The Underneath: Saga of Aupolis

Lessons

"Today we'll be discussing island nations..."

Vesna nodded absently. The two were back within the confines of the underground tunnel systems, and in a room Vesna knew well. It was not exactly a room per-say; it was one of those small caverns, but resembled that of any room which could be found in an actual house. An old rug, worn down, and fraying at the edges splayed across the uneven stone floor. Across the room from her, a wooden table and chair sat next to a matching shelving unit displaying various items. There was even a hearth, in which Margeara was tending to a boiling kettle hanging over a small fire. Vesna currently sat on a cushioned chair just far enough away to feel a cozy warmth from the flames. Another matching chair had been pulled up close for her to prop her injured ankle on. Wrapped tenderly around the swollen area was a wet cloth, wrung out from a bucket of deep, cold spring water sourced from within the network of caves. 

Vesna stared into the dancing blaze of the fire and unfocused her eyes. Without a focal point, her vision tunneled in and the flames appeared to split and become distorted. The effect was slightly relaxing to her mind, giving her a feeling of awakened rest. 

"...of an ancient lineage with the most powerful command over the energies..."

She was vaguely aware of Margeara replacing the cool cloth with a warm one, which further sent her into a meditative trance. 

"...eventually became completely scattered by the warlords- almost to the point of eraducation- to become a wayfaring society..."

How had she and Margeara come to that small ledge to even witness that horrific event? Margeara had always told her the tunnels were underneath. Perhaps some wound through the walls of the ravine as well...undoubtedly they had...

"...took to the sea..."

No matter how she tried to move past the earlier events, Vesna could not rid the last image of the man from her mind. There were always whispers of the way in which the worst criminals were banished from the Garden, but to see it...

No one spoke openly about it. Most of the older folk would only shrug and say there was no place for disobedience, especially not after all of the blessings the gods bestowed. 

"...seat of power became a small island off the eastern coast. They are traditionally matriarchal..."

The way the three Comrades took each staccato step- one - two - three. The way they turned their backs after it was done- not even a backward glance. 

Other rumors- darker talk- circulated less frequently, and under more hushed tones, about people who sought their own death by the same way. There were only two incidences in which Vesna ever heard such hearsay. One person was said to have had an incurable sickness that was horribly excruciating to endure. The other...well, Vesna did not like to think about that. It was the reason her whole life was the way it was. 

"...now, up the north eastern coast, there's a tropical island nation. Very exotic. They've always been dependent on the sea. Patriarchal. More of a hunter and gatherer society. They trade extensively, exporting the rare fruits and sea life native to their lands and waters..."

The looks that followed Vesna from most people were a constant reminder of where she came from. Most of the time, sad eyes trailed her wake. It did not happen so much now, as opposed to when she was little, but people would go out of their way to show her special treatment. A toy-maker used to keep her stocked with an assortment of dolls, trinkets, and games. When she turned ten, a jeweler bestowed upon her a necklace displaying a rare stone on the chain. Not too long ago for her eighteenth year, the textile guild presented her with an exquisite floor length dress and soft slippers. She never wore it; there was never any occasion to. At least, not any occasions to which she was invited. Where the adults pitied her predicament, their children regarded her with a cool disdain. Vain Vesna. Vesna the Vagrant. Vesna...