I can feel the cool breeze on my face, stinging my cheeks. I can feel the waves rocking beneath me, swaying back and forth. I can smell the salty sting of the sea as I ride along, I can see the bright orange sun reflecting across the glassy water.
This always distracted Calindor, every single time. Every time she had to ride a boat like this one, waiting as her home sank into the distance behind her, realizing that this very well could be the last time she ever sees home. It distracted her from that, from letting her eyes gaze upon the twelve midnight spires of the Allsundry palace-the palace she called home.
It allowed her to see herself in a different way-to see herself not as who she was, but who she was becoming. Who she had to…pretend to be, often for months at a time. She couldn't have a single slip, a single inconsistency in her story-she had to be fully and completely not herself.
This time, her name was Iris-Iris Hyacinth, a girl who was perfectly real as far as she was concerned, but stuck working a strip in Shining Gold. A girl who was fully enveloped and cursed by flowers, her namesake.
She had escaped from the strip, headed to the annual dance competition held in Precious Gems, where only the best dancers competed. There she hoped to make a new life, to become someone else and leave her past behind her.
Family wasn't something she had, so there was no drama that came with it; but drama did she have otherwise, with Conan and her boss Darcey.
A handsome co-worker and a boss absolutely smitten for her in the worst way possible-quite a life she had, this Iris.
And now this life was becoming Calindor's, as she repeated to herself in her head, over and over, ritualistically, religiously, obsessively.
Iris Hyacinth, from Shining Gold. Twenty, elf. Calindor had been offended when Devnen gave her the role at first, as Iris had initially been in her mid twenties. Calindor was aware she wasn't the most youthful lady ever, but an eighteen year old being labeled as twenty five felt truly rude and inconsiderate of him; he soon changed Iris's age to twenty instead.
And so with these thoughts returned thoughts of home, her life before Iris Hyacinth, and so one more;
I can feel the cool breeze on my face, stinging my cheeks. She whispered internally, though the breeze truly didn't sting anymore-it was warm and relaxing. No longer did she find comfort in the small ritual, instead annoyance as she turned her head and silently cursed at mother nature.
It wasn't supposed to be warm. It was supposed to be crisp and sharp and cold and bitter, unpleasant and un-enjoyable. Already, she was sent a bad omen.
Mother nature seemed to laugh in a playful response, because a second later a hard cool breeze hit her like several pounds of ice, sending a chill all the way down her spine into every bone in her body. She tensed her muscles against it, waiting for it to let up and once it did rubbed together her hands before tracing them over her arms, trying to return their heat.
This was going to be a miserable journey, she could already tell. But she had a job to do, one of a spy, and couldn't let down Devnen, king of Allsundry.
It was quite the mission, one of a kind, another like it as far as Calindor could remember. Never before had they a mole, a leak in their system, or a disappearing spy-Molorath
It was oddly suspicious how he was last seen the exact same day the Eeverchalice was-before the spies were intercepted and the chalice was stolen. On Pershing island, the lawless land between Eeverland and Timble; of course it would be hiding there, one of five relics lost to time.
So here she was, looking for Molorath, in the clothes of a strip girl named Iris, bright lipstick and blush painted on her face; a look she would never wear normally. The life of a showgirl, she supposed.
It was another five hours from there, until the boat docked and they began to unload. By then the sun had fully dipped under the sky, drowning in the cool oceanic waters, ready to be re-lit in the morning. The twelve spires of the Allsundry palace were now gone, completely invisible in the far distance. But even with no compass or visual protrusion to lead her path, her eyes knew exactly where to rest when she glanced back across the waves for a final time. As she watched the black mound of land for a half second, she let go of the human side of her, as she did every time. She was Iris, Iris Hyacinth, no one else.
"You alright ma'am?" A voice asked, pulling her eyes and mental presence from the land across the water. With slight surprise she glanced behind her, a man standing a few feet away. He was an average looking fellow, a slightly odd, slightly concerned look on his face.
"Yes, apologies," She replied gently, trying hard to mimic his flawless and effortless Elven accent. "I was just looking…the view reminds me of home." She gave a sad smile, suggesting she had a relation to the view that went deep, despite the fact that in reality she had a connection to the land across from it.
"Ah, I see. Please, ignore me, I shall leave you be." He said, tipping his hat and offering her a smile before walking off, down the stone and wood stairs. She took a deep breath, and found her eyes lightly drowned with tears. She was proud to serve, proud she was called back and valued, but all she could hear was Devnen's voice echoing inside her empty mind.
We thank you for your final mission. You are released.
With a rather loud sniffle, she quickly tried to pull herself together. Thankfully, she could play off this emotional side of her as part of Iris's trauma. A feeling of home and relief.
"Pardon, ma'am." Another voice came from behind her. Male too, but without that thick elven accent she had once fallen for. She turned from the water a final time, to see a Golish man approaching, dressed in a guards uniform. He bore large shoulders, a thickset jaw, and had the rough hard skin that all Golem's shared; he was obviously catacomb-born.
"We're closing the port, the sailors want to get home, so I have to ask you to leave." He said, like he regretted it, like there was a bitter taste on his tongue. Of course this matter didn't actually concern her, but she kept up the facade, didn't wipe the tears from her swollen eyes.
"Ah, of course, apologies. It is very late; I should let the poor sailors get to bed. Pardon." She said, crossing the platform and beginning to walk down. She gave the guard a quick curtsy before starting her descent, her heeled boots clicking loudly against the wood.
Down at the dock, a line went out the door of the port. It was a large building of polished stone columns. Gemstones, mainly amethyst clear quartz and a rose-colored stone, stuck out from the columns at random. Somebody probably put a lot of work into making the stones look random.
The wide mahogany doors were open, people flooding out in a long long line. With sleepiness tugging at her mind she stepped into the very back of the line, and awaited the long period of waiting that stood before her.
Finally she passed through the port, coming out the other side of the building. Here, though, the columns were not polished-they were ragged and poorly carved, though it gave a natural feel, even with the purposely-collapsed ruin walls beside her. They were trying too hard to gain the aesthetic appeal they wanted, and Calindor, surprisingly, didn't hate it. She had to admit, with the un-polished columns, the stones seemed a lot less purposely spontaneous, and more naturally random.
From there was a large circle in the path, surrounded on every side with awaiting carriages. For only a small price, they would allow anyone to travel into the catacombs-or at least the catacomb entrances.
She walked up to a carriage that she thought looked most friendly, painted in soft blues with golden detailing. Both the horses pulling it were a deep brown, with white blaze's along their noses. Their eyes were a very bright crystal blue, and they looked nearly identical.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" A voice asked, and she turned to see the carriage driver, an old pale Golish man, in a tight blue suit and tophat. His graying hair stuck wildly from his hat, and he had a crazy feel to him
"Ah, yes, I'm seeking fare to the catacombs." She responded, trying not to let her eyes meet his. They reflected the horses perfectly, but had a sort of madness to them.
He looked upon her with a permanent harsh scowl, and nodded towards the carriage. "I can take you to the entrance, if you mean. All the way is too much; no one is willing to pay anymore." He said, heaving a sigh. The lantern in his hand flickered against his face, giving him a ghostly and ethereal look.
"How much for all the way?" She asked. He looked back to her, surprised, and blinked.
"Uh, a hundred…are you willing to pay that much?" He asked, squinting at her and eyeing her, inspecting her facial features.
"Yeah, if that's alright. I'm not really anxious to make the journey otherwise…" His permanent scowl turned up a little, though his mouth curved down so naturally it just looked like a straight line when it turned up.
"Alright. Get in; we'll get going."
On their little journey, Calindor learned that Harry-the carriage driver's name-was in fact a very pleasant gentleman. They chatted the entire way, and he gave her in-depth verbal tours of what all the sights and attractions would be like, such as the Gempool and the museum of gemstones and rocks. But it all had to come to an end once they entered the elevator.
"Alright, once we enter the elevator I cannot speak anymore, and it is considered rude for you to try and converse with me." Harry warned, as the horses Tip and Tap entered the elevator. It looked like a square of stone had been dissected from the side of the mountain, and they entered inside.
The hollow space echoed the hoofbeats of Tip and Tap, and every sound was hearable-even the waterfalls surging miles below.
The platform shook, rumbled gently, and began to descend-quickly at first, but it quickly slowed down.
Calindor sat in the carriage, not even a bit scared, as she rode a dragon all the time and drops and such were common to her.
As they continued, Calindor had to repress the urge to ask questions. Levels passed by them, chambers of golden light. They were all private chambers, lived in by the king and the royal family.
When they passed a chamber that contained a pool of crystal clear water, with hundreds of gemstones beneath the surface, Calindor realized it perfectly fit the descriptions of the Gempool. She turned to Harry, though she knew she couldn't speak, and he caught her eye. His firm shake of his head told her that not only did he know what she was thinking, but it also was not the Gempool that they had just passed.
I'm glad I didn't take the regular entrance. Calindor thought to herself as they rode along. Not only was it much less crowded and stressful, but this way nobody would see her enter; they would have no documentation of her, except Harry. But Harry looked bad enough, it wasn't certain that someone would even actually trust him if he told on her.
When they reached the bottom, they were met with a brilliant and bright light. Calindor squinted as she tried to make out what was happening outside the deep darkness of the shaft, and Harry gently urged the horses forward.
Suddenly, she found herself enveloped in a land of sound, colors, and people. The ceilings were huge, reaching all the way to the surface despite the fact that they were miles under, as a giant sun window let in its natural light. People moved around wearing traditional Golish garments and silks, and market stalls lined the giant room. People were everywhere, carrying things, attending things, going places. People from the market stalls shouted, trying to promote their sellings.
"This is incredible!" Calindor whispered to herself, because she knew she couldn't speak to Harry. "But…it's midnight…why is the skylight bright, like it's day?" She asked herself.
The people must have overheard her, with her head sticking out the carriage, staring up at the window, because a man shouted as he passed, "It's magic, sweetheart!"
"This is the dayroom; it's always bright in here!" Another girl added on. Calindor gave them both a bright smile and shouted thank-yous over the crowd.
They continued on, the horses pushing through the thick crowd, until they reached a secluded area where other men were polishing their carriages and cleaning their steeds. Harry demounted the carriage, sliding onto the ground with a thump and opened the carriage door, offering her his hand as she stepped out.
She took it, stepped onto the dusty, sandy ground, and looked around; it was even more magnificent outside the carriage. Harry held out a hand, politely asking for his money. Calindor reached into her purse, grabbing the Sab'ha, Golish currency, and dropped it into his hand, with an extra hundred tip-two hundred total.
Harry gave her an astonished look once he counted the money, and before he could act further Calindor offered him a traditional Golish curtsey and turned and walked away.
"Pardon," She asked a lady, standing outside a marketplace, holding bracelets and holding them towards people when they passed, trying to get them to buy. "Do you know where Emberwood is?"
The woman pointed behind her, towards one of the large channels exiting the grand room. "Ah, thank you!" Calindor said, and the lady offered her a smile before continuing to sell her bracelets.
Calindor walked down the channel, and was pleased to see the crowd thinned out greatly; she no longer had to be bumped and crushed between passing people. As she looked around in the now darker space, she noticed that the channel widened not far ahead-and tents started lining the sides of the road.
Housing in Precious Gems was always in the form of tents, made with the same traditional silks they dressed with, but larger. Religious beads and herbs and symbols hung from the tents and decorated them, and most of the tents went far back. The addresses were engraved on rocks that stood before each tent, and pots hung over fires for cooking were left out front too.
Calindor walked along, eyes scanning the addresses engraved on the rocks. 253, 255, and…aha! She stopped before a tent that had a noticeably smaller amount of religious decor. The rock in front of it read 257.
It was her tent, the one in which she would be living in during her residence there in Precious Gems. As she walked forward, her eyes began to run across every surface of the place.
The cooking pot outside had fresh, dry firewood awaiting her, along with a small bench made from a fallen log. It didn't look like a comfortable place to sit, unpolished and probably prone to splinters, and she decided then that she would eat indoors most days.
Further in she went, ducking her head to dodge the hanging silks. The room was nice and well decorated. The seats were overturned crates with cushions on top, and an ottoman in the middle of the room held a board checkered in white, gray, and black, covered in various stones, a common board game in Precious Gems.
On the walls hung Light Berries, clinging to their branches, filling the room with a soft glow. Of course, the tents made of silk were much too easily flammable to keep torches in, and candles wouldn't produce enough light; the Light Berries were smart.
She settled onto the couch of overturned crates, sinking into the lush pillows and letting out a sigh. She was there, no one had suspected; now was just to live life, to live a different life; to live the life of Iris Hyacinth.