Gleeman's Tales

by Matthew Travagline

The fuzzy mutterings of chatter roused Cleo from her hazy sleep. Right away, she became aware of strong hemp bindings securing her wrists and her ankles.

  She had lost all sense of her orientation, only realizing that she was laying on her side when nerves from her skin reported that a jagged rock had nestled itself into the niche between two of her rib bones. With the slightest shift of motion, the rock buried itself deeper in her skin, making her gasp in pain. A cloth gag filling her mouth muffled her whimpered cry. After a moment, rough hands forced her into a haphazard sitting position. A canvas sack that Cleo had not even realized she was wearing, was peeled back from her face.

  In the dim light provided from the cave’s quaint entrance in the distance, Cleo was able to see her kidnapper for the first time. The burly hands belonged to a man rippling with taut muscles. At first, she thought that the man was riddled with hair on every stretch of his visible skin, but as he led her closer to the entrance, and into a pool of light provided by a small fire, Cleo realized that it was not hair she had seen on his body, but thousands upon thousands of scars. She recoiled from his cold, sterile touch and then shivered as he untied the bonds restricting her hands. The marks scored all over his visible skin; they reminded her of a feral beast’s stripes, recalled from some children’s fantasy. The man looked into Cleo’s eyes. Their complete lack of color sent another shiver down her spine.

  Cleo directed her attention to the woman who sat crouched on her haunches before the fire. She kept her night-black hair cut at a boyish length and wore clothes so loose they betrayed neither athletic build, nor concealed weapon.

  The woman’s eyes glowed golden in the dim firelight, though they held no malice. Cleo shivered, feeling like the woman was staring through to her soul. She wondered how someone so young could command such a presence and exude such confidence.

  With a graceful air, she stood and walked to Cleo, who now sat free from her restraints. “Welcome back to the waking, young echoer.” Her voice emitted a peaceful confidence that filled the cavern. Cleo pulled at the gag still tied behind her head in answer.

  “I can have your gag removed. If you try anything, we will be forced to restrain you again.”

  Cleo nodded. The man tugged the gag from her mouth with care. She spat on the ground and licked her dry lips. “Thanks,” she uttered, her voice little louder than a mouse’s scratching.

  “There is no running away. I can assure you that Kib will catch you. He is faster than any human,” the woman warned.

  “Noted,” Cleo said, rubbing her hands to alleviate their sores. She stretched, massaging kinks out of her stiff shoulders and legs. The niche between her ribs where the rock had buried itself throbbed under her jittery touch. Cleo looked to the woman. “What were you talking about? Echoer?”

  The woman looked to her companion, then spoke as though Cleo was not present. “Is it possible that her echo yet remains dormant? Usually by her age, children have developed into their full echo.” For his part, the hairless man said nothing, but merely shrugged.

  It was only then that Cleo realized that she was alone. Craning her neck, she found no sign of Roy, or Gnochi. “Where are my friends?” she asked.

  The woman looked back at Cleo with a condescending pity. “You don’t even know that you’re an echoer do you? I can see that instinctual confusion thick in your eyes.”

  Cleo ignored the woman’s remarks and instead pleaded with her. “Please.” She stood and advanced one step closer before Kib’s fast arm shot out and restrained her at the shoulder. The hairless arm felt cool where it brushed against her neck and tight with tension, yet she feared naught that he would hurt her. “You have to help me. We were looking for the mountain range’s medicine man. I’m sorry if we were trespassing. If you’ll let us go, we will leave and never come back. We won’t tell anyone about you living here,” she said, eyeing the cave and looking for anything that might explain what the pair was doing.

  The woman looked taken aback. She glanced at her companion, then, with shock clear in her delicate voice, said, “So, I’m a man now am I? Is that the rumor you spread, Kib?” She turned her sights to Cleo, golden eyes illuminated from the dying firelight. “I’m afraid you have been misled, girl. There is no medicine man in these mountains.”

  Cleo’s expression deflated and she allowed sorrow to push her eyes to the stone floor. Cold tears leaked out.

  “There is, however, a medicine woman in these mountains and you’ve found her, though I’d rather think of myself as a spiritual healer and not really a chemist.”

  Cleo looked up, her sharp steel eyes smoldering in rage, tears all but evaporated. “Do you make a habit of imprisoning all who come seeking your aid?”

  “No, but it is not every day when I see an echoer with an armed guard,” the woman answered. “Oh, and then there is the man recovering from what I imagine to be a life-threatening wound, in a comatose state from bone-flower poisoning, to boot.”

  Cleo’s eyes lifted at Gnochi’s mention. “Is he alright?” The hurt was visible on her face and in her voice. “Can you heal him?”

  “I’ve done what I can for him. Whether he recovers will rely entirely on his own body. He needs to sleep off the remainder of the toxin.”

  Cleo was unsure as to whether she should be thankful or upset. She did not have long to sort her own emotional status, though, because the woman continued speaking.

  “If I may, I’d like to know which apothecary gave that man bone-flower. I might have to break my peaceful nomadic lifestyle to find them and kill them for such a blunder.”

  A nervous cough tore through Cleo’s throat before she could suppress it. “I gave him the bone-flower, but I’m no apothecary,” she confessed.

  “Well, that changes things slightly. But that doesn’t change the fact that he nearly died, his mind almost lost forever in a sleep state.”

  “I couldn’t not give him the leaves though,” Cleo argued. “He was dying of a severe infection and—almost?”

  “Additionally,” the medicine woman said, ignoring Cleo’s question. “I am curious as to what type of sword, weapon, or arrow caused such a wound.”

  “It was no sword, nor arrow. He was shot with a gun. A first-age gun.” Cleo spoke the words, uttered them no louder than a whisper, but it still caused Kib to perk his head and shoot his companion a stern look. The woman, for her part, returned the stare with a questioning gaze of her own. They seemed to be having a full conversation just from the slight movements of their eyes and brows.

  After a moment, she turned back to Cleo and offered her hand. “You can call me Cig,” she said. “I’m the healer of these mountains.”

  When Cleo took the woman’s hand, she felt how smooth and unblemished Cig’s skin was. She continued to study her face and was shocked at the agelessness that obscured her features. Cleo could not discern her age. The woman could as easily be a year older than Cleo as she could be a decade her senior.

  “My name is Cleo,” she responded, releasing her grip on Cig’s hand. “The man you helped is Gnochi, the other one with us is Roy.”

  “Kib,” Cig motioned to the man, “is my friend, and a guard of sorts.” Cig smiled. She looked off to an opening leading further into the dark cavern. “The boy, Roy, is strong willed. I almost had to have him incapacitated him in a traditional manner, isn’t that right, Kib?”

  “Yes,” Kib grunted. For the first time, Cleo heard his voice. It sounded of boulders gnashing against one another.

  “Are they back there?” Cleo pointed to the dark depths further into the cavern.

  “They are resting. You can see them later, Cleo. Tell me, though. Have you told your company yet?” Cig asked, eying the cavern’s depths.

  “Told them what?” Cleo asked.

  “Yes, told us what, Cleo?” a voice echoed from deeper in the cave. Roy was both rubbing sleep from his eyes and shielding them from what must have been the harsh light of the fire as he shambled up from wherever he was resting. His light hair
sat matted at an odd angle from how he had been sleeping.

  Cig looked to Kib, then suggested, “Perhaps we should leave the couple for a moment of privacy.”

  “No wait! We aren’t a couple,” Cleo corrected. “And there’s nothing to tell. You’re wrong. I’m not an echoer,” Cleo said, though her voice betrayed at least an ounce of hesitation.

  “An echoer?” Roy spoke to himself. “How haven’t I seen it?”

  “No, I just said I’m not. These two are mistaken.”

  “Impossible,” Cig responded. “I can sense when someone else has an echo.”

  “Wait,” Cleo stammered. “You’re an echoer?”

  In unison, as though each had been addressed, both Cig and Kib said, “Yes.” Roy flinched and reached for a sword that was not presently hugging his hip. “And people like you, boy,” Kib said, his voice, heavy, “afraid of what you do not understand, are the main reason why being an echoer is such a secret, and a rarity on this side of the world.” Cleo was shocked to hear such words coming from the once silent man.

  “Across the ocean,” Cig amended, “where we hail from, echoers and the deaf (that is everyone else mind you) live together, openly, and with little of the loathing you so openly hold.” Cleo saw Roy look down, as if in embarrassment. “But fret not, you are merely an offspring of your upbringing.” Cig paused for a moment, then added, “I will need your help, Roy, figuring out what Cleo’s echo entails.”

  “So, you do not know?” Cleo asked, a little shocked.

  Instead of addressing Cleo’s question, Cig said, “Let’s start by compiling everything we know about Cleo. I know that she is from one of the Eastern lands.”

  Cleo gasped and she heard Roy also suck in a breath.

  “Please, your accent, no matter how you try to conceal it, peeks through. Additionally, most echoers still alive, hail from eastern lands.” Cig seemed to be waiting for some dawning of recognition on the faces of Cleo and Roy, but they still looked confused. “It’s because of the wars waged here in Lyrinth and other western nations that almost eradicated all western echoers.” She made an impatient noise with her tongue. “I suppose they don’t advertise that in their government periodicals then?

  “History aside, I am surprised that others haven’t picked up on your accent,” Cig continued. “Unless.” She looked intently to her friend and they seemed to disappear into another one of their shared conversations. “Kib did not pick up on the accent. That leads me to believe that your echo provides an illusion.” The group sat in pondering silence.

  “She’s a bard’s apprentice and a scribe,” Roy offered. “But this is no mere bard,” he said. Cleo moved to silence him, but he managed to speak before she could stop him. “He is an agent of Silentore.”

  Cig looked back to Kib, something akin to fear glazed over her eyes.

  “He’s not working for them! He is trying to rescue his family that they kidnapped and are holding from him,” Cleo defended.

  Cig spoke to herself it seemed. “I knew that there was an ill air with him, but I didn’t sense this.”

  “We need to leave. We can be miles away before they stir if we subdue them,” Kib said, speaking as though the two were not hearing what he planned.

  “No, we cannot leave without seeing him through this maelstrom,” Cig said.

  “What if Ren hired him to find and kill us?” Despite the harshness of Kib’s voice, upon hearing the name Ren, Roy and Cleo looked at each other and both gulped. “You said it yourself, there is something off with that man.”

  “Can it be the same?” Cleo spoke low enough to have been speaking to herself, but loud enough to be heard.

  “My height; dirty blonde hair; messy; stocky; pirate type?” Roy asked, rattling off descriptions he remembered.

  “Yes,” Cig said. Her face became stricken with fear.

  “Well then, I can assure you that you have nothing to fear from Gnochi, and nothing to fear from Roy or myself,” Cleo assured.

  “How do you know what his intentions are?” The edge of Kib’s voice could slice through the sturdiest armor.

  “Because Ren was the one who shot Gnochi,” Roy explained.

  “He was looking specifically for a pair of—” Cleo’s mouth fell as she spoke the words as realization formed in her mind. “A male and a female. You? Ren is after you two?”

  Cig nodded in response. “And he has been for years. I suppose it’s time we moved on, huh Kib? Sooner or later, he would’ve stumbled upon the medicine woman and her shape-shifting guard.”

  “I’ve never heard of a Silentorian traveling in the company of two, let alone three,” Kib said.

  “He’s traveling with our menagerie now, so that number is closer to fifty.” Roy chuckled.

  “That doesn’t make sense. Why he would risk their ire? Unless, Kib, do you think?” Cig looked down to Cleo, then offered, “I think your echo gives you persuasive powers. On top of the illusive defense mechanisms at least. Whose idea was it for you two to travel together?”

  Cleo thought back to how she had pestered Gnochi to allow her to travel with him. “He would’ve said no,” she said, her voice hollow and quiet. “He did say no.” Like a wave collapsing against an unwary swimmer, she realized in an instant that she had doomed his family. Tears welled in her eyes. An even bigger wave swallowed her whole as she contemplated how much of her life had been cursed by this echo.

  “And joining up with the menagerie? Whose call was that?” Roy asked.

  Bile rose in Cleo’s throat. She turned away from her companions so that if the vomit came, it would not pool down her chest.

  She heard Cig speaking, though it sounded as though it traveled a great distance to her ears. “Take him down the path. He is not helping right now.”

  Cleo ran through every moment of her life where she managed an impossible compulsion. She recalled talking her way off Bollo’s ship, convincing Mistress Gordon to protect her from him, then offer her a job and shelter. Even yesterday, Cleo thought, Dorothea vouched for her despite hating them from the moment they arrived in the menagerie. How many other people has she manipulated without knowing? How much of her life has been a lie?

  “Cleo.” Cig moved to sit beside her. “Echoes are passed down from parent to child. Do you remember anything about your parents that might’ve indicated an echo?” Cleo shook her head, though she realized it could be why her father displayed such a disdain for her mother. He knew. Everyone else at home knew. Their stuffed ears finally made sense.

  “They all knew,” she managed to say. “Everyone except me.” She felt her cheeks warm with angry embarrassment.

  Cleo allowed Cig to guide her head to rest on the woman’s shoulder. When their skin touched, she felt a slight warmth and with that came some relief.

  Kib and Roy returned to the cave. “Someone is coming up the path,” Kib said. “Roy thinks that he knows who it might be.”

  “Take Roy and go subdue the traveler. I’ll be right behind you,” Cig answered. The two left the cave. “Cleo,” she said, gripping her chin and forcing it so that their eyes were level. “Listen and listen well. It’s clear to me that you were not, and are not yet, in control of your echo. And while I’m all for people keeping their secrets, this is one that you may want to be honest with in your disclosure with him,” she said, nodding to the darkened space. “Especially if you want there to ever be room for trust between you two again. Gnochi is waking. Speak with him. We will be gone a short while.”

  Sniffling and wiping her eyes, Cleo managed to whisper, “Thank you,” but Cig had already disappeared out of the cave.

  Chapter 37

  Feeling her way along the rough walls of the cave, Cleo inched further into the darkness. After waiting for her eyes to acclimate, she was able to pick out Gnochi’s faint outline as he struggled to sit up. She could tell that he was smiling because the scant light reflected pale off his teeth.

  She grimaced and was about to speak when Gnochi fell over on his side a
nd vomited onto the gravel. Sharp jabs of pain flared in her knees as she knelt by him, but she ignored their protests and allowed her hand to rub circles into his back. The skin beneath her light touch was uncharacteristically cold, even through his shirt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled again.

  “I feel like Typhus is using my stomach for his latrine,” Gnochi said, spitting out a globule of remaining vomit.

  “That’s due to the bone-flower, no doubt,” she said.

  “Can I get a cup of water?” His voice sounded parched and abrasive.

  Walking back into the larger chamber, she found a pitcher filled with cool water. The cup sloshed in her nervous return and cold droplets chilled her palm as they trickled down to freedom. Gnochi drained it so fast that two tails of the water streamed down from the corners of his mouth.

  “Ugh, I’d ask what happened, but I fear that I would have to make you write it down as it’s probably one hell of a story,” he said. A rough laugh sounded from the bottom of his throat, but he cut it off as though repulsed by the sound. Cleo forced a smile to her lips but did not even know if he could see in the dark room. She feared that the terror of her involvement and guilt showed plainly on her face.

  “Gnochi, what is the last thing you remember?”

  “We had saddled up to Brichton and that rascal Ren ambushed our group.”

  “You don’t remember anything after that?”

  “No. Why? How long have I been out?”

  “It’s been fifteen days since Brichton.”

  “A fortnight and a day since I can recall being in control of my facilities?” Gnochi asked, closing his eyes and scratching at his face. “I’m seeing someone’s face.” He squeezed his eyes closed tighter. “A woman.”

  “Iris,” Cleo said, unable to keep the disdain from her voice.

  “You said it.” Gnochi held up his hands, his voice appeasing. “So, what happened? Where are we? I don’t smell the ever-present menagerie dung smell. Did Dorothea kick us out?”

  “I’ll tell you soon, but we need to talk about something else first,” Cleo said. “Before the others get back.”