Flash Fiction: Obi Travalar, Chapter IV

by Peter O'Keefe
CHAPTER FOUR: The Feast of the Fiery Heavens

 Even with the horrible circumstances, Obi, Aaron and Nancy were determined to enjoy the best event of the day: the lance. 
       As usual, by the time they arrived there, the line was wrapped around the entire festival, and it was no fun waiting in line.
       “Obi,” said Aaron after a while, “I have decided that I am going with you.”
       “No, Aaron, you can't,” said Obi patiently. “The wizard said you can't.”
       “I'm not afraid of him,” said Aaron angrily. “I won't abandon you, Obi. No matter what he says, you're still my brother.”
       Obi was touched. He really wished he didn't have to leave. To be perfectly honest, he was just waiting for the moment to come when he would wake up. He kept pinching himself, but it wasn't working yet. If only it was all lies! And yet… he had always wanted to have adventures, to be a hero, and this was probably the only chance he would ever get. As he viewed the bright colors and happiness of the festival and its occupants, he couldn't help but muse over the pending disaster that would soon engulf perhaps everyone in the area- or everyone in the country. 
       “Maybe we can get in the easy way,” said Nancy, after they had been waiting for ten minutes without the line moving. 
       “You don't think something… happened over there, do you?”asked Obi, a little shakily.
Nancy shook her head and answered, “No, of course not! Nobody would be on the line still if Vikings were up there killing everyone.”
       “True, but…” Obi couldn't help but be afraid of everything now. The darkness held assassins and deadly soldiers, the crowds held Vikings and spies, and the tents held men ready to jump out and slaughter him like an animal. Nobody around him held a trace of anything good in their hearts; it was just him, alone with Aaron and Nancy. 
       Obi could feel the weight of the Orb in his coat pocket. He knew that somewhere, someone was trying to this device, and kill whoever had possession of it. Would it be so terrible for them to have the device? Maybe if he gave it to them now, they could figure out a way to use it without killing him. 
       What was he thinking? The journey hadn't even started yet, and here he was thinking of giving up already. The enemy was strong, but he was backed up by (supposedly) a powerful wizard. He could and would overcome any obstacle thrust in his path.
       Except for the long lines. Which was still moving at the pace of a crippled slug.         “What time does the lance begin?”asked Aaron drowsily and sulkily. Nancy thought for a minute, then said, “About two o'clock. Hey, I can see the doors to the arena from here!”        “And judging by the sun, it's about… one thirty,” said Obi. Then, as if by magic, the line began to move at an accelerating speed. Slowly but surely, they began to make their way to the arena doors. 
       When they reached the ticket booth, they had ten minutes left. Plenty of time. Obi tried to look past the man to see if there were any seats available. If not, no matter, they could always stand, or sit on the ground.
       “Hello, money please!”screeched the man in the booth, an old man who was an estimated two hundred years past his prime (the lance was the only thing in the festival that you had to pay extra for, and only because it was so popular). 
       “Do you have any money?”Obi asked Nancy. She mumbled she had a little, but Obi realized that she was going to make him pay for them all no matter what. He sighed. And money would have been so useful on a trip that was taking him… wherever he was going. 
       He poured a few coins into the ticket master’s hands. Then he entered the hustle and bustle of the overly crowded stadium.
       In the first few moments, he almost lost Aaron twice, was hit into by large men a couple times, tripped once, and dropped the remainder of the money he had. Before he could retrieve it, it was all gone with the crowd. Nice, he thought. 
        “Do you see any empty seats?”screamed Nancy. At least Obi thought she said that. She could very well have been asking if he had remembered to feed the dolphins. He said no to both of them. 
       “I think I know where to find some!”shouted Aaron. “Follow me!”
       Obi had to do so just to not lose his brother forever. Or his not-brother forever, that is. They weaved their way through the thick masses of humanity, at times holding hands just to not get hopelessly lost. 
       “Where is this place he's talking about?”Obi asked Nancy. She looked weirded out and responded, “You're his brother! Don't you know?”
       “You work here!”he retorted. “You should know!”
       Needless to say, this was not getting them anywhere- and seemingly, neither was Aaron. They pushed themselves deeper in, and finally, came to a part of the stadium where the crowds got thicker and thicker. They would obviously not find any seats here. But then Aaron led them down, gradually coming closer to the arena itself. And there, right next to the railing and mere yards from where the jousting tournament would take place, was a broken bench, looking hopelessly beyond repair.
       “Yay, now we can sit on wood and get splinters,” said Nancy sarcastically. But Aaron smiled and said, loudly enough to be heard over the commotion, “I told Herb to break this earlier. It's an easy fix, and it reserves a spot for us. It just looks too hard to fix. Observe.”
       Aaron deftly placed the wood pieces and bolts where the belonged, and in no time flat had constructed a bench. 
       “Ta-da!”he said grandly. Obi was able to forget about his sorrows for a minute to allow himself a moment of glee. He had never sat in the front row for the festival before. That was a thing of unspeakable greatness. Once, a friend from Coperna had told him that he had gotten to sit in the front row once. During that time, a lance had shattered, and a chip of it had hit him in the arm and given him a splinter. It had been glorious. 
       They all crammed onto the somewhat small bench, and eagerly awaited the beginning of the grand joust. Little did they know, the real performance would not be done by the knights who so eagerly looked forward to the coming moments.
       
       On the other side of the festival, the booth admitting people into the festival was pretty quick. Nobody was coming now; everyone was already here. The warriors chatted amongst themselves nonchalantly, while the old ticket master had fallen asleep. It was at that moment that they realized that they had company. The hills before them issued out a band of large men, walking over to them determinedly. The ticket master woke with a start, and the warriors nervously fingered their swords. They could tell when trouble was on the way. 
       To make matters worse, the men approaching them were Vikings. There were only ten of them, but all were large and burly and bearing swords and axes. Judging by the dirt in their wrinkled, unkempt clothing and the way they walked, they had been traveling without stop for a long time. The lead guard, a brave man of much respect, stepped forward and demanded, “You
are not permitted here! This is a Milandrian institute; your people can not attend.”
       “The Feast of the Fiery Heavens is open to all,” replied the lead Viking. He was a buff man in his forties, with a horned helmet tinged with a weird coppery color. He dressed more fitly for combat than any of the others, so he could easily be guessed as their leader. Over spiked shoulder guards he wore a black cape, thick and hairy. His chest was adorned with many sashes and furs, and his boots were tight on his feet and legs, permitting superior flexibility- not that this giant of a man had much to begin with.
       “Wrong,” countered the brave warrior, knowing well that his very life could hang by a thread. “The festival is open to all Milandrians, but foreigners need special passes, or need to be selling goods.”
       “We are Milandrians,” said the Viking chief with an air of smug arrogance. His tone dared the man to contradict him. He did.
       “We can all see you are lying! I'm afraid if you don't move on or show a pass to sell goods here, we will have to detain you!”
       The Viking laughed. He did not sound afraid in the least. He did, however, appear to be holding back a bucket load of anger. He was clearly not accustomed to contradiction. Then, in a tone suggesting he was on the brink of explosion, he sneered, “I would like to see you try!
Milandrian scum!”
       The warrior raised his blade threateningly.  He glanced back at his companions. To his horror, none of them seemed about ready to get involved in this brawl. Three of the Vikings, including the leader, rushed forward, a heavy axe clenched in their fists. Despite being outnumbered, smaller and less ready for combat, the determined man gave the Vikings a hard time; he was quite a fighter. But in the end, he could not overpower them. Clothed with scars and bruises, he finally succumbed to defeat. He fell to his knees, throwing his arms on his head to shield any blows that might be delivered. It was all in vain. They hacked away at the poor man until he was nothing more than a pile of bloody, stinking meat and metal. Then the leader straightened up, wiped his axe blade, and swept his gaze menacingly over the others and challenged , “Who's next? As I thought! You are all worthless cowards! As is everyone in this foul country!”
       One of the Vikings, a stout, ill-tempered man, said loudly, “Ru Gaffa! What should we do with the survivors?”
       He spoke as if a great battle had taken place instead of a cowardly attack on a brave man’s life. The leader- indeed, this man was Ru Gaffa- said in reply, “You and Antwerp watch them. We'll be here with the boy in an hour at most. If things get hectic, we'll be leaving straight to the assigned place. Meet us there if you have to.”
       “And if we're caught?”asked the man called Antwerp. Ru Gaffa gave him a truly detestable glare and said quietly, “If you are caught, deal with it! If you are caught, you will not reveal our plans. And if you do, we will find you and make you wish you were back in Milandrian prisons.” He turned to the other seven men and called, “Alright, follow me! Find that boy! First to reach him gets an extra hundred bullions in his pay!”
       The other Vikings trooped into the festival gates. If they could find the boy, their mission would be complete.
       
        Meanwhile, Obi, Aaron and Nancy were watching as the joust was just about to begin. Up above, the mayor of Osêria and his family sat in a large, fancily decorated box, watching in excitement. They also had a dozen or so knights with them, and the ambassadors of several different countries, and the king’s cousin. This was an impressive display, but they still were disappointed the king himself had not attended. Every year when he was asked to attend, King Gerald replied, ‘I have things more important to do than leisure work.’ Nobody from Coperna had believed him except the few loyalists, such as Obi and Aaron and Teff. But maybe he would attend some year. For now, his cousin was the best they had. And they certainly treated him well. The entire state box was amazingly grand, complete with fluffy, red cushioned seats, statues and portraits of past king's and heroes, suits of armor, and intricate tapestries and carpets. It practically reeked of opulence. The entire box was only accessible by a single entrance, which was a locked door leading to a narrow hallway guarded by five warriors. After this came yet another doorway, but this one was guarded by only two soldiers, and looked like a normal door. The soldiers guarding it were disguised as a beggar and a merchant. It was a very convincing act
(by the way, Obi was not aware of any of this; I simply wanted you to know about it). 
       The three kids were thrilled as they saw a single figure mounting the stage, beside the state box. He was an older man, rather on the chubby side but still energetic in his step. His coats and robes revealed his wealth superbly, and his broad, colorful hat was placed with great care at an angle on his head. His long hair was thick and graying, as was his beard. But despite his almost comical form, with his large nose and eyes, his thin legs and his heaving stomach, everyone in the festival knew who this was, and nobody laughed. His appearance was met with wild applause, screaming and hoots. For this man was Lord Dedro Carmen, a Milandrian entrepreneur who was in charge of the entire festival. He was considered one of the most influential and powerful men in the country, having earned his money originally in politics, then retired and taken control of the most lucrative event in the world: the Feast of the Fiery Heavens. He had expanded it, made it bigger and better, investing nearly every coin he owned into the enterprise. This had been a wise move, because now more people attended the festival each year by the thousands. Obi watched in awe as Lord Carmen took his place on the podium. This was always said to be a stupid move, exposing himself to the public, with nothing in between him and a crazed sniper. When asked why he did this, he simply said, ‘What cause has anyone to want me dead?’ And it was true. He had brought wealth to not only himself and the Osêrians, but to the entirety of Milandria, and possibly the entire world. He was a living legend, yes it was true, but many were afraid of him, no matter what he said. With one fell swoop, he could destroy the economy of the entire world, for many nations were dependent on the festival. 
       Anyway, this amazing man was now mounting the pulpit. A sentry, dressed in a silver, domed helmet and a red cape, handed a wooden object to Lord Carmen. It was, in fact, a horn-shaped device, used to project his voice over the audience more sufficiently. The nobleman gave a curt nod to the sentry, who bowed impressively, and left the stage.
       “Fellow Milandrians!”boomed the aristocrat. “Men and women of all ages, I welcome you to my grand festival!” Cheers interrupted him. Then he continued: “I am pleased to see you all here today, on the Feast of the Fiery Heavens!” More cheers. “We all know the story well, so I won't burden your ears. No, I have come here today to see the worldwide most famous joust, as have all of you! Let me read the names of all the brave knights of Milandria who have decided to enter this year. I will first read the returning jousters, then the new faces.”
       He began to read a large variety of complex names. It would have been boring had anyone else been doing it… but this was Dedro Carmen! To hear his very voice was all anyone from around here could ask for. And to actually see him speaking! Obi listened intently, trying to see if he recognized any of the names. Only one or two caught the attention of his ears, and he wasn't entirely certain who they were, either. 
       At long last, the list had finished being read. There were twenty contestants in all, but with all their names, titles, houses, families, home towns and positions added, it was more like reading a hundred names. Lord Carmen, sweating the least bit, said vibrantly, “And now, the moment we have all been waiting for! The first match is about to begin, between Sir Ignatius Darrow and Count Esmar Sakith!”
       He scurried up a flight of stairs, from the podium to the state box that held the mayor of
Osêria and the king’s cousin. This collapsible staircase was pulled back in as soon as Lord
Carmen entered. They were not taking any chances. The aristocrat, meanwhile, boomed grandly, “Let the match begin!”
       He banged a hammer onto a bronze gong, and so the joust began.
       The two contestants came onto the arena, to the applause of the vast crowds. Sir Darrow was dressed in the traditional yellow and black colors of his family, with dark gray armor covering his arms and legs. His helmet had a magnificent yellow plume, and his long wooden lance was painted to match his house colors. The horse he rode was perhaps the best Obi and ever seen, a beast trained for war all its life. Black in color, it galloped down the track with such ferocity that it almost scared Obi, who now wished he wasn't so close to the scene.
       Count Sakith was a little bit of an older fellow, who had on white robes and tunics and shiny silver armor that caught the light in such a way as to make it appear white. His own steed, obviously enough, was also  a snowy white color. Obi immediately decided he wanted Darrow to win this match. The brightness of Sakith’s vestments must have been major distraction to his opponent. Yet Obi knew this wasn't so; the event was such an important one that all the armor and things to be used were checked by professionals beforehand. 
       The two men were racing towards each other now. Obi was so close he could feel the wind as Darrow zipped past him on his steed. As they drew closer, the two opponents lowered their lances, as well as the visors of their helmets. The big moment here. 
       They thundered on past each other… and utter confusion followed. A loud snap was clearly heard by all, and shards of lances flew through the air. Both men were on their horses, but both appeared to be hurt. Their finest servants stopped their horses, and pulled them off for inspection. It was quickly confirmed that Darrow was alright, and could still joust. As soon as his servant gave the crowd a thumb’s up, it roared with approval. But they soon quieted down, anxiously awaiting news on Sakith. After a long while, his servant also gave a thumb’s up. The second match was about to begin. 
       Sakith was given a new lance (it was his that had broken) and they galloped at each other once again, with such intensity as to stop the hearts of the bravest men. The horses also seemed ready for the impact of the blow, tightening their muscles and closing their eyes. The hit was so loud that Obi, Aaron and Nancy, who had been crowding at the fence that separated the arena from the seats, leaped backwards, in terror for their lives. Something flung from the arena and bonked Aaron on the head. Obi ignored this for a second, in order to see how the second match had gone. It had gone admirably; Sir Darrow had won, knocking his nemesis Sakith right off his horse. Fortunately, it looked as if the older man would be okay. His servants were gathered around him chattering wildly, and he was cursing them quite loudly. Yep, he would be fine.        Now that the commotion was over, Obi turned to see if Aaron was okay. He found his compatriot lying on the ground, looking confused and a little hurt, but victorious and thrilled. The thing that had clunked him so unceremoniously on his head was none other than Sakith’s lance.
       “Oh yeah!”yelled Aaron. “That's right! I got the entire lance! Yes!”
       That was hardly fair, thought Obi disbelievingly. He had been alive longer than Aaron, and thus had most likely been to the festival more than him. He had been waiting for that to happen to him his whole life, and now his hopes and dreams were ruined just because he and Aaron had not randomly decided to switch seats?
       There was no time to wallow in his woes now. A large sentry came to the pulpit and bellowed, “Sir Darrow is victorious! Next match is between Lord Anthony Serbus and Sir
Lawrence Knight.”
       And so the jousting began. The next match was won by Lord Serbus, and then they continued on with more and more matches. Obi was a little disappointed. All the people he had been cheering for since Darrow had lost- and no one had dropped their lances either. Obi followed Sir Darrow closely, since he seemed like a suitable candidate. In the end, there were only four players left, being Darrow, Sir Furrel, Lord Lathmore, and Sir Gavin. Right now, Furrel and Lathmore were in the middle of getting ready for their match to decide who would make it to the final round. But as they did, Obi’s gaze began to sweep the entire stadium. With a sudden shock, he realized that he had no idea what time it was. Eh, he could afford to miss this one match. He excused himself and went to the top of the stadium (after getting Nancy to save his seat). He scrutinized the sun for a few minutes, then decided it was almost three o'clock. He knew he should head for the front entrance, but… surely they could wait until he was done watching the tournament. I mean, they were pulling him out of his life completely, and this was probably the last time he would be attending the festival at all. That thought saddened him deeply.
       When he returned to the show, he discovered that it had been an easy match for Lord Lathmore. He saw the other man’s servants crowded around the form of Sir Furrel, inspecting him carefully. They turned to the crowd and gave a thumb’s down. Obi, after many years of attending the festival, had learned that this meant not that he was dead, but simply that he could fight no longer. The match went to Lathmore. Obi watched in disgust as the pitiful bundle that was a wounded Furrel being dragged from the arena by his servants and attendants. 
       The next match, Obi could not afford to miss a minute of. It was the match that decided who would take on Lord Lathmore in the championship. Sir Gavin and Sir Darrow each mounted their horses, hurt and battered from earlier battles but still strong enough to fight. They faced each other at the opposite ends of the arena, and then the sentry rang the gong, and the two knights went at each other like lightning. 
       “Come on, Sir Darrow!”yelled Obi. He was really hoping against hope that Darrow won. His candidate had only won the entire thing once, and then he had switched his candidate halfway.
Now, Darrow was so close to the victory. 
       Obi was very intent on the match. Indeed, everyone in the entire stadium was very intent on the match. That is why nobody noticed when a scuffle unfolded in the state box. Nobody heard
Lord Carmen’s cry for help over the roars of the crowds. 
       The two knights clashed together. To the shock of the audience, when all the dust cleared away, both men were off their horses, which had galloped to the ends of the stadium and turned to look at their masters, confused. Attendants rushed all over the field, trying to scrutinize what had occurred. At long last, a man with a wooden horn not unlike the one Lord Carmen had carried said to the audience, “Treachery has been done here! Darrow clearly knocked Gavin from his horse, but somebody from the crowd has shot a projectile into Darrow’s chest! The match, by default, goes to Sir Gavin!”
       “But Darrow won!”cried a loud voice angrily from nearby. “He needs to be in the championship!”
       “Don't you see, you fool?”countered the attendant. “Darrow is dead!”
       A cold hand gripped Obi by the heart. Dead? He had never really thought of death as such a terrible thing. I mean, certain wars had to be fought, and blood had to be spilt for some causes. But he had never considered the more horrific side of death. He had known of Sir Darrow for perhaps two hours, maybe a little more, and yet he could barely stop himself from feeling immensely sad. Dead. And Obi had witnessed it. Well, not exactly; the dust had been so thick he couldn't have seen it. Then a thought flickered across his mind: why would anyone care about a thing as flighty as a festival (whose only prize was a gold trophy) enough to kill a man for it?        The terror did not end there. For at the moment, an arrow soared through the stadium, and embedded itself in the speaker’s shoulder. He cried aloud in pain, and just hearing his scream, Obi could almost feel the pain ripping through his body. The attendant fell to the floor of the stadium with a moan, and lay breathing heavily in the middle of the arena. Another servant rushed over to him, and covered both of them with a heavy wooden shield he had taken from Sir Gavin’s horse. The audience, at that moment, knew that the final match would never take place. In fact, they would be lucky if the festival ever happened again. For at that moment, a servant in the arena called out, “There's someone in the state box!”
       Obi whirled his head towards the box. Inside, he could see a band of large men, carrying weapons. The ones in front carried heavy shields for protection, but their leader stared deeply into the depths of the crowd, a look of pure contempt on his face. In one hand he held a broad metal sword. In the other, he held the frightened Lord Carmen.
       The crowds gasped. This aristocrat affected the entire world. The festival was not possible without him. Whoever this large newcomer was, he now had the power to destroy the economies of several nations.
       “Listen up all of you!”he bellowed into the horn device. “If I get complete silence and cooperation, this man will not die!”
       Silence followed. “That's more like it!”he growled. He seemed incapable of joy, even when he had the upper hand.  “Perhaps you have heard of me, perhaps not, but I will introduce myself. By my people, I am called Ru Gaffa!”
       Obi’s heart ran cold. Ru Gaffa had killed Darrow and wounded the attendant, all because of Obi. He would stop at nothing to kill Obi, too. As he looked at his new nemesis for the first time,
he felt doomed. Ru Gaffa was not the kind of person you messed with.
       “I seek a young lad, in between the ages of ten and fifteen,” said the Viking loudly. “I know he is in this festival! If I do not find him, I will kill Lord Carmen, as well as all these other prestigious men beside me.”
       He swept his hand over the mayor of Osêria and the king’s cousin. Then he again spoke, saying, “All you attendants and servants in the arena now: I task you with finding this boy. Return in half an hour with him or say goodbye to Lord Carmen!”
       The look of pure aggression and anger on his face showed that he meant every word of it.
One of the servants asked, “What does this boy look like? What is his name, and town of birth?”        “He is called Obi Travalar of Coperna,” said Ru Gaffa. “Bring him to me, or risk this man’s death! You have half an hour!”
       It was confirmed. Obi’s life was being weighed with that of a famous man who the world depended on. How much was the life of one normal kid worth? 
       “Oh gosh,” breathed Nancy. “They're after you! How did they know your name?”
       Nancy had never been known for her quiet talking. She was used to talking over the sound of large crowds. One dastardly fellow nearby heard her say this. He stood up and shouted, “He's right here!”
       Obi’s blood ran cold. Now every head in the stadium was focused in his area. Thankfully, nobody seemed to know exactly who he was.
       The Viking pointed at them and yelled, “Bring them to me!”
       Obi reacted instantly. With strength and skill he did not know he possessed, he dashed through the people gathered around him, a few of which attempted to snatch him. Obi could not believe how savage and animal-like the people were becoming. He found that Aaron and Nancy were right on his heals, Aaron still clutching the lance he had ‘caught’. 
       Together, the three friends made their way quickly through the crowd, constantly glancing over their shoulders to see who might be pursuing them. Obi had noticed, as soon as they had been announced, that a small group of Vikings had left the state box, leaving only Ru Gaffa and one of his best soldiers. After doing quick math, Obi decided that there were at least four men chasing him, possibly more. If he came face to face with one of them, he was dead meat.        They leapt dramatically out of the stadium, past a ticket counter, and into the strange wilderness of the largest festival known to mankind. Nancy, who evidently was best at navigating the place, was in the lead, taking them through tents, past counters, over and under crowds of people. Finally, they stopped to catch their breath. Obi, panting, said to his friends, “You know, who am I to say that I am more important than Lord Carmen? Maybe I should just turn myself over.”
       “No!”snapped Nancy forcefully. “What those wretched men do is not your fault! Your only business here is to stay alive! Raldin can take care of the Vikings; he has taken on worse. Now come on! Maybe we can make it to the front gate without being pulverized!”
       Inspired by this bold speech, Obi continued to run for his life. When they were amongst the markets, he heard a shout of anger from behind. He could see a small band of men, short and thick, with knives and thick clubs clutched in their short and thick hands. They were not Vikings or in any way associated with them. They just had no desire to see Lord Carmen dead. They pursued Obi and his friends, and after a while, Obi found they could not shake them off.        “It's useless!”he moaned, panting heavily. “We might as well give up! They're just as fast as us, and stronger! Maybe Ru Gaffa will take it easy on me!”
       Nancy and Aaron ignored him.
       They took a wrong turn. They found themselves in a short alleyway, which ended in a dead end. There was no turning back now. 
       Their hearts were filled with dread, beating faster than ever before. Obi began to sweat violently, and his vision began to cloud. His death was very close at hand. There was nothing he could do. It was over. He could see the men approaching, with gleeful passion etched into their stupid faces. They were not especially good-looking men to begin with, but the utter contempt and glee in their determined faces made them positively grotesque. It was a despicable sight to see. How could humanity be so evil when humanity was so good?
       But it was not the end. At that moment, Aaron noticed something. He could see the buildings before him were made of wood. And there, in the wooden houses and shops, he could see a metal grate in the side of the building, with a duct leading upward. The shop he found this in was a butcher shop, and the duct was used to expel smoke from the kitchen. The grate was perhaps ten feet off the ground, but Aaron was a very resourceful kid, and handled well under pressure. He immediately spotted the crates of rich clothing and exquisite furniture around him. He took half a moment to glance back, and found that the men were still a full block away. They had grown slow now, breathing deeply, but he knew they were not stopping. 
       Aaron stacked a couple of crates atop each other, making a large pyramid of boxes. The dastardly men, seeing what he planned to do, began to shout, and hurried forward as fast as their weary legs could carry them. Obi and Nancy caught on then. The three friends clambered up the pyramid, but they were not safe yet. They still had to get past the metal grate that blocked them from the duct. They tried everything. There was no way to unscrew the bolts in the grate.        “We've got you now!”crowed a fat gentleman from behind. Indeed, it seemed he was right; they were so close that any moment now, one of them could reach out and grab Obi and his friends.
       Obi couldn't let them do that. He wouldn't let them do that. Something overcame him that moment, some pure instinct. The danger was so great, he automatically received a fresh spurt of adrenaline. Hardly even thinking at all, Obi lashed his foot out as hard as he could- not at the grate, though. Instead, he kicked at the wood surrounding the grate. 
        Since it was rather fragile wood, and Obi’s foot has undertaken supernatural strength, the wood splintered, and the grate fell off into his brother’s outstretched hands. Aaron hurled it directly at one of the men’s foreheads (the closest one) and then kicked another one away as he began to clamber into the duct. This was easier said than done, considering he was carrying  lance, but he made it. Nancy followed after him, and last, Obi.
       They came out the other side. Before them was a smoky kitchen, as butchers prepared fine meats, and everyone in the shop was staring at them as if they were crazy. Which they were beginning to think was true.
       “Come on, there's not a second to waist!”cried Nancy, not bothering to greet the indignant butchers. “The entrance is far from here, and we’ll having more and more pursuers!”
       Nancy and Aaron began to rush out the door, when they noticed that Obi was not quite with them. Aaron came back in and said, “Come on! What are you waiting for?!”
       “My- ow! My foot hurts!”exclaimed Obi. He had hurt it by kicking the wood. His leg was feeling somehow numb and painful at once. If he set his foot on the ground hard, it hurt worse.
This did not look good.
       “We've got to hurry!”hissed Nancy. She and Aaron both took one of his arms and dragged him away. They could hear the shouts from the duct as the big men tried to cram their way through, so far completely unsuccessfully. 
       As they hurried on, Obi felt feeling returning to his foot, and the pain began to subside. Not completely, though. He could feel a deep scar on his leg; that was the only thing he could feel now. 
       Obi and his friends found that they were pretty close to the front of the festival now. They were almost free. Just then, they saw a Viking up ahead. He had not yet caught sight of them, but he would any minute. His sharp eyes scoured the area, looking in every direction except theirs. They slowed to a halt, and dove in a random direction. It just so happened that they landed right in the middle of a man’s food stall in the market, and he was not overly pleased. He began to yell at them quite fiercely, but he was from Braknee, and as such, he spoke a different language- one Obi had no recollection of ever hearing, let alone understanding. But hearing him was all the Viking needed to spot them. He yelled ferociously, and drew his broadsword, advancing at them with much more skill and agility than their previous pursuers. Obi, Nancy and
Aaron were as good as dead. 
       Obi, acting on instinct, grabbed hold of a pan from the stall and hurled it at the beams that supported the tent-like contraption. It collapsed easily, letting the thick cloth cover and many of the items being sold to fall to the ground. At the same time, Obi also lashed his foot at the pole holding together a different stall. What followed was pure confusion, just as Obi had planned. Many people came over to see what was going on, and this prevented the Viking from reaching them quickly. Then they made good their escape, dodging the various passersby with as much grace as was possible when one of them had a hurt foot and another was holding a long, awkward lance (Aaron had managed to hold onto this. He would probably never part from it).         But the chase was not over. The Viking was clever, and was able to weave his way through the chaos and locate them. Now, Obi could clearly see the weapons the Viking held. He had sheathed his sword and replaced it with a pickaxe, a cruel-looking one that was used for more than just mining. 
       “We don't have much time!”screamed Obi. “Is there any way to get to the entrance faster than this?!”
       “Yes!”yelled Nancy. “But in order to do that, we'll have to do many illegal things!”        “Does that even matter anymore?!”
       “Fair point!”
       Nancy took a sudden turn, and it was a killer on Obi’s foot to change the direction so dramatically. They found themselves tangled up in a tent, and knocking a magician into his audience in the middle of a stunning display of magic. The troupe also managed to completely wreck an art gallery, squash some of the finest pastries this side of the Andrian River, make a surprise appearance at a famous reproduction of a play, and let loose all the animals from a makeshift zoo. The only thing they could and did not do in this short period of time was shake the Viking off their trail. None of them had any specialty in that field. 
       At long last, they seemed to lose him. He was nowhere in sight. The three friends exchanged relieved smiles, and Nancy said joyously, “We're almost at the entrance now! Any moment we will appear in the central market, and from there it's an easy run to the ticket counter!”
       Obi and Aaron cheered (it was actually more of a strangled yelp, to tell you the truth). Though it seemed all was well, it was not. They ran into a warehouse place, filled with spare boards and materials for building tents and gazebos of all kinds. That was when the doors right in front of them were forced open rudely.
       The Viking who had been chasing them grinned back at their horrified faces and laughed, saying, “Did you really think you could outsmart me? Ha, I know this festival well! Never underestimate anyone, kids! Oh, and don't worry. If you three come quietly, maybe Ru Gaffa will let you free later on. Now, which one of you is Obi Travalar?”        “None of us are!”insisted Aaron. “We have no idea who that is!”
       “Oh really? Then how come you ran away from us? Riddle me that!”
       “We saw a band of Vikings chasing us! What were we supposed to do? I tell you, we were just sitting there enjoying the joust, then we were randomly being chased!”
       Honestly, Obi had no idea how Aaron was thinking of these things. It was hard enough for him to think with a big man pointing a weapon at him; how could Aaron cook up lies at a time like this, and believable lies?
       The Viking was not as stupid as he looked, though. He managed a sly chuckle and replied, “You can't fool we that easily! Tell me, if you are so innocent, what is in your bags? We seek a precious Orb. If you do not have it, you wouldn't mind me searching your baggage, would you?”        “Fine,” said Aaron stiffly. He unslung the satchel from his shoulder and tossed it to the
Viking. The man eagerly set upon it, examining the contents with great zeal and enthusiasm.
Halfway through, however, a loud sound rang out through the rafters above. 
       The Viking raised his pickaxe, simultaneously dropping Aaron’s bag on the floor. In a loud voice he hollered, “Who's there? You are not being funny, Urloff! Get down here, we have work to do!”
       But whoever Urloff was, it wasn't who came crashing through the rafters. The shape landed full on the Viking’s head, causing him to crash to the ground in a pile of wooden beams and rafters. 
       Obi, Nancy and Aaron glanced in wonder at the man before them. It was none other than Cole Seb himself.
       “Mr. Seb!”said Obi loudly. “What're you doing here?”
       “Shut up!”insisted Cole. “We don't need any more Vikings to come!”
       He examined the knocked out form of the man he had landed on. Then he picked up the pickaxe, and slung it into his belt. 
       Obi was surprised. He had always thought of Cole as a large fellow, but in person, he could see he was nowhere near as big as the Viking had been. At best, Cole was five feet, ten inches, but maybe smaller. His messy brown hair hung in strands around a tanned, weatherbeaten face, and his red robes were similarly weatherbeaten. He looked as if he had also been journeying for some time, but unlike the Vikings, it was easy to tell that he was accustomed to hard travels. Maybe it was because of the way he carried himself, or the way his dark brown eyes searched into the deepest depths of the warehouse. Obi had never seen anyone quite so extraordinary as Cole Seb before.
       Cole picked up the sword from the Viking, and tossed it over to Obi. 
       “Here, take this. You may need it if we are to escape.” Then he viewed the other two kids present with a critical eye. “Didn't Raldin say that you were to leave alone? The more people go with us, the easier it is to spot us. We'll have to leave them here.”
       “There's a slight problem with that,” said Aaron smoothly. “You see, the Vikings don't know which one of us is Obi Travalar. This guy on the floor didn't, at least. If you run away with just Obi, they'll just come and take me prisoner. It's your duty to protect us!”
       “We will provide protection,” hissed Cole venomously. “In the meantime, we do not have time for this! You will stay whether you like it or not! Now how do we get to the exit from here?”        “Only I know,” volunteered Nancy smugly. “So I guess you will have to take me with you.”        Cole gave her a harsh look. “We can't stand around and argue! Henry, do you know the way there?”
       Everyone was silent a minute. At long length, Obi said, “Oh, are you talking to me?”        “Yes I'm talking to you! Who else here is named Henry?!”
       “Well, I prefer to be called Obi, if you don't mind,” confided Obi, a little hesitantly. Cole stared at him and said, “Henry, you have no reason to be ashamed of your name. Now come on, we have to leave this place and get you as far as we can from here.”
       Nancy figured this was a good time to ask. “Um, just where, exactly, are you taking us?”        “Henry, not you jokers,” corrected Cole. “I would tell you, if a Viking wasn't right beside us, pretending to be knocked out so he can hear about where we are headed.”
       He hit the butt of his pickaxe into the man’s head. A soft groan escaped his lips. “Oh,” said Cole. “He really was knocked out. My bad.”
       Suddenly, they heard a lot of loud yells from nearby. The Vikings and crazed citizens were fast approaching.
       “We’d better get going!”insisted Aaron, clutching his lance protectively. Nancy, feeling annoyed she had no weapons, grabbed a shovel from nearby. 
       Cole lead them away quickly, without bothering to argue more. He was concerned with their safety, but he sure wasn't stupid enough to wait around arguing with them when Vikings were nearby. They exited the warehouse stealthily, and found themselves in the middle of the market.
And there, a few blocks down, was the entrance to the festival.
       “You know,” panted Obi, “we can't just let Lord Carmen die! He is one of the most important men in the country!”
       “I hate to tell you this,” said Cole, never slowing his speed, “but you are probably one of the most important people in the world right now. And don't worry about Dedro Carmen. The reason I took so long to find you guys was because I was over there rescuing Carmen. Raldin is busy fighting Ru Gaffa and his henchmen now, so he won't be coming with us on the first part of our journey. He'll catch up later.”
       “We're almost free!”cried Nancy joyously. But she had spoken too soon. Because in front of the exit, a small crowd of Vikings and crazed citizens had gathered, each armed with a weapon of some sort. 
       Cole stopped short. He scrutinized them carefully, then muttered, “That's eight of them. Only two Vikings. If we take down the Milandrians, we can just run from the Vikings.”
      “Or fight them,” pointed out Aaron. 
       “You overestimate my ability. On a good day, I can maybe win a fight with one of these Vikings. They're the elite.”
       “We're waiting for you to make a move, Seb!”called one of the horned men. He was leaning casually on his axe, his eyes daring Cole to attack them head on. But like I said before, Cole wasn't stupid.
       He reacted immediately. He grabbed the lance from Aaron’s hands and hurled it with deadly precision at one of the men gathered there. It hit him in the eye, but since it was a blunt weapon, it only succeeded in giving him a black eye and knocking him to the floor. But that was enough.        A half second after he had hurled it, Cole ran to retrieve it and bashed one of the other men with it. The he slammed the same poor soul with the handle of his pickaxe (Obi noticed he was trying his best to hurt them without killing them. Despite his rough appearance, Cole really was a good person). 
       Cole tossed the lance back to Aaron, then kicked one of the other men onto one of the Vikings. They both fell to the ground yelling. At that moment, the other Viking came forward, and barreled Cole over, forcing him to fall into a pile of boxes and crates. In the confusion that followed, there was no one left standing except the kids and the Viking.
       Obi gulped. He began to feel, for the first time, the sword that was in his hands. It was small but heavy, made of dull gray iron and having a blade that was barely sharp at all. He also began to feel the weight of the Orb in his bag. Oh great. He had barely had it two hours and already he was being tempted to use it. 
       The man approached them, swinging an axe at their heads. Obi ducked under him, running past him- and right into one of the other men. He hit the man in the foot with his sword. It didn't even hurt the man any more than slapping him with a slab of metal should. The burly brute grabbed Obi's arm and was ready to strike him down. Obi was once again taken over by a fit of wild instinct, and rammed his already-hurt foot into the man’s thigh. The brute dropped him, allowing Obi to come to his feet and head butt him into a cart of soil. Then, just for good measure, he rammed the cart into a wall of wooden shelves.
       Obi turned back to the others, a look of pleased accomplishment on his face. This was the first time he had ever beaten up somebody more than twice his size. To his surprise, he saw that Cole had gotten to his feet, and was doing battle with the Viking. Nancy and Aaron stood nearby, looking like they had no idea what they should be doing. 
       “Go, Henry!”yelled Cole. “I'll be there in a minute!”
       Obi didn't need encouragement. He grabbed Nancy and Aaron and pulled them along with him towards the front entrance. They were all still armed, and felt confident enough that they could beat an enemy in a fight.
       That is, until they were confronted by one. The other Viking had gotten to his feet, and stood right in the ticket counter, waiting for them.
       “Come with me! We don't want any trouble!”he growled. He had a bruise on his face, a token of one of the crazed civilian’s elbow as he had been pushed to the ground. The kids had no idea what to do now. Obi’s mind was going blank, except for one thought: he was going to die. It was over. Cole and Raldin were nowhere to be found.
       But Aaron was a quick thinker. He held his bag protectively and said, “No! You can't have the Orb!”
       He hurled the lance at the Viking with the deadly precision he had developed from his dart playing days. It struck him on the shoulder, not very hard but enough to make him stop in his tracks a second. Aaron, to the surprise of everyone concerned, bolted from the area. The Viking, using his first instinct, gave chase to the young boy. 
       “Quick! That's the distraction we need!”cried Obi. He knew that Aaron had done that to distract the Viking so they could escape. Obi and Nancy passed the shards of Aaron’s lance, and rushed out of the festival grounds. Just outside, a sight so terrible greeted them that it made them both barf. It was a mutilated corpse of the warrior who had died defending the festival from Ru Gaffa (the Vikings that had attacked them were the same ones that were supposed to be guarding the entrance, so they met no opposition, luckily). 
       “What should we do now?”asked Nancy, still holding her shovel as if it were a spear. Obi glanced back for a few seconds. No one was in sight. The market had been abandoned as soon as the fighting had stopped, and Cole was nowhere to be seen.
       Obi cast a glance towards Nancy. Then he said, “You know, you don't have to go with me.
Once this all works out, I promise to return.”
       “Really? That would be nice,” said Nancy, but Obi noticed that she didn't go back. Instead, she asked, “What should we do now?”
       “Raldin said to make for the closest southern town,” said Obi slowly. “What would that be?”
       “Lupa,” said Nancy. “Down Uto Road.”
       Obi stuck his sword in his belt, and adjusted the straps of his bag on his shoulders. He couldn't believe it had been this morning that Aaron had told him not to pack too much. Now it worked in his favor, though. Because he knew that he would not be returning to Coperna for a while. Maybe he would never return. Even feeling how heavy the bag was on his shoulders, he wished he had brought more of his own belongings, such as a coat. The afternoon had turned dark and gloomy, and the same fierce winds that had plagued Coperna on his birthday now slashed him again. He looked down at his clothing, the best he had that was worth more money than Mr. Travalar made in a week. The finely pressed pants were torn at the knees from when he had crawled in the butcher’s duct. The fancy red coat he had worn (which, I might add, was made for style, not protection against cold wind) was smudged from when he had jumped into a market stall to avoid meeting with a Viking. And his shoes still had splinters in them from breaking the butcher’s wall. 
       He glanced over at Nancy. She looked just as battered as he did, if not more so. But to his surprise, she didn't look scared. And to his even greater surprise, he himself didn't feel particularly scared. Perhaps the taste of danger had made him more courageous. Or maybe he was too tired to feel any emotions. Maybe he was just stupid, a foolish kid who got mixed up in something bigger than him. Whatever it was, he knew that he could wave goodbye to being a normal kid forever.
       “Should we go now?”asked Nancy, snapping him out of his daydreams. Obi nodded and said, “Yeah. I'm sure Cole will catch up.”
       They started off down the Uto Road. Nobody was on the road towards Osêria, and Obi couldn't help but wonder if the word had already spread that the Feast of the Fiery Heavens was unsafe. Maybe nobody was coming just because the weather was getting worse; it seemed as if it were about to downpour. 
       Obi glanced at the long, empty road ahead of him. With a deep sigh, he recognized that this was his life now.
        To be continued...

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