped Edim didn’t hear, it would offend the sensibilities of the traveled, tired wizard.
“It needs to open. I was able to open pieces of it in the temple; it’s some form of puzzlebox. Elaborate, mechanical, and sacred to those walking housecats. My rotund traveling companion spoke to them directly. They all arrived, first the refugees and then the warriors. This little metal chunk of shit is the only thing that can save their people. For them, they speak of the apocalypse.”
The mage deftly produced the small block of cold steel, which hummed gently at his fingers’ touch as runes popped white upon the sides of the prism. It was barely larger than his hand, and looked like an expensive paperweight when gently redeposited on the table.
“This!?” the redhead whispered, appearing surprised at the simplicity of such an important item. “All that big talk for this thing?”
“Yes.” Storm stood from the table and stepped back, turning his back to the redhead and thought carefully before he spoke. “The refugees wanted to use it to save their people. The warriors sought to STOP them from using it. The wave is coming, they explained, and it will wash away the sins of Althanas.”
Terrance Edim trembled at this, pressing his pudgy fingers onto the desk and raising himself up, as though cued to speak. He rested a hand on the round, soft belly generated from a life of comfort and excess, although his face remained white and haggard from the rigors of this adventure. “Sir… the felines that shot her…”
“Yes, yes, sit down.” Veritas was dismissive in his tone towards the fat little man, who sat as a trained beagle may do. “The warriors are coming for the artifact. They are coming to see that it is not opened, and they are not more than a day behind us, as your injury can testify.”
A quizzical look came from the femme-fatale, who bounced her focus from the artifact dancing in her fingers to Storm and back again. “Why should I give a damn about those cat people? We have problems of our own.”
A deep breath came from the master of lightning, who nodded in the direction of Terrance Edim. “Go on, tell the pretty lady what you told me on the hill.”
“It appears my original translation was off a touch, miss.” Edim caught a glare of plush carpet directly between his toes, hell bent on not seeing her eyes for the revelation. “The refugees were not referring to some obscure Salvarian cat-race we’ve never seen before. Their direct quote was:
”Nos postulo ut salvum populus in Apocalypsi, quod advenit ex mari.
“We need to save the people from the apocalypse, which arrives from the sea.” A dreadful pause.
“The wave isn’t coming for the cat people, m’lady. The wave is coming for all people. The warriors simply serve to ensure its delivery.”