Page 48 of Veil of Vasara (Fate of the Five #1)

CHAPTER 48 – HESTAN

O ne thing the young Princess Loria had not mentioned about Noxscroll, all those years ago, was that while it could be read under the light of Noxstone, it could not, it seemed, be read under the light of day.

I had considered there was simply nothing on this sheet of paper, that it was blank, but if that were the case, there would have been no reason to pass it onto me. Which led me to conclude that Noxscroll could only be read under moonlight.

The moon hadn’t been out for days.

Days which I had spent in bed, sweating from fever and pain, exhausted from fatigue and blood loss. I had only just managed to return to the Palace before losing consciousness that night. Once I had come around, I had called for a healer, feigning the reasoning for such a deep cut on my shin. I had sensed the doubt in their eyes, but even if the truth was discovered, it wouldn’t matter much. It was only that I didn’t wish to be linked to the man who I had stolen the Noxstone blade from, if possible.

Each time I had lifted and examined the steel, I had done so with the utmost care. Touching it made me feel sick, both from the thought of potentially slicing off my own fingers, and from the memory of its previous owner, pressing that young man against a piss-stained wall.

It was a shame I hadn’t been in a position to apprehend him, and hand him over to the authorities. Had I been an unknown man, with no responsibilities or status, I would have done so.

The blade truly was beautiful. It was dark and opaque, but under certain lights, indentions in its thick, yet light material glowed in faint indigo, dark green, and gold. The blade itself was curved at the point from outside to in, so that the tip was a precise and razor thin point. The handle was adorned with bronze symbols of bird wings, feathers, clouds, lightning, and serpents. I could have stared at it for hours, and still found new ways to admire it.

There had been no need for me to visit Audra’s Prince after retrieving this, thankfully, but I would still have to come up with a reason for my sudden lack of interest in his blades. I hadn’t managed to do so yet.

A silver streak of light penetrated through the glass of my window, casting a circular beam of it onto the dark ground of my chambers. They were usually orderly, but now appeared slightly littered. I’d been unable to maintain such cleanliness whilst injured.

I got up from the table I had been sitting at, waiting. I winced slightly as my leg took some weight. The site of the wound still stung tremendously, itched, and burnt. But I no longer had a fever, and the agony had turned into a bearable pain.

I stilled. The light that was on the floor for a brief moment darkened and shone brightly again within a second. I glanced at it, then at my window. I waited for a moment.

A bird flew by, and another. I let out a sigh of relief, having detected the reason for the lighting’s flicker.

I knelt on the ground, with the knee from my uninjured leg. The Noxstone blade was in my right hand, and the paper in my left.

I took a deep breath. I was terrified of what this paper would reveal. All this time, I had been working tirelessly to find out what was written on it, without thinking of the moment when I would know. A part of me had believed this moment would never come, that I would never access a Noxstone weapon.

But I had suffered wounds for this, had put myself in danger for this. I knew the implications of what was written on this could, no, that they would be monumental, and the moon wouldn’t remain cast on my floorboards for eternity.

I placed the paper on the ground slowly, as if I was afraid it would be blown away by the gentle breeze coming through the window. It remained in place.

I lifted the Noxstone blade gently. The moonlight struck it. At first the angle was off, the light reflected into my eyes, across the walls, but after an adjustment, and a turning of my wrist, the moonlight struck the paper and letters began to form.

Letters turned into words, words into sentences, sentences into a small paragraph.

These ones are Accipereans, they’re nearly drained. The others were partially successful attempts at assimilation. We continue our attempts, but the majority of humans reject the transference. Those that accept it are still insufficient. We continue to trade them with the others. The Vessels involved in the transference do not survive the experiments, but their absence remains unnoticed. Kalnasa’s centre now consists solely of unsuccessful subjects and Vessels with little lifespans. It will be time soon. We have sent the others you requested for marking to the desired location.

N.A.

N.A. Those initials.

Nathon. Albarsan.

I nearly dropped the blade onto my own leg.

I pressed my left palm down hard against the ground, my other leg gave way from under me, slamming my injury into the floor. My eyes remain fixed on the paper before me.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

It wasn’t monumental.

It was devastating.

It was beyond the realm of anything I could have imagined would appear on this paper. It was beyond the realm of anything I could have imagined at all.

I somehow managed to remain alert enough, to place the blade next to the paper. I backed away from it slowly, sitting on the floor now. I placed my hands around my knees and stared, simply stared at that iridescent circle, at that focal point of moonlight, within which floated dust, within which was a secret that made me wish that I could tear my own eyes out.

I stood unsteadily, and walked into the washroom, leaving the objects on the floor. I gathered some cold water into my hand, splashing it relentlessly on my face and upper neck. It trickled down the pale blue undershirt I was wearing, onto my chest, over my heart, that was thudding and pounding, as fast as my thoughts were racing.

I needed to destroy that paper, I needed to get rid of it.

But how? How would I destroy it? Could it even be destroyed? I couldn’t even think.

Minutes passed in this daze, minutes I did not have to waste.

I clutched at the doorframe of the washroom, and staggered out of it, still feeling lightheaded from the shock.

Someone was standing in my room.

With the paper and blade in their hands.