When he regained his balance, Gnochi crouched and sliced at the ground with his sword, slapping a mound of the hot, loose sand at Ren, who for his part recoiled with a series of curses and viciously rubbed at his eyes, where a lucky dusting of the sand landed. Gnochi disarmed his opponent, throwing the scimitar away to the ground where the shifting sands consumed it. He sheathed his own sword.
“Funny that you should call me the pirate. You fight with no honor,” Ren said, blinking tears out of his eyes.
“The show must go on, I’m afraid. When the only sparring you do is for your life from cutthroats, you don’t learn all the prissy showmanship that they teach in battle school,” Gnochi said. “I’ll give you an opportunity.” He hauled Ren into the air, hoisting him by the scruff of his coat collar. One of the man’s hands stretched for his boots as if reaching for a weapon. Gnochi assumed another blade to be hidden within, though he didn’t bother to look.
“Do you hear this? It’s the sound of your ragtag group surrendering to a regiment of Providential soldiers. Call your men off.” Gnochi watched Ren blink his dazed eyes as if trying to hold back tears.
Instead of reaching for his boot, Ren’s hands struggled to pry Gnochi’s fingers from his jacket. His eyes drifted down to his chest, then widened.
Gnochi looked down, realizing that both of his amulets dangled freely on his chest.
“The eye,” Ren gasped.
Gnochi let Ren fall to the dusty ground and tucked the pendants under his leather armor.
Ren looked up to him with what could be described as a resigned, betrayed look of fear. “You work for Silentore? He hired you both,” Ren said, his eye twitching back to Cleo. “Back on the ship heading west all those years ago, he hired you? Did he pay you to steal my only means of staying on good terms with Gideon? Now you’re tasked with killing me?” Ren’s voice came in hysterical fits. “Old Jackal thinks he can take over Oceanmane by deposing me as he would a spineless monarch?” Ren bellowed a laugh that edged upon hysteria. “He’ll see how wrong he is. Every ship is its own government. Every man that sales under the mane is a lion. He’d have to take ‘em all,” Ren groveled in the sand and laughed to himself.
Gnochi shook his head and looked around to see if anyone had been listening. “What are you talking about?”
“Plus, our islands. All of them. Oceanmane has the largest reach of all the Pantheon’s arms and it cannot be toppled by one assassination.” Ren spat into the sand, his watery saliva seeping into the dry earth. Gnochi felt the Silentorian pendant at his neck pulsate but assumed it was his heart beating quicker from the battle.
“I don’t know what boat you’re talking about. I think the desert air has gotten to your mind,” Gnochi said.
“Do you work for Silentore?” Ren hissed.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that I work for them. Our contract is a little less friendly.”
“You work for them!” Ren’s tone sounded panicked. He curled his arms around his knees, locking into a fetal position. “And the girl. I’ve been following you two since we landed in Lyrinth. Now I’ve finally caught you, though it seems, that for now, Jackal has won.”
“I’d rather not kill you,” Gnochi admitted, staring with something akin to pity at his foe. Ren swung a fist at Gnochi, but the bard stepped out of range. “You’re in a deluded state. And you are not my target. If you were, you’d be dead, and I’d be long gone. Far from Silentore’s reach.” Gnochi turned and walked back to where Cleo and the horses were standing, watching.
“You’re a coward! Kill me! You think that he’ll leave you alone once your contract is fulfilled? They’ll own you like you own your soul,” Ren slurred.
◆◆◆
Cleo watched with a fearful curiosity as player-masquerading guards slaughtered the bandits. She thought that perhaps she should help fight. She hefted her staff and kept the knife Gnochi leant her looped through her belt. None of the bandits even glimpsed her way and a pair of the Perm soldiers engaged any bandits who wandered too close. Resigning her role from the battle, she focused her gaze on Gnochi’s harrowing duel with their leader, Ren.
She watched him hoist Ren up by his coat’s collar. Were the two talking? Even straining forward, she could not hear what they were saying to each other. Gnochi threw the man back to the sand and, after a few more moments walked back toward her with a confused look on his face.
Cleo spied Ren moving on the ground, affirming that Gnochi had not killed him. She let out a breath she had not realized she’d been holding in, then urged Perogie forward to meet him. She halted when she saw Ren prop himself up on his knees holding a small object that shined in the bright light. He straightened his arm, leveling it with Gnochi’s back. Cleo remembered a similar object from her childhood.
She recalled the item feeling heavy in her hands, its cold steel smooth as a blade, yet it bore no sharp edges or points. Her father had walked in on her as she had been examining it and scolded her, claiming that it was a dangerous weapon. She had never seen it again.
Realizing that Ren must have a similar weapon, Cleo rushed forward toward Ren. He seemed to be aiming it, one eye closed, as one would a crossbow. She knew that she would not make it in time, so she fumbled for something to throw, her hands finding the knife Gnochi had entrusted to her, but her throw flew wild and harmlessly pierced the sand. Out of desperation, with her heart tearing wildly through her chest, Cleo did the only thing she could think of. She screamed.
“Don’t kill him!” Her shrill scream pierced the silence. As she passed by him, Cleo saw Gnochi’s mouth moving but whatever words he said were lost before they reached her ears. She sprinted past him. The world around her seemed marooned in molasses. Her heart exploded in slow thunderous beats. Even though she was still a great distance from Ren, she saw his eyes flicker to her in the moment after her scream. From the distance, she could see the light blue of his coat rippling in a light breeze before it blurred from tears. The arm holding the weapon dropped. A discharge of white smoke erupted from it as a deafening crack ricocheted through Cleo’s ears.
Chapter 26
Cleo sat by Gnochi’s side the entire time that Harvey worked to remove the bullet. Scores of the menagerie had stopped by to offer their well wishes. She ignored them, focusing her attention instead on memorizing her lines in the play.
One visitor came in the dead of the night, dragging her from a fleeting dream. Three abrupt knocks sounded on their shared door. She glanced to the window, though the pitch of night and absence of stars above offered no indication who was calling on her and Gnochi. She inched over to her staff and hefted it. “Come in,” she said.
Zara entered the wagon with quick, quiet motions. Lit by the scarce light from one lone candle, she looked fearsome. Flickering shadows danced with the snake tattoos that slithered across her scalp and behind her ears.
Cleo shivered. She lowered the staff, leaning her weary body onto it.
For a minute, neither of the two said a word. The quartermaster’s eyes roved over Gnochi and settled on his bandaged leg. She inched closer to the unconscious bard, her posture still reflecting pain she must have felt from her broken ribs. After inspecting Gnochi’s wounded leg, she peeked under his shoulder’s bandage. She then stood back up, pleased with his condition, and cleared her throat.
“So, you prefer the quarterstaff?” Zara asked.
Cleo waited a moment, then answered, “It’s helped me thus far. Most aren’t threatened by a quarterstaff in the same way that they are by a sword. I would hate to see the last two men who’ve taken a whack from this.” She smoothed her hands over its lead-capped end.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Zara said, offering her open palms. “I’m not here to start anything.”
“Why are you here?”
“In many ways, we are the same, you and I.” Zara seemed to wait for Cleo to respond, but when she did not, the quartermaster continued. “I can teach you. I can help you. I know what it’s like to b
e trapped in a situation like that which you’re in.”
“You have no idea what situation I’m in.”
“I know that you have to hide your true self. Hide who you are, for fear of—”
Cleo leveled her staff with Zara’s chest, her eyes as sharp as the staff was blunt.
The quartermaster held up her hands in defeat. “Fine. I did actually come here for a reason though,” she whispered. “I’d like a part in your play.”
“What?”
“Preferably Miles. I quite enjoyed his character.”
“You’ve read it?” Cleo asked, unbelieving.
“I’ve memorized it all, actually.” In the dark, her eyes flickered back in forth as if reading from a script. “Every deity, every force that exists in the minds of humans, from the most powerful of beings, to the humblest of spirits. Millions, and millions of entities.”
“Okay, I get it. You’ve memorized it.” Cleo fumbled for a rebuttal. “That was supposed to be Gnochi’s role. Plus, it’s a male role.”
“So? Aren’t you reading from the boy’s lines? Besides, Miles said it himself. Every deity. That’s all inclusive.”
Cleo said nothing.
“Are you going to let me take the role?”
“Tell me why Gnochi has been going to your wagon every morning.”
“That’s for Gnochi to tell. If he hasn’t already told you, then maybe he doesn’t want you knowing.”
Cleo stared daggers at the woman, then smiled as she thought of what next to say.
“You’ll have to ask Gnochi then. After all, it’s his story to tell, not mine.”
◆◆◆
The passage of time in Gnochi’s dream seemed endless. The heat of fire roared through his body, every inch of skin was engulfed in flames.
He saw his sister and niece also falling victim to the inferno. A third form joined theirs in the hellish fire. Cleo. Gnochi bellowed in tormented rage.
The endless nightmare finally subsided with an abrupt start as Gnochi woke, but the encumbering darkness prevented his eyes from believing they had escaped. He realized that he must have been lying in a wagon. As his brain further stirred, he became aware of the oppressive heat ensnaring him which echoed the hellish nightmare from which he had awoken. An ounce of relief came from the occasional drip of cool water inching down his temples. A wet cloth was draped over his forehead.
Gnochi realized that his mouth was agape and something with an earthy taste was jammed between his jaws. He ran his cottoned tongue over the object, wincing as it was roughed by the harsh profile of a stick. He turned his head slightly and spit it from his mouth. When it clattered to the ground, a din outside the wagon, of which Gnochi had not yet noticed, quieted. A flood of light exploded into existence as the door was pushed open. The semblance of light reminded Gnochi, with horror-filled lumps that threatened to seal off his windpipe, of his time as a Silentorian prisoner; he shivered at the thought. He squinted to make out a man’s silhouette against the bright sunlight.
“Oh good, you’re awake. Cleo will be relieved,” a great voice called, distant to Gnochi’s ears.
The booming roused such a splitting pain in his head, as if an artist’s chisel struck between the two stubborn parcels of marble that were his ears. Gnochi groaned and moved to press his hands into his eye sockets as deep as they could to block out the light but was shocked to find them restrained. For the second time in as many moments, he wondered if he was, once again, imprisoned. Further investigation led him to discover that his legs too, were bound. The slight twitch of muscles to move his leg sparked a burning pain deep in his right thigh and brought a moan of pain to his lips.
“I’ll let your arms free, but don’t you dare touch that leg,” the voice resounded again, thumping a little less in Gnochi’s ears.
He recognized the calm tone and voice to be that of Harvey. The teen closed the door, re-submerging the wagon’s depths in darkness. Gnochi relished the dark and nodded thanks his thanks.
“It took long enough to stunt the bleeding, and it looks like it has finally scabbed over the stitching. No picking at it or I’ll tie you back up,” Harvey ordered, untying the bonds securing Gnochi’s hands with quick and nimble fingers.
With his hands free, Gnochi propped himself up on an elbow and surveyed himself. With the returning blood flow to his extremities, he felt the heavy rope binding his waist, knees and ankles to a table. He also became aware of an intense urge to stab a blade through his thigh. The skin beneath the thick bandage beckoned him to rake his sharp nails across their scabbed surface.
The wood beneath his hands appeared stained and still tinged with moisture, though whether it was sweat or blood, he could not tell. He felt Harvey’s intent gaze and looked up into the teen’s auburn eyes. They burned with an inferno of accusations that rivaled his nightmare.
Harvey fumbled with a mortar and pestle. “I need to check to see if you’ve got a fever.” He ground a few herbs together. “Awful lot of leather for a traveling bard and his female apprentice.”
Gnochi stretched his neck, testing his vocals to see how his unspoken voice faired. “It’s a rough world,” he said, air rubbing like bark against his parchment thin throat. “Even players need protection,” he added, making his own slight at the pseudo-player. “Not that you’d know, being in the king’s army.” Harvey had stopped working at Gnochi’s remark. “If anyone speaks out about you, they disappear. Though I’m sure you don’t know anything about that,” Gnochi spat.
“Actually, Roy and I were two who acted out against the monarchy. Look where we are now. Death or enlistment: that was our choice,” he said, averting his gaze. “Yes, there really are some things that you don’t know, Gnochi.”
“There is something else that I don’t know,” Gnochi said, dropping his air of arrogance and control. “What happened to me?”
“You don’t remember?” Harvey asked, his eyebrows climbing.
“I remember walking away from Ren and then heard a loud explosion. I felt pain in my leg and then I blacked out.”
“You were shot.”
“Arrow?”
“No. A gun,” Harvey said.
Gnochi felt air seep uncontrolled from his mouth.
“I’m serious. Straight from the first age. I don’t know who that bandit was, but he must’ve been well connected, or got lucky enough to rob someone connected enough. I’ve only seen one other gun, and that was in Providence’s armory. It’s more valuable to Providence than any gems or metals.”
“Did he say where he got it, or who gave it to him?”
Harvey said nothing for a minute but maintained the gaze. “He escaped.”
“What? But his group was all but surrendered or dead. He was one man and you were an army!”
“We are trained to deal with and avoid ballistics like arrows and bolts, not bullets. The men froze when he waved the gun around threatening to shoot anyone who approached.”
“Goddamit! I wanted to question him.”
“I heard you and he had a lengthy chat. Dorothea is going to want a word when he gets back.”
“Gets back?”
“He’s been meeting with the army posted in Middle Creek proper for the past two days. Roy and some of the others are with him.”
“I’ve been out for two days?” Gnochi moaned, disbelief tainting his words.
“Well, really a day and a half. It’s morning now,” Harvey noted.
“I need fresh air. I’m suffocating in here.”
“You know that leather may well have saved your leg,” Harvey noted as he untied the knots binding Gnochi’s legs.
“How so?”
“I had to cut the bullet from your leg. It was damned near embedded in your femur. If it had hit with an ounce more force, it might’ve snapped through your bone. And while I can do layman’s medical assistance, I am no bonesetter.” Harvey continued to untie the bonds. “You got lucky, Gleeman. Take it easy on that leg,” he warned.
“Lif
e goes on,” Gnochi said, more to himself. “But I’ll be careful.” He laughed aloud. “Don’t tell Oslow that I was nary two towns from him before I sullied his work. He’ll demand more gems and I have not one to my beard right now.” He smiled.
Harvey looked on with a confusion that seemed to question whether he was being addressed. “I should finish this for your fever,” he said, walking back to his herbs.
“Nonsense, I feel fine,” Gnochi lied. “Couldn’t be better, all things considered.” Harvey looked to him and frowned, but Gnochi persisted. “If I feel any worse, I’ll come straight to you, but I think right now, the best medicine I can get is fresh air.”
Harvey stooped under the table and retrieved a long wooden object. “I had a crutch made for you,” He showed it to Gnochi, who was itching to sit up. “Should help with the walking.”
“Thanks, Harvey,” Gnochi said. “Help me up.”
Harvey assisted Gnochi as he sat up and swung his legs over the table’s edge.
The instant Gnochi put weight onto his right leg, he sucked in a breath and winced as a bolt of searing pain speared through his thigh. He fell into the crook of the crutch and found Harvey’s arms supporting his other shoulder. With the pain under some level of management, he took his first steps to distance himself from Harvey’s pitying glance and the table where he felt like he had lost a pound of his flesh. A torrent of sweat beaded down his forehead and trailed down his torso. His free hand fell down to support his ribs, which jutted out of his skin as gaunt mountains. “Are you sure I’ve only been out two days?”
“That’s quite the trick you play there,” Harvey said. “I saw how your torso armor fattens you up. Must make it easy to surprise people in combat if they think you’re sluggish.”
“It’s saved me more times than I might care to count,” Gnochi finally said, offering a weak smile. “Deception is my sharpest sword.” He leant on the crutch, feeling it dig into his underarm. “Maybe I’ll feign a limp to further my persona, though it’s not too hard to fake it now.” He winced, taking another step. He made his way over to the wagon’s door and braced for the incoming barrage of light. “Thanks for the crutch. I’ll be fine here on out.”
Gleeman's Tales Page 22
