by T. Wyse
He paused, adding carefully: “I would be also be hesitant to share anything deemed ‘out of the ordinary’ with our hosts. I believe that’s one piece of advice your parents still maintained? I imagine it would be difficult to prove your talents properly without your flying garment.”
“No.” She scowled down at the creature. “You’re right that they still thought that, but no. I’ve never hidden from it. I’ve taken more than a few hits for it. If I can help them in any way, I want to.” In truth, she would be happy to even have the full wind around her again, even bear the odd looks as her hair writhed and swayed with the breeze. “That man recognized me, and I don’t think we can be that far from where we were. He might’ve even mentioned it to them, who knows.”
Kokopelli simply sat in silence, neither protesting or truly showing any reaction.
She followed the hall, the rough padding of the carpet muffling her careful steps. She watched each footfall carefully, shuffling and wobbling, and in this way made her way to the hazy opening.
It was an open entranceway, a single wide staircase reaching a curved path from the lower floor. She leaned there in contentment, feeling the living air in the space rising and turning. Little of the floor below was visible on the wind, and she allowed herself a trip to the bannister.
The entranceway was lit by a beautiful setting of that old windowing, arranged almost like a chapel’s stained glass, translucent and coloured in greens and yellows and blues. There were flowers and trees, water and grass, bordering the wide and thick wooden door. They were not covered up, but had enough fogginess that they simply filtered the light and the ugliness from outside.
That simple scene forced a relieved smile on her face, and the gentle rising air jostled her hair, untangling it slowly and banishing the last of her stifled sweat. In that moment she simply breathed, her lungs slow and calm, burning cooler and more contained with each breath.
Feeling a kind of silly elation, she turned to the landing behind her. It was a round, jutting structure with a pointed cone roof. A set of plush cream coloured couches sat basking in the sunlight. Three large windowed alcoves brooded quietly, the light upon the cushioned benches stifled by the closed drapes. There were no jungles to be found here, only the plain bracing crosses. A humble table sat meekly in the middle, a brood of flowery magazines within its underbelly.
More landscaped paintings decorated the walls, larger than the bedroom one, but all unmistakable in technique. Even the motif of the fish, the bird, and the secreted ‘S’ repeated themselves in each. There were even a pair of easels towards the windows, basking in the light, naked of any current projects.
She approached the left window, feeling like she was in a shop of incredibly fragile oddities. With every step she watched her arms, was aware of her feet, fearing she would brush a painting or knock down an easel and her little adventure would end more terribly than she thought possible. Making her way to the closest of the three draped windows, she moved carefully onto the seated alcove. She kneeled there, trying with as much subtlety as possible, to steal a peek through the window at the backyard of the house.
"I hope you aren't going to shed on that couch." She snapped at the creature behind her. She had felt the profile of the his wake upon the wind as he leapt up onto one of the couches behind her.
"Please. I don't shed, thank you very much." His scoffing and indignant reply made her smile lightly.
She could make out shapes moving in the garden below, shrunk by the distance between them and distorted from the clouded glass. The earth was patterned and broken up, a rickety wooden fence seemed to create a frame inside the dirt. There was something off to the left, but it wasn't entirely clear from her position. She couldn't make out much more without possibly revealing herself. Her curiosity utterly unsatisfied she moved away from the concealed portal.
"Is our little adventure over?" His voice crackled as she passed the back of the couch.
"I suppose so." She paused, thinking.
The yawn emitted from her banished any possible curiosities about the rest of the rooms in the upper floor.
Her footsteps carried her back to her room with a defeated haze about her. There would always be another day to look around, always tomorrow.
Her legs ached, and the bracing softness of the bed was a warm relief. Even the green pajamas seemed to have loosened their itching barbs for the moment.
Kokopelli leapt up onto the foot of the bed and turned around in a motion to get comfortable.
"You can't sleep on the floor or something?" She asked, still wary of the little creature.
“How could I possibly protect you properly from the floor?” He chuckled.
She prepared to quip back, but he then added: "Look through the drape. Don't open it, whatever you do."
She groggily rose, the ache in her legs increasing as she made her way to the window.
She squinted through the drapes. Something was different from the scene before but she couldn't quite place it.
Her face flushed chill, and her mind became suddenly alert. Upon the slouching tree nearest her there were two black shapes, perched upon the branch. They stood bracketing the bleached rope’s remains. An unearthly, echoing caw erupted from one of them, the other flew off as if having received instruction.
She stumbled backwards and crawled back to the bed.
"Don't worry, they didn't see you." A reassuring voice crackled above her.
"How do you know?" She whispered desperately
"If they knew you were here it would be immediately obvious. It is a base creature, not one of subtlety." His words carried very little consolation.
With trembling hands Amelie dared enough motion to close the canopy. The rose wall fluttered into place, but now rather than a coffin it felt like a shield between her and those dark, unknown, things.
She lay there, burying herself in the blankets like a desert snake. Enough time passed that the glow of the canopy dulled, the shadows in the window became unsure.
"You should sleep." Kokopelli's voice came unhelpfully from the foot of her bed.
"Easy to say, not so much to do." She sighed. "You don't quite understand how strange it is to have a talking cat sitting on your bed, though I guess you couldn't."
“Why? Bed is soft, and you’re safe as you can be.” He purred. “Whether you believe it or not, I shall watch that nothing terrible happens.”
“I’ve never been somewhere so strange, not in years.” She muttered, her legs demanding some scratching attention. “Even with the…scientists…the room had living air.”
“Well, what is so different here from your room at home?” He sat now, a quizzical head turn.
“I would’ve thought you had seen it.” She reached to a shoulder blade to give it some attention.
“Perhaps I have, perhaps I haven’t.” He purred.
“Right. Well at home I have the mobile, it has lots of stuff in it, and it’s familiar. It’s too quiet here, too still.”
“But you have been away from it before, surely. Not counting your adventures with the scientific community.”
“Yes, but…I was never really alone then. I was always with my parents.” She squirmed, still trying to reach her shoulder proper.
“Surely there was something there. Did you listen to music, perhaps? Watch television? Read books?” He crackled.
“No.” But there was something. “A long time ago, when I was smaller, father would tell me stories at night, when we were travelling.”
“Oho, well, stories I can do.” He chuckled. “What kind of stories did he tell?”
“Usually stories about the lives of artifacts, passing through hands, that sort of thing.” She surrendered victory to her burning shoulder, and leaned against the headboard. The night was coming in strong enough that the glow in his eyes was becoming increasingly apparent.
“Magical artifacts, I take it?” He purred, head skewing from side to side slowly.
“No, just simpl
e artifacts. Being used by Romans, or pre Colonial Americans. I…guess it sounds kind of dry, but he always made them interesting.” She smiled.
“Oh, I can believe it. It does surprise me a little.”
“Why would that—“
"Would you like to hear a story then?" He interrupted softly.
Amelie wondered what story the creature could relate to her, surely something as odd as he. Surely he would have a unique experience with the world. "Sure, I guess." She didn't move from her position, her back still pointed at the offending window, the blankets pulled up over her head.
There was a feeling of the creature shifting a little, perhaps stretching or something like that. There was a prolonged silence. "So, got nothing then?" She couldn't help but smile.
"The tale is selected, though adapting it to your terms is the difficult part." He crackled pensively. "I suppose this will do."
As the remaining daylight faded from the room, Kokopelli began his story. His voice shifted a little, becoming less ragged, shimmering with a hidden confidence. The images of the story flowed out from him, and became dancing wisps in the wind as he spoke.
"Once there was a man in the wilds of old Russia. The man was alone, whether through some dramatic death of his family or perhaps from being a lonesome hermit, I cannot say which, I only know that he was alone. This story is singular in its telling, an oddity of sorts. You see most of these stories and fables are of the nobility hunting, trapping, exploring their world, yet this story is about a mundane peasant who scraped a living with every waking breath."
"Shouldn't he have a name?" Amelie interrupted, her eyes still forcibly closed.
"Why? The man is the same, the actions are the same. Remembering names can cause unwanted things to happen." He purred. There was something in his voice, some half-truth there that had come to the surface with her question.
"Well, what are the common names for the Russian stories?" She asked.
"I suppose Ivan is a common enough name, shall we call him 'Ivan' then?" The voice asked beyond the veil.
Amelie didn't respond, waiting for him to continue.
"Like many of the peasantry, Ivan needed to pay a fee to those who claimed dominion over his lands. With each year the harvest of his crops had grown sparser, with each year the animals of the forest surrounding his land had thinned out. With each year the things he could gather in the woods to keep him through the long winters of the steppes were harder to find."
"They came at the end of the growing season, the collector of taxes and his guards. They found his cabin abandoned. They waited for one day and one night. When Ivan did not return they took their pound out of what meager things his cabin held, and left it as it stood."
"Ivan had fled into the woods with the only possessions that mattered to him. He carried a bow, a cloak of furs, a quiver holding only six arrows, and the food and flint that would sustain him for the little while he had left in the world. He ventured out past the borders of his land's reach, past the reaches of his neighbor's farms, long since abandoned in the sparse times, and finally beyond the walls of his feudal lord."
"Ivan travelled two days and two nights into the wild forests. He found little to sustain himself, though as he moved further from the borders of the lands, there grew to be more to find in the woods. On the third day he encountered a hunting party and shared their fire for the night. It was three men, each with bows larger and more powerful than his, each of them bore a cloak of furs much more glorious than his, and each of their quivers was full of arrows. They were hunting a great wolf, hoping to collect the bounty of a lord unknown to Ivan, as the wolf had been a scoundrel upon the lord’s horses, and to the peasant livestock."
"Perhaps, Ivan thought, he could slay the wolf alone and somehow manage to be granted land in this more plentiful kingdom."
"However, upon the light of the new day, he found that he had been robbed. They had taken his bow and quiver, his food and flint, and the very cloak that would keep him alive against the harshness of the season. Ivan leapt to his feet, and found the tracks of the three thieves, each of them moving in a different direction. The wind from the first path blew the scent of berries and of dried meat. The second path bore the musky scent of tannin and fur. The third had no scent, but rather had two curiosities to it. The third path had a scraping upon the ground, that of a bow carelessly dragged behind someone's path. In addition to this, and more interestingly, the third path's footsteps were followed by the paw prints of a wolf.
"It was no normal wolf either. The paw prints were deeper than any he had seen by far, his boot sunk past the toe into the impressions. They stood wider than his entire foot as well. Ivan realized that the slaying of this wolf was impossible for him, that it was clearly a vengeful god set upon this lord for some slight he had committed against the heavens."
"He stood there, staring at each of the paths, feeling the chill of the coming winter. He had to decide, and yet each of the paths was useless in and of itself. Without food and fire he would freeze in the night. With his cloak he would live longer, perhaps survive the night, but not the oncoming winter, and he would starve come the week's end. With his bow and six arrows, he had a chance for both, if he managed to find and kill an animal. He knew how to create fire from wood and bow, though the flint was a much simpler magic.”
"Ivan chose the gamble, the abandonment of his skins and his food and fire to the thieves. The only real chance he had at survival was to pursue his bow, and hope that the thief would show mercy upon him. He followed the tracks for half a day, through a chilled stream. On the banks of the stream the footprints became different, and not far after the prints of the great wolf crossed the path of the man, leaving the forest floor painted red, though the man was not there. The trail of blood was easy to follow through the woods. Ivan was so desperate and hungry that the thought of what he was doing never occurred to him fully. It wasn't until he had reached the mouth of the beast's cave, feeling its stale air on his face that he thought to himself."
"'Ivan, you fool. This is nothing but death to you.' His fear told him. 'Ivan you fool, step into the cave, and gather your arrows, and take what you can from the man as well, so you might survive!' his rationality argued."
"Ivan stepped into the cave, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. The wolf was not there surely, as he heard nothing but the cave's wind. The wolf's kill was there, the trail of blood pointed to it, its dim red glimmering on the filthy rock of the cave's floor. The thief was a sorry sight, twisted and wretched, his face was locked in a slack jawed horror."
"Ivan took his bow, and his quiver with the six arrows, slinging them again on his back. 'Ivan, you fool. Take the rest, strip him of his cloak and take his food and fire. He is a thief and you need these things to survive!' Ivan did not hesitate stepping away from the body its possessions untouched. 'I am no thief.' He told the voice inside his maddened head. 'If not today, I will die someday, and I will not die a thief.'"
"Ivan left the cave, his fear returning to him. On the outside world's light he was met with the face of the great wolf. It stood there, looking at him with curiosity."
"Ivan drew for his arrow, then his hand slackened, laughing at his foolishness. There was no bow that could slay this creature, and if it wanted him dead he had no say."
"The wolf spoke finally, 'You chose to leave him with his possessions, though it certainly means your death?' Ivan recognized the voice as the one he had heard inside his head, the one that had prompted prudence over fear. 'You are not of this land stranger, and know not of the crimes committed against me and mine.'"
"'I apologize great one, and beg your mercy. I came here out of need. My lands are sparse and hard and my lord was to take my life if I remained there.' The wolf stood silently, looking through Ivan's soul. 'I will leave you, if you let me, and promise to never look back.'"
"'You will not survive the week's end, Ivan.' The wolf spoke, knowing his name though he had not said it. A look of trickste
r glee struck the wolf's face. 'I will let you go, if you do me a single favor.' It smiled, leaving him feeling incredibly at ease. 'What would you have me do for this reprieve, great one?' Ivan begged. 'Go, see that nest over there, in the tree above my cave. Fetch me the smallest of the four eggs inside, and return it to me. I have not had eggs in a long time.'"
"The request was odd, though not as odd the eggs in the nest. One shimmered gold, another silver, a third the brilliant white of platinum. Each of the eggs was the size of Ivan's fist, and would be enough for him to eat and live for the remainder of his life. 'Yet, I am no thief, and I have bargained for my life.' Ivan dismissed the greed in his heart, and took the smallest of the four eggs into his hand. It was an ugly copper thing, covered with green rust along its surface."
"'I am sorry, great wolf.' Ivan apologized, holding the smallest egg out for the wolf to see, his palm flat. 'But as you see, this egg is not edible, unless copper makes your bread.'"
"The great wolf chuckled, and gave a smile. 'I eat flesh, little one. Your honesty is something that shines in this land, and you have proven yourself to me. I will give you a gift, that you might live the rest of your life as a man, rather than a thief. What you hold in your hand is that which lord’s son sought and stole from me, and which was returned after I slaughtered his prize horses. He has gold and silver and gems and jewels, but what he sought was the power of the egg you now hold."
"Ivan looked at the egg, at the strange images upon its surface. It told a story of something, and in the story's knowledge, even in the hint of it, he began to feel the magic held within."
"He took the egg with thanks, and a warning from the great wolf. The magic was not to be shared with others. If others knew of the egg outside the borders of the lands from which the wolf had banished Ivan, the egg would lose its power. The reason was that the others would be unable to know the egg's power, and demand proof to dissolve their disbelief. When the thing would be shown to them, they would see it as nothing, and as such it would become nothing. If they knew it and believed in its power, then surely they would know to take it from him."
