Codex Mortem

Decisions

Taria

In the heart of Taria, the ancient castle stood tall and proud, overlooking the land and sea with its white walls and tall towers. Life within and around the castle flowed as usual. People of all ages and sizes moved through the streets, some with purpose, some without.

At the very top of the central tower, the Eye kept a restless watch, overseeing the northern, southern, eastern, and western borders of the small but unconquered kingdom.

Touching the sun-shaped brooch on his cloak, the old man gazed up at the clear sky. He muttered something beneath his short, white beard and quickened his pace, vanishing into the grand building with his tall walking stick.

"Shall we—" The question was abruptly cut off by a loud knock on the door.

A grey robe fluttered as a middle-aged man rose from his seat at the round table and walked to the door, opening it.

The old man entered slowly, leaning heavily on his stick and panting heavily.

"You are late, Elder Crenn," one of the other four elders said with a grimace.

"What is that?" the old man bellowed, squinting at the table to see who had spoken.

"You are late!" Elder Marcy repeated, her voice louder and clearly annoyed.

"Bah! Why should I be punished for growing old? I am allowed to be late if I must!" He shuffled to the table and took his seat, still out of breath.

There were five elders on the council, each wearing a grey robe fastened with a sun-shaped brooch.

The sixth chair was reserved for the black robe, the leader of Taria. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, biting her cheek instead of laughing.

Elder Crenn's warm brown eyes darted from face to face. With a trembling hand, he took a sip from the cup before him.

"Any flowers by the rivers? Any songs in the winds?" he asked.

"Not so far... Only bare twigs, honorable council. With dents in them," Elder Marcy replied, her voice now low and sorrowful.

"Another loss added to the many," one of the other grey-robed elders concluded. "Nix, I suppose?"

The woman nodded slowly.

"Shall we begin?"

Everyone looked at Lady Ewinn, awaiting her lead. She clasped her hands together and began.

"I summoned you here today to discuss Dirae."

"About Dirae?" an elder asked, uncertain if he had heard correctly.

"What of it?" another wondered.

"It has been a year since I donned the black robe," the leader stated. "But only recently did I come across some old letters—two of them, from the werewolf king."

All the elders lowered their eyes, except for Elder Crenn.

Lady Ewinn glanced at each of them, realization dawning on her.

"Of course, you knew about this," she said. "Yet somehow, you failed to inform me."

"We didn't think it wise to—" The woman in grey was cut off by the loud tap of a stick on the stone floor. The others cleared their throats.

"You didn't think it wise," Elder Crenn's voice boomed. "You. And you," he said, pointing a bluish, trembling finger at the occupied chairs. "And you. And you!" He then looked at the lady. "But not me."

"Elder Crenn," Elder Marcy said, "I believe the meaning of 'wise' eludes you. You should enjoy the benefits of your age instead of struggling for breath when you are late to meetings."