By H. M. Hershberger
Vey glances at the inn sign swaying in the treetop breeze and grimaces.
The Halfway Café for Hungry Heroes.
Hopefully the proprietor doesn’t mind customers of the less-than-heroic sort. She pushes the door open and steps into the taproom.
Natural light from the high windows fills the space with a welcoming glow. Vey troops past the tables and drops onto one of the bar stools. She glances around, noting the lack of patrons, and relaxes a bit. She was right to come early, before the lunch rush hits.
Phezznibbet Maplebark, the proprietor of The Halfway Café, is known for two things: his array of divinely cheesy dishes and solid advice. Vey’s after the latter. She drums her fingers on the rough wood of the bar and sighs. She glances around. Her contact in Character Resources wasn’t clear on what he looked like.
“Can I help you, miss?”
A fuzzy red squirrel—fur tinged with gray on the edges—stands on the counter in front of Vey. His ears poke through holes in a battered steel helmet. He raises an eyebrow expectantly.
Vey stiffens. “I… ah…”
“Dish of the day?” the squirrel asks. He can’t be more than three feet tall. “Cheesy scones with chutney relish. Very nice.”
Vey shakes her head. “A drink? Um…” She snatches the menu and stares at it. “I’ll have a…” An item catches her eye, an old favorite. “A rueberry spritzer.”
The squirrel squints. “Interesting. Don’t get many Gehemian folks through here. Not since the civil war.”
Vey’s cheeks burn. “Yeah. We’ve been…busy.”
The squirrel nods, eyes grave. “Wars are busy business, miss.” He reaches under the bar and pulls out a bottle of something red and fizzy. Snatching a knife off the bandolier on his chest, he brings the blade down on the bottle cap, sending the metal disc spinning into a bin. He plunks the bottle in front of Vey. “Rueberry spritzer.”
Vey swallows and gives him a weak smile. “Thanks.” She takes a drink and coughs as the bubbles hit the back of her throat.
The squirrel drops to sit on the bar and pulls another bottle from under the counter.
“What’s the latest from Gehemia?” the squirrel asks. “I’ve had the odd senator, and an extremely disagreeable medic, but that was ages ago.”
Vey shrugs. “The peace treaty was signed a few months back. There’s talk of a trade agreement, but nothing’s going to be finalized until the Jolinx fill the leadership vacuum.”
“Mmm. What about that Bellum woman? The traitor.”
Vey swallows. “In prison.”
“Her accomplices?”
“Prison.” Vey studies the swirling grain of the countertop, knuckles whitening around her spritzer bottle.
The squirrel taps a knife against his helmet. “Maybe you can help me with something. I have a friend on Gehemia, a Xavossi soldier called Davis. Now he had a friend—senator lass, real firebrand—who up and disappeared right after that Bellum woman was caught. You wouldn’t chance to know what happened to her, would you?”
A cold sweat breaks out along Vey’s back. “I’m just a soldier. We don’t pay much attention to politics.”
“Pity. He’s been looking for her. Cruel, ain’t it? He makes it through the whole war only to lose his best friend when it ends.”
“Real cruel,” Vey murmurs. She takes a long gulp of her spritzer.
“You see that senator lass, you tell her Davis wants to talk, yes?”
Ice crackles through Vey’s veins. “Can’t say I know who she is. ‘Senator lass’ isn’t much to go on.”
“Oh, I think you’ll have heard of her,” the squirrel says. “Zhemia Alver.” He shakes his head. “Real firebrand, as I said. She liked giving big speeches on behalf of you Xavossi. Called for peace ’til she was hoarse.”
Vey glances down at her armor, the dull gray plate of the Xavossi people. “I recognize the name.”
The squirrel nods. “Figured you might. If you’ll excuse me, I have other customers to see to. Holler if you want food, but not too loud.”
Vey blinks. “Sure,” she mumbles. She takes another swig and sighs. So, Davis is looking for Zhemia. Not surprising, but unwelcome.
A beam of sunlight inches across the bar, catching on her armor. It clings to the smooth lines, illuminating the lack of scars and scratches in the sturdy composite. Vey returns to staring at the counter.
The floorboards next to her creak. “Is this seat taken?”
The hair on Vey’s neck stands on end. “N-No.”
“Thanks.” There’s a shuffle-scrape of a stool being pulled out. A sigh as the newcomer sits. “Anything good on the menu?”
“Haven’t looked.”
“What’re you drinking?”
“Spritzer.”
“Looks like rueberry. My best friend loves them.”
Vey nods, not looking up. “Nice.”
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of looking among my own people when you disappeared, Zhemia.”
Vey freezes. Burning tendrils of guilt strangle her voice.
“It makes perfect sense. Where better for you to seek redemption than among the people you betrayed?”
“Davis—”
“Phezz recognized you as soon as you stepped through the door. Called me next thing. Interdimensional travel is nice and fast.”
“I—”
A calloused hand cups her chin.
Vey blinks, too ashamed to meet her best friend’s eyes.
“Don’t you think you’ve been running long enough, Zhemi?”
“I betrayed you, Davis.” Betrayed them all. Sided with Bellum, heartsore, because no one listened. Foolish. Arrogant. Desperate.
“I know. I forgive you.”
Vey lurches back. “What? Did you not—”
Davis catches her hand. “I forgive you.”
Vey stares at him in shock. “But…”
“Look at me,” Davis says.
Vey meets his eyes nervously. Forest green. Devoid of anger. Devoid of hate. She chokes and launches herself into her best friend’s embrace.
Davis laughs, arms tight around her. “I missed you, too.”
Over Davis’s shoulder, Vey catches sight of the squirrel—Phezz—across the taproom. He gives her a smile. Sorrowful, but gloriously warm. A soldier’s smile.
Vey smiles back.
Veyhani: the state of seeking redemption
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Such a beautiful story of redemption! Really liked your strong characters.
Vey wanted to be found. If she had been serious about her disguise, she would have had a fake mustache.
Thoughtful story. Great inner conflict.
Great story with a great payoff; Phezz has a secondary role but it’s a great one – and I’ve the line, “Interdimensional travel is nice and fast.”