Anarchy’s Wardrobe (Flash Fiction)

The trade embargo with the Wyune made it exceedingly difficult to import any kind of weaponry onto the island. The Millennia had decided that the Wyune Isles were to be a place of peace and had no need of barbaric tools of death and destruction. She found that incredibly intriguing. Velari didn’t care about the embargo or the Millennia’s wishes. She only cared for anarchy. Velari made a point to disobey the old fool’s wishes and deliver these weapons to the Traxas, embargo or no. The Traxas wanted war, but with the Millennia’s proclamation, war would be all but denied. Clan Master Durshel of the Traxas, pled with the Millennia to understand the need for defenses and that the Isles would be eliminated once word had spread. Durshel contacted her via skydrop to deliver this shipment to the northwest bank of the Isle within hours of the declaration.

She sat comfortably on the starboard side of the craft dubbed “Lady Mayhem”, fiddling with the blade attached to her left wrist. It looked as if she were alternating between cleaning her fingernails and picking her teeth due to the lack of excitement. The black bodice that hugged her small frame was laced with blood-red cords. It was rumored that Velari created her clothes out of the entrails of her victims. Whether she started the rumor or not, the gossip spread through the Republic like wildfire, rendering her a legend. The woman did not seek peace, so the rumor could not have come from her lips. Velari didn’t seek justice, vengeance, or even glory. Velari wanted only blood and carnage.

“Dock this damnable contraption.” The captain seemed to jump as the order was barked. He knew she was promising a large sum of money, but that didn’t put him at ease. This woman was a nightmare. The dark circles around those dead eyes instilled fear in the bravest of men. How a mere seven-stone woman could frighten a behemoth was perplexing. The word of her wrath had spread far and wide, and now here she was on this voyage to sells arms to a disbanded faction of rebels. As the ship came in to dock, Velari stood at the helm, staring at the land beneath. She had never seen such vivid colors in all of her life. The Restran Republic was filled with black smoke, cracked concrete, and dense fog. It looked as if a smile almost cracked from her small, slender face. If there was a hint of happiness in her expression, it was hindered by the scraggly locks of black, red, and silver hair that intruded on her profile. Velari looked to the docking bay to see who would be coming to account for the inventory. Some thirty warriors stood back from the dock while four men held the platform for the ship’s arrival. She could see now that these so-called “warriors” barely fit any description of any warrior she’d ever encountered. The craft hadn’t come to a complete stop before Velari had lept to the dock to complete the transaction.

“Lady Velari?” The thunderous voice would have frightened any sane person, but Velari lacked sanity.

“Whoever told you to call me “lady” clearly wants to see you castrated.”

“My apologies. It is customary among the-“

“Where is my damn payment?” Velari interrupted to the confusion of the four men before her.

“Yes, you’ll have to follow us.” The men led her through the throngs of soldiers down what appeared to be the only path on this forsaken island. They didn’t get very far before another spoke.

“You’ll have to excuse our customs, but here we like to treat our guests with respect and appreciation.”

“Your appreciation isn’t necessary, and your respect isn’t something I care for. I just want the bloody-“

This time she was cut off.

“Listen to me woman; we brought you here to exchange goods. We will keep to our part of the bargain, but do not come to our land and treat us with such hostility and disrespect. We extend our hospitality, do not revoke it.”

Velari’s look of confusion turned into the vaguest of smiles. She stared at the man who had spoken to her and turned her head slightly as if to question if that just happened.

“And your name, warrior?” The tone was chilling, even to the mightiest of soldiers.

“Refer to me as Elius, Viceroy to Master Durshel.”

“I like you Elius. Now I warn you, I am not here for your hospitality or graciousness; I am here for what I am owed.”

Elius smiled at Velari as if the game was over and they had earned each other’s respect, but Velari didn’t see it that way. All she could picture was his body in pieces. The trail forked and the tribe started down towards a rocky embankment. Elius pointed toward an entrance to the cavern where her payment awaited her. As she strode by the viceroy she glanced at the narrow passageway before her. Abruptly, Velari stopped and slowly turned back as if to speak to Elius.

“Speak.” Elius asked impatiently.

Clan Master Durshel stood at the base of the dais, staring at the device before him. He heard the footsteps behind him as he began to speak.

“I expected you to kill my soldiers but you could’ve spared Elius. It’s of no consequence now. I believe you know what to do from here?”

Velari appeared from the darkness, stained in the blood of the now-defunct band of Traxas. Nary a scratch on her except for the self-inflicted cut on her tongue from where she licked the blade after her victory.

“This machine will allow you to destroy the Republic and start anew.” Durshel turned to walk away when Velari pounced on Durshel as a lion captures its prey. The blade sprung from its sheath on her wrist at his neck just enough to draw blood.

“I don’t want the machine, I need a new belt.”