by Cale Madison
“I can see you’ve made up your mind. But let me ask you this.” Aketa said as the lyrchin hunched over and turned towards me, “You’re, what, on the back end of twenty now? Nearing your thirties? What happens when your skin starts to wrinkle and your eyes stop working the same? What happens when that instrument in the corner stops hitting the right notes and the strings break? Where will you go when your favorite brothel starts charging you fifty crowns for a one night’s stay? Everything gets old, Petri. Even the unexpected.”
Petri scoffed, hinting that she was hitting the right spots.
“You will have no children to call your own. Your poems may become legendary, yes, but you can never write one about a woman who cares deeply about you. All of your poems about wooing nameless girls will blur together. Your audience becomes fewer and fewer because, as you just said, time sours everything. They won’t appreciate the same song over and over again. You will always lose to competing poets because they at least understand love and thus, possess a much broader range. You may be able to travel the world without a ‘ball and chain’ latched to your ankle, but you do know the world has an end. A scorned wife chases you down the street with a frying pan. A neglected wife pesters you about the leak in the roof when it rains. Caine doesn’t treat me that way, so I’ll never become that. Give yourself more credit, Petri. You’re a better man than you think you are. You understand what I’m saying, right?”
The three of us sat there in silence for a few minutes as the black lyrchin rotated to face Petri, gurgling and purring. The stupefied bard’s mouth hung open, making him look like a codfish. Eventually, he nodded and replied, “You know, if you chose richer words, I would cordially invite you to write poems with me on the road. What a spectacular duo we would make! Imagine how the cities would line up at our door, paying their weekly wages for a front-row seat.”
“Sorry to say she’s claimed for the moment.” I interrupted with a smile.
“Ah, yes, a pity...alas, you’ve made some valid points in your argument, Aketa. Perhaps, when the bags beneath my eyes begin to droop and my eyes no longer see clearly, I’ll consider monogamy for a change. Only time will tell. For the time being, I’ll take this little, black goldmine to Fortaare, and spend my coppers wherever I plea-” Petri began to say before he plucked his last barb.
The black lyrchin suddenly turned a queer shade of green before it began spewing slime across the table. The bard grimaced as he became doused in gallons of green bile that reeked of week-old sewage and riverbed mud. I looked over at my wife, who sat with her mouth wide open in shock. Once the creature had relieved itself, it shrunk to a considerably smaller size and promptly fell asleep. Petri removed his spectacles and looked at the pair of us with squinted eyes. Slime dripped from his clothes, creating puddles on the floor. We all roared with laughter, nearly falling out of our chairs.
***
Petri left that following morning. He left at the brink of dawn, taking what little supplies he had and riding off into the forest towards Port Mercia. I could hear him singing softly and strumming the strings of his psaltery as he trotted into the forest path. Aketa slept on our bed, her mouth open wide as she snored, leaving streaks of saliva on the pillows. Even in this state, I saw her as the most beautiful woman in the world. Clumps of her blonde hair were matted against her face as she buried herself beneath a mountain of wool blankets. Occasionally, she would stir and roll onto her side.
As I watched the waves roll in from the sea and crash against the shoreline, I thought about what Petri had said the day before, “You don’t want to admit that your best days are already behind you.” He could not have been more truthful in those words.
Lost in my thoughts, I had barely noticed my wife rising from our bed.
“You miss it, I can see that.” she then embraced me from behind. She held my waist as I gazed out the window and whispered, “You can lie to everyone else but I see the truth.”
“I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure about anything.”
“You think too much,” she whispered, rubbing her soft hands across my stomach, “ooh, and you drink too much.”
I laughed and spun around, planting my lips upon hers and sealing a kiss for a few breathless moments. She gripped my waist and began unfastening my trousers, staring deeply into my eyes as she silently invited me in. I tasted the sweet strawberry of her lipstick from the night before. I ran my fingers through her hair, becoming transfixed by the sweet smell of lilac and lavender. She flashed an alluring smile and began kissing my neck.
We then heard a strong rapping at our door. I waited for a moment, wondering if Petri had returned for some reason. As I cautiously approached the sound, I heard a second knock and the heavy sounds of hooves outside. The horse trotted in place, nearly drowning out the second round of knocking. Aketa stood still, leaning against the far wall as I left to investigate.
“Who’s there?” I asked through the door, tightening the strings on my trousers while my wife giggled across from me.
“Sir Ivan von Kallenbach IV, coming on behalf of King Darius Lockmour of the Tuskan Provinces. Apologies for the intrusion, sir but I’ve an urgent message to deliver to you. This is the residence of one Caine and Aketa Mercer, yes?” a gruff voice answered from the other side. I opened the door to reveal an impressively decorated knight. He wore dark red armor, nearly the shade of bruised strawberries, bearing a golden insignia with unmistakable detailing: a sun with two dragons’ wings and a gleaming, jewelled sword driving through the center.
I stepped outside and met the knight’s errant while he was knotting his white stallion’s reins to one of our home’s supporting pillars. Upon the horse’s back was a banner bearing an identical crest. Ivan wore a red helmet made of iron which had to be, without a doubt, a nuisance in the summer’s sweltering humidity. He wore a jeweled sword at his hip and concealed another in his mount’s saddlebags, carrying little to no luggage, indicating that he had no desire to stay with us after traveling such a far distance. His red face showed wrinkles of a life well lived and his blunt, misshapen nose appeared to have been broken several times.
“You’ve ridden all the way from Tuskan?”
“Yes sir, it’s been a tiresome journey to say the least. Tis an honor to meet you, sir. The stories, the ballads, I’ve heard them all and shared with my sons. Truly remarkable, your legacy.” he replied, honorably with a bow, “I’ve come this day to deliver an errant message from our king.”
I leaned against the opposite pillar and crossed my arms, wondering what could be of such urgency that a king from hundreds of miles away would require sending a messenger. Ivan withdrew a scroll from one of his horse’s leather saddlebags, unfolded it after breaking the seal and began to read aloud:
“Sir Caine Mercer: I pray that this message reaches you in time. A woe has fallen upon our house, a woe that I believe you are most suited to assist us with. My eldest son has disappeared many nights ago. Our most qualified spies cannot uncover what I’m certain you can. Details will be provided upon arrival, should you choose to accept this invitation. You will be duly compensated for your troubles and paid transportation will be provided. Time is of the essence, so please make haste.”
- Darius A. Lockmour
“Signed by his Majesty, himself.” said the errant who then re-folded the scroll and placed it into my hands. I knew that Aketa was eavesdropping from behind our door; I knew this for certain.
“His son’s missing?” I asked.
“I was instructed only to bring you this summoning, sir.” the errant replied, “Should you accept his invitation, you’re expected to report to Port Mercia by high noon tomorrow. A ship will await you there. The Siren’s Song - that is the name of the brigantine that will take you to the Tuskan port. A crew and captain have already been assembled.”
I shuddered, remembering my past encounters with the terrifying creatures known as sirens. Contemplating hard, I thought about Aketa and how far we had come from the perils of
before and understood that I would need to discuss it with her first. He noticed my thoughtful look and turned away to begin untying his horse.
“I’ll talk this over with my wife.” I answered, “The Siren’s Song will be waiting for me at noon? Is that what you said?”
“Mid-day tomorrow, sir. That’s when we set sail for Brunson, our capital’s port. I hope you accept, sir, I do. I would love to pick your brain and learn details of your many famed conquests.” Sir Ivan said, beaming with admiration. This was something I wasn’t accustomed to.
“Would you like to come inside for some breakfast? Or some water, perhaps?”
“No thank you, but I’m gracious for your hospitality, sir. I’ve other matters to tend to in the port. Should you accept my King’s invitation, I’ll see you tomorrow.” he announced before taking his horse’s reins in one hand and throwing himself over its strong back. I thanked the errant and he sped off onto the barren trail to return to Mercia. His gleaming armor disappeared beyond the grove in a cloud of dust.
Once I had returned inside, Aketa was no longer there. I called her name and searched, only to find her standing on the back patio as she stared off into the sunrise. I did not approach, only stand in the doorway as I could already anticipate her reaction. When her mind was lost in perpetual thought, she would never blink, nor say a word. Pollen drifted through the wind, gracefully passing over the hill in a direct path for the sea below, filling my nostrils and forcing me to sneeze. I approached my wife cautiously, remembering to choose my words wisely in stressful situations.
“What did you hear?” I asked.
“Enough.”
I stood in silence for a moment, allowing the options to wash over me as I pondered my next words. She understood more about me than I ever could, so her judgement would help immensely.
“What are you thinking?” I asked. Aketa had always been the perfect blend of speaking with an open mind and being difficult to read or understand by facial expressions; her unmoving eyes stayed fixated on the water.
“I think that you want to. I think that there’s nothing here that can satisfy your cravings for adventure anymore. No matter how many canoes you build or deer you bring home, there’s an absence in your heart that cannot be filled. At least, not in Mercia. We broke through that ceiling a year ago.”
Surprised by her answer, I merely held my stance in awe. My wife would always know the correct decision, as she could weigh my options from afar and choose without a biased opinion. Her green eyes began to swell with the first wave of tears as she contemplated the worst scenarios first.
“You really think so?”
“We need the money. Taxes are cutting into what we’ve saved over the past few months so this would help us immensely. A king’s summoning would pay enough to last us many, many years. It just makes sense to me.” she said, thoughtfully stroking her chin, “A missing prince is no werewolf, right? It doesn’t sound as dangerous as before.”
“Can you handle this time apart?” I asked, preparing myself for an argument.
“Who said anything about you going alone? Nope, never again.” she smiled, “Think you can ride off on another adventure while I sit around, waiting around for you to come home? Not likely. I’m with you every step of the way.”
I embraced and kissed her. She would be attached at my side for the rest of my days, wherever they should take me from here. A sudden, warm breeze passed by and brought to us a sense of wonderment and comfortability in these ever-changing times. As I held her close, she pressed her cheek to my chest and listened to my heartbeat.
“If we’re to find the king’s son, you sorely need my help.” my wife said with a beaming smile, “You’d lose your head if it weren’t attached to your neck. Frankly, I don’t know how you managed to make it so many years without me.”
“Trust me. Neither do I.”
***
King Darius knelt before the golden altar, cupping his hands together while shutting his weary eyes. The statue of Opheria towered over him with her right palm outstretched and the Holy Book in her left. He’d spent endless hours scouring through the cities along Tuskan’s borders, interrogating citizens but uncovering nothing. He splashed cold water on his face, half-expecting to awaken from this bad dream. In a soft voice, he prayed, “O’ Goddess of the Redmoon, please give me a sign...please make sure he’s safe...”
When he opened his eyes, the heavy doors creaked open behind him. He instantly recognized the footsteps of his family’s trusted priest. The bald, cloaked man advanced through the castle’s cathedral, thumbing through his Holy Book as he searched for the ideal scripture. Once he found one, he reassuringly read aloud, “Copricanus XXXVI: These days may be dark but Her will always prevails.”
“Doesn’t seem very prevailing right now, Cassius.” Darius replied, “It’s been nearly a week and we’ve found nothing. Nothing but the prints in Bardford and a ruined farmhouse. If he was taken...”
“Malachi once buried himself in a haystack for seven hours to avoid chores in the stableyard. He’s a crafty young lad and wouldn’t allow himself to be captured. We’ll find him, we just have to have faith.” said the priest as he gently placed his hand on the king’s shoulder.
“Faith...that’s a rich, hollow word.” Darius replied, “If this was your son, you would stop at nothing to find him. I have a boy missing and a kingdom to answer to. How can I expect them to trust me when I can’t protect my own family?”
“Show them your determination, your resilience. In time, they will see.” Cassius said before placing his palm on the statue’s wrist, “I once knew a man whose daughter disappeared in Mocoreta. He rallied every southern city, searched for months but found nothing - not a trace that she ever existed. It wasn’t until twenty years later that someone reported her death in Arrigon. Her hair had been cut short and dyed black. The poor girl ran away, died from the winter’s cold.”
“You think that Malachi chose to leave?”
“I’m only saying that we cannot discredit any possibilities, your Majesty. I firmly believe the world to be a good place at it’s core.” said Cassius. His brown eyes scanned over Opheria’s statue, as if he were searching for something. Her golden hood concealed her eyes, leaving only her mouth and chin to be seen.
“The world is wicked, Cassius. The sooner you accept that, the better. Regardless of how much you preach into their ears, it won’t change.” Darius replied with a heavy heart, “The old words of a statue won’t help us find my son.”
“She works in mysterious ways.” the priest stated as he cupped his hands together, joining Darius on the floor to kneel before the altar. He lifted the golden dish from its resting place, set it down in front of them and began dabbing a cotton rag in the water. He ceremoniously wiped it along his forehead and cheekbones, then softly whispered, “I pray to thee, O’ Mother of the Redmoon, Giver of Light and Cleanser of Souls. I ask that you grace Malachi with your protection. Deliver him home to his family.”
Darius nodded and watched as Cassius passed him the dish and cloth. He pressed the warm rag to his face, remembering a similar time from many years ago. He turned to the priest and said, “Seems like only yesterday when he smuggled a squirrel into this cathedral.”
“The morning of his Holy Day. I remember it quite well.” Cassius said with a smile, “One of the more memorable times in these great halls.”
“Everyone had to evacuate. The rodent jumped into the fountain and nearly drowned.” Darius smiled, his eyes welling with tears, “Our relatives traveled across nine kingdoms, only to be ushered out over a rogue squirrel. Mortram was furious and so was his wife. They sailed all the way from the coasts of Hjord.”
“One of Malachi’s favorite stories to tell. We’ll find him, sire. He’s out there somewhere. Rhyan hasn’t trained him all this time for nothing.” said the priest, referring to Malachi’s fencing instructor, “We both know how cunning the boy is.”
Darius’s gaze met the statue’s once again,
followed by the sound of rain as it began to fall upon the roof of the cathedral. He lowered his head, gazing into his reflection in the golden dish. The skin beneath his eyes were beginning to sag, as were the wrinkles in his forehead. His silvering-blonde hair fell past his brow, messy and unkempt. Cassius noticed his incredulous stare and said, “We have hundreds of eyes spanning from Fortaare to Rotera. We’ll find him soon enough.”
“What we need is some manner of luck, and I think I’ve found someone who can help us.” the king replied before rising to his feet.
“Who, Your Majesty?”
“You’ve heard the stories of the Beast-Slayer of Mercia, have you not? I’m sure word has reached your ears by now.” Darius replied, walking past the pews and lit candelabras.
“I might’ve heard a song or two but haven’t paid attention. What could a Beast-Slayer do to help us find Malachi?” Cassius asked, following the king as they began to depart from the room, “Is he some kind of tracker, as well? A clairvoyant?”
“We have eyes but we need something more. I trust any man who can outwit a Djinn, survive an imoogi, a werewolf and a vampire in the span of a week. Either he’s the luckiest son of a bitch alive or just the hired hand we need.”
***
We packed only the bare essentials into Nadi’s saddlebags, feeling a wonderful sense of drive in this coming venture as we anticipated the beauties of this new, foreign land. I watched as our home became smaller in the distance as we traversed the trail, heading south-west. Aketa, with her arms wrapped tightly around me and her face pressed into my back, helped me to feel more secure in this sudden change.
On the path to Port Mercia, we greeted old neighbors and friendly farmers, fruit pickers and vegetable pluckers across the quiet province. They waved and smiled through their gapped, rotting teeth before returning to their morning routines. We galloped past traveling merchants, young men and women who carried their wares as luggage on their shoulders and heads, children frolicking in the streets and artists painting portraits of the lovely scenery.
