by G M Archer
Joseph chuckled, “None of them really know how to, they’re just having fun. Perhaps I could teach you how to do that.”
She turned red, shrunk in the seat, “No.”
He crossed his arms, and spoke in an almost a begging tone, “C’mon, Alex.”
She narrowed her eyes, “You mean to humiliate me.”
“I don’t think he does,” I inputted with a grin.
He nodded, and she, now flustered further, shook her head.
“Humph,” He turned, “I suppose I’ll go alone,” he looked back to see her reaction.
“I suppose you will,” she turned away with her chin held high.
He walked away into the crowds, Alexandra glancing at him the whole time he went.
I started to say something to her when Neve sit down in front of us, pulling off a hood and shaking out her hair with a flash of colors.
“In incognito mode, Neve?” I asked.
She glanced around, “People keep asking me to talk their dogs into doing things for them,” she crossed her legs, “They don’t understand that just because they know what you’re saying doesn’t mean they’ll listen, kind of like most people.”
Alexandra, pretending to be unbothered, looked anywhere but where Joseph was, and pointed to a man the crowd was hoisting around in a barrel, “Who is that?” she asked Neve.
Neve took a glance back, “the mayor,” she said dismissively, and then in a more hushed tone, addressed me, “What’s this full-on revolution thing going around?”
“Word spreads fast,” I muttered into my drink.
“I’m sure you’re receiving a lot of advice from all around, but Varrick has to realize that his decisions are harming him too. He has to. His desperation makes me wonder what his reasoning is, and I would suggest you looking into it as well,” Neve looked around.
“I grew up with him. I’ve thought that, I’m glad that someone else sees it that way too,” I looked at my hands.
“But you’ve done well. I know you’ve got good intentions. While Varrick’s age old kingdom tears at the seams, you united Voltaren, the Forsaken, and Maul’s tribe in a matter of days.”
I nodded.
A man a table over looked our way, “Hey are you the lady that can talk to dogs?” he called.
“Nope,” she said, got up, put her hood back on, and merged into the crowd.
The man shot me a look and I shrugged.
“So how’s your wine?” I asked Alexandra, trying to make small talk, but she was scarcely paying attention.
She opened her mouth but suddenly went rigid, eyes locked on Joseph, “What happened to ‘I suppose I’ll go alone’?” she bristled.
I followed her gaze. Joseph was happily dancing beside the stage, a laughing blonde-haired woman in his arms.
Alexandra’s fingernails drug down the arm of her chair, scratching the wood as he traded partners, a brunette in his arms now. She giggled and planted a kiss on his cheek.
I glanced at Alexandra, her livid red face a startling contrast against her white bonnet.
“Go do something about it,” I offered, taking a slow sip of my cider.
“I think,” she stood, “That I will.”
She dropped her glasses by my hand, dashing around the table with a great twirl of her dress.
The band dove into the next song, the drummer cracking his hands against the side of his instrument. The fiddler responded to the rhythm, bow flying across the strings with a blur of movement, the tune taking shape and singing out through the crowd.
I had been cheering Alexandra on, but my encouragement turned to shock. Her hand snapped to her head and untied her bonnet, tossing it backwards, and she hiked a foot and jumped onto the nearest long table, her hair flowing and flashing the colors of the flowers that rimmed her head.
Mouth agape, I started to wonder if she was drunk, but her movements were far too coordinated for that. The people at the table removed their plates and mugs as she strutted down the length, heels clacking against the wood to the beat of the drum. The men around her gave hooting whistles, starting to clap, and the band responded by increasing volume. Her hair suddenly didn’t seem as grey to me, the wrinkles on her face less deep, her steel blue eyes a bright as a child’s. She was truly as light on her feet as the dodging wenches around her.
I imagined my face was just as shocked as Joseph’s. He stopped, the brunette hanging on one of his stiff arms. Alexandra twirled, arms out like wings as she danced around the table, smug eyes on Joseph. Most of the Inn had turned its attention to her, escalating into a crescendo of clapping and cheering, mugs on tables and feet stomping on the floor.
I shut my mouth and joined the applause, hooting wildly. Alexandra stepped forward onto the back of a chair, titling it and sending it crashing down, but she landed smoothly, continuing to strut forward to the encouragement around her. I lost Joseph for a second, the crowd gathering around Alexandra. He finally pushed through the wall of people, making for her.
I stood. No one was sitting now, following Alexandra’s example and jumping onto tables and chairs, the band jumping around the stage and roaring out music. Joseph reached out for her, and with a devilish smirk she drew close, then pushed off his breastplate, twirling off into the crowd for a man to grab her by the waist and spin her. I jumped over the table, losing sight of them, dodging through the crowd.
Alexandra whisked by Joseph’s fingertips, he snatched for her in vain. Someone grabbed my arm and I was suddenly being passed from person to person, trying to keep watching them.
“I thought you said you were going alone,” Alexandra teased. I could barely hear her.
“And you said you didn’t know how to dance!” he bellowed back.
He lunged forward as she was passed again, finally grabbing her. I laughed as the crowd parted to allow for their sharp steps and swinging arms. Their dance was a formal waltz, they were just doing a sped up version of it. I watched them with a satisfaction as I was whisked through the tavern.
The band went through several quick songs, and with the chaos finally calming because of exhaustion, they started in on a slower tune, the bard singing a low song about lost lovers. As overjoyed as I was for Alexandra and Joseph’s interactions, watching all the couples lean into each other and dance made me wistful for my own betrothed. I sighed.
I joined a table of wives whose men were off in the war, listening to their drunk humor and sentiments for a while, laughing with them. I spoke to Neve sitting at her own table before I walked out of the tavern for some fresh air, taking one last glance at Alexandra and Joseph swaying softly in each other’s arms.
The square had calmed, the music from the tavern now the loudest noise, the rest of the festivities had calmed. Intoxicated people slept on the cobblestones around the boar-slayer statue, and the only activities in most of the other buildings were things like tame games of poker and idle conversations.
I took a slow stroll up the hill beside the tavern, stopping to take a deep breath and gaze out over the rolling hills, dotted over with various farmhouses, and the shadow of the mountain range to the east.
I could still hear the fiddle and the bard’s voice, almost eerie with their distance. The band joined them, singing an old ballad. A basic song, but usually favored by nobility, and taught to all the higher class. I suspected Alexandra requested it.
I sidestepped on the cobblestone, extending my arms to a non-existent dance partner. I twirled, stepped back, and closed my eyes. The sound of the song brought me back to the castle, Donovan and I learning the moves to the dance under the watchful instruction of a woman playing harpsichord. I was at a royal ball on a smooth marble floor, moving swiftly with Varrick, the man not even looking at me. He might have been doing it out of purpose, but I was enjoying it. I was passed to Lafayette’s hands, white gloves to match a white suit. He looked at me perhaps a bit too much, making me unconformable, my awkwardness quelled in the name of professionalism.
I jumped, eyes flyi
ng open as two hands actually wrapped around mine. I looked up at the white mask, the seemingly empty black eyes inches from mine. While I had frozen in my steps, the Journeyer kept hold of my hands, continuing to do the routine of the ballad. I looked slowly at its gloved hands on mine
“What are you doing?” I was still, confused.
“What are you doing?” it mocked like the last time.
“Trying to make any sense of you,” I stepped into the dance with it, its dark clothes rippling out around us.
We moved, not quite awkward, but still in a strange sort of silence.
“Who are you?” I peered into the slits of its mask as if I could tell.
“Who?” It mused in its rasp of a whisper.
“Are you doing an owl thing, or mocking me, or both?” I let it dip me where called for in the song.
It shrugged.
“Or is it ‘what’ are you?” I said slowly, watching the inhuman grace of its movements.
It shrugged again flaring the cloth of its hood, lifted an arm and twirled me.
I tripped as I tried to return to dancing, but it caught me in a dip, holding me there as the song came to a close. It set me back up and I let go of its hands, stepping back.
“I don’t understand you at all. Why’d you dance with me?” I asked.
It dropped its hands to its sides, its cloak falling over its form, making it look armless again, “Because I wanted to,” its head swiveled towards the town, “And you looked lonely.”
“I like it when you give me real answers. I bet you’re not going to tell me who or what you are, though, are you?” I prompted.
“I can’t,” it said simply, turning and starting to walk up the road.
“Of course you can’t,” I followed it, the bard singing low and sorrowful distantly.
I caught up with the Journeyer, its predator litheness almost catlike. It took me through the city and eventually back up to the empty guard tower, the door waving open in the wind to reveal its raided interior. The Journeyer sit with its mask facing upward, looking at the flag.
I followed its gaze, then looked back at it. It was taller than me, especially with the sloping points on its head.
“Do you have horns?” I asked, both out of teasing and genuine curiousness.
“No,” it said simply.
“That was a quick denial. Maybe if you showed me your face I would believe you,” I gave a sly grin.
I could feel the narrowed eyes as it slowly turned back to look at me.
We sit in silence for a moment, leaving me deep in thought.
“When you left me last time,” I paused, “You told me not to trust Icarus. Why?” I watched the mask, trying to discern its emotions.
It stiffened as I uttered Icarus’s name, then looked me in the eye, the feeling of its gaze an intimidating intensity.
“Because your father killed him,” it said gradually, deliberately.
I stopped, “My-my father? Leopold?”
It started shaking its head, “No, your real-”
I heard my name called from down the street and I turned, hearing first Joseph and then Alexandra.
I turned back. Of course it was gone.
“No! No! Come back! Who’s my real father!?” I yelled out into the darkness, “Why did he kill Icarus!?”
Joseph entered the area, a slight swagger to his footsteps, Alexandra on his arm.
“Who are you yelling at?” he gave me a concerned expression, “Did you just say something about your father?”
“The Journeyer,” I said frustratedly, “told me my father killed Icarus. And not to trust him.”
“How much cider did you have?” Joseph asked.
“She’s not seeing things, it killed two men and distracted Maul before,” Alexandra defended me.
“Okay, what about the angel?” Joseph put a hand on his hip.
Alexandra looked to me.
“Well considering he’s apparently dead, I find it sensible that he appears in dreams,” I said.
“Oh, yes, that’s completely reassuring,” Joseph made motions in the air.
“He’s helped up to this point,” I said stubbornly.
“So you’re being guided by a dead man and stalked by an owl demon, great,” Joseph pursed his lips.
I looked off into the darkness, searching for a heart-shaped mask, “That about sums it up.”
Chapter 15- And Consumed by the Jealously of Entitlement
I spent the next week and a half attempting to assist the citizens of Voltaren, and succeeding in various degrees.
I worked at the re-opened bakery for a while, rolling pie crusts till my arms hurt. I helped the seamstress make dresses and the butcher cut meat to send off to the tavern and other establishments.
There was also several things I was much less successful at. After seeing my glamorous swords, I went to Voltaren’s blacksmith to work metal. While he was far less skilled than Maul’s smith, I don’t think anyone could have helped me with the twisted scrap of steel I had once intended to be a sword.
I also went to Winsland, the cane farmer, thinking I could help him and his blind grandson. I ended the first day covered in molasses, and the second day discovering that I was as unwieldy with a scythe as I was with a smithing hammer.
Realizing I was doing more harm than good there, I didn’t go back after that.
I had just finished a quest with a local group of farmers, finding a lost bull that had wandered into the woods. Ram proved himself much more versatile than a horse, able to run much faster than one, and effortlessly jump fences.
I re-entered Voltaren, waving to the people in the square as I rode through. I left Ram at the stables, making sure no one followed me to the Library of Souls.
I crossed the space with the owl statue, the dogs escorting me to Neve. She had folded a plethora of paper cranes, Serif sitting on the ground and stringing them onto threads.
“What are you doing?” I inquired.
“Making enough cranes to get a wish,” she said.
“Wish for a gryphon,” Serif inputted.
“No,” Neve said simply, “It only works if it’s something small.”
“Is Joseph still here?” I asked.
She picked up the nearest piece of paper, “Yes,” she looked at a dog, “take her to him.”
I followed the collie through the maze of the library, the dog taking me into a room where Joseph sit on a couch reading an old leather-bound book.
“Oh, Atlas, good, you’re back. Did you find the cow?” he looked up.
“Yes,” I nodded.
“Do you mind to go get Alexandra? She’s been in the Rook for a while, she found some book on translating the prophecy script,” Joseph asked me.
“Yes, I will. I’m anxious to see what she’s discovered,” I leaned against a shelf.
Considering I was the only one that could use the statues for transport, I was the only one that could take Joseph and Alexandra back and forth.
“Thanks. And, oh, get this, I’ve been reading up on Panstalkers,” he held up his book, “And it says the only cure is true love’s kiss. Isn’t that cliché?” He laughed, “You don’t think Alexandra would happen to know anything about that?”
“I think I’ll leave that teasing to you,” I smirked, “But I think you should at least be thankful if that’s the case.”
He grinned, returning back to his book.
I pushed off the shelf and walked back to the statue, worrying about getting lost but the dogs came to guide me. They anxiously watched me as I touched the statue. I supposed they liked watching me disappear.
I steadied myself on one of the chairs at the table, Alexandra’s head popping out of the map-room doors with the sound of my footsteps.
“Morning, Atlas,” she blew a hair out of her face, “So I’ve been working on translating the books in the Journeyer script,” she pointed to the last painting of the Journeyer holding up the prophecy tapestry, “And the guide I found works to
a certain degree because it shows how to translate the letters into Common, but so far I’ve only found one book in that script that’s actually written in common, so I’ll have to figure out how to translate the actual language.”
“So what have you found out so far?” I asked, walking into the room with her.
“Well the book I’m reading is fairly useless, considering that it’s a poetry book. But there’s one poem condemning the practices of the Order of Ouroboros, and another praising the Journeyer robes for their ability to make a person preform spectacular feats like running extremely fast and jumping to incredible heights,” she pushed her glasses up her nose.
I thought for a moment, “I’ve witnessed that. So it is the cloak, not the person. Fascinating.”
She nodded, “The rest of it is fairly well-written poetry, but useless to us. Oh, yes, and one mentions the fear of the west,” she walked into the doorway, pointing to one of the paintings and froze.
“Atlas,” she brought a hand to her heart.
“What?” I ran to her quickly, looking around her shoulder.
The Journeyer stood, legs splayed, frozen, with its eyes on us.
“Ha!” I startled it and Alexandra, “You see it too!”
“Why is it here!?” She exclaimed.
With her shout it crashed into the table, knocking a chair over before jumping up into the thick beams of the rafters.
I couldn’t help but to start laughing, the sight of the graceful thing flustered and panicking hilarious.
“Atlas!” Alexandra ran into the room, the Journeyer shuffling around wildly above her, “What do we do?! This is worse than the pigeon!”
“Throw your book at it,” I suggested.
It was mostly my sarcasm speaking, so I was startled when she actually did it.
The Journeyer gave a quiet yelp of surprise as the book hit it, bounced off and landed pages spread on the table below.
Alexandra jumped back with a scream as the Journeyer hit the table, jumped off, and went flying into the room that held the bedchambers. I took off after it, Alexandra shouting behind me.
The Journeyer ran into the sitting area, bounced off the wall and soared silently into the kitchen. I barely caught sight of it as it ran into the map room. Alexandra screamed again as it ran into the space, and froze, looking at her form between it and the map.
