Thankfully there were no other hangabouts in the sewer that evening, and they made their way easily through their half-mile single-file trek. The only difficulties were about a dozen inappropriate pinches given to Billiam, and later, when he tripped her so that she fell within inches of the muck. I’m sure it was an accident.
Their danger to each other ended as they reached the ladder that would bring them to a safe entry point in the rundown edges of Westend. He picked up Shemmy easily by her shoulders and swung the giggling fool around him so that she could go up the ladder first. This was half for her safety, and half for his dignity.
“All right, Shemmy, please knock three times on that manhole, pause for thirty seconds, and knock twice more,” he instructed.
“Heh, manhole… gladly,” she replied. Rap, rap, rap. She banged with her knuckles. Humming a short tune as she waited, she executed her final knocks: Rap, rap.
The metal plate removed itself before she could fully withdraw her hand. A pretty young woman’s face appeared in the bright space where the manhole cover had been. Brown frizzy curls bounced around her cheeks, and she smiled as she dropped down her hand to pull Shemmy up.
“Hullo, Miss!” the lass squealed, hoisting the enchantress up and out to the street. Shemmy was small framed, but then again so was she, thus the force tumbled them both over. “I’m so glad you came, and early too! I’m Jessica, but you call me Jess, okay? I feared I’d be sleeping on this manhole tonight.” She was giggling as she helped Shemmy and herself up.
Billiam managed to wriggle out on his own, not that either of the ladies had any intention of helping him. He quickly slid the manhole cover over, closing the heavy metal as delicately as possible to avoid garnering excess attention. Jessica was none too cautious as she excitedly examined her new friend.
Billiam went to gather the belongings she had with her to make it seem as though this alley truly was her home. As he started to pull down her quilt tent, Jess laid her hand on his shoulder. “Just wait, you. This really is someone’s living space. That old crow Maggie let me borrow it and her stuff. Silly me, and I thought you knew everything.” She smirked while waggling her finger at him, prompting Shemmy to join in as well. Before he could rebut or even sigh at her, she stopped her teasing demeanor. She smiled sweetly and assured him, “We can leave it all right here. Maggie is at the lodge, and to make it a fair trade I was letting her use my room. I am a bit scared to see the state of my linens, but I am so excited you made it back!”
Grabbing both their hands, she pulled them along at her skipping pace, down the alley and through the streets. Jessica was extremely high-spirited and friendly, almost without exception. She had soft caramel-colored skin that always smelled of warm sugar and vanilla. Her round face was bursting with joy, studded with faint freckles across her nose and long-lashed green eyes. That day she was sporting a cute yellow sundress that bounced around her body. She stood only five feet tall, with a very important quarter inch she always reminded me of. Shemmy outstood her by about three inches, with Billiam over a foot above Shemmy, making them a very unbalanced-looking trio.
Jessica skipped along so quickly, the shawl began to slide off Shemmy’s head. Billiam stretched his arm out across the two girls and they halted. “I am very excited too,” he told Jess happily, “but we really shouldn’t go revealing our guest yet.” Walking around the front of them, he covered Shemmy’s beaming face once again with the burlap veil. “We need to slow down, but you can keep holding her hand. We don’t want her to slam into a pole, well… at least we ought not.”
“Ha! Geez, Pa. Take away all our fun,” teased Shemmy, as she and Jess both stuck out their tongues to our thoroughly exhausted hero. “I like you!” she exclaimed while she clung to Jessica. They were obedient enough to slow down slightly, though neither of them wanted to offer a hand to Billiam any longer, so the poor dear walked solo. He must have been terribly disappointed.
The sunset was in its full colorful glory by the time they reached the lodge. The street’s oil lamps were being lit around them, illuminating the sign above the door. Shemmy was surprised to see it really was an inn, aptly named “The Philosopher’s Rest.” She thought she was being escorted to some clandestine rebel clubhouse, so she was relieved to see something much more genial.
“Ooo, it ’ave a tavern in it?” she asked Jessica.
“Of course it does, silly goose. A lodge without a bar ain’t a lodge at all. Now, let’s not just stare at the entrance. You have so many people to meet!” Jessica swung open the door, skipping and waving as she ran inside.
The smell of warm bread and roasted meats rushed into Shemmy’s nose. She had been so long removed from cooked meals and surrounded by the smell of death that she had forgotten how much she missed the warm embrace of a food’s aroma before devouring it. Walking into the large wooden room was as overwhelming as it was comforting. The bright lighting and communal atmosphere felt like a long-awaited reunion; however, one step in and she felt she couldn’t proceed. It must’ve been some strange, succulent dream that couldn’t possibly go any further.
“It may not be the royal castle, but this is our home. Welcome to the current hub of the mighty Order of Logos, protectors of the realm and the quest for knowledge. We also have brilliant meat pies!” Billiam told her with a smile. By wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he gently forced her awake and into the room, walking them both straight over to the bar. “Now, shall we get you a drink before bombarding you with introductions?” Turning to the barmaid, he implored sweetly, “Might we have two warm ales, my dear?”
“Of course, of course, Billiam!” The girl turned around instantly, sliding her upper body along the bar to just barely reach Billiam for a hug. The familiar face turned to Shemmy and greeted her politely. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss. We’ve all been hoping to for such a long time.”
“What? Jessica, I already met ya! How’d ya get back there so fast? Where’d yer other outfit go? I liked it better.” Feeling utterly confused, Shemmy turned to Billiam. He was laughing loudly, prompting her to frown.
“You met my sister, dear. She is far fonder of wearing little dresses than I am. I get cold easily,” she explained, smiling and tugging on her pale sweater. “My name is Katrina. We are twins, of course.” She handed Shemmy her ale first, then turned to Billiam to give him his and make some small talk.
Shemmy sipped her beverage and studied this new friend, entranced. Shemmy could not recall if she had met such identical twins before. Kat was just as small and cute as her sister. Her honey-brown hair was the same mess of curls as Jessica’s, but she wore part of hers tied up, making it look a little less wild. Her eyes still sparkled green, and she had the same warm energy, but Shemmy conceded she definitely was a different girl. Jessica was exuberant and outgoing; Katrina seemed so calm and gentle.
After downing half her ale and taking turns ogling either one of the twins, Shemmy and I finally had our meeting.
“Welcome home, sir.” I am of a polite nature, and as Billiam was acting leader of our humble group, naturally I wanted to greet my superior first. After, I turned to the wild sprite he brought with him and quietly said, “I am pleased to meet you, Miss,” with a small bow.
She looked at me slack-jawed and mystified. “Yer tall” was all she could mutter out.
“Yes, yes I am,” I replied, and I had figured that was enough introduction for me. I have never been one for frivolity or meaningless chatter. To me, Shemmy was merely a means to our end. I felt no need to familiarize with her; tools are to be used, not befriended. Sadly, Billiam was not going to let me get off that easy, and he grabbed my arm as I turned to walk away.
“Shemmy, this is my second-in-command. Her name is Leke. Please treat her with the utmost respect. She is a faelock, thus she is quite tall, and her sense of humor is a bit lacking, but she is also my dearest friend,” Billiam informed her, his jibe mixed with love.
I waited until now to introduce myself, as I kn
ew my introduction to Shemmy would arrive in this part of the timeline. I saw no point in making a show of myself twice. I am Leke, your narrator through this record of our toils. I am Billiam’s greatest friend and confidante, and he is mine. I was a private in the Order of Logos before it was disbanded and was personally trained by Captain Ackerman Grimhart. I have been charged with compiling this log, and I’m doing my best to ensure it is not dreadfully boring. I will not claim nor deny omniscience; however, I do have a keen memory and an objective stance on all our players, for the most part. I agree that I was not the worst choice for this task.
“You must be a pureblood, den? I ’ave never met one of you!” Her squealing and excitement had already begun aching my head.
“You still haven’t met one; you are to have met two. My brother is there by the stairs, waiting his turn, I suppose.” I pointed over to him, hoping to be free of her interest at last.
“Oh wow! Leke, you told a joke! That’s wonderful,” said Katrina sweetly, which prompted both Billiam and Shemmy to start snickering like idiots.
“I may not have the sense of humor you all have, but I do have a knack for puns and rather enjoy sarcasm. Now, Zan, please come over already.” I slunk my head down and turned away before Billiam could grab me again.
I presume, as Shemmy herself mentioned, faelocks are not common and do probably deserve some explanation. In our realm throughout history we have had three species of sentient, intelligent beings. Firstly there are the humans who have sprawled all over the globe of Corseca, populating like wild. Next there are the faeries: small and savage, winged creatures that can commune with the forces of nature in ways the humans could never begin to comprehend. They live in few places in the world, preferring to have no interaction with humans and sealing off their woods with tricks of the eye and traps. They range from an inch to a foot in height, glow with light pink- or blue-tinted skin, and speak telepathically with one another.
The third species would be the ogres, who are all extinct now. They were gigantic bundles of muscle, credited with the building of mountains, smashing canyons down with their fists, and filling the rivers with their tears. This, of course, is utter shit, yet their strength and size would be nothing short of unbelievable if it were seen today. It is approximated they grew to be at least three stories tall and weighed over ten tons. Despite their build they were not brutes. They were kind and intelligent beings who were perpetually docile. Their peaceful nature impressed the faeries, and somehow, which I think would be horrifying to witness, they ended up mating with the ogres. As far as we know, they were of only one sex. There is no record of them ever procreating with one another, rather they had extremely long lifespans.
The ogres were hunted and wiped out by man centuries ago, due to being either poached for their large organs or out of religious vehemence. According to MortiAegism, both ogres and faeries were wicked interlopers, deserving of death. The faeries were much harder to kill, hence them not being victims of genocide as well. The ogres, on the other hand, abhorred the violence and would simply submit. Obviously, they could not have been that wise if they cared not for their own survival, but they are gone, and there is no need to think of them further. Their part in all this was the spawn that had been made with faeries. This new species became known as the faelocks.
We faelocks range from seven to nine feet tall. Our skin is usually gray or silver, but with a regular human flesh tone of varying shades showing through. We look much like humans that have been pulled tight and long, like taffy. Our necks are always at least a foot long and far more flexible than man’s; our arms and legs are overstretched as well. Some of us have extra elbow and knee joints to accommodate for the added length; where this gene comes from is not known, and neither my brother nor I were lucky enough to inherit it. Faelocks are not known to be telepathic but are very empathic and perceptive. We seem to have received that from the faeries along with our extreme speed and dexterity. We do not perform the magic tricks faeries and enchanters do, instead we can clearly see through them and interfere with them. We have a small talent for harnessing and releasing bursts of energy but can do nothing truly wondrous. From our ogre ancestors, we received our resolve, calmness, and inhuman physical strength. They also burdened us with our unique approach to relationships. I will explain that further to Katrina when my brother gets himself in an awkward situation, and I’d like to avoid redundancy.
Although faelocks share traits of the creatures that produced them, they are far too dissimilar to either to not be entirely their own species. Thusly, the faeries never accepted them in their dark, wooded communities. The ogres were physically strong but spiritually weak, and as they died out, the faelocks felt no loyalty to them. They ended up migrating to the lands of humans and adopting their ways of life.
As Shemmy referenced, some faelocks mated with humans, creating a much more balanced creature of half mother and half father than the faeries and ogres had. They are known as halflocks and look simply more human than faelock or less human than other humans, however you prefer to look at it. My brother Zan and I had two faelocks for parents and thus are considered purebloods.
Back to the timeline, I had made my few steps away and over to my associate Malcolm by the time Zan finally got his lanky body off his seated position on the steps. He walked over to Shemmy, obviously paining himself to walk slower than his long legspan allowed. His hair was cut quite short; only peeks of his navy blue strands could be seen from under his bowler cap. We had the same grayish-yellow skin that gave us an unpleasant green tinge in direct sunlight.
He bowed to Shemmy without pulling off his cap and gave her one of his disgustingly fake smiles he thought were so human. “’Ello, Shemmy! My name’s Zan, an’ it’s a pleasure to meet ya!”
Liar, I thought to myself with a smirk. He lied about the pleasure, and he lied about his poor grammar and poor manners. Lying as frequently as he did was uncommon among faelocks, but it was a constant for him. He adopted this behavior as a result of being bewitched by a burning need to be liked and accepted by humans. He had possessed this desperation for as long as I could remember.
He kindly squinted his lavender eyes through his silver-framed spectacles as he shook hands with Shemmy. Conversely to before, he faked a lack of smile as he congratulated Billiam on his return, albeit solemnly. Billiam completely ignored his presence. Shemmy was shocked, as she had not seen him react coldly to anyone thus far.
We Knights of Logos dressed all about the same. We no longer got to be trussed up in chain mail or silks, but our black suits fought to retain some of our nobility. We had plain black bowler caps on our heads, with a small L insignia hidden in the bands. The uniform consisted of a white dress shirt, black slacks, and whatever cut of black coat you fancied. Some of us wore ties, and I liked to wear my black cotton handkerchief knotted around my neck loosely. My brother opted against it and would at times leave his shirt unbuttoned at the top. He could be a little tawdry, and today seemed to be one of those days.
Zan quickly fled to the kitchen, after which Billiam rose from his seat and placed his hand on Shemmy’s shoulder. “I will save parading everyone in front of you until tomorrow, as we will be going over our next moves. I am now off to scald my skin with boiling water and throw my suit in the fire,” he informed her with a grin, though we could all sense he was entirely serious. He turned to Katrina and asked, “You and your mother will see to it she gets a comfortable room and anything she needs?”
“Of course!” chimed in Jessica from behind him. “I can’t wait to wash this filthy head of hair, and I know Momma will be up to the challenge of these blackened fingernails,” she said while pinching at Shemmy’s cheeks.
“Please dun make me too clean,” Shemmy squeaked, looking at both twins with eyes full of fear. “It took me ages to get this dirty.”
Billiam heard the girls laughing and screaming, “Ewwww!” as he ascended the stairs to his room on the third floor.
“We’re puttin
g you up in room twelve, Shemmy! You are the twelfth after all!” Jessica explained and plopped a large bowl in front of her. It was filled with half a chicken and mashed potatoes, all smothered in some dark and delicious gravy. Shemmy grabbed the chicken and started gnawing on it, while wiggling about happily in her chair.
“I thought you were staying in twelve since Maggie soiled your room?” Katrina asked her sister. “I still don’t understand why you actually gave her your own room. You could’ve said any of the empties were yours.”
“Maggie is quite shrewd for a human filled with more ale than blood, and she caught my lack of books the second I walked her into twelve. I don’t need the room anyhow, as Leke has invited me to bunk with her. I shan’t be passing up that offer, as I am too excited to sleep anyhow!”
“And you don’t sleep if you are in her room?” Katrina was drying off Billiam’s glass with her bar rag, and felt as if she was missing something. Shemmy laughed and choked on her potatoes a little. She had many a comment to add, but shoveling food into her mouth with her hands was all she could focus on.
For some reason, all of us in the lodge kept Katrina in the dark about any number of things. She was a smart and sensitive girl; it was not as if she was incapable of handling a secret. None of these omissions were malicious truths being hidden from her, yet none of us wanted to burden her. Perhaps it was because we all remained protective of her. She had been training to join the Order of Logos before falling ill when she was eleven. She suffered complications from pneumonia and was rendered feeble for five years. She devoted herself to her studies, instead of swordsmanship, and decided against joining the Order when she recovered. She was twenty-three years old at this time and completely healthy, yet none of us remembered to remove our kid gloves.
“Right, I’m going to leave before that one’s mouth is no longer full. I’ll check on your mother and see how preparations are going. I can help her to get a bath ready, as well,” I called over to the gaggle of girls. I got up, leaving Malcolm to his research at the booth. He lifted his fingers as his silent farewell.
Defiant Revival Page 3
