by Aaron Bunce
“Oi! D’ya see that, boys? What would you call that? Some kind of a special cripple dance?” a boy said from a nearby bench.
“Looked more like a fisherman trying to stomp a yarjstead to death with both hands tied behind his back,” another young man said from a bench across the aisle.
“That’s not funny,” Emma snapped back, but the young man laughed her off.
“He’s got a girl fighting his battles for him!” the first boy said loudly.
The entire group of youths burst into laughter. Luca looked around, realizing that there were a lot of them, and they were all larger than him.
“You’re just jealous,” Emma said, helping Luca forward.
The boy jumped up and blocked their path. He was easily a head taller than Luca, and a bit more than Emma.
“Jealous…of what? A pathetic, crippled boy hanging around with servant girls? We seen him watching us play games. He’s a peeper, always limping around, peeping.”
Emma pulled Luca to the side to move around the boy, but he sidestepped and blocked them again.
“Please, let us pass,” Luca asked, unwilling to meet his eyes. He didn’t want them to see the tears bubbling up already.
“Why don’t you just hop along right out of here, and back to where you belong. Leave the Festival to the right and proper folk,” the boy said, spitting the words with emphasis.
“He has every right to be here. Same as you,” Emma said, but Luca squeezed her hand.
“It’s okay,” he said, quietly.
“See, he has her…” the boy started to laugh, but rocked back, a strangled, startled look on his face. He leaned back as his shirt pulled up in the front, exposing his belly, and then he flopped forward onto the ground.
“Who…the?! Who done that?” he cursed, rolling up onto his knees, his trousers and britches now hiked up painfully high.
Emma guided Luca by before the boy could get up. They both chuckled openly, settling onto an empty bench in the back of the massive hall.
“Don’t think on a single thing he said. You belong here just as much as any of them,” Emma said, once they finally stopped laughing.
Luca shook his head, leaning forward to rub his aching legs.
“It was fun, though, the dancing part,” Luca said. Now that the boys brought up how awkward he looked, that was all he could think about. They laughed at him, stumbling, hopping, and limping around. The rest of the people on the dance floor were probably thinking the same thing.
“It was. I could dance all night,” Emma said, turning and watching wistfully as the dancers swept to and fro.
Luca watched her for a moment, wanting only to not be the thing keeping her from having fun.
“You should go back out there and dance some more,” he said.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t leave you here,” she said quickly.
“Yes, you can. And you should. I hurt too much and need to sit a while and rest. You go, dance, and have fun.”
Emma looked between him and the dance floor. He could see the battle clearly enough on her face.
“Go!” he said, and playfully pushed her off the bench.
“Well, okay. But just for a little while, and only because you told me to,” Emma said, smiling. She took off at a run, moving quickly back toward the music and dance.
Luca propped his right leg on the bench and sat back. He watched her run out onto the floor as soon as the song ended, the shawl he had given her flapping around her shoulders.
The boy leaned over the end of the table and cast a dirty look his way. Luca looked away. Try as he might, he couldn’t push away his hurtful words. He thought that he could make a go at it. That it would just take determination, as Father Thurstan said. The part of him that wanted to believe everyone, when they said that he needed time to heal, was getting quieter. The boy was right. He was a cripple. And that was all he was ever going to be.
Luca watched as a young man pushed through the crowd surrounding the dance floor. The song ended and the figure ran out, directly to Emma.
“No,” he whispered, recognizing the young carriage driver.
The musicians started playing a slow piece of music. All of the dancers paired up. The carriage driver bowed low and held out a hand to Emma.
They started dancing, turning gracefully and sweeping over the floor. Luca watched Emma and the carriage driver dip and turn. The young man had a wide smile on his face, and so did Emma.
Luca slapped his leg, angry thoughts breaking through. The carriage driver twirled Emma around, before pulling her back in close, his hand sliding around her back.
His face grew hot and he had to look away. He didn’t know if it was them dancing together that angered him so much, or that he couldn’t, and probably never would, move like that.
The song ended and the crowd applauded. He grabbed his crutch and prepared to stand. He would get some cider for them to share, but when Luca looked back up, the two were dancing again.
The dances continued song after song. Luca waited and watched, his anger welling as jealously and pain got the best of him. The boys sitting around the table started taking turns walking past him, throwing their legs every which way, mocking him and making ridiculous faces.
Tears welled up, and Luca grabbed his crutch and jabbed it into the ground. He limped out of the hall and into the entrance chamber. He told himself that he just needed fresh air and quiet, but as he passed through the doorway, something else caught his eye.
A door on the opposite wall opened up into a short hallway and beyond that a warmly lit, well-appointed room. He limped forward.
“Mind your fingers. No touching the Hall’s treasures!” a man said as soon as he cleared the doorway.
Luca jumped and staggered into the wall, completely taken by surprise.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you, boy,” the guard said, coming forward and propping him back up. “Are you alright?”
Luca nodded, even though his heart still raced, but whispered, “Yes, thanks.”
“You take a gander, but be mindful of the ropes. And no touching,” the guard said and walked off, sauntering slowly around the room.
Luca limped around, first stopping at a decorative column almost exactly his height. An ancient looking pot sat atop it, its lacquered surface covered in strange shapes and runes. There was a black tower, and floating eye. He didn’t understand it, so he moved on to the next.
A low table sat waist-high, a decorative box covered in shiny glass sitting atop it. A strange weapon was locked inside. It had a long pole, wrapped in a rough black material. A pronged bluish blade was affixed to one end, while a tether and cluster of brightly colored feathers was tied to the other.
Luca continued around the outer wall of the room, marveling at all of the fantastic and mysterious treasures. He felt drawn to them, attracted to not only their ancient designs, but also the stories wrapped around them. He wanted to touch and hold them, to let his mind run wild and explore what they were, but also who made or used them.
A pain stabbed into his head and Luca dipped low. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. An image popped into his head, heralded by the pain. It was a dark corridor, and something shiny glittering just out of reach. He couldn’t make any sense of it. It was just too vague.
Cradling his head, Luca tromped past the next few items, fixating on the haunting image in his head.
Am I starting to remember? He wondered. Luca knew he should have been thrilled by such a memory. Instead, he felt only frustration. Was he too focused on the present to understand and decipher his past? Would he only ever limp, instead of run? And would he only gain glimpses, or flashes of who he used to be? He didn’t want to limp, and he wanted more than just glimpses. He wanted to be himself again.
Luca turned and limped by the front wall. It was covered in more pots, an old looking painting, and a faded metal box. But none of it held his interest anymore. He wasn’t concerned with details of other people’s lives
, only his own.
He turned as the guard walked down the back hallway. It appeared to be a long corridor covered completely in paintings and maps. The center of room was roped off, a single item catching his eye.
Limping forward until his belly touched the rope, Luca stared at the Yörspring. Cassida’s drawing, as beautiful and detailed as it was, didn’t do it justice. Shaped like an egg, although roughly twice the size of a chicken egg, the Yörspring was made of shiny gray stone and banded in glossy, red metal. Set within the banding was a series of glittering gems.
It isn’t even theirs, Luca thought, his eyes roaming over the magnificent trinket.
The music started to play once again out in the hall. He hadn’t even noticed that it stopped. She was probably dancing with him again. The thought angered him so he took a step towards the entrance hall to leave.
The pain in his leg flared, forcing him to kick his leg out wide and lean on the crutch, just as the boys did while mocking him earlier. He couldn’t escape it. He would never be able to dance, to walk, and other boys would always point and mock him. They were right.
Luca wiped angrily at his face, scrapping the tear off of his cheeks. He swiveled ungainly about, swallowed hard, and reached for Pine Hall’s treasure, but it was too far. He pushed against the rope, but it was tight. Dipping down, Luca moved to duck under the rope, but his leg seized up and he straightened again. The guard turned at the end of the hall, his lazy footsteps echoing back his way.
Luca hefted his crutch up and reached over the rope, trying to dislodge the Yörspring and roll it closer.
“There you are!” Emma said from the doorway, startling him. Her face was flushed and her eyes glistened in the light. Luca thought that she practically glowed. But it wasn’t because of him.
Luca looked back as the Yörspring wobbled, and then rolled free of its velvet pillow. It rolled towards him, right up to the edge of the column and stopped, just before falling off.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Emma hissed, coming forward.
Luca met her gaze and then reached out, snatching the Yörspring and stuffing it in his coat. He limped around her, setting off determinedly towards the door, but Emma jumped in front of him.
“Are you crazy?” she whispered, just as the guard walked back into the room. “They’ll put you in chains!”
“Let me go!” Luca said, but Emma blocked him once again.
“Put it back, before they see,” she whispered and tried to turn him back, but she staggered back as if he pushed her, an alarmed look on her face. “Why did you do that?”
“I didn’t do anything…” Luca said, and moved towards the door. He glanced back as the guard turned the corner, his eyes dutifully scanning each and every relic. He stopped at the empty green pillow and looked around on the floor, before looking straight at Luca.
“You two!” he said.
Luca panicked and ran, or tried to. He hobbled forward, his crutch slamming into the ground and tapping loudly. But then his weight shifted and he was falling forward. Not falling, he was floating.
Emma and Luca tumbled out into the entrance hall, the door to the trophy room slamming closed of its own accord. Luca staggered towards the door as the guard collided with the door behind them. His angry shouts filled the hall, punctuated by his pounding fists.
“Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?” Emma yelled angrily as they ducked through the door and into the cold.
Luca wasn’t so sure.
Chapter 37
Stronger Together
Roman snapped back to the cold dark of the tunnels. His legs and arms shook, his muscles twinging as if someone were stabbing him with hundreds of needles. His skin was cold, and there was a layer of moisture covering him.
How long have I been sitting here? He wondered, grabbing his trousers to help bend his legs.
He sat in the dark, hugging his legs in close, waiting for the pain coursing all over to diminish. Finally, after a short while, he started to feel normal again.
Fire rippled over his hand, casting a friendly glow onto the weeping rocks of the tunnel. Roman turned his attention inward, to the energetic presence swirling inside him. It was lively, testing its boundaries here and there, but it felt nothing like the Ifrit. Where the fire spirit confounded, poisoned, and sought to overpower, his new acquaintance simply felt curious.
Roman pushed off the ground, sliding his back against the cool stone. He felt the spirit react as he projected it, dark mist instantly seeping from his skin. The mist coalesced, pooling in the darkness just beyond the reach of his fire. A cool, green spectral trail appeared, pulsing lazily in the darkness.
A host of confused thoughts flooded into him as he gave the spirit shape. Mist became flesh and bone, skin and fur, tooth and claw. A pair of eyes caught the radiance of his fire, glowing like orange saucers.
The spirit dog strode towards him, his steps not only cautious, but uncertain. It was as new to this process as he. They were learning together.
“Here, boy,” Roman said, patting his free hand on his thigh.
The spirit growled curiously and stepped forward again, absorbing a bit of his confidence.
“It’s okay. It’s me, Tusk,” Roman said, kneeling down.
As soon as he said the name, the dog changed. He felt its confusion lift, as if it were suddenly able to remember exactly who and what it was.
Tusk bounded out of the darkness, a mass of black fur, paws, and teeth. He skidded to a halt directly before him, his claws scraping against the stone.
Roman pushed his hand forward, his palm held open. Tusk extended forward, his nose working over the air. He felt the familiar cold and wet sweep his fingers. The dog drew in his scent, and any remaining apprehension dissolved. The burly, black dog changed, his bulk shrinking and his fur lightening. In a heartbeat, the intimidating black dog was gone, replaced by his familiar, shaggy brown companion.
“I missed you, boy,” Roman said, tousling the dog’s unruly fur and pulling him close.
Tusk jumped up, draping his legs on Roman’s shoulders and proceeded to lick and nuzzle his face. They sat for a short time, enjoying each other’s company. It was peculiar sharing Tusk’s emotions and thoughts, but he couldn’t deny how comforting it was having his furry friend in his arms once again.
Before being reunited, they were both lost and alone, separated from everything they knew. He wondered what would have happened to the dog had he been allowed to wander the spirit world much longer. Would he have lost all sense of who he was? The thought troubled Roman greatly. In a way, Tusk filled a gaping hole within Roman, and he helped the dog retain what he was. They needed one another more than they could express.
“I need your help, boy,” Roman said after a long silence.
Tusk reared back, his large brown eyes scanning Roman’s face. He felt the dog waiting and considering.
“Dennah is in trouble. Everyone in Bardstown is in trouble. But we need to find a way out of these tunnels. It’s a blasted maze. There has to be a way out,” he said, and chuckled, realizing that he was talking to a dog.
Tusk leaned forward, and nudged Roman’s chin with his cold nose. He felt the dog’s spirit acknowledge him.
“You understand me? You can find a way out of here?” Roman asked, a shiver coursing down his back.
Tusk cocked his head to the side, and then did a most peculiar thing for a dog. He nodded.
“Alright, Tusk, furry hunter and bane of wild pigs, lead the way!” Roman said, giving him one final scratch behind the ear before standing.
Tusk woofed quietly and turned on the spot, his nose hovering over the ground as he went to work. Roman clenched his fist and willed the fire simmering out of his flesh brighter.
He tightened the quiver of arrows, slung the bow over his shoulder and followed. Tusk moved off, pausing at the first intersection in the cavern. He smelled the ground, then the air, and moved right. Roman took a deep, steadying breath, and followed.
* * * *
Freckles trudged through the snow, lifting her hooves free and plunging them back into the deep snow once again. The other men, the sell swords, rode large horses, which appeared to have a somewhat easier time.
They rode until the horses labored, and dismounted, walking until the horses were rested, and then remounted. Dennah hung in the back of the group, and not necessarily because Freckle struggled, but because the men made her nervous. They reminded her too much of Banus and his lot.
Sayer knew something about them. Were they sketchy men, dishonorable? She only wished that he could have put words to his concerns. Either way, if it troubled him, it troubled her.
“They tell us you serve as guard with Lord Thatcher’s caravan,” one of the men said after an impossibly long silence.
“That’s correct. This season was my first,” she said, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
The man watched her, his dark eyes lidded against the bright snow. A scar ran from one cheek to the other, ruining part of his nose, and his beard was long and unkempt.
“A woman in the guard… now there’s something I’ve not heard before,” the man replied, smiling. Dennah smiled back reluctantly.
“Do they let you carry a sword, or is your scabbard filled with kitchen knives and knitting needles?” the man directly before her asked, laughing loudly. The other men joined in the laughter and turned to her.
“Well, if you’re asking on the off chance that I’ll cook for you, you’ll be sadly disappointed. I don’t know how to knit, so I don’t know why I’d be carrying needles,” she said evenly.
“She says cook yer own food, Johnadin! You get rejected by those you ain’t even asking! Ah-ha-ha-ha,” the man on the far left roared, laughing so hard he almost fell off his horse.
The man to her right, with the scar on his face, didn’t laugh however. He silenced the group with a look.
“I can see her blade clear enough from here,” he said after a moment, without a trace of humor.
They trudged out over a short, wide bridge, the creek below completely concealed by the deep snow. The point marked the last recognizable landmark in the valley, and meant they had nothing but open road until the Trodden Traveler inn.
