Volanta

In under an hour, Oliver had made the two most shocking discoveries of his life. One, Volanta was real. Two, Pippa cared about him the way he cared about her. Unfortunately, Oliver was almost positive that these discoveries wouldn't have a chance to be celebrated, because he was going to die.

As the Volantians walked them through the glittering city, people stopped and stared. Oliver observed that they all shared similar traits. They were a bit taller than the average person, with lean and fit bodies. Their silvery hair almost shined with a bluish tint in the sun, and for the most part, was grown out long. Vibrant blue eyes practically glowed against their smooth, sun-kissed skin. The further in they went, the more Oliver began to notice a trend. The women stood prouder than the men. The women appeared more like the leader figures. Massive carvings along white stone walls depicted what must have been their deities. Primarily female. Their captors were men, but Oliver noticed that while they held the weapons, they didn’t seem to have much authority, and would nod respectfully to women as they passed by. Oliver also couldn’t help but notice that no one seemed to appear older than 30 years old. There were some children and teenagers, but it was as if the aging just stopped after reaching adulthood.

“It’s a matriarchy,” Oliver muttered.

Pippa had been clinging to his arm, also looking around at everything with an amazed expression plastered on her face. She glanced at him, brows shooting up in surprise.

“It took you this long to figure it out?” she whispered.

“In my defense, I have a lot on my mind right now-”

Oliver felt one of the Volantian scouts nudge his arm with the flat side of the spearhead, signaling him to be quiet. Pippa squeezed his hand lightly, as they were led to the beautiful white building above the falls. Oliver almost felt guilty stepping inside there with his shoes on. It was completely white, with floors so polished that Oliver could look down into them like mirrors. Pale blue fabric was draped across the ceilings and walls, resembling the waterfalls that cascaded all around the city.

The men stopped Oliver and Pippa in a large, open room, gesturing for them to kneel down before what appeared to be a marble altar with the same sort of drapery. They said something to each other in their language, and it was difficult to read their tones. Then two of them left. Shortly after, three women entered the room. Two of them appeared to be handmaidens, considering how they lingered a couple of feet behind. They were draped in fine silk clothing and silver jewelry, and still seemed to hold some position of power. The woman that walked ahead of them, however, was at once the most beautiful and most terrifying woman Oliver had ever seen in his life.

She was probably a couple of inches taller than Oliver was, with a lean, slender frame and a walk so graceful that it looked like she was walking on air. Her silvery hair was draped over one shoulder, pin straight and stretching all the way down to her knees.Her eyes pierced into his soul, and he felt that with one look she knew everything there was to know about him. And she wasn’t impressed. Her hands were covered in vine-like green tattoos and silver rings to match the rest of the silver jewelry she was adorned in. The most incredible piece was the circlet on her head, which was unique to anything Oliver had seen. She must have been a ruler of some sort. Everyone bowed their heads and kneeled, but Oliver and Pippa were both too mesmerized to do anything but stare. Part of Oliver just wanted to touch the woman’s hair.

One of the scouts stood and handed the journal to the woman. She held it in her hand gently, looking it over and flipping it open to skim through the pages. She paused at the end, where Oliver had written notes of his own. Then, she shut the book with loud, annoyed snap that made both Oliver and Pippa jump in surprise.

“You are friends of Roland?”

Oliver blinked a few times, a little shocked to hear his own language. She had a thick accent, but spoke very well in a smooth, honey-like voice. A kind of siren’s voice to hypnotize you and bring you in, only to give you a gruesome death.

“Yes, we are,” Pippa said, when she realized Oliver was too stunned to speak. “We mean no harm in coming to your city. All we want is-”

“Save your breath,” she said, interrupting Pippa. “I do not have the time, nor the energy to listen to your lies.”

“Sorry,” Pippa squeaked.

“What are your names?” she asked.

Oliver opened his mouth to answer, but the woman gave him an annoyed look.

“I asked the girl.”

“My name is Pippa Glasswell,” she said. “This is Dr. Oliver Lambert.”

The woman turned to her handmaidens, saying something in their native language. They each gave a short response. She turned back to Pippa and Oliver.

“Tiya does not like your names,” she said bluntly. “They are difficult to say.”

Pippa and Oliver exchanged an unsure glance, hesitantly standing up when everyone around them did. The woman then looked to Oliver, eyeing him up and down.

“Rena wonders what you have on your face,” she said.

“On my face?” Oliver frowned, wiping at his cheek for dirt but finding it clean.

“All over your nose.”

“You mean the freckles?” Pippa asked, cracking a smile.

Oliver tried not to flinch when Pippa reached over and touched his face, showing that the freckles scattered across his nose weren't going to just brush off. The Volantians didn't appear to have any form of marks on their smooth skin, whether it be beauty marks, freckles, birthmarks, or even scars. Completely flawless.

“They get darker in the sun,” Oliver said, getting a little self conscious about it. “I've had them since I was a child. They've actually gotten much lighter since then.”

Rena, who'd asked about them, didn't seem too impressed. Clearly, she understood the language, even if she wasn't speaking it. Oliver supposed she'd been hoping for a slightly more exciting story. The woman with the circlet just smirked softly, holding her head up high.

“I am Nthuri, Queen of Volanta,” she said.

“Nthuri,” Pippa repeated, perking up. “Like, the Nthuri people?”

“Queen Nthuri,” she corrected harshly. “I am aware of the man you have clearly spoken. That man did not speak our language. His information is false.”

“Actually, I read his book,” Pippa said slowly. “He died several years ago. The book is at least fifty years old. You've been Queen since then? Is that possible.”

“You question my authority?” she challenged.

“No,” Pippa said quickly, dipping into a bow and yanking Oliver down with her. “No, your highness.”

Oliver glanced up, and noticed that Queen Nthuri was smiling. An amused smile, like she was watching children stumble over themselves. Rena leaned over and whispered something to her, and Tiya nodded in agreement at whatever it was.

“Pippa,” Queen Nthuri said, “Rena and Tiya are quite intrigued by your appearance. You are small and pale, and you have a strangely shaped body.”

“Oh,” Pippa said quietly.

“They would like to assist you with your appearance,” Queen Nthuri told her. “Please follow Rena.”

“Come,” Rena said, giving her a gentle smile. “Do not worry. We will take care of you.”

Pippa looked like she didn’t know what she was supposed to think. She didn’t seem to want to go with them by herself. Oliver gave her a reassuring nod, and she started to follow Rena and Tiya, clutching Jasper to her chest. She glanced at Oliver once more before she was gone, and he was alone with the queen and her guards. Queen Nthuri circled around Oliver, eyeing him like a vulture.

“Now, what to do with you?” she mused.

“Are you going to kill us?” Oliver asked.

“If I wanted you dead, you would be dead,” she pointed out. “We’ve been watching you since you came near the city. I was not interested until I saw that journal in your hand.”

“You knew Rolan Fishweiler, then?”

“Yes, Roland,” she sighed with an easy smile. “That man. I’ve never seen any man cower in fear at the sight of me like he did.”

“Whatever happened to him here, I think you’ll be pleased to know that I think it scarred him for life,” Oliver told her.

“Did it, now?” she laughed.

Oliver wasn’t sure if he liked her laugh or if it terrified him. It was a mix of both. The latter, mostly. She waved her hand, and a man who had been lurking in the shadows approached. Unlike everyone else, he seemed a little bit more at ease around her. Still it was clear that she had him wrapped around her little finger. He scratched at the white scruff growing on his face, sharp eyes staring at Oliver as the queen said something to him quietly.

“I have questions for you,” she told him. “However, I have much more important things to do. This is my husband, Fenro. He will take it from here.”

Fenro didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at Oliver said enough. They probably weren’t going to have a polite conversation over a cup of tea. Fenro stood at least a full foot taller than Oliver, and the circumference of his bicep alone was probably quite a bit larger than Oliver’s head. Oliver reluctantly bowed to the queen before following behind the man.

Fenro didn’t speak at all, but he must have also spoken Oliver’s language. He doubted the queen would put someone who couldn’t communicate with Oliver in charge of asking him questions. For the most part, Fenro seemed bored with Oliver. As they walked, Oliver observed the massive man from behind. He was wearing hard leather armor, like the scouts who had captured them. Considering he was the husband of a queen, he was surprisingly simply dressed. He was her husband, but he was no king. The only thing unique to him compared to the average man was that there were silver beads in his hair.

Fenro led Oliver down a long flight of stairs, to a much smaller, dustier room below the marble structure they were in before. It was dimly lit, with a couple chairs and some stone tables with strange things on them. Oliver had never seen anything like them in his life. His observations were interrupted when a light white shirt and brown bottoms were thrown in his face. He looked down at them, realizing it was a very similar outfit to what the rest of the Volantian men wore. The fabric felt smoother and stretchier than it appeared, and was very soft.

“Put it on. You look ridiculous.”

Oliver eyed the clothes, then at Fenro, who was messing with one of the objects on the table now. Fenro wasn’t going to leave the room. Oliver quickly changed, glad to get rid of the clothes he’d been wearing through the jungle. He felt much cleaner and lighter. It was far more comfortable than his usual clothes. He was attempting to figure out how the sash around his waist was supposed to go when Fenro got impatient, tying it for him a little tighter than necessary and pushing him into one of the chairs.

“The queen has requested that you and the other one join us and her ladies of court for dinner,” he sighed, already bored. “The more you cooperate, the sooner you will get to eat. Do you understand?”

“I have nothing to hide,” Oliver said, a little frustrated with Fenro’s impatience.

“Stop messing with the sash,” Fenro ordered.

“I’ve had a long day,” Oliver grumbled. “I don’t know what your customs are. The only reason I am here is to learn, and your attitude doesn’t help me much.”

“I have to force my customs upon you and your companion,” Fenro said, wiping an elegant looking knife with a cloth. “You are not the first to come to Volanta. We know to be cautious, this time. If we do not force our customs upon you first and establish our dominance, we know that it is in the nature of your kind to try and force your ways upon us.”

Oliver opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut again. It was the harsh truth. Oliver had never had it spit in his face like that.

“Are there more of you?” Fenro asked, approaching Oliver with the knife.

“Yes, but we were separated,” Oliver said. “They come in peace, like Pippa and I. We just want to learn. Nothing more.”

Oliver flinched when the blade got too close to his face, poking the tip of his nose. Fenro studied his face, then moved the blade down and cut the palm of Oliver’s hand, drawing blood. He winced, holding his hand and trying to stop the bleeding.

“Freckles,” Fenro grumbled, moving to a bowl-like object on the table. “Ridiculous.”

The bowl had some kind of green liquid in it, and Fenro tapped several drops of Oliver’s blood into the liquid, and it swirled with the green. The surface shimmered and a mist appeared above the bowl. Some images appeared in the mist. There was no sound, but Oliver quickly realized it was his memories, through his eyes.

Fenro waved his hand and the memories went in reverse quickly, before Pippa and Oliver’s trek to the forest and back when the crew was back together. Fenro studied the faces of each figure there, wrinkling his nose.

“This is everyone?” Fenro asked.

“Yes,” Oliver said. “We lost half our crew to the storm.”

“Half?”

“Yes.”

“Hm, the storm doesn’t normally take that many people,” Fenro said. “I suppose that says a lot about the kinds of men you are.”

Fenro handed a cloth that was soaked in some kind of blue liquid to Oliver, and he wrapped it around his injured hand. It bled through the cloth, but the stinging pain stopped rather quickly.

“Is that all?” Oliver asked.

“No,” Fenro smirked. “We have until dinner time to talk.”