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The Hall on Aryala - Chapter 4

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Fergal had lived in Alberdaine his entire life. He was an Alberdaine citizen, and knew his way around the country. But he was a noble, and an empire cat to boot. Since birth, he was taught to believe himself above the common folk; the squirrels, the otters, the mice. His closest relationship with another creature that wasn’t another cat had been his childhood tutor, a red squirrel who he antagonised relentlessly. History and his contemporaries had taught him that cats were above all other species, but on the streets of the capital he was inclined to think otherwise. Here, he was totally lost.

Cats, empire or otherwise, were many of the thousands of unsavoury creatures he saw there. Beggars, swindlers, streetwalkers, it didn’t matter. Nothing was sacred. And nothing was special. There were just as many mice, otters and squirrels among them, even some foxes. And just as many weren’t even worth mentioning. No criminals or thugs, just people. Common people. Walking to and from their homes, jobs and pastimes; oblivious and uncultured, but uninteresting. Fergal didn’t like it. He had thought finding Sapphire would have been a task of little effort: finding a cat in a world of squirrels and mice seemed so simple. He chided himself for his naievty.

He had looked in Abisnova for any documentation, but Krassus had obviously long destroyed it. To reduce a cat’s family entirely to obscurity, even oblivion, was to deny them their legacy, and that was worth more to a cat than their own life. What Krassus had started, Alvin was trying to finish. Not just her future, but Viola’s history was in his hands.

The squirrels did not care about family the way cats did. They had no census, no heraldry or true nobility. The closest equivalent were their ‘dreys’, which they differentiated from one another by different styles of plaid, but they were not so much families as they were an old feudal throwback. Grey squirrels were marginally better; they at least kept their dreys limited to relatives. Infuriatingly, inheritance was one of the only laws to ignore the existence of dreys entirely, no doubt because of just how large they could be. The king and his court were all members of the Goldbell drey, and the only such drey to keep track of its members. Beyond royalty, Alberdaine did not care about the whereabouts of every single citizen, visitor or immigrant in its borders, nor their history. Fergal’s only leads were two names; Verity and Sapphire.

His first attempt had met with horrible failure. He had commissioned a local print-house for posters. ‘In search of an heir:’ they said, ‘Abisnova, a kingdom of the Felidaes, has been liberated, and its possessions in danger of being lost. There is a single heir; a wildcat named Sapphire, lost thirty years ago. If you are her, or know of her, meet at the Gilded Lotus inn at noon any day this week.’

On the first day, Fergal came down from his room to discover a horde of cats waiting outside the tavern. The owner, an otherwise sedate grey squirrel, was furious with him. The promise of compensation calmed him down, but Fergal could feel his eyes burning into the back of his head whenever he wasn’t looking.

He wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting. He wasn’t expecting Sapphire to have made herself known on the first day, but he hadn’t really thought this through. Every like of cat made its way through the Gilded Lotus that day. Some were passibly noble, some were passibly not, and some weren’t even trying.

“Are you Sapphire, or do you know her?”
“Oir, sur, I kin be Sapphur, lord.”
“And Verity?”
“... very what?”

As the day drew on, Fergal grew to realise that most of these ‘Sapphires’ very likely couldn’t read the poster, and had heard through word of mouth. There were plenty of empire cats, and even some men, claiming to be the heir of Abisnova. The inn closed long before he could meet them all.

On the second day, the word of mouth had no doubt fallen into the river and warped beyond recognition. Now, there weren’t just cats, but squirrels, ferrets and even mice. Whenever the occasional fox appeared, he would ask about Verity first. Very often, they would misinterpret it as Verity being the heir, and would immediately pretend to be her. Fergal groaned. This was a waste of time, a waste of money, and he just knew he would be thrown out of the inn before the week was out.

On the third day, he grabbed the first wildcat to walk through the doors and declared her Sapphire. The crowd jeered and protested, but Fergal insisted, and dismissed them as liars and frauds. Though they left, they did not go quietly, and the street wardens had to disperse them. ‘Sapphire’ was terribly confused, and as it turned out, had not even come to meet Fergal. He politely let her go. He paid urchins to bring him the posters, and come evening had left Belfree behind him.






A month passed with little result. Fergal had been from town to town, and each time met with imposters, pretenders and frauds. His reputation was travelling faster than he was, and by the time he had made it to the trading town of Iona, dozens of cats and foxes were waiting for him. No lodging would take him, and he was forced to spend his dwindling purse on a month’s rent for three days in town. He had almost given up hope, when finally progress was made.
“Oi, mister wildcat, are you the one what’s been looking for a Saffiure?” asked a grey-furred foxnurse, pointing a knackered cane at him. Fergal sighed in frustration.
“I am an empire cat, mother, and I am. Let me guess, you know one?”
The foxnurse grinned, a single tooth shining between her gums. She nodded eagerly.
“Aye, I did, long ago, and her maama too.”
Fergal rolled his eyes. Another one.
“Her ‘maama’. Really? What was her ‘maama’ like?”
“A right wondah of a vixen, she was,” the foxnurse said, sucking on her tooth, “Used to sell her brambles and poppies.”
Fergal almost couldn’t believe his ears.
“I’m sorry, did you say vixen? As in, fox?”
“Oo, that got you interested!” The foxnurse cackled, rocking on her cane, “Aye, as in fox.”
“Please, mother, what was her name?”
“Hmmm…” she crowed, sucking on her tooth in thought. She kept sucking until Fergal coughed, grinning at his discomfort. “Verity, I fink. Izzat what you wanted to hear?”

Fergal grabbed the foxnurse, spinning her around him, wooping in delight. She screeched, whacking him with her cane.
“Aaahh! Put me down you thug, put me down!”
Fergal obliged.
“I’m sorry, mother, I’m sorry; but you have no idea how much trouble I’ve gone to find someone who knew anything about Sapphire or Verity!”
The foxnurse growled, hitting him once more with her cane.
“I do know! Ruffians coming in an out of town talking about Abiswhatcha thanks to you and your galavanting: stirring up trouble you is! Between you and them guild hooligans I don’t know who's worse!”
Fergal raised his arms in defence of his face. “Calm down, mother!”
The foxnurse attempted a snarl, instead emitting a strained gurgle. “I will not! Youse been nothing but a blight! A blight you is!”
“Vixen, please!” Fergal exclaimed. The foxnurse glared at him, sucking on her tooth. The empire cat slowly lowered his arms, tensely expecting her to attack again. She did not.
“Please, mother,” Fergal said, “This is of the upmost importance. My beloved’s life may depend on it!”
A small lie, he reconciled, but not too far from the truth. In any case, it had the desired effect. The foxnurse narrowed her eyes, then her gaze softened. Stony to leaden, but it was something.
“Oh aye?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Fergal smiled expectedly, “Yes, mother! My betrothed is relation to Sapphire, the lost heir of Abisnova, but without her to prove her heritage, she will be thrown onto the streets by a heartless miser!”
The foxnurse blinked, first one eye then the other. She licked her tooth in thought. Finally, she burst out laughing.

“Saffiur?!” She cackled, rolling on her cane, “Likkle Sapphy? Heir to a kingdom?! Hahahaa!”
Fergal reeled. Around them, villagers turned in ire and confusion, only to roll their eyes and turn back to gossip. The foxnurse hacked and coughed, finally coming to a wheezing stop. She wiped a tear from her eye.
“You’re not only a trouble maker, you’re a lunatic!”
“Mother, please, I am not kidding.” Fergal implored, “If you know anything about Sapphire or Verity, or anyone who would know about them, what must I do for you to tell me?”
The foxnurse licked her single tooth hungrily. She eyed the coinpouch hanging from his belt.
“Well…”






Fergal left Iona for the countryside near Maison, a port city on the southern coast of Alberdaine. According to the foxnurse, Verity was a healer who lived in recluse in a cottage on the riverbank. It was a half-day’s journey, most of which was off the road. Low on coin, he elected not to take a carriage, and instead walked along the road until he reached a bridge stretching over the river. He shouldered a sea bag and stepped off of the main road, his foot sinking immediately into the mud with a squelch. Fergal grimaced.
“Of course.” he muttered, shaking his foot free.

As the day progressed, Fergal began to wish he had brought boots. The riverside was too muddy to follow, so he moved up the bank, where thistle and nettles stung and stuck at his feet and legs. Whenever he would stop to rest and recover, midges would swarm, disturbed from the muddy shoreline and intrigued by this intruder. Fergal swiped aimlessly at them, mumbling under his breath. He continued for what felt like an age, and slowly the land changed around him from muddy river to short, cold grassland. The empire cat snarled, batting away insects with his tail.

“‘Half a day’, ‘half a day’, ‘half a day’!” he hissed, breathing heavily, “That crone! That bogtoothed shefox! ‘Lunatic’! I should have known!” He kicked a shrub, which toppled over in a cloud of dirt and loose roots. He wiped sweat from his brow, looking to the sky. The sun had long past its zenith, and was flirting with the edge of a cloud. Fergal exhaled sharply, falling to his haunches at the foot of a hill.
“‘Half a day’... She just wanted to get rid of me and make away with my money…” He sighed, resting against the coarse grass. Somewhere in the distance a bird whistled.
“I’m sorry, Viola…” He coughed, rubbing dirt from his eyes. “I… I don’t think I…”

He breathed in. He felt his eyes begin to water. Was it the glare? He breathed out. No, it wasn’t. How long had it been? He almost couldn’t remember. A month? No, longer than that. Two? He had spent a small fortune trying to rescue a larger fortune, but it wasn’t wealth he cared about now. Now, he could only think of Viola. He had written to her at first, but as his quest took him further and further from the cities, there were less and less couriers willing to go to the felidaes. Two months she’d have been waiting by now. Left with Coralee to filibust Alvin, nights spent alone and worrying for him, terrified of what could happen in one more month. He had promised her he’d be back before she knew it. He had promised her he’d find Sapphire. He had promised her she’d have her home back. He had promised her they’d spend the rest of their lives together...

A bird’s whistle shook him from his misery. Absently, he noticed his whiskers flicking in the breeze. He groaned, forcing himself upright. Trees whipped back and forth on the horizon, a wind storm was brewing. He didn’t growl, or snarl, or groan or moan. He merely walked. He didn’t know where he was going, and he didn’t really care. The wind storm grew closer and closer, trees and branches snapping back and forth. He had returned to the riverbanks, mindlessly trampling over the brambles and weeds. The water was boiling, the air a flurry of leaves and twigs. His ears were filled with the sound of falling limbs, roaring wind, and a high pitched whistling.

“That’s not a bird…” Fergal muttered to himself, hugging his jacket close.

He followed the whistling. It was sharp and high, and almost would have been indistinguishable from a bird if it would only cease, but no living creature could hold a note this long. Now that he was listening, it seemed almost metallic, like a tin whistle or a pipe organ, falling and intensifying with the wind. Thin streams of rain began to fly through the air, cold as ice and cutting into his fur. Fergal clenched his eyes shut, turning his head to the wind, slowly stumbling towards the sound. He felt a lull in the wind, and opened his eyes.

He had emerged into a clearing at the bottom of a small depression. In its centre was a dilapidated old cottage, obviously long abandoned. Its windows were caked with dust, grime and were rusted shut, and its door hung on a single hinge. Fergal eyed the building, the hair down his spine prickling anxiously. Something didn’t feel right about this place.

He approached it cautiously, listening for the source of the whistle. He inched around the cottage. Behind it was a single, lonely gravestone. On top of it was a tarnished silver sculpture of a bird in flight. A sparrow. A glorified tin whistle, wind entered it from the tail and escaped through its beak. It was bolted to the peak of the gravestone, which was hand carved and decorated with stony flowers, birds and trees.


Here lies Verity the Vixen;
Who passed away after a long illness.
“Do not mourn. Do not ask of me to make the sun stand still.
Every day must come to an end, and every morrow must follow after.”



Fergal felt water trickle down his face. He pawed at it, looking up. Dark storm clouds had taken control of the sky, and the rain was becoming increasingly violent. Thinking better of cursing given where he was, he looked around, his eyes settling on the cottage. The grave was old, how long had this home lain unused? He didn’t like it. A small chunk of hail striking him on the nose convinced him. He quickly ran to the safety of the building as the ground began to be covered in the icy debris.

The squirrels back home were a superstitious lot, and they held the belief that cats were in tune with the supernatural. Fergal was skeptical, but inside this cottage he couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Perhaps it was the sound of hail like cannon fire on the roof, or the dust and cobwebs on every surface, or the hundred of paintings and drawings that littered the room, but something didn’t feel right. He had entered what seemed to be a living room. The floor was covered in a homespun rug, long covered in mildew. There was a lot of furniture, often mismatched or out of place, seemingly bought or brought in without plan or practice. Gifts, or payment perhaps? Verity had been a healer, after all.

He gently picked up a nearby painting, half expecting it to collapse in his hands. It didn’t, in fact, it felt rather sturdy compared to the antiquities he was used to handling back home. Not brand new, but no older than a half a decade.

Turning the painting over, he brushed the dust from its surface. Underneath was a painting of a young hedgehog, brightly coloured with merrigold yellows and navy blues. He looked over another, this time a silhouette of a squirrel against an open window. Each painting was unique, never showing the same subject twice, though he could make out families. These must have been Verity’s patients.

“Not half bad.” He mused, laying the paintings down and quietly stepping over them. He crept over to a staircase, gingerly testing it with a foot. It creaked, but felt solid. This place looked much older than it was. He followed the staircase to the floor above, where it opened on a narrow hallway, also covered in dust and debris. The hail was almost deafening now, and he could see drops of water making their way through the roof, collecting in mouldy puddles on the floor. He peered into the room closest.

It was a bedroom, long abandoned, unnervingly neat and completely and utterly blue. At the foot of the meticulously made bed sat a large foot-locker, filled to overloading. He entered the room, and slowly lifted the lid of the foot locker. Inside were piles of handkerchiefs, bronze coins, rags, cups and other assorted ornaments and bric-a-brac. There was no real pattern to them, and unlike everything else in the room, these were haphazard and disorganised. Fergal shook his head in incomprehension.

Idly, he left the room and entered the next along, another bedroom. This room was equally as neat, equally as dusty and forgotten. Unlike the room prior, it was more sensibly decorated, and there was no chest of worthless treasures, but searching the drawers of its desk, he found a small keepsake box, inside of which was a powder blue bandana, aged, but pristine by virtue of the sheltered container. Alongside the box was a duck feather quill and an inkwell, long dried up. Tucking the keepsake into his pack, he moved onto the third and final room.

The final room was also a bedroom of no greater size than the other two, but it had a much larger bed, and more pieces of furniture; a dresser, a desk, a cupboard and armoire, even a hatstand. Hanging on the wall was a painting, framed unlike the others, of two young creatures.

“Sapphire.” Fergal breathed, putting his hand onto the glass. One of the figures was a grey fox, smiling widely and holding hands with a silver-furred wild cat, who smiled mischievously. Her fur was almost completely inverted compared to Viola’s, but in the face and the eyes, she was obviously related to his fiancé. She was wearing the very bandana he had found in the other room, and from the looks of her clothes, was no stranger to physical activity.

Strange. He hadn’t known what Sapphire looked like, but he had expected to know her at a glance. Though there was no doubting this was her, she wasn’t at all what he expected her to look like. She looked… common. He could have sworn he had seen this face a dozen times in the lines outside a bar somewhere, and immediately known they weren’t the heir of Abisnova.

He lifted the painting off of the wall, blowing the dust from its frame. Gently, he lifted the glass from the frame, lifting the thin slip of parchment from between the glass and wood. Rolling it into a cylinder, he tucked it into his bag. He moved over to the writing desk, opening a letter chest resting atop it. Inside were several envelopes once sealed with wax, now broken. They were addressed to ‘Verity Fox’, and stamped with an Abisnovan seal. He took one at random, unfolding the letter within.


Dearest Verity,

I’ve been saying it for years, but this time I really meant it. I’ve left home, and I’m going to the city. Sorry about running away like I did. I meant to leave a note for you and Ari. I hope you found it and you’re not both looking for me still. I would have said goodbye properly, but after that incident with Charli, I don’t think I could have looked you in the eye.

I’m in Maison. Don’t come after me, Verity, and don’t send Ari. I need this. I can’t be a healer or a painter like you, I need some excitement. I was thinking of joining a merchant ship, or maybe the navy if they’ll take me, maybe become a captain one day. Wouldn’t that be exciting? The first cat in Alberdaine to be captain of her own ship, oh, I can’t wait.

Tell Ari I love him, and don’t worry about me, okay? I can handle myself, you’ll see. I’ll be back in a couple of years or two, just you wait; I’ll sail a ship right up the river to you!

All my love, Sapphire

P.S. I took one of your bandanas; sorry.
P.P.S. Oh, and I think this inkset is yours, too. Whoops. You’d better get a new one if you want to write back.



Fergal couldn’t help but grin. Outside, the hail had begun to peter out. Maison. Sapphire couldn’t pick a further place to be from Abisnova if she had tried. It was a port city on the southernmost tip of Alberdaine, almost on the border with Cardena. The royal navy was headquartered there, and hundreds of ships travelled in and out of it everyday. On that thought, Fergal’s smile died.

Sapphire hadn’t succeeded in her dream, everyone in Alberdaine would have heard about a cat in the navy, especially a female, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have found work on a merchant ship. Fergal checked the stamp. It had the royal seal of Alberdaine, depicting the coastline and dominions of the kingdom, but it lacked the island of Aryala. That dated the letter to before the Munitions War, at least ten years ago. Sapphire was no older than Viola, in fact younger, and ten years ago, Viola was eighteen. If she was trying to join the navy, Sapphire would have had to have been at least seventeen, maybe sixteen. That’d put the letter at almost exactly ten years ago.

Fergal shuddered. Somehow knowing how long the building had been abandoned made the place seem more sinister. He took the letterbox and put it into his bag, taking care not to damage the painting. He stood, breathing deeply in spite of the musk.

Maison. There were no guarantees. The Munitions War had been a bloody conflict between Alberdaine and Cardena, fought mostly at sea by corsairs and pirates. Merchant ships were fair game, and Maison had almost been on the front line. For all he knew, Sapphire could be lying dead at the bottom of the ocean.

He exhaled resolutely. No, she was alive. He could feel it. She had to be, for Viola’s sake. He knew she was out there now, and there was no way she could hide from him.
"It has been nearly two years since Marina was born, and Sapphire and Ari are finally beginning to realise the difficulty in raising a child on the rivers when juggling dangerous and questionably legal treasure hunting. Meanwhile, a war is being waged in the far away north, and a forgotten family history will be discovered."



New chapter! Boy this one took a while. That's what University'll do, I guess. Here we return to Fergal, and get to see what happened to Sapphire, Ari and the ultimate fate of Verity after they left Abisnova, and Fergal gets ever closer to finding her.

Fun fact: Sapphire's story after she left Verity and Ari and went to Maison is actually one of the several short stories I have waiting in the wings. Without spoiling too much, or giving too much of Sapphire's mysterious backstory away, it explains how Sapphire managed to become an ex-pirate, and how she met Ruby.

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Aryala Halls and all characters, locations and storylines, unless otherwise noted, are (c) Acorntail
Viola, Fergal, Sapphire, Ari and Verity are (c) Saphamia
© 2014 - 2024 Acorntail
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AstarGoldenwing's avatar
That's a wonderful story! Your writing is superb and so easy to visualize, and the characters seem so alive. Can't wait for the rest of it! :)