Before I start my tale, let me tell you a bit on my two travelling companions. Ilithara is the epitome of earthly beauty; she is quite a sight with her knee-length raven hair, delicately chisled features, and yet, she could just as easily turn into a panther and still remain her beautiful self. As far as I know, she is a traveler who earns her living by the sword and her wits, yet I would not be surprised if she were the last surviving princess of the fallen kingdom of Sindenganor or the queen of Zineng or even Ildathra (goddess of the dance and the full moon) herself. She hasn't told me why she's with us, but in any event, I'm glad she is with us; she makes bearing my adviser much easier. There's just something about her that makes my head turn whenever I'm around her. She has this odd way of playing with her dagger and knife by throw them into the air so that it spins, then catching them again by the hilt. I just hope to solve that powerful aura of mystery she wears like a cloak.
The second of my travelling companions is Killer Parakeet, the biggest nuisance known to anything with DNA in it, and unfortunately, he is also my academic adviser for my thesis. Imagine a deep turquoise-feathered, two meter tall parrot with a beer belly and a taste for bugs (especially roaches), beer, and potatoes. Now add a battle-axe that's about my size, roughly 1.56m tall, in his hands (wings?!) and a dented pot he uses as a hat -- and you have Killer Parakeet. It's hard to believe that the big bloated galoot is also an alumnus of the University; he was in the first graduating class and was also Placed in Palanthian. Oh yeah, the Banishings he babbles about is the time he and his friends defeated a pair of evil demigods and ended the Fourth Age, an era of terror I'm glad I'm not living in.
My research was fairly easy thus far: we arrived in Kyronos via a teleportation spell, explored the islands, and talked with the various people, including Celebrian Osandiranos, sorceress-queen of the Irdenal [a race known for its art, music, and wizards], one of the two main peoples out here. I have to admit, she was by far my favorite person to talk to out here, but then again, I'm partial to her because she gave us a translating device so we could communicate. We even took photographs of the people and managed to get some actual information, such as their legends passed from generation to generation and their culture.
Then we hit the Kyronian frontiers. Celebrian warned us: ``Whatever you may do, do not let them see that device [she was referring to Killer's expensive camera]. The Hin-Iril [a rustic, war-loving offshoot of the elven race] are very distrustful of outsiders, and anything they do not understand may justify executing you publicly.''
Killer grudgingly agreed to not take any flash pictures. ``What is this? The zoo with all the signs saying things like `Don't flash the monkeys?' ''
That evening, after interviewing the few natives who weren't going to slice and dice us, we found an inn that would serve us. Everything was great, except everyone stared at Killer and me as if we were going to demand that they sacrifice their children to us. Ilithara blended in with the crowd because she looked so much like them with her long, dark hair and muscular build. An unfamiliar burning sensation entered my mind when I saw her flirting with this red-haired guy with a sly, mischevious look and a slight build. I scratched at the black stubble on my chin and looked self-consciously at my stocky build, further accented by my loose-fitting, navy blue robe. If it hadn't been for my scruffy facial hair, I could've passed for a (chubby) Hin-Iril child. At least the people at this place were being civil to me, even if they considered humans to be their inferiors.
Clank! Splat. A juicy piece of cooked poultry flew into my ink pot, bounced out, and then landed on my book as I was taking down notes. Disgustedly, I removed the otherwise tasty (but ink-soaked) meat from my book and blotted the liquids as best as I could to save my texts. Whoever threw it at me was going to get nailed, and I knew exactly where it came from when I heard Killer's voice pierce above the general noise.
``You call this grub?! That's my thousandth cousin ya cooked I tell ya!'' squawked Killer, waving a huge forkful of succulent quail meat angrily at a waiter. Several pieces of meat came off the fork, one landing on the waiter, one landing in my vegetable stew. ``And this icky stuff beer?'' He slammed a mug of pale, golden liquid onto the table, splashing it all over, including my navy blue robe. Several nearby patrons scooted away and got their hands on their weapons.
``Killer, just cool it,'' I said, trying to keep my composure. I scratched at an itch on my back. The bird definitely needed to take a bath!
``Ian, this guy's insulting my family!'' yelled Killer, grabbing the waiter and shaking him for nearly a minute before dropping him like a sack of potatoes. I decided to try to just continue writing and eating. The poor waiter gave me a resigned look before fleeing.
``What more do you ask for, creature? We have given you the best we can to the likes of you,'' retorted another waiter as he waved Killer away as if shooing an unruly chicken. At this point, I'd rather be trapped with a bunch of rabid chickens!
``Bugs and 'taters?'' A huge cockroach crawled on the table. In a flash, it was gone. ``You got any more of these?'' he demanded, opening his scimitar-sharp beak to reveal the contents: a crunched up cockroach. I'm not going into details, it's way too disgusting.
``Taters?'' continued the waiter as he grew beet-red.
``Try to ignore him, he's just throwing another tantrum,'' I said as calmly as I could, trying to divert the waiter's attention to a nearby spill. He simply ignored me and continued to argue with Killer, who exploded in a flurry of choice words before calming down enough to stop cursing.
``POTATO! P-O-T-A-T-O-E! POTATO!'' screamed Killer as he threatened to stab the waiter (who stomped away) with a mangled fork. How in the Nine Hells did he become a history professor? Why did I end up with him as an adviser? Why didn't I become a scientist or a warrior when I had the chance?
At this point, Killer sat down and started to gnaw on a nearby chair. Ilithara gestured to a nearby waitress, who later brought a mug of dark amber beer and a plateful of what looked like fried potatoes, garlic, onions, and large insects. Killer gobbled the food and downed the beer faster than a dehydrated sponge. All this time, I wanted to sneak out and write in peace. Everyone was glaring at us, many of them frowning at Killer's table manners. He finished his meal with a loud, noxious burp. The monster never said ``Excuse me''.
A bard started to strum on her harp and filled the room with a haunting melody that reminded me of mist-cloaked redwood forests. Her clear voice, though, invoked images of a glorious victory after a long war. I was trying to write down as much as my ears could gather, both the score and the words, but my hands and mind were far too slow. Ilithara had moved to a distant, shadowy corner in the room with fox-boy, so I stuck on my own keeping Killer in line.
Killer was now happily drinking his beer and I thought things would remain calm. Suddenly, while the bard was singing an ode to the gods, Killer belched loudly and started to squawk a song about alcohol and bodily functions. Many patrons were outraged at that, but they let him alone, probably because Ilithara came up with a good alibi. Finally, though, someone went up to Killer and tried to stop his horrible off-color and off-key singing.
``Wha'? [burp] You mean I can't [burp] sing along?'' asked Killer, swaying more than a boat on a stormy sea. He brandished his stone mug and dented pot around at everyone who passed by.
``I'll take care of that ruffian and free the warrior from his spells!'' shouted an old, wrinkled priestly figure in a white robe. ``Prepare to return to the Abyss, beast!'' He drew his steel mace. I gulped.
Killer, as drunk as he was, still had his combat reflexes. He bellowed, ``Oh no you don't, old raisin!'' He stuck the dented pot back onto his head, then he pulled out what he thought was his axe, but it was his camera. ``Nobody messes with Killer Parakeet, Hero of the Banishings! Say `CHEESE'!'' Click. Bright flash of light. A polaroid picture of the horrified priest popped out of the camera.
Silence. I cursed. The priest shouted, ``Defiler! Stealer of souls!'' He held up his holy symbol, a silver disc with an upright sword superimposed on a balance and an open book inscribed into it. I missed what else he said because of a loud clash of dishes behind me and I also had to dodge a flying beer mug.
Someone chanted spidery words -- the language of magic! Oh damn, it's a fireball! I prayed for my notes' safety. The last thing I ever recalled from that night was fox-boy beaning Killer over the head with the flat of his sword and -my gods!- holding Ilithara close to him. I had tried to rescue her, but a being hit with a gnawed chair stopped my valiant attempt. Next thing I knew, I was locked up in a cell with Killer and Ilithara. We had all our things, but that gave me no hope, knowing that the guards could easily turn us into swiss cheese without a second thought. Ilithara was already conscious, but Killer was snoring loud enough to wake the dead and then kill them again.
``If I heard the guards correctly, you're going to be executed at high noon today. We have an hour to try to get out of this,'' said Ilithara calmly as she toyed with a dagger. I hate it when she does that!
Ilithara's way of saying we had an hour left was a bit scary for me. That, combined with her interaction with fox-boy, made my palms sweaty and the few hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I was tempted to shred Killer up, but I remembered that it would be futile because Killer could regenerate and reproduce if cut to pieces. The last thing I wanted was dozens of little Killer Parakeets running around devouring bugs, insulting people, and yelling about being a `Hero of the Banishings'. One Killer Parakeet was bad enough!
I was getting ready to write my last confessions and say my last prayers. Then fox-boy popped up from thin air. My thoughts ignited with that weird wildfire from last night. I envisioned punishing him by locking him up with Killer. I heard him whisper to her, ``I shouldn't be here, but I can't leave you or your friends at the mercy of the Preserver, even if the parrot is a `Defiler' and the human is an `accomplice'.''
I couldn't understand the rest of their conversation. A nagging feeling prodded me and I wanted little more than to wrest Ilithara away from him. Instead, I turned around and resumed my last confessions. A few minutes later, there was a tap on my shoulder. Too bad the ceiling was too high for me to hit. Maybe if I hit my head hard enough, I'd find myself in my apartment with my textbooks. I realized he was gone. Ilithara said, ``You might get out of here alive and still be able to return.''
I asked, ``What's the plan?''
``We go along with whatever they'll do, then they'll give us a chance to try to prove your innocence,'' replied Ilithara, still playing with her dagger. Argh! It's driving me nuts!
``Yeah, and what do we do?'' I demanded, hoping it would involve getting rid of Killer and fox-boy.
She held a shiny object before me. It was a star-shaped pendant with a glowing blue gem in the center. ``This is a Tauril, or as we'd say back at the university, Starjewel.''
Damn! What was my life coming to? First, Killer getting us arrested, now Ilithara getting involved with fox-boy just as I thought I had a chance at her?! ``Starjewel? You mean that jewel elven lovers carry? Don't tell me that love or lust will get us out of this fix!'' I barely contained an explosion. The prison echoed with my slightly cracked voice.
Blushing, she said, ``It is, but according to Threngal, a Tauril has three main uses among the Hin-Iril. The most common, is the one you're familiar with. The next use is to protect the soul from any form of attack on it, like that of undead or Killer's polaroid camera. The third use is for those believed to be wrongfully accused. At the public trial, if the stone glows brightly, the accused one is innocent. If not, it will turn black.''
``Wait a minute...'' I suddenly realized something. ``How'd you get in?''
``Simple. Remember that shadowform ring? I should be leave you before I get caught in here. Then you'll be doomed because two people from the crowd must stand up for you, and Threngal is the only Hin-Iril on our side, and I'm the other.'' Ilithara put on the ring and dissolved into a black mist that crept through the tiny cracks in the walls. I was alone with Killer again.
I wished I got barbequed by a fireball at the tavern, but alas, here I am, stuck with this idiot with only Ilithara and Threngal to attempt to rescue us. I thought I could trust her, but I was starting to have doubts about her ever since she got with that Threngal character. What if the plan didn't work? Would I be condemned for idiocy, both Killer's and my own? I continued to scribble away at my last confessions.
Killer's eyes sprung open like a mousetrap in reverse. He shrieked, ``Where's the grub here? They can't let Killer Parakeet, Hero of the Banishings and his friends starve in this stinky pit!'' He rattled on the bars with such gusto that I thought of a nervous drummer who had overdosed on methamphetamines. A loaf of bread landed on his head. I gave him the half that touched him; I didn't want to eat anything that touched the smelly bird. His half disappeared instantly, while I struggled to choke mine down with only a small amount of water available.
An hour later, Killer and I were standing on a jagged, stony cliff outside the village. It was not high, but it could be used as a village-square type of thing for executions or other public activities. Killer was completely chained up and had a silence spell cast on him as a safety precaution. Despite the gravity of the situation, it was hilarious watching Killer hurl unheard insults and walk like a penguin with a bad wedgie. I had everything on me, notebooks included, and I was unchained since any escape attempt would result in dying at the hands of hidden archers or worse. As I looked down at the huge crowd eagerly awaiting for us to be burned, I hoped Threngal and Ilithara would show up soon.
The executioner, the priest who arrested us, stood before us. He had no weapon, but his dazzling white robe and holy symbol combined with the aura of power surrounding him convinced me that he was more than well-armed. What felt like hours passed by as he spoke of our crimes. He focused mostly on Killer's attempt to steal the souls of the innocent for his own evil purposes. The sun was really hot on my face, a merciless interregator before a frightened victim. Finally, just as I was about to pass out from exhaustion, the priest's voice rang, ``Is it indeed the will of Ilberath, goddess of wisdom and justice, to purge their souls of sin?''
I scanned the crowd. No sign of Threngal or Ilithara. I don't know how much time was passing, but I was getting really sick, and if something weren't done, I'd die waiting. Killer was whining silently that he was innocent. Finally, just as we were tied to the stake and the executioner was about to light the fire, a pair of voices pierced the murky depths of my confusion.
``Stop! They are innocent!'' It was Ilithara and Threngal, running breathlessly.
The executioner paused, then said, ``Prove your claim, or you too will die.''
Ilithara held her Tauril before me and shouted, ``Ian is innocent of the crimes named by the Preserver! Ilberath, reveal the truth!''
Threngal did likewise with Killer, but the stone did not glow brightly before him, nor did it darken. The silence spell broke, and out came several amusing insults, all inappropriate to print. I was tense, but much to my relief, the stone glowed with a cooling radiance that flooded me with renewed strength to survive this ordeal. The crowd demanded that I was released, and having witnessed the proof, the executioner untied me and let me walk away. Killer was still tied up and struggling to break free. Much to the horror of the Hin-Iril (and mine), the giant parrot broke free of his bonds.
``I'm not guilty either! All I did was flash photography! If I'm guilty of anything, it's guilty of being Killer Parakeet, Hero of the Banishings!'' shrieked Killer as he waved his axe. He still had the camera, and he took a picture of everyone. The batteries in the flash were dead and he ran out of film.
Threngal finally spoke. ``This `Defiler', as you call him, is only guilty of being different from us and getting drunk and being careless. Who here has never been careless or drunk? He who has never been guilty of carelessness before may set this fire.''
Ilithara added, ``Just because someone's different doesn't mean he or she is evil, nor is someone who does something idiotic! How could you judge others just by what you see, as you did the parrot and the human, or me for that matter?'' Her skin turned ebony and her hair turned white when she removed a mask from her face. A dark elf! But if anything, she was even more beautiful than when she was a surface elf. My jaw fell open and I drooled. She stared at me disgustedly, then I promptly stopped my semi-Killer-ish behavior.
Time stopped completely. Finally, the executioner declared, ``The parrot is still guilty of blasphemy and idiocy, so he shall be banished from our lands forever. The human, though innocent, must also be banished for defending him. As for the dhaerow, she may remain, but under close scrutiny. And they shall not take written knowledge of our lands with them.'' I groaned for being named as Killer's defender, but I guess it's that guilt-by-association thing.
In the end, we got back to Palindor intact, but minus maps, notes, and of course, the camera and all the film and pictures. I can't help but think of what they did with that camera though. Ilithara decided to stay with the Hin-Iril to sharpen her own combat and survival skills, and maybe belong. I want her back here, but it was her choice and at least she doesn't have to put up with Killer anymore. I guess if I had a choice between dealing with him and fox-boy, the decision is obvious, even with all things considered... I now had my work with the _Travellers' Guide to Aetheria_ and my paper on justice systems of various cultures in Aetheria. But something was missing and trying to figure it out was like swatting a fly with a leaky fountain pen.
``Hey!'' squawked Killer a few days later with that irritating linear combination of parrot, squeaking chalkboard, and nasal 14-year old nerd voice. ``After you finish the writeup on Kyronos, want to travel to Heraklium?''
``Take a guess, Killer,'' I replied without looking up from my writing.
``Not even to watch the Grand Melee first-hand and compare it with the justice system in Kyronos, especially now that you've had a first-hand taste of it?'' insisted Killer, grinning.
``Well, I'll go, but only if you stay here,'' I said, still focused on my writing. Oops, I misplaced the dot on an `i'. I get some sand to blot the ink spill, then I corrected my mistake.
I now look forward to that trip to Heraklium so I can continue on my analysis of justice systems, this time without that overgrown, idiotic bug trap to get me arrested and almost executed...