Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Drown in the Sunset ❯ The Song of the Siren ( Chapter 3 )

Chapter Three: The Song of the Siren

 

Disclaimer: Nope, Escaflowne is still not mine, not now, not ever.

 

A flash of blinding light and she was standing on a battlefield. The earth was drenched in blood and corpses were everywhere. The sky was seemed to mirror the pain. And then, the corpses increased and in their place were cattle, herds and herds of gray cattle making noises and looking up at the two moons. With the arrival of the bovine giants, more blood flooded the field. More pain. A giant serpent appeared along with a lion and two pairs of red eyes, sorrowful eyes, shone in the distance. Watching with mournful eyes. There was a song, soft and gentle, with a poignant melody weaving its way through the barrage of mooing. A beautiful voice. And in another flash, all of it disappeared.

 

“Hitomi? Hitomi! Hitomi!”

 

The brown-haired girl opened her eyes to see a raven-haired brown-eyed boy shaking her vigorously. “Van?” she said slowly.

 

“I'm glad you're all right,” he said with a sigh of relief, “I was beginning to think my taking you back to Gaea wasn't such a good idea. What happened?”

 

She placed her hand on her forehead and tried to remember. “It happened again, I suppose,” she said quietly, “I was having another vision. I can only remember bits and pieces though.”

Van Fanel looked at her with concern in his eyes. “Well, do you think it has anything to do with the war?”

 

She nodded. “I just can't quite pinpoint what it is. No one was dying, really. But more than what I saw, the most striking thing is what I heard. The voice of a siren singing a mournful melody.”

 

“A siren? Are you sure?”

 

“Uh-huh, at least, that was how I was impressed by it.”

 

“Listen, Hitomi, your visions have helped us a lot before so I advise you not to ignore it. Maybe later on, you'll understand what it really means. The soldiers here have requested my presence here with Escaflowne and I've asked some of them to escort you back to Asturia, all right?”

 

“No, Van. I want to stay here with you. I want to help you”

 

“No, Hitomi. This is one thing I'll handle on my own. Don't worry; I'll come back no matter what. I promise.”

She sighed in concession. “And I'll be waiting for you.” She walked towards the convoy that was to transport her to Palas, the capital of Asturia where Allen and her other friends were waiting. A few steps and something flashed through her memory. Cattle in the battlefield. The forerunners of death and destruction. Hitomi didn't know why such an idea had crossed her mind just then, but something deep inside her made her feel that it was an important notion. She hesitated and then turned to Van. He looked back at her with puzzlement.

 

“What's wrong, Hitomi?”

 

“I just, I just remembered another part of my vision!” She ran towards him and held his two hands tightly. “Listen, Van, I know this sounds completely absurd but if in the event that cattle appear in the battlefield…”

 

“Cattle? That's ridiculous.” He laughed loudly but was stopped despite himself by the look of seriousness in Hitomi's green eyes.

 

“Yes, that's right. Cattle, many of them, a herd even. If they appear in the midst of the fighting, promise me, promise me, Van that you will immediately leave and follow me to Palas. Am I clear? Promise me, Van. This is really important. I can't explain why but please, just trust me.”

 

“I do trust you Hitomi,” he said earnestly, “and I promise that I will follow you to Palas the moment I see cows in the combat zone, alright?” Her eyes glistened with tears and he gave her a short embrace. She was sometimes hard to understand and downright unreasonable but he already knew that he loved her and was ready to promise her anything she asked of him. Having gotten his word, she was relieved and walked back to the convoy, off to Palas. Van got into Escaflowne's cockpit and readied himself for combat. As the ship rose, Hitomi looked back at him. Please keep your promises. Come back quickly. Don't forget. Please.

 

 

More and more people were filing into the tavern. Most of them looked like regulars, settling down at familiar tables and breaking into light chatter with the others. The place was instantly lit up and it seemed less musty and more welcoming. The stage, a small wooden platform with some patched velvet curtains, was being set for the performance. Everyone around seemed to be in a good and eager mood for a night of genuine enjoyment.

 

The hustle bustle of activity increased, all of which was being carefully observed by three strangers. Allen, Dryden and Folken sat at their table, carefully sipping their ales and eyeing all that was happening around them. “It seems that Morella's show has quite a following,” Allen said, “I wonder why.” “Well, there's one way to find out, right?” Dryden replied. He stood up and walked around in an attempt to socialize with some members of the crowd.

 

Folken focused on looking at the many waitresses, in search of the familiar face of Rhonas Eiren. He had no idea what `extra' task she would be doing aside from waitressing so he observed everything closely, trying to get a clue as to what that was. Allen sat quietly, looking at his reflection in the cup of ale trying to figure out what had compelled him to come here in the first place. Just then, a mental image of Celena running gleefully across the meadow flashed in his mind and he smiled. Celena. All this is for you.

 

“Say, buddy,” Dryden asked the man standing next to him, a lanky fellow with a thick bushy beard but a jocund disposition. “Have you been watching Morella's performance for very long?”

 

“Yup,” the latter replied, “pretty much ever since she started out a week or two ago.”

 

“You see, I'm a newcomer round these parts and I'd like to get a pretty good idea of what the show's like, if you don't mind.”

 

“Why, sure, buddy, have a seat.”

 

Dryden accepted the other man's invitation and sat next to him at the bar. He ordered another round of ale and offered to treat his companion to a drink to make the latter feel more at ease. The young merchant excelled at these sorts of sociable enterprises, which was one reason why he was so successful. His easy smile and cheerful disposition made him easily likable but there was also a brain beneath all this charm. He listened intently to what the other man had to say, trying to deduce a clue as to the whereabouts of the human archive. He didn't particularly know how it was connected to their search but he intended to size up the situation and get a better understanding of their circumstances. He had learned long ago that subtle clues may be hidden in the smallest of small talk and one must always be ready to pick them up.

 

“You see,” the man began, “Morella's show only began recently. She never used to be much of a performer, if you catch my drift. Hell, before, she couldn't carry a tune if it meant her life and the only reason this sorry excuse of a business establishment thrived was the fact that it was the only place that served decent ale.”

“Aye, I can attest to that!” Dryden pointed out with a smile.

 

“You're pretty sharp, aren't you, lad? At any rate, like I said, recently, she seemed to have picked up on something really good because she started having this show. It's sort of like a live concert with bits and pieces of sleazy dancing thrown in, knowing Morella, that part is not surprising. At first, the only people who came by were the regulars who were curious to see what she had to show in terms of music. And that's when the surprise came, her voice was absolutely fantastic. The songs were well chosen but it was the singing that kept you watching. It's simply one great experience. I don't know what she's on but whatever it is, it's pretty effective. It's got me watching the show every chance I get.”

 

“Sounds pretty impressive,” Dryden remarked with interest.

 

“Impressive doesn't even begin to describe what happens in a show. You have to experience it to really understand.”

 

“Well, then, I'm looking forward to it,” Dryden replied. He excused himself and returned to his companions. He related the entire conversation to them with enthusiasm and a renewed vigor which he could not attribute to the excellent ale somehow.

 

“That's fascinating, Dryden, but how does this help us?” Allen asked sardonically.

 

“I'm not quite certain but I'd think Lord Folken would know,” the other replied.

 

Folken was deep in thought. He likewise felt a link to their missing person from the information Dryden had shared. Was it possible? Perhaps it was. He looked up and saw Allen and Dryden staring at him expectantly. What could he possibly say? His assumptions held no certainty and indeed held no solid explanations either. They only had to wait and see.

 

“Well? We're waiting,” Dryden remarked impatiently. Folken merely looked at him and said that they had to see the show to confirm his suspicions. Dryden laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Just my sentiments, exactly,” he said as he sipped his half-filled cup of ale. Allen shook his head and said, “I'll have to trust in your notions, then, no matter how incredible.” After all, they had nothing to lose if they watched the show. It seemed decent enough. More people were coming in and the place was becoming quite cramped.

 

“It's lucky that we were here early. At least we have a table,” remarked Allen. “The show seems to be popular.”

 

“Just around these parts though,” Dryden added. All the people seemed to be residents or frequenters of the alley than anything else. This was the kind of crowd one wouldn't see at respectable gatherings in Palas. These were the members of the Asturian underworld. Surprisingly though, no one seemed in a particularly dangerous mood tonight. The tension was merely the impatience of the audience for the show to begin.

 

An announcer ascended the stage. He was a short, stubby man in worn clothing but walking with an unfathomable dignity. He cleared his throat and declared that the show was about to begin. Immediately, a solemn hush settled on the audience. The buzz of excitement was somehow smothered and all eyes turned towards the curtain.

 

 

The hours had passed uneventfully, and he sat restlessly playing with a half-filled glass of wine, pondering on many things. There had been no battle today and he was feeling extremely bored. If only he could leave this place and do what he really wanted to. If he wasn't going to engage in battle after all, then, it was better for him to just leave. The silence and solitude was enough to drive him mad. Well, that is, madder than he already was. A small smile formed on his pale face. He raised his hand to the scar on his cheek and another angry thought occurred to him. He would get his revenge on that fool who had marred his face and murdered his men. That man had become something else the last time they had fought. Van Fanel was monster and Van Fanel has all but taken everything from me, he thought, but I could bear that if only you were here. Then, I would not be so alone. In order to drive the melancholy thought away he plunged into his short memory and recalled a scene back in the darkness of the Vione during the earlier stages of the war before the destruction of Fanelia.

 

Rhonas Eiren was reciting a report on the status of one so-and-so army at some location or other. He was sitting on his thrown as she was doing this with an exceedingly uninterested expression on his face. He drummed his fingers on the side of the chair but still she went on and on, her eyes blank and impassive, giving out useless figures, descriptions and lists of unfamiliar names. He hated seeing her like this, it was as if she wasn't alive at all, it was like an idiotic zombie talking and the thought sickened him. It was during times like this that she seemed no different from those stupid little soldiers who ran to and fro doing General Adelphos' or some other official's bidding without question. His Dragonslayers were certainly much better but Rhonas Eiren had more in her than this. He thought that he would rather die than to live such a pathetic existence but he knew her reasons for choosing something like that. Despite this, it still annoyed him greatly. He interrupted her little speech with a wave of his hand.

 

“Enough, enough, I've had enough,” he hollered impatiently, “why can't you stop doing this, it is so degrading. I'm sick of it and I know you are too so why continue?”

 

She closed her eyes and opened them again, showing crimson pupils with more life in them. They gave him one penetrating gaze which other people would melt under. But not him, of course. “You know very well why this has to be like this, Dilandau,” she said, “so please don't force the issue. It is the only way.”

 

“Ch,” he grumbled, “I know, I know, you don't have to remind me.” She smiled faintly, glad to have triumphed over him again.

 

“But there is one favor I'd like to ask you, if I may,” he spoke slowly and quietly, almost in a whisper. They both knew that walls had ears and they had to be careful in choosing their words within these menacing, cold walls of steel if they wanted privacy. “What is it?” she asked carefully. This was something rare. He hardly ever spoke to her, or anyone for that matter, this way, in such a polite manner.

 

“Let me hear your true voice.”

 

Her eyes widened. “But isn't this my..”

 

“No, no, not that monotonous drone you use most of the time. Your true voice, that of the person locked up inside you, behind the apparatus and the archive, you, the person I always knew. That's all. Every once in a while it would be a comfort, you know.”

 

“Dilandau,” she said with surprise. He looked back at her with that fierceness that would send most other warriors to their knees and she returned the glance. She was not to be intimidated by this. “I understand,” she nodded.

 

Her lips parted and a soft, gentle note began to come out, the beginning of a song. This was her real voice. The voice of a siren, he had thought then. She had sung to him occasionally, sometimes he even joined her. It was a welcome change to the deadly silence of the floating fortress. She would sing and both their hearts would feel lighter. When they were alone, she would encourage him and he too found it in himself to sing, expressing his soul's deepest desires in melodies and tunes. Sometimes she even sung in the presence of the Dragonslayers, whom he trusted would keep the private performances secret. The youths would watch, entranced, and smiles of contentment would form on their faces. Faces he would never see again. But she was still out there. The siren still lived.

 

“I will hear you sing, again,” he whispered. He snatched his sword and attached it onto his belt. The candlelight flickered. He took one last look around the tent, making sure, with a military man's precision, that he had not left anything important. He left a short note on his chair inside. It read:

 

Jajuka:

I have something that I must find. When I have retrieved it, then I will decide whether I want to come back. The war can wait. In the meantime, you're in charge.

 

Capt. Dilandau Albatou

Then, he strode out of the tent and into the beckoning darkness.

 

 

They were completely entranced. Morella began with a couple of upbeat tunes that were easy to dance to and proceeded to enchant her audience with soulful renditions of popular Asturian ballads as well as songs from the other parts of Gaea. Some songs were even foreign but nobody seemed to mind since the pleasure was in taking in her voice. Morella certainly was a sight to behold. Wearing a glittering gown and all kinds of ornaments in her hair, as well as an assortment of bangles and other gaudy jewelry, she looked like an over-decorated peacock strutting down a desert of blandness. And yet, the audience seemed to excuse the ostentation because of the outstanding performance. The applause thundered and whistles were heard after every song number.

 

“I'm glad you like tonight's show everyone,” she said teasingly after one song, “and don't you worry, now. There's more where that came from.” At this she began another wonderful melody. She made exaggerated hand movements and her face contorted itself into many expressions. She flaunted her figure whenever she had the opportunity. You would think that the whole thing was really cheap if you weren't so busy listening and absorbing the music. The accompaniment wasn't much, only a poorly arranged band of several men who played simple musical instruments. They could play the instruments but it was not exactly an orchestra. However, this particular flaw was completely ignored because of the singer's performance. The soul in her voice was enough to compel her audience to imagine a grander scene, to transport them from their dreary world to somewhere else, somewhere better. And that was why they always came.

 

She seemed capable of singing anything with expertise. Her talent was overwhelming and this explained the success of her nightly show. The performance was beyond that of an ordinary cabaret. It was a treat to the senses, or at least, one sense. Anyone could excuse the poor choice of venue and the less-than-pleasant atmosphere because the show was truly something to experience.

 

The only reason the show had not gained so much popularity from the general society was because of the biases implanted in people's minds about Tartarus Alley and its occupants. If any word at all spread to the decent areas of Palas about the show, people immediately dismissed it as a cheap cabaret, an obscene exhibition they expected criminals to enjoy watching during their spare time. No one paid to much heed of any news that came from Tartarus Alley, no one respectable and peace-loving, that is.

 

However, for all the miserable beings in the Alley, this was their one source of release, of escape from their desolation. Especially now, when Gaea was plunged into a war, their fates became more and more uncertain. They lived in a jungle where the rule was always “survival of the fittest” and only the strong could live. In the midst of this, there was a nightly respite, where everyone gathered, forgetting for two hours or so, the horrid lives they were living and only living to immerse themselves in the music.

 

No one knew how Morella had come upon such a gift. She herself attributed it to one potion or other acquired from the bazaar coming from the Mystic Valley or some other exotic location. The gullible fools who heard this would rush to the bazaar and try to purchase one of these concoctions for themselves. But those who knew better would shake their heads. They knew that no existing potion could do this. Someone else must be singing behind her. Whoever that was and why Morella would like to take the credit for the effort, however, was none of their concern. It was a matter that was not openly spoken of in the alley. Despite her appearance, Morella had a significant amount of influence among the people there and it would be foolish to make an enemy out of her. So people kept their mouths shut and just enjoyed the music. After all, what harm could it do? In Tartarus Alley, whatever the means, people just tried to find ways of enjoying themselves.

 

The three adventurers were, in a word, astounded by what they were seeing. Dryden looked absolutely incredulous, despite the fact that he had already been significantly warned of how great it was, the show still exceeded his wildest expectations. “Who could have thought that such a magnificent talent came in such a dressy package?” Dryden said. “I'll admit, her manner and clothing are not really appropriate but her performance is absolutely excellent,” Allen conceded. They clapped loudly as she finished her song and took a bow.

 

Allen was having fun, despite himself. If only the circumstances weren't so serious, he might have enjoyed it better. This would be the perfect show to take Celena and Hitomi to, he thought, Princess Millerna and Princess Eries would have been entertained as well if it were held in a different venue. Van, too might need something like this to let loose and relax once in a while. But he shook his head and banished those thoughts. This was not the proper time for them.

 

Folken was silently observing the performer. Something didn't seem to fit. Morella just didn't seem to be the kind of person who could acquire such talent in a snap. Folken struggled to break away from the spell her voice had cast so that he could think more clearly. He knitted his brows and pondered. This was really suspicious. More importantly, they had caught no glimpse at all of their target. Not one ebony-haired head was to be seen in the crowd at all. The show was undoubtedly incredible but as he watched Morella up on that minuscule stage, he couldn't help but wander how she did it. He didn't mean to discredit her if she truly had the talent but if so, why would she still be rotting here on Tartarus Alley in this worn down old tavern when she could have gotten success elsewhere? The ongoing war, of course, was a consideration however; he really could not help but wonder. He stood up, an action which surprised his two companions.

 

“Something's not right,” he explained when they gave him perplexed looks, “excuse me while I investigate.” Allen followed him and Dryden was just about to when Folken motioned for him to sit down. “Stay here,” Folken said, “and try to catch sight of our target. And, Dryden, enjoy the show.”

 

Folken and Allen exited the tavern and found that quite a number of people had gathered at the door and at the windows to catch a glimpse of the performance and to hear the music. They squeezed their way through and entered a darker side of Tartarus, lined with garbage. “This must be the back,” Folken said, “Good. Let's go.” Allen followed as they walked over to where the racket of applause could be heard. “What exactly are you planning to do, Lord Folken?” Allen asked seriously. “Don't tell me you expect to find Rhonas Eiren cowering in one of these dark corners after you heard Morella sing. I can hardly think that is logical conclusion and that is why I demand an explanation.” Folken halted abruptly. Allen waited patiently for the other's response.

 

“I doubt that you haven't noticed by now, Sir Allen,” Folken replied.

 

“Noticed what? I really wish you'd elaborate a bit more on you intentions and ideas, Lord Folken, because sometimes I'm simply at a loss when it comes to understanding you and your motives,” Allen said. He was quite tired and the day's activities were starting to get to him. If this other man would just speak more plainly, he would be extremely relieved. It wasn't in Allen Schezar's nature to be so impatient and rash but standing here in a dark alleyway which stank of all sorts of rubbish and worse things was really not his thing. He wanted desperately to just find this Rhonas Eiren and get the truth about his sister from her. Folken, at the moment, wasn't being much help.

 

“The person singing in that tavern,” Folken began, “is not Morella.”

 

“What do you mean?” Allen asked, rather unnecessarily, since he picked up an idea from what Folken was implying. “Someone else is singing behind the curtain?”

 

“Yes,” Folken replied, “if anything, I've got to give credit to Morella for wonderful and impressive lip synching but other than that the voice is coming from somewhere else. Whose voice it is I'd like to find out, although you might already have an inkling of who I'm eager to see behind that curtain.” He gave the Knight Caeli a significant look.

 

Allen understood and nodded. “Rhonas Eiren.” With this being cleared up, they walked around the pathways and wound their way through the labyrinth until they reached the back of the tavern. It was, as expected, heavily guarded by a couple of dull-looking thugs with massive biceps. They were burly, hairy men with ugly faces, much like ogres. Allen and Folken looked at each other. “Shall we try the diplomatic approach first?” Folken asked.

 

“It's worth an effort,” Allen replied, “if it can save me some trouble tonight. Considering the circumstances, it doesn't look likely but why not?”

 

They approached the guards slowly. In a polite tone, Allen asked them, “Good evening, good sirs, but may we be allowed entry into that room?”

 

One of the guards looked at him blankly while the other, a bald, brawny man with a large golden earring replied gruffly, “No one can come in `cept Madame Morella.” He said it like it was the most obvious truth in the world. Then he gave a nasty glare at the two men that would have sent lesser mortals scampering away. Allen again attempted to smoothen the situation. “Please, sirs,” he said in an ever so slightly menacing tone, “we need to speak with someone behind those doors. If you would please stand aside.”

 

“Are you deaf or something?” yelled the second guard. “No can do, mister so please run along and keep out!”

 

“Again, sirs,” Allen was just about to continue his request when the first guard aimed a large, tattooed fist at him. A fist that was stopped by Folken's organic arm.

 

“It may seem, Sir Allen,” Folken remarked coolly, still blocking the blow, “that diplomatic measures have failed us here. That's not so surprising.”

 

“Well, then I suppose it can't be helped.”

 

In a few minutes, two large bodies lay unconscious against some dumpsters. Allen was smoothing his cloak and Folken had taken the liberty of opening the door. At least, trying. It was locked from the inside. “No problem,” Folken muttered. He brought out his artificial arm and pushed a finger inside the lock. In an instant, the door opened. Allen looked at him curiously and Folken merely said, “This sometimes comes in handy.” “I'll say,” Allen remarked. They entered the room and there, within was another door.

 

“Are you ready?” Allen asked apprehensively, his hand on the doorknob. “At this point,” Folken said, “I don't want to get your hopes up. But seeing as we've come this far, nothing can stop us now.”

 

Unfortunately, that last statement was not entirely true. A few more minutes and half a dozen unconscious bodies later, “You were saying earlier?” Allen managed to joke as he smoothened his cloak and tossed his long blond hair.

 

“Never you mind.”

 

The wooden door creaked open, revealing a small, poorly lit room where a figure stood. Sounds of cheering and applause could be heard from the curtain completely covering one side of the room. And in the midst of all this, there she was. Short, raven serpentine silk tresses, and crimson eyes. She was wearing simple Asturian garments but her right arm was completely concealed in her cloak. She was not facing them as she was engrossed in finishing her song. But there was no doubt about it. They had found what they came looking for. Here, before them stood Rhonas Eiren, the human archive.

 

From her lips the heavenly sound of music came forth. This was truly the person behind all the astounding success of Morella's show. And here she stood, overshadowed and obscured by the flashy older woman. Here in this dark little cage like a nightingale. She did not have the look of a prisoner however. She was capable of escaping anytime she wished but something held her back. The enigmatic reason was yet to be discovered.

 

“This must be her,” Allen whispered, feeling so awestruck at her appearance and at her voice. “Whatever descriptions you gave me of her still could not have prepared me for this.”

 

“Are you struck by her beauty?” Folken asked in a low voice. “ That and something else that I've never seen in any other woman,” Allen replied, “Her sadness and the aura of melancholy around her.”

 

Loud applause was heard from the other side as Morella proceeded to make a barrage of useless comments and corny jokes. While doing so, Rhonas Eiren or Marin as she was called in the tavern spoke to her two guests. She did not turn to look at them but she did say something. “If you gentlemen wish to make any comments that I am not meant to hear,” she began, “then I suggest you do so when I am out of earshot. Otherwise, the endeavor is quite useless.” Having said this, she turned around and flashed her searing crimson gaze at their startled faces. She looked a bit surprised to see them, especially Folken whom she glanced at with recognition. She whispered, “I will accompany you gentlemen to wherever you wish to take me but grant me two small favors.”

 

Folken had regained a sense of what was happening and asked, “What are they, then, Rhonas Eiren?”

 

“Just let me finish tonight's performance, and pay a small debt afterwards at the harbor, then I will be prepared to go with you.”

 

“Certainly,” he replied. She turned away once more to begin another song.

 

Later that night, once everything was settled at the tavern, four hooded figures headed towards the harbor at Palas. Dryden seemed equally taken in by Rhonas Eiren's beauty as Allen was and was eagerly awaiting her interrogation when they arrived at the palace. She had left a recording of previous performances with Madame Morella as she was taking her leave. “I trust that this will suffice for the reasonable continuance of the show,” Rhonas had said as she bid farewell. As they left the shadow of Tartarus Alley, Allen asked her how much she had foreseen that she would make a recording of the songs. “I did not intend to stay here long,” she replied, “I only needed to repay a huge debt and to find some means to survive while I planned my return to Dilandau. My initial plans were to leave several nights ago but something held me back. For some unknown reason, I felt that Dilandau was close by when I passed the graveyard the other day.”

 

Allen looked at her strangely. Was it possible that she had sensed Dilandau's presence when Celena was with him? Did she witness the transformation? He would have to wait for the answers to these questions later. For now, he was satisfied to have found Rhonas. Folken also seemed glad to have found an old companion for despite the fact that they were never on intimate terms in Zaibach, she was a familiar face and he was glad to have someone else to talk to.

 

They reached the harbor. “Wait here,” Rhonas instructed as she went towards the water. “Don't worry, I won't try to escape.” They watched curiously as she brought out two vials filled with a red liquid. She then began to sing softly to the water. Then slowly, ripples disturbed the stillness and a large, black head with golden eyes emerged from the dark depths. “It's a sea serpent!” Dryden cried in surprise while the other two stared incredulously. “Now, now, dear one,” Rhonas whispered as she stroked the beast's head, “there's no cause to be wary. These are friends.”

 

She continued stroking its head while the others watched in horror. Dryden whispered, “That is the deadliest sea creature ever to exist. How can she be stroking it so calmly as if it were a pet? And how come it's so tame? That serpent thrives on devouring bodies of innocent sailors who get lost at sea! And besides, it drinks blood.” All at once, they realized that the red liquid in the vials was actually human blood. Allen cringed at the realization.

 

Rhonas, however, paid them no heed and tossed the vials into the serpent's waiting mouth. The creature, in turn, regurgitated two empty vials. “I fear, this may well be my last visit, Britomartis,” she told the snake sadly, “I might have to go away for a long time but remember that you have my eternal gratitude for saving my life and that though you have cancelled my debt, I will someday fully repay you. Farewell, dearest Britomartis.” The serpent gave one last glance at the girl before it disappeared into the water and slithered away.

 

She returned to her companions. “Now, gentlemen,” she told them cheerfully, “shall we be on our way?” They nodded as they walked away from the harbor. “We are taking you to the palace of Asturia, Rhonas,” Folken explained, “where Sir Allen Schezar has some very important questions for you to answer about Dilandau and his estranged younger sister, Celena Schezar.” Rhonas merely nodded in acknowledgement of what he said. “And when we arrive, Miss Eiren,” Dryden added with a smile, “you have a lot of explaining to do.”