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Lumia Four Part Four

“Uh, hi Fig,” Thatcher said nervously.

“H-hi,” Alistair stammered.

“You were doing what behind that tapestry?” she inquired skeptically.

“Um, nothing,” Thatcher replied.

“You’re lying. Plus, it’s impossible to do nothing because nothing is technically something.”

“Uh, ok……”

“No, tell me, what were you doing behind that tapestry and what are you doing in this hall? You should know that it’s only purpose is to look fancy and nice so we don’t have to feel bad about living in such a dreary place, not to have boys scampering around it like hooligans.”

“Nothing important.”

“It must be pretty important if you’re lying to me.”

“Fine! We were spying on the Overlord via a tunnel in the wall.”

Fig pointed an accusatory finger at the boys. “Ha! Knew it!”

“How did you find us?” Alistair asked.

“Nobody just ‘sneaks around’ here. I saw you skulking past my room and decided to follow you.”

“Well, good news, we’ve got a plan now,” Thatcher revealed.

“Really?” Fig’s face lit up. “Is it because of Alistair?”

Thatcher nodded. “We can finally do it!”

“Do what?” Alistair asked, but the question went ignored.

“Yes!” Fig cheered, but her smile suddenly faded. “Er, what are we going to tell the Overlord?”

“Like I said, we’ve go a plan. Come on.” With that, Thatcher took down the hall.

Alistair shrugged and turned away to join Thatcher, leaving Fig to stare into the distance with bewilderment. She soon realized what was happening and chased after them.

During the walk down, Alistair wondered what Fig and Thatcher were talking about. What did he have to do with the plan? Why was he so important? How long had the two been planning this? What exactly were they planning on doing?

Worries clouded his mind like a swarm of angry bees as they entered the throne room with a sudden nervousness. The Overlord hardly acknowledged them as they gathered in front of the deadly-looking throne, only giving them a tell-me-what-you-want-because-I-don’t-really-care look. The air was eerily quiet as Alistair, Thatcher, and Fig waited to see who would dare speak first, barely knowing how the powerful man would react. Each one tried opening their mouths to start the request or provoke someone else to start, but their lips refused to part. Within seconds, their hands were too clammy and their too brows were wet to appear serious.

“What is it?” the Overlord asked after a few long, nerve-wracking minutes.

“We have a plan,” Fig managed to say, her voice coated with fake confidence.

The Overlord slouched a little. “What kind of plan?”

“One that could really damage Lumia permanently,” Thatcher answered, less confident-sounding than Fig.

“Why do you think that?” he asked, a little aggressively.

Alistair played with his antennae nervously, avoiding eye contact with the Overlord. He took a deep breath, taking in as much smoke-smelling air as he could, before saying, “Well, in the Lumia place where I was kept, there are these, um, secret passages that lead to the chambers of the Mastress and that Fowlis. Fowlis told me about them. We were hoping to sneak into them and maybe get information or maybe engage in, um,” he gulped, “combat?”

The Overlord exhaled slowly, filling in the silence while he thought.

“Please?” Alistair added, sounding admittedly a little stupid.

It felt like a century of waiting for the Overlord answered them. The three wished with all their might that he would say the single wondrous word: yes. Their eyes gleamed with hope, while their minds anticipated despair. They tried with pathetic efforts to show that they weren’t afraid of being rejected or that they were half decently confident. But no matter how hard they tried, each of them could not hold their trembling bodies or the pools of sweat that seemed to be gathering on the floor.

At last, the few aggravating moments were over when the Overlord answered, “Sure, you can go on the mission.” Smiles immediately exploded onto Alistair, Thatcher, and Fig’s faces, but died a little when he added, “However, do not attack anyone unless you are caught. Hopefully it won’t come to that. Nope, I’ve changed my mind, it WON’T come to that. Do you hear me? You will leave for your mission in two hours. Get as much information as you can, but don’t dwell for too long. Truss will provide the transport.”

The enthusiastic underlings began to turn away, but halted when the Overlord added something else, “Oh, and Alistair, in order for you to fully join our cause, we will be changing your name so you are not burdened anymore by your past life. You will receive your name when you come back.”

With shaking legs, Alistair, Thatcher, and Fig exited the room and marched back up the spiraling stairs.

“Do you guys want to go to the armoury first or back to your rooms?” Fig asked, her voice filled with relief that the aggravating meeting was finally finished..

“Well, I guess that there’s no use going back to our rooms instantly,” Thatcher replied, “So I guess let’s go the armoury. Is that ok, Alistair?”

“Sure,” Alistair replied. His legs still felt shaky their meeting with the Overlord so he had some trouble going up the stairs. He had never lied to someone in a higher position than him before. Not his guardians at the orphanage, not Fowlis, and certainly not the person who runs a civilization!

‘What have I done?!’ he thought. ‘What am I supposed to do next? Why did I agree to lie to him? Oh, why?’

He had a hard time swallowing the fact that he had ran into this plan with so much blindness; he and Thatcher had never even discussed what they were going to do when they got to Lumia. Surly they would fail.

‘Maybe they do have a plan and just haven’t told me,’ he wondered, thinking back to Fig’s eagerness for the plan. ‘But why are they so secretive that they won’t even bother telling me anything?’

“Ha, I guess that we won’t be calling you ‘Alistair’ for long!” Fig exclaimed, shattering Alistair’s thoughts.

“Right!” Thatcher agreed. “It won’t be as good as ‘Thatcher’, mind you, but it will still be pretty awesome.”

“What was your name before?” Alistair inquired.

Thatcher chuckled nervously. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“When are you going to stop being so self-concious about your past and just tell us?” Fig asked.

The boy crossed his arms. “When I’m ready.”

“What about you, Fig?” Alistair asked.

Fig shook her head. “Nuh-uh, I was born here which means that I still get to keep my awesome name.”

“A fruit,” Thatcher scoffed, earning a menacing look from Fig.

“My new name will de—“ Alistair started to say.

“Ah, we’re here,” Thatcher said, cutting him off.

They were presented with the scene of two very large steel doors that were flanked by four torches—two on each side—that glowed with fat purple flames. The dusty floor in front of the doors was vandalized by thousands of white scrape marks from their constant opening and closing routine. Little stab marks were present also, as if someone had got angry with the floor upon several occasions. The doors themselves were also painted with these same marks. It was obvious that someone reeaaaaaaalllly did not like this area.

Fig and Thatcher hurled themselves at the doors like enraged junior wrestlers. The doors swung open with an eardrum-busting EEEERRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! that lasted only a few seconds before coming to a halt, leaving just enough room for someone to slide inside.

“Come on! You want weapons, don’t you?” Fig exclaimed at an anti-responsive Alistair as she and Thatcher went inside.

Without hesitation, he followed them inside.

The armoury was ginormous, giving Alistair the impression that it would take him three days straight to go through it all. There were shelves, cubbies, crates, bags—you name it—of different weapons. There were your usual swords, maces, bows and arrows, javelins, hammers, spears, axes, crossbows, torches, pitchforks, knives, and ropes, as well as your not-so-usual spoons, forks, ribbons, strips of Velcro, tubes filled with glitter, pens, and toy houses. Everything was neatly organized in long and tangled rows. The patterns between the shelves and crates and all that was inconsistent, making everything look messier than it actually was.

There was a tang of metal in the air that was caused by most of the weapons, most of which were made of metal. Alistair also detected a hint of lemon and what could have been fish.

“Welcome to the armoury,” Fig announced grandly, sounding like an announcer for a commercial. “Here you can borrow many assorted weapons. There is such a wide selection that you’ll have no idea what to pick. There are sharp items, out-of-date items, strange items—anything that can suit any random need!”

“Are you done?” Thatcher asked, a bit irritated.

“Probably,” Fig replied as she slunk into a shadowy aisle, “But don’t be surprised if Announcer Fig pops up again.

Thatcher turned to Alistair. “So what do you think you’ll need?”

“I-I don’t know,” he breathed, still in awe.

“Well you’d better make a good decision because we can only take a single weapon.”

“Why?”

“Not sure. Probably something to do with losing them. It’s a rule.” He clasped a webbed hand around Alistair’s wrist. “Come on!”

With that, they made the exhausting search for a weapon. They weaved endlessly through the large rows and messy-looking clusters. They examined and experimented with many different types of weapons. Everything, no matter how random, had some sort of use or power like the plastic toy car wheel the size of a dime that Alistair found. He thought it was extremely useless when he first saw it. However, once Thatcher taught him how to use it—by putting it in his mouth and spitting it out—he learned the value of exhaling exploding bubbles.

Amongst all of the items, the one that really stood out for Alistair was a set of phoenix-feathered arrows and a bow with a string made from the webbing of dragon’s wings. Before this day, he had never shot an arrow before and was really appreciative when Thatcher decided to show him how.

“Alright, now pull the string right to your cheek,” Thatcher instructed. “Now aim for that shelf and release!”

Alistair did so and the arrow went forward so fast that he could barely register. Unfortunately, the mist girl, Aeriell, had been trying to climb over the shelf and had jumped off on the other side at the wrong moment. The arrow plunged into what might have been her leg. Her head snapped towards the boys, who gave sheepish waves. Her pale skin turned scarlet and she marched forward and stopped when she was practically nose-to-nose with the ones who had shot her. She yanked the black arrow from her leg, its tip stained with crimson blood.

“Is this what I think it is?” she seethed.

“Um, sorry?” Alistair said.

Aeriell threw the arrow to the ground beside her. “Sorry’s not going to cut it, dumbbar! You just shot me! For all you know, it could have hit my heart and killed me.”

Thatcher grabbed Alistair’s arm, forcing him to back away slowly.

“I’m not sure what world you come from, boy, but in Xecro, you don’t just go around shooting people with arrows,” she continued.

“We need to get out of here,” Thatcher whispered.

“I don’t know what was going on—“

“When I count to three.”

“—in that pygmy organ you call a brain—“

“One.”

“—but it clearly wasn’t very smart. You don’t want to mess”

“Two.”

“—with me because I’m going to—“

“Three!”

Thatcher and Alistair sprinted away as the words “KILL YOU” paraded through the air. They swerved into different aisles, not sure if Aeriell was chasing them or not. But if she was, they hoped that they had lost her. They weren’t very sure where they were going for they were only concerned about where the enraged girl was and what she would do to them if they were found.

At last they took their chances and stopped when the steel doors made that loud EEEERRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! They assumed that that was her leaving and collapsed, panting like they’ve just sprinted the world’s longest marathon.

“You’re pretty good with that bow,” Thatcher said in between pants.

“Thank you,” Alistair said. “But what about your weapon?”

“Me?” He reached into the crate next to him and yanked out a neon purple mace. “I guess I’ll use this.”

After they regained their breath, they decided that there couldn’t be much time left before they had to leave, so they decided to head back to the entrance.

Getting back was easy; all they had to do was climb to the top of the shelves and leap towards the large metal doors (as they had discovered, they weren’t far off from them, just off to the side quite a bit). It took them around five minutes, but they arrived unscathed (no rogue arrows!) in front of a waiting Fig.

“About time you got back,” she said. She was equipped with a set of glossy black boomerangs that seemed to be razor-sharp. “What took you so long?”

So Alistair explained what had happened between them and Aeriell, feeling a bit embarrassed by it all.

Fig nodded. “Well don’t get tangled up with her, so watch your backs because she’s going to have an eye on you for a while. Now come on, I’m hungry. I want food!”