Rogue Legacy by Jeffrey L. Kohanek (classic reads .txt) đź“–
- Author: Jeffrey L. Kohanek
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The dog barked again.
“Hmm, you’re right. She did try to rob us.”
“Is this some sort of cruel torture?” Lyra asked. “If so, just kill me now, because that would be better than listening to you babble on as if I’m not here.”
“Ooo. The girl has spirit, too.” The man lowered the light and knelt at the edge of the pit. His tone changing, becoming more serious. “I’m sorry my dear, but you’re not in a position for bargaining at the moment. I certainly did not invite you into my home. Yet, here you are, caught in the trap I set for burglars like you – a trap to catch those who seek to take what is not theirs.”
Lyra frowned, unsure of how to respond.
“However, I might be persuaded to show mercy if you can offer something of value,” he said.
Lyra’s frown deepened. “What do you want of me?”
He laughed. “Nothing but your word.”
“My word?”
“Yes. I will get you out of the pit, and I will even heal your wounds, if you give me your word that you will remain here for three months as my assistant.”
“Your assistant? Assistant for what?”
He stood and began circling the pit. “I can’t say exactly. Just know that I am conducting research.” His arms spread out in an open embrace toward the stars. “I plan to change the world, make it a better place.” He stopped walking and lowered his arms. “However, doing everything myself is too time consuming, and my progress has been unsatisfactory – for myself and for The Hand.”
Lyra gasped, remembering that the man who killed her father had mentioned The Hand. Perhaps she could learn something if she stayed with this man. Perhaps she could avenge her father’s death.
“Fine,” she said, not sounding pleased about his offer. “I give you my word that I’ll stay here and help you for three months. However, you need to let me tell my family where I am. They are close by, so it will take merely a few hours.”
A long moment of silence followed and Lyra grew nervous that he might rethink his offer. The man tossed the glowing object into the pit, the orb bouncing and settling near her feet. A rope followed and a hard knot in the rope struck Lyra on its way down. She winced in pain, her palm going to her forehead.
“Sorry about that. Grab ahold, and I’ll pull you up.”
Lyra did as he said, bracing her good foot against the wall while he heaved and grunted, pulling her up in jerks and fits. As she crested the edge, she pulled herself forward on her stomach until she lay on the stone tiled floor. A long tongue slurped across her face, forcing her to sputter and push the dog’s head away.
“Gilo likes you. I’ll take that as a positive sign.” A hand rested on her forehead, still sore from the rope. “Now, hold still and expect a chill.” He laughed. “I rhyme all the time.” He laughed again. “I’m a poet, and I don’t know it.”
Lyra tried to get a look at his face, but found it too shadowed. His laughter faded and all fell quiet. From nowhere, a frigid chill racked her body, causing her back to arch and making her hair stand on end. The air in her lungs abandoned her and left her gasping. She rolled on her side in an attempt to reclaim it. Her stomach growled, feeling as if she had gone a day without food.
“There you go.” He stood upright. “You’re good as new, just as promised. My name is Cal. Welcome to Mystic Manor. And your name would be…”
Rising to her elbows, her eyes narrowed as she stared up at his shadowed face. “I’m…Tali.”
He nodded. “Tali. Like the game. Beautiful name. Ha! I did it again.” He laughed. “Now that I did as I said, I hope you will keep your promise.”
Cal turned and crossed the courtyard as Lyra sat up and realized she was no longer dizzy. She felt the back of her head and found the lump gone, the wet spot now dry. Curious, she rotated her ankle and felt no pain.
“You did it. You healed me,” she said in wonder. “How did you do that?”
He stopped before the door with his hand on the knob. “Oh. I forgot to tell you. I can do magic.”
Opening the door, he stepped inside while holding it open for his dog.
“Now, come inside, and I’ll show you to your room. You should get some rest, Tali. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
Sunlight streaming through the open curtain forced Lyra to squint as she opened her eyes. Rolling over, she took a deep breath as she appreciated the luxurious comfort of the oversized bed. While she had her own bed before the fire consumed her home, it had been much smaller and harder than this one.
Lyra tossed the covers aside and flipped her legs off the edge, her feet nuzzling into the soft slippers Cal had provided. They were too big for her but still did the job. Standing, she discovered her clothing gone, leaving only the thin shift she now wore and the gray robe hanging from a hook on the wall. She grabbed the robe and wrapped it about herself before opening the door.
The hallway outside stood empty. She took a few tentative steps and found three other rooms empty as well, with a note pinned to the partially closed door of the fourth room.
Good morning, Tali.
Your clothes smelled like you had slept in them for a month, so I gave them a wash and hung them out to dry. I assume your body has similar issues, so I filled the tub and set two pots of hot water beside it. Be sure to use the leather gloves when filling the tub or I’ll be forced to heal your hands, and I’d rather not since I have more pressing things to do. Once you are clean and dry, come out and retrieve your clothing from the line. Don’t soak too long because you have a long walk into the city today.
Regards,
Cal
Lyra finished reading the note and pushed the door fully open to reveal a copper tub in the center of the room. Closing the door behind her, she approached the tub, finding it half filled with water. Upon a stone table rested two black kettles, each marked with odd symbols painted in yellow. Steam rose from the kettles, and Lyra cocked her head in thought. They’re still hot. He must have just put them here.
With a shrug, Lyra slipped the leather gloves on and poured the water from one of the kettles into the tub. The water only felt warm so she added half of the second kettle before the temperature was to her liking. She grabbed the bar of soap that waited near the kettles and stepped into the tub, not removing her shift until she was in the water.
Nearly a half-hour had passed by the time she had her shift scrubbed and wrung out, her body cleaned, and her hair washed. Lyra climbed out of the tub, shivering as she ran to the towel hanging from a nearby hook. She wrapped it about her and dried off before swapping the towel for the robe and grabbing her clean, but wet, shift. Turning toward the mirror, Lyra grabbed the brush resting beside it and began to tame her black hair, twisted and matted from months of abuse. When she was done, she gave a satisfied nod to the image in the mirror and exited the room.
Lyra passed through the hallway and emerged into an expansive kitchen with pots and pans dangling from the ceiling over a large brick oven. Shelves and cabinets surrounded the room, many of them empty and dusty. Beyond a rectangular table and four chairs, was an open entrance to the neighboring room.
Circling the table, Lyra discovered a sitting room with a sofa, two chairs, and a small table arranged in an arc around a dormant fireplace. Again, not finding anyone in the room, Lyra pressed onward and passed through the door that led outside.
The courtyard she had discovered the night before was also empty other than a gaping hole. She walked to the edge and stared down, finding it three strides wide, four strides deep, and nearly twice the length. The debris revealed a broken wooden beam structure and an impressive amount of shattered stone blocks. She circled around the hole and passed through the open doorway into the yard.
Her breeches and tunic rippled in the morning breeze as they dangled from a rope strung from the building to the outer wall. When she rubbed the fabric of her breeches between her finger and thumb, she found them already dry. She freed the clothing from the wooden pins holding them captive and turned toward the house, noticing Cal far across the yard.
The young man sat on a stool while Gilo lay beside him, sprawled on his side as he basked in the morning sunlight. Cal’s eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in concentration as he held a fist-sized rock in his hands. He had smooth, pale skin, a strong nose, and scruffy brown hair. Lyra frowned, wishing she could see his eyes. He wasn’t unattractive, but he certainly lacked the swarthy
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