Bactine Gallagher - Corn Miner's Daughter

Epilogue

2008-02-15T19:43:00.000-08:00

Dear Mum and Da,

I’ve gone with Xylic on a little jaunt; No, Mum, we’re not eloping. We’re going on some sort of “quest”. I’m not really sure of the particulars, or I’d tell you, but I’m sure it can’t be too dangerous. Oh, and we’re being joined by an elf, a midget dwarf, and a half-ogre. I’ll be back in a few days.

Please feed Snowball for me!

Bye,

Bactine

* * * * * *

Dear Mum,

I didn’t mention before that it was Sangwine we went with. Don’t tell Da, he’ll go off on a tirade about elves again. I know it’s been more than a few days, but I think this is possibly what “adventuring” is. We went to see the bog witch, but she wasn’t home, so then we were attacked by an orc!

Well, to be honest, actually, we attacked the orc. I know they hang around in unseemly places and I probably shouldn’t be hanging around where orcs are, but this one seemed kind of friendly once he dropped his barbaric façade. We didn’t get much out of him, though, because Xylic shot him in the eye. He can be such a moron.

Oh, he shot Sangwine, too. I don’t think that was an accident. I suppose it was fortunate that I have my healing abilities, now, because I had to use them on Sangwine, not that he appreciated it. I’m starting to see that he isn’t as nice as I thought he was before. In fact, he’s sort of insufferable.

Regardless, I’m going to see where this goes, for now.

Don’t worry! Should I be threatened, doubtless Xylic will shoot whatever it is in the eye. Did I mention what a moron he is?

Love,

Bactine

The Slug and Lettuce

* * * * * *

Dear Mum,

I know I haven’t written for a while, but we went through the Forest of Darkness, and it was just as dark as everyone says! Also, it’s full of chipmunks that eat people. Xylic and I had a sort of brush with them, but the half-ogre, Derf, saved us. I guess that makes a long story short.

I absolutely can not STAND Sangwine. However, it’s true, he is an exiled prince. I guess that’s why he thinks he’s so much better than everyone else. Well, he isn’t, mum, he’s awful and imperious and complains about the most petty things.

Mountain trolls made us rich and Xylic accidentally shot me with a magic wand that made my hair long. He says it’s pretty. Going to get a new dress made, now! I’ll write soon.

Love,

Bactine

The Prancing Dragyn Inn

City of Sol

* * * * * *

Dear Mum,

Well, I thought Sangwine was awful, but I’m starting to think all elves are like that. All of them except Xylic.

That’s right, mum! Xylic is half-elven! I couldn’t believe it either! Well, once I found out it all made a weird kind of sense. He does look vaguely elven, doesn’t he? Well, it’s sort of a sad story. He’s such a good friend.

Anyway, I met a third elf in the last city we were in named Al’bert, and he’s positively horrid. Horrid, horrid! He used some kind of glamour spell on me and well, I don’t really remember much of what happened, except I ended up knocking him back against the wall with a spell.

As for Sangwine, he… well, he threw a goblet at my head. I think that’s the most depraved thing possible. You’ll be pleased to know I beamed him with a candelabra right afterwards. Right in the face! He’s not too horribly bad, in fact, he’s kind of vulnerable and not nearly as arrogant as I thought. But the biggest thing is that we met a dragon!

It was actually real dragon. The midget dwarf, Stump, knows him from somewhere. It didn’t go very well, but we lived.

We’re going into the desert, now. I think we might finish this quest, soon!

Love,

Bactine

Kazaad’sandish

* * * * * *

Dear Mum,

Well, we finished the quest, more or less, not that it profited us anything. That lousy elf, Al’bert, was waiting for us when we got there. Apparently he badly wants to kill Sangwine.

There was a wizard at the monolith in the desert (long story) who freed the half-ogre from the curse he was under. We had no idea, the poor fellow! Derf is one of the most delightful people I’ve ever met.

Sangwine is… blah, mum, I just can’t talk about him. I think he might try to end his exile, and that means… I’m not done. I’m not coming home quite yet. Xylic and the rest of us are staying with him, too. Somehow everything has changed.

Love,

Bactine

The Fire and The Flame

City of Ena

* * * * * *

Dear Mum,

We met a giant, mum, and he tried to kill us! We picked up a goose that lays fake gold eggs, and some fairy with a perpetually sunny disposition. She drives me crazy. She’s absolutely perfect! It’s makes me sick to my toes.

Regardless, I suppose it’s time I come clean. I’ve fallen very deeply in love with Sangwine. I couldn’t help it, mum! I swear I hated him once I started to know him, but then once I got to know the real him, I couldn’t stop it. Last night, for the first time, he kissed me. For three hours. I can feel your disapproval through the distance of this letter, but just know I am the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.

I refuse to think about the fact that anything between us is entirely impossible. I’ll leave that to tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow, we’re leaving tomorrow to go into Schloeffelonia. Sangwine is really going to try to regain the throne. That means he has to depose an Overlord of Darkness. I think he’ll need all the help he can get in that endeavor.

Unfortunately, mum, I’m not going to be able to write to you until we succeed, and if we don’t…

I love you and da both more than almost anything else, remember that. …And if it ends here, it was worth every step of the way.

Love Always,

Bactine

The Spinning Precipice Inn

Snow Canyon Village

The End

Chapter 33

2008-02-15T18:48:00.001-08:00

XXXIII

Sangwine stood with purpose. It was an entirely wasted gesture, seeing as how he was the only person in his room, but at least it made him feel a bit more assured.

The healer had come and gone. He decided to conveniently forget the fact that he had been inexplicably attracted to her for reasons he couldn’t explain, for he logically should never have found a human attractive in the first place. Even so, she had done her work well. He was clean and whole; the debacle with the pixie was as if it had never happened, and the day was his to possess.

Because he had been cared for by his “brother”, he also knew there was still hope in the world. This hope he decided to cling to with a tremulous hand and ride it into new waters.

After all, no one knew what tomorrow could bring. The future wasn’t clad in stone, and if it was, at this particular moment he was determined to chip away at it until something new presented itself.

He strapped on his sword; his father’s sword. He felt a surge of affection and loyalty for his dead father and a certain pride and deep love for his roots at the feel of this blade at his side. It girded him up as if done by an ancestor, one who he didn’t know, but knew him, knew he held momentous keys to the future, and held him upright with unseen hands.

Upon the street, he felt the urge to whistle strike him. It was a road he’d walked down numerous times; a horrible, muddy road, but as it was a road he might never see again it suddenly was adorned with more vivid colors, and the mud wasn’t quite so unpleasantly deep. Although he wouldn’t call the city air “fragrant”, it certainly wasn’t so odious as it seemed to be when last he walked this way, and he thought he might have heard a bird chirping somewhere in the distance.

This was certainly an excellent day, Sangwine’s thoughts told him. It was a day ripe for welcomed change.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Standing on her front porch, Bactine held firmly to the post as she leaned upon it. The wind blew in a different direction, today. Her skirts flew blithely with it, beating lightly against the backs of her legs, and she fixed her eyes on the wall of the city.

She’d returned with Xylic three days ago. It had been wonderful to see her mother again, but Bactine had never been able to shake the intense feeling of dismay at being back here and not out there, in the world.

Her mother had perceived the difference almost immediately. She’d been kind enough to wait until Xylic left to bring it up, and even then she was fairly vague about it.

“So, Bactine,” she’d said to her, while peeling potatoes again. “How was your trip, really?”

“It was fine, mum,” said Bactine, barely trying to hide her restlessness as she picked wanly at a stray straw coming from the foot of the broom she was repairing.

Her mother hummed and gouged an eye from a potato.

Bactine sighed harshly and threw the broom down, then proceeded to glower at it.

Casting a sidelong glance in Bactine’s direction, Mrs. Gallagher picked it up and put it aside.

“Throwing brooms around isn’t going to change anything,” she said, moving onto the chopping phase of potato manipulation.

“Then what is?” asked Bactine helplessly.

“I would think that would be you,” she replied, fairly enigmatically. Enigmatic wasn’t really like her mother, so Bactine was somewhat confused by the development. Regardless, she let it drop.

“I’m going to see Xylic,” said Bactine, exiting with true teenaged angst mixed with apathy.

Xylic hadn’t been much consolation, however, for he’d been much the same as he always was. Boring, really, now that she thought about it. He never changed. Why did he never change? She wanted to throw things at walls.

Finally, this third day, she’d had enough. Something was going to be different today, and she didn’t care what it was, as long as it meant change. She would always hold her mother and father in the most affectionate of regard, but Bactine had decided it was time for her to find something for her own in the world. What would be hers, she didn’t know, but she wanted it because it would belong to her.

Snowball meowed.

Bactine turned to see her cat sitting upright on the old chair Xylic always sat in, raising his head in a beckon to be petted. She obliged him, in an already sentimental way, and Snowball was quite pleased with the attention.

The breeze brought with it the scent of lavender and she wanted to go.

“Snowball, take care of the chair, will you?”

Snowball sniffed Bactine’s hand. Bactine grinned, then allowed her smile to fade as she secured her cloak around herself.

She stepped down one wooden porch step; a second; then, with one last look at the door of her house she turned her back to it.

Chapter 32

2008-02-15T17:53:00.001-08:00

XXXII

On this particular morning, Xylic felt differently than he ever had before. It was almost as if something inside of him had been lining up for ages, and had finally clicked into place. He not only felt, but he knew that change was coming, which can often be evident in mornings where, after a long winter, the breeze is warm and things begin to wake from endless slumber.

He looked at the row of journals that lined the shelf in his room. His father had never kept a journal, or if he had, he’d not left it anywhere where Xylic could find it. Maybe it was for this reason that Xylic had always been meticulous about it. Not that there was anyone to read them. He didn’t necessarily wonder if he’d ever have some sort of posterity to hand them down to, because that would mean he meant to pass on his awkward status as half-elven to another being. However, in some small corner of his mind he wanted it; and the rest of his dour mind continually pounded that small corner of his mind to wretchedness.

Regardless of the inner conflicts he’d grown tired of fighting, he knew change was coming, and in that he felt a rare beam of optimism. No matter what occurred today, he was going to leave this city. He didn’t know for how long or if it would be forever, and he didn’t really care, as he was swept up in the idea of doing so and details didn’t matter yet.

It was a large step for Xylic, who was always steeped deeply in his habits, but whether it was the culmination of his life’s frustrations or the recent intensities with her that had brought him to this wasn’t clear to him. Perhaps he would ask her to come with him.

Then again, he certainly couldn’t ask that of her. She had so much here, and he had nothing, except for her.

Even that simple concession he shouldn’t possess, he thought with some semblance of guilt caused by the residue of all the years his father insisted upon him being apart, separate, and unknown. His father had been gone for quite some time, now. It’d been nearly twenty years. Xylic was, to his bones, exceptionally loyal once he decided that was what he was going to be, and fortunately for him he’d only found two people in his lifetime he deemed worthy of his particular brand of loyalty.

One was his father, and the other was Bactine.

Xylic had gone over again and again why it was her, but it was as difficult for him to pen it in his journal in distinct words as it would be for him to explain the tapestry of a world. However, there were things he could put his finger on. For one thing, she was strangely intelligent. Even when he first looked at her, he knew there was more going on in her mind than was on the mind of the standard young woman of this city. He generally found girls vacuous and silly, and Bactine was far from that.

There was also the subject of her strange temperament. She was livid and poignant in alternating turns, and he hadn’t yet figured out what set each off. Part of this was a puzzle, which riveted his interest in place. She refused to fall to the level of the blithe, and she would never think to moon after anyone. At least in the time he’d known her, she’d never had much interest in boys; it was as if they were all too dull to hold her interest longer than a few moments.

In fact, on further contemplation, he realized the most interest she’d shown in anyone (besides himself) was that she gave to Sangwine. To realize it gave him a brief pang of jealousy and despair, but his optimism at the change of the day swallowed it, leaving all unpleasantries barely noticed.

Even more deeply inside his psyche, Xylic knew he was duly intrigued by Sangwine himself, a fact which annoyed the living daylights out of him. He had, on the surface, an instant dislike of the man. Not only could Bactine not stop from staring at Sangwine whenever he was around, but he had a polished and arrogant nature which Xylic found to be altogether false.

If there was one thing that Xylic despised more than anything else in a person, it was insincerity.

But beyond that, perhaps he liked him. Perhaps he did, and that possibility brought an intense fear that shook the very roots of his being, for if Xylic were to grow to like this elf, who was so like himself, what then would happen once he became aware of what Xylic was?

Xylic shook that thought aside, since it wasn’t a bridge he’d yet come to, and shifted restlessly beside his window. In a few minutes, he would touch the row of journals on his shelf, lock his door, and meet Bactine outside of the corner common room, where they most liked to watch people pass.

And today, he would suggest they do something entirely different with their lives.

Chapter 31

2008-02-10T20:01:00.001-08:00

XXXI

In the inn where Al’bert was staying, not much stirred very loudly during the early morning hours. Whether that was because of the clientele particular to this inn, or because the innkeepers insisted upon it in order to maintain high marks, Al’bert didn’t know and neither did he care. On this particular morning he had been up since before dawn, gripped with the contents of the letter before him.

Dear Al’bert,

I received an interesting letter from your companion, the wizard, regarding your inability to find my brother and finish what I’ve asked of you. I didn’t think it was necessary to impress upon you the urgency of this matter, for I thought you knew that Sangwine is the only thing that stands between myself and contentment. I can not rest until he is dead, Al’bert, and I will do anything necessary to ensure it happens.

So, as a precautionary measure I am sure you’ll understand, I’ve taken your sister into my care until the matter is resolved.

Regards,

Fang, Overlord of Darkness

Schloeffelonian Empire

Al’bert had read the letter at least ten times, wishing miserably that it meant something other than what it did. The parchment was wrinkled recklessly from his anguish. At this point, Al’bert had to come to grips with the fact that he was no longer in control of any of the events surrounding him and Fang. Fang was no longer his friend, and unless Al’bert began performing adequately, his entire family was going to suffer badly.

The whole situation made him want to break something. On the one hand he had to wonder how it had come to this, and on the other hand he knew full well how everything had unfolded. Fang had never been stable, but he’d always been interesting; that’s what drew Al’bert to him. He was continually at something, as if he was filled with lightning struggling to get out, and on top of that, he’d been the heir to the throne. Even so, Fang had more or less inherited the throne, but on his own terms. It was always on Fang’s terms.

It was just unfortunate that Fang’s terms continued to become more and more unpleasant, and would eventually become horrifying.

Al’bert sighed, dropped the letter aside, and reached for his own tools of correspondence.

Dear Fang, O.D.:

Rest assured all is in hand. I’ve located Sangwine, and will move this morning. He is not doing well, you’ll be pleased to know, reduced to mingling with peasants and he appears to be flatly miserable. If I were one to question your orders, I would say that perhaps this is a better punishment for him than death. However, I am not one to question and will work to complete the task forthwith.

Al’bert, le Comte du Fromage

He dropped his quill aside and rose, folding the letter as he did so and preparing to embark. Knowing the others would scarcely be rising, he paced across the room once, then twice, then, unable to wait any longer, he went to knock on the door of Wiz.

The wizard looked more or less entirely put out at his door. Al’bert, for his part, had a difficult time containing his anger over Wiz’s betrayal, but he resolved not to let it be known. It’d be far easier to do this with help than alone.

“I’ve found Prince Sangwine,” he told the wizard. “We’ll be intercepting him this morning.”

The Wiz’s eyebrow raised, but other than that there was very little response.

“That means we’re leaving in twenty minutes,” said Al’bert shortly, and he turned for the stairs.

Chapter 30

2008-02-09T13:09:00.000-08:00

XXX

The sun played lightly across Sangwine’s face through an open window as he slowly woke, the muslin curtain flitting gently in the breeze and creating a back and forth of warmth and solace that he found extremely pleasant for the act of regaining consciousness. The sunlight brought with it a day spent under the boughs of Schloeffelonian trees, lying in the leaves of grass and blithely observing the way the light passed through the fabric of his childhood coat. Just for a moment, he fell back to a time when the weight of the world didn’t lie grotesquely heavy on his mind, and remembering this he recalled how quick it was that joy would appear, like a playmate, flitting in and out of his life with free abandon, completely unrestrained by weightier matters.

This recollection passed by him like a shadow; he could only touch it briefly before it was gone, and the crushing weight of his life duly informed him that he had only been grasping at smoke. It left him to wake fully with a sense of deep longing that reached all the way inside of him and made his pulse ache with sorrow.

As it was, it took only a few moments before the years of strength in Sangwine bolstered up beneath the strain and stood mostly unmoved beneath the burden. In this way he was like a tree. In this way he could bear life.

He inhaled, feeling the wound at his side nearly entirely gone. The healer who had been sent was fairly talented; she’d gradually worked her way into the wound, taking it away a little bit at a time. He supposed he should be happy to be alive.

Strangely, he wasn’t. He opened his eyes, and she was sitting beside him.

“How are you?” she asked, pleasantly. She was a somewhat young human with flaxen hair and an expressive countenance. He studied her in his disparaging state, taking brief solace in her human beauty, which he found to be not less than elven, really, but simply different. There was a sort of perennial rosy flush to her cheeks and lips that was nearly mauve in hue and her hair, though very poorly pulled back, tended to fall around her face in small, messily endearing tendrils. Around a human woman there was always this sense that something was about to happen, although what that could be Sangwine couldn’t fathom, but whatever it was, she would meet it head on and it would suffer dearly for disturbing the status quo.

She noticed he wasn’t bothering to reply and gave him an amused, yet indulgent smile.

“You’re still not talking to me?” she asked with good humor, then began changing the dressing on his side.

Sangwine briefly considered engaging in conversation with her, but stopped short as he was overwhelmed by his thoughts. She’d given up by then, anyway, and he instead engaged the ceiling in a telepathic conversation regarding himself.

The problem was, Sangwine realized he simply couldn’t bear this anymore. His life had to change. The idea of trying to change something in Schloeffelonia was still far too painful and terrifying to consider, but he knew he had to do something besides stay here. He had to go. With that thought, he sat up abruptly.

The healer gave a little annoyed sound as her work was interrupted by his sitting up all of a sudden. She looked at him with surprise.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

He cast his eyes over her face, and in his state of action found the idea of answering rote questions unbearably dull.

“You’re actually beautiful, did you know that?”

She looked surprised, rightly not expecting that particular answer, and gave him a sort of incredulous sidelong look.

“Thank you, I think,” she replied. “Are you feeling sick?”

“Not really,” he said, and offered nothing more.

“Because you sound ill,” she added, somewhere in between a smile and a worried look.

“Is something wrong with my voice?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she answered. “Now let me finish with you.”

In reply Sangwine buried his present sense of anxiety and lay down. Her hands were comforting, and he had to force himself not to enjoy it more than was appropriate. He resumed his telepathic conversation with the ceiling, which only served to further augment his frustration. She seemed to notice, for her hands slowed and then came to rest on his abdomen as she turned her full attention onto him.

“Your brother will be glad you’re recovering so well,” she said.

Sangwine felt a sharp spike at the mention of his brother.

“How do you know my brother?” he asked her stiffly.

“He sent for me,” she replied.

“My brother wants me dead. He wouldn’t send for you. He would have watched me die,” he said to her, and then added an afterthought: “Probably with relish.”

Her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

The last thing Sangwine wanted to do at the moment was explain, so he did nothing but turn his gaze to the window where the muslin curtains were rising and falling lightly in the breeze. He wanted to escape into his earlier waking moments but the sun, which had moved and was no longer in a position to touch his face, reminded him that moment had passed.

She finished bandaging him and paused. Her voice came more softly.

“It should only take one more session for me to heal it entirely,” she told him. “There shouldn’t even be a scar.”

Sangwine regained his sense of civility, perhaps spurred on by his own vanity, or perhaps because of her efforts on his behalf.

“Thank you,” he said, turning his head to look at her. He suddenly felt horribly sorry for his self-absorption and he rose onto his elbows. “Is there anything I can do for you? Have you been paid? I don’t even know your name.”

She smiled and said, “I don’t know yours, either. Don’t worry about it; your brother paid me well.”

Sangwine wanted to tell her there’s no way it was his brother who had anything to do with this. He knew that, but he had no idea who it could have been otherwise, and denying who it was meant he would have to explain to her why it couldn’t have been Fang. The desire not to explain anything to her won over and he decided just to go along with it.

“Very well,” he said with insincerity. “Good for him.”

She tactfully let everything drop with a smile and rose, and he felt a small wisp of loss.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said. “Don’t go anywhere, or you’ll never be fully healed.”

She turned before closing the door and added, “That means scarring.”

It drove the point home nicely to an elf; Sangwine wasn’t going anywhere.

Not yet, anyway.

Chapter 29

2008-01-26T19:51:00.001-08:00

XXIX

It was with a light breeze that Bactine burst out of the hut belonging to Namah. Dawn was in the air, and everything was more or less delightful, as far as she was concerned. The sun even had somehow edged its way through the miasma that generally surrounded the marsh and fell on Bactine’s face with radiance, as if drawn to further elevate her mood. Xylic followed behind, unusually cheerful despite his general self, and if one were to observe closely, it would be evident that he drew pleasure from the height of Bactine’s happiness.

Namah emerged last, even mildly elevated herself, as on one of those mornings when cheer is catching, although she was very careful to hide it in order to remain her own singular brand of dignified. It was she who then broke the natural sounds which encompassed them, including a small patch of chuckling birds and the rustle of leaves, filling the rend with the inferior and less expressive language of man.

“If you get yourselves stuck in the swamp, I’m not coming to help you,” she indifferently informed the two. “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t even know you.”

Following this speech, she went back into her hovel with scant pomp, leaving Bactine and Xylic alone.

In the fortnight past, Namah had perceived Bactine intently, and had tailored her education accordingly. Namah taught her only a few tricks, but they were the ones that she believed would work well for the girl in a pinch, although were so potent most of the defense spells would render her unconscious for a short duration following the initial burst. Namah had warned her of this repeatedly and to a great extent very tiresomely, but in the end she was content that the girl had ingested the most of what she needed to know.

So after less than three weeks, Bactine was not only able to heal the wounds on others, but able to regenerate and defend herself and those around her.

It was this that had Bactine in such high spirits on this particular morning, as she and Xylic set off towards the forest which led to the farmlands, which led to the city and ultimately her home.

The marshes weren’t overly hard to traverse, as most things aren’t overly hard when moods are high. She and Xylic made their way rather closely; he with a stick and she very near him, and she took his hand warmly which didn’t feel at all awkward as she kept it in her possession for the time being. He, for his part, relinquished his hand willingly to her.

They talked very lightly in the forest, as the close, woven trees around them returned the small laugh that might escape one or the other now and again. They were alone in a room, or a closet perhaps, that moved past as they walked, never really changing as it was always the trunks and branches and leaves. The day passed as a pleasant hour, and when the night came they slept peacefully and side by side, each given the brief blessing of contentment that deepens sleep and never lasts.

The next day, as they reached the edge of the farmlands and the city proper came into view, Bactine began to feel unrest, as if a bee were inside of her and she was a barrel, and it was flying about trying to find the exit. She said nothing of this to Xylic, not wanting to break the pleasant reverie of recent hours, but he perceived it in the particular furrow of her brow, regardless. As was his way at times, he only inquired passively by walking closer to her side.

At first, she merely tried to ignore it, but as she came closer and closer to the city she started to wonder if she was suffering from some sort of anxiety attack. Her breath was uneven, and she felt herself shiver, so she moved to lean herself against the nearest tree.

“What is it?” asked Xylic.

“I… I don’t think I want to go home,” she said.

Xylic glanced at the city, and, as he didn’t defend home’s merits as it were, she wondered briefly if he shared her sentiment.

“Then what do you want to do?” he asked her.

She glanced up at him, and smiled despite herself. To her, Xylic was just funny. In every possible sense of the word, he was so. She was very sure she’d never meet anyone as odd if she should travel as far east or south as any map was penned. At the same time, however, he was remarkably endearing, especially now, when he was so openly asking her what she would rather do than go home.

The idea of doing anything else was silly, really. She missed her mother and Snowball, and her father, and possibly even the wash. It was just that the idea of going home strangely made her feel like a clamp was being slowly shut over her, or as if she were a firefly being closed into a glass jar for keeping. Forever.

Her breath fell distressed and uneven as she returned her gaze to Xylic, and then everything began to happen at once. He was looking at her with an intensity that she was fairly certain she’d never seen on his face before, and she suddenly knew, as the way intuition takes over at times like this, what he wanted to do. In her current mindset of trapped desperation she found she was rather drawn to him in return, if because she truly was or because he offered escape, she didn’t care. Suddenly the space between them was fiercely magnetic, and it was only through falling against each other that the tireless pull was relieved.

He sighed into her hair and held her against him with quiet desperation. For her it was warmth, all fluid and red, and almost as if she were looking inside of him again. She wanted to kiss him inevitably, and so they nearly did.

“Bactine!” called a voice. “Is that you?”

Bactine was fairly bleary at the prospect of conversing with or even noticing anyone except for Xylic at the moment, however, she worked very hard to focus her mind and pulled away from Xylic at the same time she recognized the caller.

“Violet,” she said, not altogether welcoming. “There you are,” she finished lamely.

“You’re back already?” Violet exclaimed. “Your mother will be thrilled!”

Then Violet stopped, considering.

“Unless that means you’ve been expelled,” she said to Bactine in a dubious manner.

Bactine smiled wryly.

“No, I wasn’t expelled,” she said. “It was a… unh… accelerated course.”

“Oh,” said Violet vacuously. “Well, I should be going. I’ll see you soon!”

Violet spared Xylic an openly flirtatious smile which garnered absolutely no reply and flounced away.

Suddenly awkwardness closed around them like a thick fog that clouds all senses. Xylic spoke first, uncharacteristically.

“It’s late,” he said. “If we hurry, you can be on your front porch by sunset.”

Being both relieved and anxious over the excuse he’d given both of them to pretend nothing had just happened, she straightened herself and walked on with Xylic ever nearby; towards the city and towards her home.

Chapter 28

2008-01-19T09:58:00.001-08:00

XXVIII

As Sangwine fell, Al’bert watched him fall. He was disguised with a rustic cloak of ill-woven kersey wool, and it scratched him in the most distracting and irritating of ways, but that was all forgotten as he saw what must be come to pass. The boy (as Al’bert saw him, and always would see him) was motionless, and apparently unconscious as his blood flowed from him into a puddle on the floor of the cage. It was a lovely color, if one could disconnect, and at that moment he looked truly sanguinous, as was his namesake. The wound was probably mortal, Al’bert thought, and if it wasn’t, the poor care he’d receive at the hands of these human peasants would kill him by and by. To Al’bert’s chagrin and, in some small measure he didn’t want to dwell on, to his freedom, his mind fell open, as if some window was lifted in a stale corner of his thoughts and a pale, spring wind flighted through. How refreshing it was and terrifying at the same time. He pitied Sangwine; freedom came next, both his and Sangwine’s. Sangwine would no longer live the life of a domesticated bird left to degradedly fend for itself in the wilds, and Al’bert would be relieved of the leaning, heavy shoulder of Fang. The relief fell through him, and he saw that it was empty. He knew instinctively that Fang would require him to do worse things yet, and as it was Al’bert wasn’t entirely certain he could live with this. Sangwine was dying, and Al’bert realized he didn’t want him to die, though he should. There was something worth preserving in Sangwine, even if Al’bert didn’t quite know distinctly what it was, which he found to be rare and refreshing and somewhat like a vein of gold in an otherwise plain and ordinary rock.

No, even if he must die, Al’bert couldn’t let him die like this, lying amidst plebeian humankind with his blood red for all to see. He shut himself from his thoughts and pushed those who blocked his singular purpose aside with a brusque hand.

“Stand aside,” he commanded.

All turned to gape at what newcomer spoke with such supposed authority over the body of this fair and dying creature.

“And who are you?” demanded Gilden of Al’bert, looking something like a man protecting his own property.

“I am his brother,” Al’bert lied, staring down Gilden as if possessing true brotherly wrath. Al’bert assumed within himself that in some sort of roundabout way he was vaguely some sort of “brother” to Sangwine, and that made it quite easy to lie very convincingly about the matter. He decided he’d forget about that as quickly as it became convenient, but later.

“Bring me bandages!” exclaimed Al’bert, and several someones began scurrying around in various directions as he pulled at Sangwine’s clothes to inspect the damage. The pixie’s blades had sunk deeply into him, and cut a clean swath through his midsection. It looked horrible, and he cursed beneath his breath at the sharp heat of pixie blades, even though Fang had used the pixies as an effective tool to further his cause. Al’bert refused to think fully about what he was doing right now, for he was absolutely certain that if Fang caught wind of any part of it, Al’bert would be a dead man.

A few humans had procured bandages of varying types. Al’bert snatched the most promising and begin wrapping Sangwine to staunch the blood flowing from his side. Once that was done in a vaguely suitable manner, he instinctively pointed to the prettiest girl in the surrounding crowd.

“You,” he said, “Carry his sword.”

Rising, Al’bert took Sangwine into his arms and carried him forthwith out of the arena, saying clearly with his silently dark demeanor that Sangwine would never be back.

He took great pains to be certain he was well-hooded on the way to Sangwine’s room, even though he was nearly absolutely certain no one would recognize him or know just how horribly disloyal and treacherous he was. Most were simply so confused by the elf he was carrying, and the sword-bearing girl who followed close behind, that they didn’t think to look at him until they were long past.

Upon reaching the room of Sangwine, there was an awkward scene of finding his key upon his unconscious person, but by and by Al’bert had him reposed upon his bed as the girl watched in tense silence nearby. Al’bert took the sword from the girl and placed it upon a close-sitting table.

“Go to the high terrace and ask in the apothecary after a healer,” he said to her. Following her nod, he gave her a list of herbs, hoping within himself that humans had the sense of mind to keep all or most of them in stock. “Assure them that no expense will be spared.”

With that, the girl flitted away like a bird’s shadow, and Al’bert was left uncomfortably alone with his thoughts and a vigil over the defenseless body of the man he was supposed to be killing. He shifted his weight and fell wearily into a chair beside the bed, more from mental weariness than the physical sort. Regarding Sangwine, he felt wry.

“Prince of Schloeffelonia, how far you wander from home,” he began, feeling a certain empathy, as Al’bert’s own family was also everything he held dear. Fang, he wondered on. As he knew Fang, and had known Fang from the very beginnings, he understood Fang’s motives and how it had come to this. He understood one side, and he understood the other, but yet they were entirely different worlds. They were two sides of a coin that could never face each other without pulling apart the seams of reality.

“You have no home,” he addressed Sangwine. His voice stirred the leaden silence of the room and made him feel exposed, and so he spoke more quietly, “Not anymore.”

Al’bert stared out the window, mostly, until the girl returned. As she came, he rose instantly, eager to quit the guilt and anxiety of this room and find somewhere else where he could think clearly and of other, more pleasant things.

“There is a healer, and she is coming,” the girl said, handing him a bag of healing herbs and salves. He put it on the table straightaway along with a generous number of coins and turned to the girl.

“Come and find me outside once she arrives,” he said to her, then, sparing her a gentle, grateful glance and a few coins of tribute, he cloaked himself with thorough precision and left, closing the door very carefully.

Chapter 27

2008-01-11T10:53:00.001-08:00

XXVII

Off in the distance, there was muted noise. It sounded like a cacophony of voices stuffed with cotton and sealed in a barrel. Sangwine wondered at that, idly, with a mind to ignore it and drift off into a dream where he was sitting on a stone bench beside a pond. Something nagged at him, though, pulling his sleeve like a child’s hand to a point and vaguely annoying yet hardly noticeable.

Noises; noises like the ocean, rising and falling in waves. It was soothing and he sighed on his bench beside the pond. Elsewhere, a petal fell from a flowering bough and landed on the still, smooth surface and ripples slowly drove outwards in all directions. They began small, then grew in size, reaching for the shore where Sangwine was sitting. He watched with calm curiosity as the first approached, struck the shore, then strangely passed through the air and ultimately through him.

“Mr. Schloeffel!” a voice yelled, and Sangwine regained consciousness with a start.

“It’s Schlöffel,” replied Sangwine blearily. He noted his porcelain mask was in a thousand pieces beside him.

“That’s what I said,” barked Gilden, “Now get up. What’s wrong with you? It’s just a pixie.”

“Just a pixie?” said Sangwine incredulously. He was ignored, however, as he was helped to his feet. His worst nightmare was still reality, and the pixie was staring at him through the cracks in his box, seething with murder and cruelty as only a pixie can. Sangwine leaned back reflexively and someone held him up.

“We killed you, Prince of Schlöffel,” rasped the pixie, its tiny fangs curled into a Cheshire grin.

Sangwine was yet further disarmed by being instantaneously recognized. Those gathered nearby were rapt with the bizarre, fantastical nature of the situation, and even Gilden was silent.

“I saw you die, Prince,” the pixie continued, appearing both angry, weirdly amused, and in Sangwine’s opinion downright possessed as he spoke. The dynamics between elves and pixies had never been friendly, as pixies were prone to mischief, and elves were prone to goodness. In the best of times they ignored each other. In the worst of times, this sort of thing happened. The pixie hesitated, then looked sly.

“It was the faerie, wasn’t it? Did she save you in time, Prince of Schlöffel?”

Sangwine didn’t reply, but heard Gilden mutter something about fairies being obsolete in modern society.

“How fortunate for you that was, Prince, but she can not save you now.”

At that, the pixie burst from his box, which hinges had been weakened unexpectedly and flew in a violently threatening bee-line at Sangwine’s head. Everyone in the ring, and there were quite a few in number, immediately dove in multiple directions away from the pixie and out of the cage by any means possible. Everyone, that is, except Sangwine, who was forced to dodge the flying gambit in order to preserve his face.

He fumbled for his sword and couldn’t manage to draw it before the pixie seared towards him again, slicing the air in half with his speed and nearly slicing Sangwine’s shoulder with his tiny (but razor-sharp as they are wont to be) hand-blades. Sangwine dodged again and again, each time nearly drawing his sword but feeling nowhere near fast enough to actually accomplish it.

Sangwine knew he was too slow. There was simply no way that he could gain advantage over the pixie with speed, and dodging like this wouldn’t work in his favor very long. He suddenly understood the plight of his opponents all of these months, and upon understanding, he knew that he had to do.

“Why did you attack my army at Pixie Pass?” Sangwine demanded of the pixie.

The pixie paused long enough for Sangwine to draw his sword.

“You ask us why we should attack an army of elves?” said the pixie, smiling fiercely. “You ask when you know we hate elves?”

He moved to attack again, but hesitated when Sangwine brandished his sword.

“We had a treaty and you broke it,” said Sangwine.

“The treaty was forfeit,” the pixie replied sourly, and then he attacked Sangwine again in a flurry of movement. Sangwine brusqued him off until he could manage to speak again without mortal danger.

“My father would never have broken the treaty!” Sangwine protested, at which the pixie laughed.

“Of course he wouldn’t have,” said the pixie. “But we found your brother’s ideas far more intriguing.”

Mortal combat ensued, and Sangwine calculated. He would have to get hurt, but it wasn’t really as easy as that. He had to decide where was the most desirable place to be pierced with blades, which is never a desirable thing, and he had to work up the courage to get stabbed, sliced, or gouged in the first place. He also had to make sure the plunge was correctly executed in order to give him the best advantage. Amidst a parried turn, his course was decided for him.

The pixie’s blades, in a sudden rush, sliced through his side. He didn’t feel a thing, really, and his focus was instantly narrowed into a tiny point in time and space. He curved, turned, twisted, and he threw his sword back, away from the pixie. However, his other hand snatched the distracted pixie from the air and he yanked it by the neck to his eye level. The pixie’s eyes showed fear, for once, which gave Sangwine a measure of satisfaction. A very large measure of satisfaction, really, seeing as how all of his friends in the army were dead because of this pixie and his ilk.

He plucked the small blades from the pixie’s hands and tossed them aside, and then he addressed him directly.

“I am not going to kill you,” he said very plainly. The pixie looked oddly irritated at Sangwine for his nobility, and he rolled his eyes.

Walking over to the box, he stuffed the pixie back in the box and closed it soundly.

“Take him back to where he came from,” ordered Sangwine.

It wasn’t really Sangwine’s place to order anyone around in this arena, however, they did it anyway, carting away the sullen pixie with intent obedience. As soon as the pixie and his box were out of sight, Sangwine felt the warmth on his side, on his hip, or flowing from his side, down his hip. It ached when he twisted, and he felt rather weak all of a sudden. Looking down he saw a great deal of blood from his waist to the ground, and trailing behind him across the cage. His vision wavered, and for the second time that night, Sangwine fainted in front of an audience.

Chapter 26

2008-01-05T19:45:00.001-08:00

XXVI

Sangwine had fallen into a regular routine, practically. Gilden, the owner of the swordfighting “arena” as it were, was pleased yet still vaguely distrustful of Sangwine, entirely because he was an elf, and elves and humans rarely, if ever, reach any sort of eye-to-eye level of understanding. Sangwine had become a sort of peasant sensation, which although it brought him the due measure of ego-padding, it also disturbed him slightly for the reason that he could be discovered, although he hadn’t heard anything from or of Al’bert since that day he’d seen him on the street.

It was falling into a regular routine that bothered him the most. Each day was virtually the same. He went to the same haunts for his meals, fought, was distantly congratulated, and retired to his room, which was empty. The entire process itself was empty and awash with loneliness, regardless of the number of people who surrounded him or admired him. What pricked at him was that in the way that any individual adjusts him- or her-self to extenuating circumstances, he had grown comfortable with his life and its routine. Regardless, the thought of spending the rest of his life, or even another year like this made him severely depressed.

He grew restless, which was a familiar feeling. Even in his youth, but ever more as he’d grown to age, he’d had periods of restlessness, as if something wasn’t quite right but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. As if change was in the air and he needed to grasp it, see it, or merely note that it was there. The mountains that bordered Schloeffelonia had taunted him back then; He loved them, yet he wanted to see what was beyond instead of merely learning about it from books. Instead he’d prepared himself for a political sort of life, where he would parlay and negotiate and coddle the relations between his and the surrounding peoples in conjunction with his older brother being the king. As time wore on, it had become clear that Sangwine would have to work more and more fervently to maintain relations with other countries, since Fangline had been growing more and more unstable, and so he’d dug further into understanding the intricacies of history and relation.

Even when Fang had left entirely, Sangwine still hoped that he’d come back, prodigal and ready to take the throne. He never in his life expected the throne would be taken in the particular way it was. It all seemed like something that should have happened in another world. Fang rather easily could have had the throne, with very little effort on his part, through entirely legal means and without any bloodshed whatsoever.

Sangwine realized at that moment that Fang would have been miserable with the throne and the seat of Schloeffelonia in the established way. For whatever reason, he was a person who had to do things in his own manner, and the traditional trappings of their shared house were unbearable. There was a limit to the extent to which Sangwine could understand; not due to lack of trying, but because Sangwine was simply made from different stuff. For Sangwine, when he knew something was right, he had to do it. Acting otherwise brought him misery. For Fang, it seemed being forced to fit a round peg into a square hole brought him misery.

Neither could bear what the other required. In this way they were doomed from the beginning to be brothers in blood only.

This brought Sangwine the sort of aching sadness he felt in his bones. He’d always wanted more than the distant treaty they’d had in their youth wherein Fang was passably polite to him if Sangwine stayed out of his way. There were rare times, however, as if Fang possessed more than one personality, that he’d shown a touching kindness. Fang had an immense depth of kindness within him, Sangwine knew, but he had rarely seen it. One would think this would make it easy to forget it existed at all, but instead it had the entirely opposite effect.

He supposed it was the pendulum effect. As Fang was capable of intense depravity and destruction, he was also capable of a well’s depth of the opposite. His brother was never one to be bland, he supposed, but Sangwine was again struck with a sort of agonized wondering as to what would drive Fang to such extremes, when his extremes lead to the murder of his family.

He hated thinking about it. It made the bottom drop out of his combined emotions and thoughts and the deep muddy purple cloud of anguish overcame him again. Most of all, he was dreadfully lonely and useless.

This night he was fighting again, yet another opponent in a long string of opponents. It went on and on in his mind, and he decided he’d discontinue working in the ring fairly soon. Surely he could find something else to do. Perhaps he’d even leave this city and see what is even further north from here. He had no idea what was that way as it was off of any map he’d ever perused, and he didn’t have the adventuresome spirit about him at this particular time of his life to find out, but his dissatisfaction with the way things currently were seemed to be driving him slowly in that direction.

Tonight he stood in the ring, and waited. Part of him subdued the pleasure he got from the obvious sensation his exquisite poise caused in the audience, as it always did, because his training told him absorbing the praise of peasants was an exercise in folly. The masses as a whole lacked refined taste in their behemoth appreciations, and a man who took what they had to say about him to heart was a man built on a straw foundation. Besides, they didn’t know him. They didn’t know he was really a coward.

Sangwine stood there long enough to briefly wonder where his opponent was, when the door to the back slammed open and three men struggling with what seemed to be a box in a blanket came towards the ring. It was a rather smallish box, probably two feet by two feet by again two feet in size, but the three men were having a very hard time holding onto it, and as they reached the ring, they hoisted it over and one of the men fell on it in order to keep it under control.

One of the men glanced at Sangwine with something that looked like wonder and pity, and this caused one of Sangwine’s eyebrows to arch in repressed curiosity blended with trepidation. Nothing really could have prepared him for what awaited beneath the blanket, though, for when the third man swept the blanket aside, he could see through the slats in the box that what he was to swordfight tonight was a feral, mindless, bloodthirsty pixie.

Sangwine fainted.

Chapter 25

2007-12-20T16:43:00.000-08:00

XXV

When Namah entered the hovel which she called her home, they were ready for her.

Unfortunately for them, Namah was no unwise spring chicken, and was even more ready for them than they were for her. As the young man and woman lunged for her she thrust them against the walls on either side of the room using magic she hadn’t used for some time, idly considered in some corner of her mind. They both fixed her with gazes equal in fury and defiance, and Namah couldn’t help thinking that it was possible they were both marked for destiny.

“You nearly killed Xylic!” the girl yelled at Namah from her spot against the wall.

“He looks fine to me,” Namah replied.

“You’re going to have to let us go sometime, and when you do—“

“Then what? Are you going to bite the hand that feeds you, girl?” Namah grew a little short with the girl, although she actually didn’t feel short at all. “How long do you think it would have taken you to learn how to do what you just did if you’d gone to someone else? Do you know how they teach you in other schools? Carefully, mote by mote, making sure no one gets hurt and there’s no danger. Well, that’s not the world of healing. There’s danger, and it’s constant. You have to learn to deal with mortality, death, and the dying, and you have to be able to come through in a clinch. I taught you in six days what most other teachers would take six months to do, and you’re ungrateful for that?”

The girl merely withdrew her vocal opposition and resumed glaring. Namah took that as reluctant acceptance. She turned her attention to the young man, the elf. As she looked at him she saw his thoughts and understood him in a blink. She returned to the girl.

“Bactine, do you want to learn defensive magic?”

Bactine glanced down, and Namah knew her thoughts, too. The girl possessed a biting sort of anger within her, but it was a tool. A tool to mask emotion, and a tool of focus. Namah fell to wondering if that was healthy. She was talented, though; remarkably talented. Namah had actually expected to have to come in the next day and heal the elf before he had the chance to pass away, but she was determined to give Bactine all the time possible to fret herself into learning what she had to. When she’d sensed the girl using the drawing ability Namah had been genuinely surprised, and impressed. She didn’t plan on telling her any of that, though, and assumed the young pair would attempt to ambush her in her own hovel.

The idea made Namah chuckle.

“Is something funny?” glared Bactine from her plastered state against the wall, and Namah had to admit to herself more than one thing was funny at the moment. She recalled the magic and released them both.

“Will you teach Bactine the magic you know?” Xylic asked Namah, speaking for once. Bactine looked over at him, her face taking on a look of shock. He returned her look plainly, without chagrin.

“Son, that would take twenty years, and I don’t think we have that long,” replied Namah. She appraised them both. Yes, they were definitely on the verge of something. She could feel it around them like a tremor. They were unstable. She turned to Bactine. “But I’ll teach you however much you can grasp in a week.”

Namah had a feeling that would be a lot.

Chapter 24

2007-12-08T21:43:00.000-08:00

XXIV

So ever since this morning, when Xylic had fallen unconscious the first time, Bactine had been struggling to make sense of Namah’s words.

She was tired by now; it’d been at least twelve hours that she’d been trying. Xylic was feverish, and his arm had swollen precariously. Occasionally he made a sound, but it was rarely something she could decipher. It didn’t matter anyway. There was only one thing Bactine could do to help him, and she had no idea how to do it. It frustrated her beyond reason.

“Take it,” Namah had simply said after Bactine had described the blackness she’d sensed inside of him. Bactine had tried to take it, but she had no idea how. By the time she grew frustrated enough to ask, Namah had gone, and hadn’t returned.

Xylic was dying, Bactine had been abandoned by the one person who could help, and the whole situation made her want to scream. The next time she saw Namah she was going to give her a piece of her mind, and verbally berate her into assisting Xylic somehow. Something –anything would be better than this horrible torture he was going through.

Regardless, Bactine spent a lot of time inside of Xylic because it helped with the pain, and she eventually grew to know him rather well. Now, at this desperate hour, she leaned over him as she had for the past several days and pressed her hand against his brow. Her other hand was on his chest and she was doing what had become automatic: Checking inside of him. The blackness had grown. It crept outward unnaturally, like ink in water; no pulse beating in its ravaging, soulless maw. The rest of his body was all light and warmth and sensual clockwork; and just as horrified by the ugly blackness as she was. She wanted to push it back, but was only able to observe. His body tried to push it back, but was waging a losing battle. The blackness laughed and shot out another inky-thin feeler.

It was infuriating.

As her fury ebbed, she found herself in a moment of curious sentiment. She moved her hand from his forehead to his cheek as she thought of the newly discovered grace that, now that she was aware of it, seemed to emanate subtly from him like a halo with the same pulse that ran through his body. He wasn’t quite as beautiful as Sangwine, but certainly not far off.

Well, she took that back. He was just different. Where Sangwine was all sparkling outward and wide-eyed, Xylic was withdrawn and cautious. Their coloring wasn’t that different, really. Xylic’s skin was a bit darker, Sangwine’s eyes a more pure blue, Xylic’s hair pale like sand where Sangwine’s was gold.

They are similar, thought Bactine, very similar. Her hand moved into his hair, synapses firing.

Suddenly she forgot entirely what she’d been thinking, or why her hand was in Xylic’s hair. She removed her hand and pulled up his bedcovering to his shoulders in a gentle move, then glanced around, feeling strangely blank.

The sickness. That was what she was doing.

She returned inside of him, feeling towards the sickness and melding with Xylic’s body like another part of him. It welcomed her, the push and pull of life embracing her, and sped her on closer to the illness in question. This time she came closer to it, prodding around it, feeling through the tear in his flesh, and then she pulled. It resisted. She pulled it again. It threatened to tear a larger whole in the being of Xylic if she continued.

This didn’t go over very well with Bactine. For one thing, she was being dictated to by gangrene. For another thing, it had been threatening Xylic long enough. Xylic, who was her best friend in the world. Her best friend in the world.

That was the breaker. Inside him and in her anger she swelled and became an even worse creature than the wretchedness and blackness, and she consumed it entirely with a golden maw, drawing it back with blurring speed, back through the veins of Xylic and through her hand, into herself and she absorbed it. Into herself, unfortunately. It screamed.

No, wait. That was Bactine screaming.

Xylic woke feeling slightly weak, but for the most part he was whole and hale and sat up immediately.

“Bactine!”

She was clutching her arm, which was swollen and gangrenous, bleeding and torn. Her face paled, and she looked on the edge of collapse. As she began to wobble and slide from her stool, Xylic caught her, pulled her to him, and she cried out again, since any movement sent searing pain throughout her arm and shoulder, as Xylic knew very well. He loosened his grip and her ragged breath brushed his shoulder.

“I did it,” she said to his shoulder, her voice weak and broken. She began to go limp in his arms and he stopped it, for no other reason that he strongly felt that she wouldn’t wake again if she slept now. He was fairly certain the only way to keep her awake was to cause her pain, as much as the idea made his stomach sink. Besides, he didn’t have much time to think about alternatives.

He tightened his grip on her arm, and she yelled wordlessly. Surprisingly, and he supposed because it surprised him because it was Bactine, she began to cry. He immediately felt horrible, but had an ultimate focus.

“You have to get rid of it,” he told her.

“I can’t,” she cried.

“Yes, you can,” he said to her, sounding completely certain, although he wasn’t at all.

She looked up at him, her brown eyes all strength and fury and weakness and anguish. He loved her, and it was agonizing for a multitude of reasons at this particular moment. On her face the expression of determination won out, and he sensed she had gone inside of herself, so to speak.

He had very little he could do, except hold her and prevent her from falling to the floor, and so that’s what he did, unconsciously avoiding her bleeding arm. She gradually fell into a sort of deep thought, her forehead on his shoulder and her hands somewhat painfully gripping his forearms, or more specifically, the skin on his forearms. He didn’t really mind, though, regardless of the pain. Anything was less than the past several days’ worth of agony.

“Remember what Namah said,” he told her. She looked up at him.

“What did she say?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, “But I’d assumed she said something.”

She looked both amused and annoyed, but also in mortal pain. It would be an unusual mixture on anyone’s face. She shuddered and closed her eyes, her brow furrowed deeply and she began holding her breath.

“What are you doing?” asked Xylic, alarmed.

“Shutup!” she replied from her intense reverie, and her arm looked as if it might be a little less swollen. Then suddenly, it all swept away, as if into a vacuum. The swelling went away, the redness faded, the tear in her skin knit together until it was untorn satin. There was nothing to be done for the blood, though. It was still everywhere.

She released her held breath and gasped for air, and opened her eyes.

“I did it,” she said to him, and they were both suddenly wracked with smiles. An embrace came next, although the realities of everything else is never far behind, and it swiftly grew awkward, as Xylic was undressed to the waist and Bactine was sharing a bed with him.

“I can’t believe it. I did it,” she said, standing suddenly as Xylic went for his clothes.

“Do you think you could do it again?” he asked, pulling his shirt over his head.

“I do,” she said, her glowing jubilance outshining the side dish of awkward. “Xylic, was it horrible? I’m so sorry.”

“Well, it was horrible, yes,” he replied as he tied his jerkin. “But I suppose it was worth it in the end.”

He paused.

“You’re a healer, now, aren’t you,” he said.

She took that in ponderously.

“I suppose I am.”

Chapter 23

2007-12-04T20:03:00.000-08:00

XXIII

Al’bert always dressed very carefully in the morning. He never really thought about it, but it was something in which he found a distinct sort of pleasure. It was vanity, surely, but a vanity so engrained in the elven psyche that it wasn’t remotely considered vain by Al’bert; it was just a part of life. However, if someone were to call him vain he wouldn’t care at all.

So this particular morning, as he smoothed the clasp near the throat of his longcoat, one of his favorite noises in the world came from the mussed recesses of the bed at hand. It was the sort of noise a woman makes in the morning, when not displeased at all with the events of the night before. He glanced from himself in the mirror to the tumble of auburn hair which was currently the only evidence in plain sight that the girl existed and he grinned to himself.

His thoughts split in two directions as he straightened his cuffs. One part of his mind went to the fine make of his coat, and how he was chagrined that he had to be careful with it because there wasn’t similar quality of tailoring to be found anywhere near this human city. This was yet another way he found himself “roughing it” here among the humans of the world. The other direction his mind went was to Sangwine.

The girl had been a fair, pleasant conquest, and she’d told him everything she knew and possibly more than she knew. Al’bert now knew where Sangwine lived, when he was there, and where he went during the day. He had everything he needed to do what Fang had sent him to do.

Al’bert’s movements slowed as he considered this.

It was problematic, to say the least. Al’bert just didn’t want to kill Sangwine. Sangwine might have been a fairly annoying kid, sure, but he didn’t think he deserved to die. Well, none of the royal family deserved to die, but the way it goes is that when those at the top are removed, those below move up a rank. So with the death of the royal family, Al’bert’s father, le Duc du Fromage, moved up in royalty, as did the rest of the Fromages. It was a mixed blessing, one that required heartlessness to appreciate. Al’bert’s best bet was turning a blind eye, and doing what he must.

But if “what he must” required killing? …

He sighed audibly, not knowing what he was doing.

“What’s wrong?” he heard the girl ask from behind.

He looked at her in the mirror as she was trussed with an angelic swirl of sheets and coverings which created a sort of strapless gown twisting to the edges of the bed. Her auburn hair stood out starkly against the white and her fair skin. He smiled at her.

“Nothing at all,” he replied, smoothing the front of his attire.

He paused.

“Except one thing,” he said to her, turning.

“What is that?” she asked him, tilting her head slightly.

“I’ve run out of time,” he said. “I have to go, now.”

She looked somewhat disappointed then asked, “You have to go find him?”

Al’bert caught himself before he hesitated too long.

“Yes,” he said simply, as he leaned over her to kiss her.

As he shut the door behind him, he realized he wasn’t going to find Sangwine. He didn’t know how long he could put Fang off, but he didn’t want to do it quite yet. Regarding the act of killing, he supposed the four people in his current service would have few qualms with killing the doomed prince. Well, the thief probably wouldn’t. Three of them, anyway. But it all came down to his orders, and Al’bert couldn’t shake the feeling that Sangwine’s blood would be on his hands no matter what he did.

There was also his family to consider. As they were a family aligned with Fang, as it were, it felt to Al’bert as if they were hostage to Fang’s dictatorship. If Al’bert were to perform too poorly he didn’t doubt that Fang would use members of his family as leverage to force a better performance out of him. He’d done it already with others. The Fromages had been treated differently than most, simply because Fang and Al’bert were best friends as children, but Fang was rapidly losing his “humanity”, as they say.

Overall, however, there was nothing to be done for it. Circumstances were what they were, and Al’bert would eventually do what he had to do, when he had to do it.

For now, though, he would stall.

As he thought this last thought, he’d arrived at the fairly pleasant inn where he and the rest of his party were staying. The morning was brisk and lovely, and as he turned into the common room, he saw the four sitting at a table. Al’ice was looking for him, and as their eyes met, he made sure to act as if everything was quite normal and perfect. The Wiz, who had been ruminating over a steaming cup of coffee in the direction of the bored others, spoke first.

“So, have you found him?” he asked.

“Quite nearly,” said Al’bert cheerfully. “Perhaps today I’ll stumble across what I’m looking for.”

“The girl didn’t know?” asked Wiz, knowing full well Al’bert didn’t desire him to bring up the girl in front of Al’ice. Al’bert made a mental note to chastise Wiz later, as Al’ice in turn feigned nonchalant tea consumption.

“No,” said Al’bert dryly. “She didn’t know.”

“Then why did you…”

Al’bert coughed loudly, and Wiz took the hint at last. He rolled his eyes and ignored the rest of whatever Al’bert or anyone else might do, and absorbed himself broodily in scribbling notes into a tiny notebook next to his coffee mug. Steev was too moronic to care about what was going on, the thief looked nervous as always, and Al’ice continued to act uninterested and nonchalant. Al’bert knew he was probably going to have to perform some damage control later with Al’ice.

As he moved to sit beside her at the table, she stood up and left. Al’bert ignored this pointedly.

“It should only be a few more days,” he told the rest. “Maybe a week.”

A few of them looked bored. Well, the two that weren’t drawing algebraic shapes in a notebook and completely ignoring everything he was saying looked bored.

“At most a fortnight,” finished Al’bert, to no one in particular.

Chapter 21, 22

2007-11-28T13:55:00.001-08:00

*** edited Ch 21 end and Ch 22 added ***

XXI

Bactine leaned over the cot where Xylic lay feverish, wiping his brow with a wet cloth, and brushing his unruly bangs from his forehead.

“He’s gone gangrenous, you know,” said Namah impartially, as she busied herself with something entirely useless. Bactine suspected it was needlepoint.

“Yes, thank you for the update,” replied Bactine irritably, her attention focused intently on Xylic. It’d been several days since Namah had suddenly stabbed Xylic, and he’d gradually grown weaker until today he flitted in and out of consciousness. That must have been a filthy knife.

At first, Bactine had the initial thought to leave and find help, but realizing that she couldn’t drag Xylic through the moor and forest back to civilization in time made her feel helpless, and she also suspected Namah wouldn’t let her leave, anyway. Actually, she suspected highly that Namah knew exactly what she was doing, which made Bactine sick to her stomach.

So from the initial stabbing, Namah had begun her lessons with Bactine, and Xylic was her test subject. Right after, as Xylic was bleeding all over the floor, Namah had handed Bactine cloth and instructed her how to dress a wound properly. It infuriated Bactine to no end that Namah seemed to have no empathy whatsoever for Xylic’s obviously pain-riddled plight. She wondered if that’s what happened to healers after so many years of seeing pain. Regardless, Bactine followed her instructions as perfectly as she could, entirely forgetting to be embarrassed as she removed Xylic’s cloak, jerkin and shirt in her concern for his well-being.

Namah had used a powerful magic on Xylic, which rendered him completely useless. She later told Bactine it was a spell which increased the pain tenfold, precisely for the purpose of keeping a wounded enemy subdued. When Bactine objected, Namah mentioned that Xylic had been ready to attack her with his weapons, and she was only a weak old woman, after all. Bactine didn’t believe there was anything weak about Namah, but reluctantly saw her point. Besides, Bactine realized she was entirely at the mercy of Namah, in order to save Xylic’s life.

Following the instruction on wound dressing, Namah began to teach her how to see inside of someone physically, in a mental way. She started with merely touching Xylic, and trying to sense him. Bactine would put her hand on him again and again, seeing nothing, until finally Namah hit her on the back of the head and demanded she concentrate. Something about that angered Bactine to no end, and that anger focused her like a razor.

She put her hand on him, and slid inside, through her hand, sensing him. The blood coursing through his veins with heat; the stolid heartbeat; the rush of air through his lungs, like the wind in the tops of pines. She drew back in shock, pulled her hand away, and caught her breath.

Namah smiled, although when Namah smiled, it wasn’t a pretty picture.

Later that night, when Namah was outside gathering some kind of horrible substance, Bactine busied herself with changing Xylic’s dressing. The coverings were pulled up to his shoulders, but his arms were outside, and he looked weak, as his brow was consistently covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Does it hurt badly?” asked Bactine quietly.

“Yes,” said Xylic. Bactine sighed, looking equal parts angry and compassionate in two different directions.

“I’m going to figure out how to heal you,” she said, and then added: “Soon.”

“Well, either that or I’m going to die,” he said, not seeming entirely opposed to the idea. She gripped his arm in protest, causing him to wince, and then she jumped, yanking her hand from his arm.

“Oh, sorry!” she said, blushing. She then fell into a furious reverie.

“I hate her,” she said, and then she thought.

“I hate her,” she said again, more resolved. Xylic was quiet and resigned. Bactine looked him over, then moved closer, being cautious about not gripping his arm.

“I made a sort of breakthrough today,” she told him. “I was able to see inside of you.”

Xylic looked curiously disturbed for a moment.

“And what did you see?” he asked after a time.

“It wasn’t exactly anything I saw..,” she said, “It was what I felt.”

“Then what did you feel,” he asked, putting a bit more emphasis on “feel” than was necessary. She glanced wryly at him.

“Your heartbeat,” she said.

“You can feel that any time you’d like,” he said, and he took her hand and placed it over his heart in order to illustrate.

It was not meant to be a meaningful action, but something about it touched Bactine. There he was, looking up at her from his wretched state, entirely put into such a state due to his charity in bringing her here, and she felt his heart beat, again… and again. Again it beat, and the percussive, warm nature of it ran through her arm as she sunk into him without a thought, feeling him with another beat; feeling the coursing back and forth of the blood within him like the volley of sea grass courses with the tide beneath the ocean’s surface. She was caught; her eyes were locked with his, but her mind was in a million places; all of them belonging to him. Warmth and glow flowed through her hand into him, and she found it.

It was filthy, wretched, and disrupted the flow within him. The rest of his body wrung against it, pushing at it, slowly trying to overwhelm it and subdue it, eroding it away until the time when he could be whole again.

But the filth was growing.

Bactine didn’t know what to do, so she lifted her hand from his chest. His hand fell away from hers and he looked away.

“I will heal you, Xylic,” she said. “I just don’t know how, yet.”

He looked back to her and spoke.

“When you do that,” he said, meaning looking inside of him, “It doesn’t hurt as much.”

“Do you want me to do it again?” she asked.

“Please…” he replied simply, after hesitation.

Bactine was relieved that there was at least something she could do, which was positive, in this sordid situation. She put her hands on him and thought deeply, and then he sighed.

It wasn’t long at all before Xylic fell asleep. Bactine sat in concentration, realizing the pain had deprived him of sleep for some time, at least of the deep sleep one requires for recovery. He hadn’t complained, she noted. At least, not much. Most of his complaint was channeled into some unpleasant and choice things he had to say about Namah, when she was out, of course.

She took this opportunity to clandestinely regard him in detail.

As he slept, he looked different. Normally he had a consistently brooding look upon his face, combined with a look that was sharp, causing anyone who thought to get more than a glance at him not to linger. He pushed everyone away with his countenance, like an invisible barrier. Now, though, his face was calm, peaceful, resilient. His features were fine; his mouth was delicate; his skin slightly golden, and his hair brilliant blonde. He was… Bactine suddenly realized… beautiful.

She wondered why she’d never noticed it before.

She continued looking inside of him for as long as she could manage it.

XXII

Namah entered plainly, and glanced to the pair near the end of the room. The young man was sleeping deeply, it looked like, and the young woman was asleep too, her arms folded over his chest, and her weight in a precarious-looking angle as her weight was balanced between stool she was sitting on and him.

“Young love,” said Namah to herself, taking on a silly grin.

Nothing better to teach the girl with, she thought to herself. Her eyes swept over them again, this time more calculating, and she moved towards them with her theories on her mind.

From the instant that fellow walked out of the moor to her front step, she had sensed something different about him, but if what she thought he was turned out to be correct, she wondered what he was doing here. She hadn’t seen one of his kind of many years.

As she approached them, she knew his features were just slightly too delicate to be human. However, she was a woman bent on proving her theories, and so she put her fingers into his unruly hair, feeling until there it was; his ear was long, and as her finger touched the point, he woke with a start.

He gave her a look so fierce and threatening that she recoiled, even though in a practical sense she knew fully well he was too weak to do anything but stare. His body was instantly stiff, and his whole arm was wrapped around the shoulders of the girl, as if in protection.

Namah dropped her hand to her side and fixed him with a stern look. He obviously didn’t want anyone to know what he was, but Namah couldn’t fathom why what would be. She found herself wondering why an elf would be an outcast, and integrated among humans. Why he would fear anyone should know? In the way he held the girl and shook slightly, Namah realized the girl didn’t know, and he didn’t want her to find out. So be it. She raised her chin slightly.

“I will keep your secret,” she deigned.

He gave her no reply.

“But she will find out on her own,” she continued. “Very soon.”

His glare shattered and he glanced upwards at the ceiling, his breath shallow. Namah watched this odd fellow curiously, with his changing moods and roiling storms. She felt compassion, although she resolved not to show it. Besides, it was somewhat amusing, the idea that this fellow was an elf and under this girl’s nose for, oh… she judged it’d been quite some time they’d known each other, and the girl had no idea what he was. Either she was supremely dense, or he was a master at hiding it, or a little of both.

Namah considered.

“I can make it so she doesn’t notice… for now,” she said to him, and lifted a magical hand.

The elf’s eyes widened, and she pondered their color. Sea-green. She hadn’t seen that color in a long time. She took the fact that he wasn’t glaring at her any longer as affirmation for her to continue, and so she did, weaving her hand and drawing it back.

A trail of white mist fell from Namah’s hand, shifted, and blew back and forth like dandelion seeds until it gradually fell upon Bactine. She sighed against Xylic’s chest and slept on.

“Now, let her sleep so she can save your life in the morning,” said Namah to the elf, and she turned swiftly away to focus entirely on her roots and globules.

Chapter 20

2007-11-24T18:46:00.000-08:00

Al’bert sat at a table with Wiz, lazily considering what sort of step he should take next.

“You mentioned your Father,” said Wiz conversationally, stirring some kind of oddly steaming concoction in a mug on the table in front of him with a thin stick. Al’bert didn’t bother to ask what it might be because he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Al’bert shifted languidly.

“I got a letter from him yesterday morning,” he said, although he was hesitant to relay the contents of the letter, since they brought him a small measure of disturbance.

“Hmn,” said Wiz indifferently, stirring away. The concoction began to spark.

Al’bert looked around at the dive they were currently in. It was a hole in the wall, and not the sort of place that Al’bert had suspected Sangwine to hang around in, but it was only in these lower parts of town that he’d heard any tell of someone who would even vaguely resemble the doomed Prince.

And what stories he had heard! Al’bert couldn’t help but find a sort of humorous delight in the prospect of Sangwine actually fighting for his keep. He’d always been such a stuffy, proper sort. How humiliating it must be. Al’bert smiled.

A young wench with auburn hair and hazel eyes passed by carrying a serving tray and wearing a lacy apron.

“Ah, miss,” called Al’bert, stopping her.

She looked at him.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

He handed her a small, folded parchment and said, “Maybe.”

She gave him a dubious glance, looked slightly annoyed, and went on her way. However, she did pocket the parchment.

The Wiz glanced at Al’bert, sparking concoction briefly forgotten.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” said Al’bert. “And is woman’s greatest weakness.”

“How did your father say things are in Schloeffelonia?” asked Wiz, who had begun poking his concoction with the thin stick instead of stirring it, as it had thickened exceedingly. Al’bert sincerely hoped he didn’t plan to ingest it.

“They’re… different,” said Al’bert cautiously. “Fang has decided it’s time the elven nation goes on the offensive.”

“That’s a different philosophy,” said Wiz.

“Quite,” said Al’bert, and to be honest, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. The wealth was there, yes, and he supposed with the elven mages at Fang’s disposal the power was there, too. However, Al’bert was a man of feelings, and something about this just felt wrong.

“Has the elven nation ever attacked anyone?” asked Wiz.

“Not that I know of,” said Al’bert. “So I suppose it should take everyone quite unawares.”

“Fang is an adroit fellow, isn’t he,” said Wiz casually as he turned the mug, and the concoction slid out onto the table, maintaining its gelatinous form. Now Al’bert was vaguely disturbed that Wiz might consume it with a fork and knife.

“Yes, he is,” said Al’bert distractedly. The Wiz snapped his fingers, and his forefinger began to glow. He then touched the top of the gelatinous mass with his finger, and it grew animated, folded into itself, then somehow gained an abstract posture. It seemed alive. The conversation died as Al’bert found himself transfixed.

The Wiz glanced at Al’bert and said, “It’s a golem; a lousy one. I never was very good with them.”

He sighed and then smashed it with a spoon.

Al’bert tried not to wince visibly. The clock struck ten, and he stood.

“If you’ll pardon me, I’ve some business to attend to.”

He cast Wiz a brief smile and left the table, exiting the dive to the derelict promenade outside. There was some greenery, roses, growing along a trellis, which were cast silver and blue in the wan moon’s light. It wasn’t exactly a balcony, but more of a high dais, where someone at least tried to bring beauty into this filthy human world. He leaned on a partial railing that surrounded the precipice and breathed, finding his breath was warm enough to create a puff of mist in the night air.

Fang had changed. His father’s letter disturbed him greatly. Fang required all the elven houses to contribute heavily to the war effort, which war Al’bert saw as pointless in the first place. Fang especially leaned on Al’bert’s family, since they were one of the wealthiest in the entire nation, and even though his father made it sound like they were having a fabulous time (most likely due to the possibility of interception), Al’bert could read between the lines. This wasn’t the first time Al’bert wondered if Fang had lost his grip on reason.

Regardless, he would do what he had to in order to keep his family in good standing. That was paramount in importance to the Fromages. Whatever else happened was not his concern, or his liability. He’d just keep telling himself that.

He heard a quiet noise behind him and turned to see the girl with auburn hair standing there, holding the parchment. She looked the very model of dubious.

“Meet me on the balcony at ten?” she asked him, repeating the words of the parchment. “Honestly, that’s the lousiest come-on I’ve ever received.”

Al’bert grinned.

“Then why are you here?” he asked.

“The sheer depraved ineptitude drove me to pity,” she said flippantly, although he could tell there was humor underneath her chilly exterior. She was intrigued, and he knew it, even if she wasn’t consciously aware of it yet. She looked around, taking in the roses, the railing, and finally the vast expanse of night sky. He watched each move, expression, and sound she made, cataloguing each automatically, sorting them into subjects, analyzing them individually, putting them back together into a cohesive whole, and he did it all instinctively with split second timing.

This was his talent; taking love and turning it into a mathematical equation.

She stood by the railing and turned to him.

“So what did you want?” she asked him.

He hesitated, furthering the depth of his mystery. She watched him, and he gave her time to take in his good-looks, which at the moment he was shading with a tinge of enigmatic restlessness. Only a tinge, though.

“There’s someone I’m looking for,” he said. “And I think you might be able to help me.”

She said nothing, so he went on.

“An elf,” he said.

“You mean besides you,” she said.

He really wanted to say something sarcastic, but that wouldn’t have worked out the way he wanted, so instead he glanced at her, then looked away, his back to the railing. He took on a subtly tortured countenance and sighed into the night. He heard her move closer, out of curiosity. Her hand touched his arm, and at this he quirked a tiny smile for himself only, since he was looking away and supposedly full of angst.

“Are you alright?” she asked him.

He exhaled and turned to her, moving within the turn to decrease the space between them significantly and put his hand over hers in what should seem like a spontaneous, instinctive action, and fixed her with a meaningful gaze.

“It’s very important that I find him,” he said to her, and then he did it. It was almost like breathing, except within his mind. All he had to do is focus on someone intently, and then release however much of his will he wanted to in order to bring that person under his suggestion. With her, he wanted to use as little as possible, because she wasn’t too horribly dull. However, at the same time, he liked doing it; it was almost addictive. It felt good.

So with his voice there came a tiny twinge, and her breathing increased slightly. He took note.

He squeezed her hand more tightly and moved closer, treating it like an impulsive act, until he was close enough to kiss her.

“Have you met an elf recently?” he asked her quietly, although the timbre of his voice and the movements of his body were in another conversation entirely.

He gave her a sincere, open look, as if he felt this passionately about finding the elf. In actuality, he sort of wanted to take his time finding Sangwine, because finding him would mean figuring out what to do about the killing him problem.

“No,” she said, with an unsure voice, and captured by his sudden affection. “I don’t think so… well, there is this one fellow…”

“Yes?” he asked, and he gazed at her as a prompt to go on while he moved her hand from his arm to his chest.

“He’s beautiful,” she said thoughtfully, and then her eyes looked more solidly at Al’bert. “Like you…”

He smiled at that, making sure to give his smile a touch of humility. Not that he was.

“… except different,” she finished. That part gave Al’bert pause, and he found himself wondering what was so different. It slightly irritated him.

“Go on,” he said, sending her another twinge of glamour in his annoyance.

She sighed languidly, and then she went on.

“I didn’t think he might be an elf, but he was more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever met,” she said, then added with a small pout, “He wouldn’t let me touch him.”

Al’bert’s eyebrows rose, and he took advantage of her faraway look to roll his eyes. Sangwine always was a complete and utter prude. Well, Al’bert didn’t plan on being so foolish.

“He must be mad,” said Al’bert to the girl. “To refuse the touch of a woman so beautiful.”

She looked at his expression for affirmation of his words, and he thought he probably pulled it off. In any case, he didn’t waste any time allowing the seams to show by leaning forward in order to kiss her.

She pulled back at the last instant with a sharp inhale.

“What are you doing?” she asked him suddenly. She looked affronted, but the degree of flush in her cheeks told him she’d be willingly in his arms within the next eight minutes. Seven and a half, if he was really on top of his game.

He abruptly pulled entirely away from her, allowing the chill night air to fill the space between them, and then he went to the railing. He’d play feast or famine. This lass just needed contrast to realize what it is she really wants.

“I don’t know,” he said in a distracted way, and then ran a hand through his hair. He noticed from the corner of his eye that she crossed her arms against the cold. “I’ve been on this quest for so long, sometimes it feels like I’ve lost all reason. Each day is the same, I try to find him, and every night ends with emptiness…”

He went on for a while like this, spouting lines of an angst-ridden man, half of the time not really sure what whatever he was saying meant, but it sounded good. After all, he delivered them like a tortured man opening his soul, and it worked quite well.

By the end of his speech, she was standing at his elbow looking very compassionate. He waited in anticipatory silence for her to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, and he knew it was all downhill from there. One last move.

He turned to face her, allowing the famine to end. She moved in and touched his chest, and then looked up into his face.

“I can help you,” she said. “I’ve spoken with him, I know his name; I know where he lives.”

He took her arms as a feigned impulse and gazed at her with hope, excitement, disbelief, and a couple of other assorted spices tossed in the mélange. Whatever.

“You will?” he asked, knowing full well the answer to this question thirty minutes ago.

She blushed at his proximity, but didn’t object at all as she nodded to him.

He released a breath and allowed them both to fall into the heady trance of anticipation that precedes a kiss. After waiting the precisely perfect amount of time, he kissed her, and was delighted to find she trembled slightly at his touch.

Chapter 19

2007-11-23T21:20:00.000-08:00

XIX

Suffice it to say Bactine didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. It wasn’t so bad, she thought to herself, because all of that mess only happened just a few hours before morning. The light would come soon enough, and even if Xylic didn’t return, she’d be able to see, anyway, and then she’d just go on.

Before she could go on, though, she smelled the smoke from a fire, and realized in the wan pre-dawn light that Xylic had built one nearby. Hesitant to approach him, but too curious not to, she did it anyway.

Sidling out from behind a tree, she saw that he’d gathered a remarkable amount of wood for the fire he was now kindling. Looking around, she wondered why he’d bothered to build a fire at all. It wasn’t cold, and she didn’t think he planned to do any cooking.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello,” he said, fully intent on tending the fire.

There was no more added to the conversation for at least an entire minute, which really made it feel like ten.

Bactine cleared her throat, thinking to say something, but was unclear as to what. Xylic talked instead.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“I think so,” she replied.

“We should be there by this afternoon, and then I’ll leave once you’re settled,” he said, snuffing out the fire he was so carefully tending just a moment earlier. There was something stiffly casual about his behavior, as if it was forced, but he was doing a good job of nearly masking it. Bactine felt the best course would be to follow suit.

“That sounds good,” she said, instantly feeling like her reply was ridiculous and moronic. It had to be obvious to him that she wasn’t at ease. If it wasn’t before, it surely was now. She huffed and pulled her cloak more tightly around herself in the dawn’s chill.

Xylic rose, picked up their things, and walked. Bactine followed.

For the rest of the morning, they made a few painful attempts at small talk. The problem was, there were quite a lot of things they should have talked about, but neither one was courageous enough to broach the subject. Bactine recalled a few hours into the morning that they’d forgotten to eat breakfast, but she surely didn’t feel like eating, and he didn’t seem as if his mind was on food, either. At last, around noontime, they reached a moor.

It was the sort of moor where everything hangs limp in the lack of breeze, and there’s a constant miasma skulking for the first few feet from the soggy ground. Bactine’s boots and half of her skirt were entirely hidden, and she looked over at Xylic, who seemed to be hovering in the air, since anything beneath his knees was lost to the mists. He was looking at her, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was.

“How in the world are we supposed to keep from falling in the bog in this mist?” Bactine asked incredulously.

Xylic looked around, thinking deeply. He walked over to a nearby tree, and broke off a long branch, then proceeded to tear the small twigs from it, making a sort of staff. When he was pleased with whatever it was he was doing with that branch, he looked over at Bactine, seeming somewhat hesitant to continue.

“You’ll have to stay near me,” he said, as if he thought she would recoil at the idea.

“That’s fine,” she said, and moved near him immediately to show her vote of confidence.

It was nothing if not awkward, but she made a very strong attempt to act professional about the whole situation. Slowly they traversed the moor, as he used the staff to test the ground before them, and she stayed close behind so as not to stray into a sidelong dip. Eventually, through equal parts him and her, she was holding his arm as he used the other to search the fog. As there is only so long awkwardness can continue in the face of basic necessity, in due time she was completely comfortable holding onto him, and standing in such close quarters. He seemed to have lost his unease in the task at hand as well.

At last they reached something in the center of the moor, which seemed to be an area of more or less sturdy earth. Upon this piece of earth was a shack, built upon stilts and slightly leaning. There was a rope ladder which led from the ground to the front precipice, which in turn led to a door.

If you could call it a door. It was a piece of fabric strung across an opening.

Xylic and Bactine exchanged glances, quite aware of each other’s thoughts.

“Mum did say this particular teacher was…um… affordable,” Bactine mentioned.

She was fairly certain Xylic was about to offer his condolences, when the cry of a crow echoed in an absurdly loud manner from the direction of the shack, startling them both. Following this outcry, the heretofore unseen crow burst from behind the fabric door and flew to land at Xylic and Bactine’s feet. It looked at them both. Really looked.

Bactine was a little unnerved. She didn’t even know crows liked hanging around in bogs. In addition, the crow looked very intelligent, and she didn’t like that at all. It cocked it’s little bird head sideways. Xylic shifted.

“Shall we climb?” he offered.

Bactine looked down at her skirts and said, “After you.”

They both moved, and as they did, the crow hopped to intercept them, standing between them and the ladder. They moved again, and the crow blocked them again. Bactine glanced over at Xylic, and she saw something in his eyes. It was something comfortable, and something she knew. They both bolted in opposite directions, confusing the crow, who became frozen in indecision. They made swiftly for the ladder once there was no hope that a simple crow could overtake them and met there, breathless.

Sure, it was exciting, even if all they did was outsmart a bird.

At the top of the ladder, Bactine tried to figure out how to knock on a piece of fabric. Instead she chose the vocal route.

“Hello?” she ventured.

The fabric curtain shot aside immediately, and a very small, wiry old woman was standing there, coiled and tight, ready to spring forth and scratch the eyes out of the world’s face, should it become necessary.

“Who are you?” the old woman demanded.

Xylic and Bactine had both unconsciously leaned back at the old woman’s appearance, sort of like one leans away from being too close to a spitting cat. Bactine realized what she had done, and corrected herself so as to not hurt the old woman’s feelings, which were surely very tender beneath that coat of horrible, horrible venom.

“Bactine Gallagher,” said Bactine, in a quiet, weak voice.

“What took you so long?” the old woman demanded.

“Um,” began Bactine.

“Don’t stammer around me!” spat the old woman.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Bactine.

“Don’t call me ma’am, either! It makes me sound like a matron,” the old woman said. “I’m no matron, not yours, or anyone else’s. So don’t go asking for it!”

“Yes…” unfortunately Bactine had to trail off here, because she had no idea how to address this old woman.

“Call me Namah,” she said.

“Yes, Namah,” Bactine replied.

“Now, come in,” said Namah, holding the fabric door aside. She gave Xylic an appraising look, then added, “Both of you.”

Once they were inside, Namah seemed to grow quite a lot more hospitable. She offered them seats; there were only two, and she set herself to making tea. Namah was undoubtedly abrasive and harsh, but her tea smelled wonderful. She unceremoniously landed two mugs of tea on the table, spilling no small amount of contents on the table’s surface as she did so. Xylic and Bactine took them with polite fear.

“So,” said Namah. “What do you want?”

“I want to learn healing magic,” said Bactine, unsure, since she thought this had already been arranged. Namah seemed irritated by her reply. She began chopping something that looked like yams with a very big knife.

“Is that all?” said Namah, chopping vigorously.

Bactine wasn’t really sure how to reply to that.

“Healing magic. Is that all?” Namah stopped chopping and looked over at Bactine pointedly.

“I think so?” Bactine replied.

Namah turned to stand in front of both Bactine and Xylic, still holding the large knife in her hand. She gave Bactine a long, hard look, one of those looks that old people use to evaluate the worth of youth.

“Fine,” she said at last. “I’ll show you how to heal.”

With speed unexpected in anyone beyond the age of twenty, Namah curved with unstoppable spry and plunged her knife into the depths of Xylic’s left arm. He cried out and dropped the mug in his hand, which crashed to the ground and broke into several pieces at the same moment Bactine screamed in shock and disbelief at the blade buried to the hilt in Xylic. Namah yanked the knife free with a smattering of blood and Xylic moved in defense, reaching for his own blade at his side. The old woman threw the knife to the floor and held out her hands, rendering Xylic impotent with an unseen force and he fell, clutching the chair beside Bactine with his whole arm, his breath haggard and his brow wet. Bactine’s own mug of tea fell and rolled across the floor as she knocked over her own chair trying to hold Xylic in a mindless attempt at stopping whatever mad dream this was. She cast a wild, agonized glance at Namah.

“Now, heal him,” said Namah.

Chapter 18

2007-11-23T09:54:00.000-08:00

XVIII

Sangwine continued the sword fights in the lower quarter, not only because it gave him what he wanted to survive, but because it gave him something to do. However, as a precautionary measure, he took to wearing a porcelain mask when he fought.

He realized this probably only made him more memorable, and didn’t quite hide what he was, but with his hair braided in a particularly ear-concealing fashion, he could be mistaken for… well. An extraordinarily pretty young human man. Maybe.

He also went so far as to ask the man running the fights to conceal his elfin nature, but didn’t go into details as to why. The man was remarkably curious, and even required a bribe to go along with it, but seeing as how Sangwine was bringing in a great deal of profits, he was more agreeable than he usually would have been.

If pressed, Sangwine would be forced to admit that he found the idea of being a mysterious masked swordsman rather attractive, because he had always been a person drawn to vaguely romantic ideas. He was a dreamer, as it were. Or at least, so his Aunt Ellinya would have said. Countless were the times in the past that she had to pull him back from his daydreams to focus on the task at hand. She was always patient, though.

Sangwine sighed.

Tonight he’d fought someone faster, who fought with two blades; one being a long rapier, the other something shorter and thicker for parrying and defense. He was glad they were finally putting some effort into giving him someone challenging to fight, although there wasn’t much to this one, either. The fellow was a roughly educated swordfighter. He’d never had any sort of formal training, Sangwine could tell. So as long as this man relied on his field education, there would always be holes in his technique. Sangwine found those holes, took advantage of them, and brought him swiftly to defeat.

The speed of a human can never match the speed of an elf, anyway.

So now he wound his solitary way to the room he’d let, this one being out of the way and discreet, but near the café he preferred, and found something new at his doorstep. It was a young woman.

“Hello,” she said. She had auburn hair and hazel eyes, and was in the very bloom of youth.

“Hello,” he replied. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” she said, smiling at him. Her hand moved in a way that drew attention to the dress she was wearing, which was a remarkably rich shade of red. “They said you like red,” she said.

How did they know I like red? Sangwine found himself wondering.

She was a lovely young woman, of course, but Sangwine would sooner wallow in a mud puddle as let a human touch him romantically.

“Well, yes, I do like red. Thank you,” he said oddly, and moved to unlock his door, which she was partially blocking with herself. He tried to be polite in the matter, but she seemed oblivious… or waiting for something. He really had no idea.

“Ah, pardon me, my… ah… lock is behind your arm,” he said.

She sighed languidly.

“You sword fight like nothing I’ve ever seen,” she said. “What is your name?”

“I don’t have a name,” he replied enigmatically, still attempting to politely unlock his door, but failing. She ignored his unwillingness to part with his name and went on.

“The way you move… it’s so beautiful,” she said. “And deadly at the same time! It’s a devastating combination of grace and fire.”

He paused, somewhat interested in having his ego padded, and also curiously fascinated at how this human seemed to be waxing poetic in a very clumsy way in order to describe him. She gave him a look, and he remembered what she was here for.

“Thank you,” he said shortly. “Now, if you’ll kindly move, I’d like to-“

“Don’t you like girls?” she asked point-blank. He was aghast.

“Of course I do!” he said, affronted at the idea of his masculinity and orientation being questioned.

“You don’t think I’m pretty?” she asked. “Is that it?”

“You’re very pretty,” he replied, although he instantly felt condescending from the way he said it. “You’re just- it’s just…”

He really had nothing else to say about it, that he wanted to relay to this woman.

“What is your name?” she asked again.

He’d had about enough embarrassment for this night, and even though he was trying to spare the feelings of this obviously misled young woman, he resented being in this situation at all. If Fang hadn’t gone and ruined everything, he’d never be in this situation. He’d be at home, with his family, waiting to be paired with whatever high-bred elven maiden his family deemed quality enough for … well, that sounded lousy, too.

He exhaled and leaned a shoulder wearily against the doorframe.

“My name is Sangwine,” he told her. She smiled warmly at him.

“What a curious name,” she said.

“What’s yours?” he asked.

“Maisy,” she said.

“And you call my name odd?” he said to her.

“What?” she replied with a smile. “My name is boring. There’s a Maisy on every corner here, don’t you know that?”

“No…” he said.

“No, because you’re obviously not from around here, are you,” she said.

“I’m not,” he relented.

She studied him for a long moment, wherein he felt a measure of embarrassment and so moved to return his attention to unlocking his door. Her hand found his arm, to stop him.

“Don’t touch me,” he said.

She recoiled, and he felt a tinge of remorse for being harsh.

“…please,” he added posthumously, then quickly entered his room and shut the door.

Chapter 17

2007-11-22T17:40:00.000-08:00

XVII

That night Bactine had lots of dreams.

Maybe it was something about sleeping in that forest. Maybe the forest had special powers. She never was sure, but she had all kinds of dreams that night. But there was one that was quite a lot more memorable above all the others, and that’s because it was about him.

She’d just gotten done dreaming about a quixotic unicorn when she was plunged into a dream about sitting in a lecture. It wasn’t particularly exciting, until she saw him there, beside her. The lecture was dull. It was alchemy, which Bactine never cared for, thinking it was mostly for people of inept social ability. She was sitting beside him, he being Sangwine of course, and he was busily taking notes.

He would be that sort of person, she thought to herself wryly, not really even sure what she meant by that, and suddenly realized the lecturer was going to be evaluating her on her notes at the end of the class, which was almost over. She looked down at the blank page in front of her, and felt a surge of panic and shame at her failure.

Looking over at Sangwine, she remembered he’d helped her out countless times. In fact, she’d looked off of his work so many times it should be shameful, although she found no shame in it at all. For one, she enjoyed it, because it gave her a reason to have direct contact with him, and for another, it was endearing, because he always was willing to help her. Thirdly, it gave her the low-spark thrill of doing something only slightly naughty, and getting away with it. And besides, his hard working astute nature was, well… cute.

This time was a little different. Sangwine gave her what she needed, and then, as is the way with dreams, she suddenly recalled another entire facet of the story, and that was chemistry. Namely, it was the chemistry between the two of them.

It was wildly powerful, even though in the dream she wasn’t even remotely aware of it three seconds before, but had been building through a series of lectures for months and months. It had been strung tighter and tighter until there were only two options left; string it even tighter until it twists and breaks, or pluck it and let the sound blissfully resonate at last, completely blind to what might follow after.

In this case the lecturer droned on, the tables and parchments and quills grew dark and distant, and Sangwine was there beside her and their eyes met as she plucked the string; the resonance sounded, probably B-flat; the vibrations and richness of sound echoed through them both as they reached a singularity of understanding between them. It’s following this when two people kiss for the first time, after wanting to for a long time.

So that’s what she did; she kissed him, but it really wasn’t that easy. Firstly, she had all of the thoughts flying through her mind about kissing him, but not believing that she could really kiss him, but knowing she was because he was there, and she was obviously going to kiss him, but she still couldn’t believe it. Her thoughts proved to be very distracting. But when push comes to shove, in the kissing world, those thoughts fall away and the primary language of communication becomes abstract and expressive; an art form full of hues and contrasts and timbre. Especially in dreams, where nothing is tangible, but everything is touchable.

One moment she was moving but suspended in anticipation, and the next blithely tasting the cautious affection of his red mouth. There was something familiar about him; and she moved again, both torn with the want of more of this cool draught of water and the weakness of overwhelmed senses, and as he then moved in tandem with her, she was suddenly struck dumb and lost and breathless with a thousand motes of light.

Strawberries, almost. He tasted like them… almost. This blurred through her thoughts, more as a patch of random color than anything coherent. As he took matters into his own hands kiss-wise, in a divinely passionate way, she was driven to the very cusp of the proverbial losing-it-entirely, but before that could happen she pulled back with an audible gasp.

Her gasp echoed through the night air, and she suddenly realized she was awake, and she suddenly realized shortly after that that the person she had been kissing was Xylic.

“Oh cripes!” she exclaimed, practically leaping away from him. She flew to the nearest tree and pressed her back to it, sitting with her cloak wrapped around her, as if it would create more distance between them. He didn’t move very much, not compared to her. He only brought his hands to his face and let out a sort of slow exhale.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she found herself saying again and again, feeling a bizarre mixture of excitement, shock, and embarrassment. He sat up, and oddly he let his hood fall to his shoulders as he sat. It was rather dark, and Bactine couldn’t see much, but she found herself thinking for the first time he had hair in a fine color. An unusual color. She supposed she’d never seen anyone with hair that particular gold and sandy shade of blonde before. She wondered if that’s why he always wore the hood; to blend in instead of standing out. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew he was looking at her through the darkness. Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell if he was so quiet because he was still half asleep, or if he was harboring the so-livid-I’m-calm anger.

“I was dreaming,” she said lamely.

“What were you dreaming about?” he asked somewhat quietly. She didn’t expect that reply, and stole a moment to think about it. She felt, for some reason, guilty about the prospect of telling him that she was dreaming about Sangwine.

“I was dreaming about… I don’t know,” she said, lying poorly. “I always forget my dreams the moment I wake up.”

There was a long pause.

“You’re lying,” he said.

Bactine blinked. Even if he knew she was lying, she didn’t expect to be outright called out for it. She was chagrined, but still a little disoriented from what had just happened between them. Some of those felt-but-not-seen motes of light still hung in the air, clinging stubbornly to the last vestiges of the short-term memory of the senses. If she let herself dwell on it, she would catch her breath, so she forced herself not to dwell on it.

She sighed, and decided she’d cooperate.

“Sangwine,” she said. “I dreamt I kissed Sangwine.”

He sat there for a moment, then stood. He raised his hood, and began to leave.

“Where are you going?” Bactine asked.

He seemed like he was going to say something, but he didn’t. He just left.

Bactine sat the rest of the night and wondered if he would come back.

Chapters 15, 16

2007-11-09T19:08:00.001-08:00

The next morning there was porridge for breakfast, and Bactine was pensive.

“What if she doesn’t like me? What if I say all the wrong things? What if I’m not smart enough?” Bactine fretted endlessly. Xylic paused, a spoonful of porridge halfway to his mouth.

“Did you just say ‘What if I’m not smart enough’?” he asked.

Her face was a complicated mask of concern as she worried into her bowl of oatmeal.

“If you’re not smart enough, I’d like to meet whoever is,” he went on.

“Oh, ha-ha, Xylic. Don’t humor me,” Bactine replied, angsty and inconsolable.

“I’m not,” he replied simply.

Bactine sighed and shoved her bowl away in a fit of sulk.

“Well, dear, here you go!” said her mother, who burst through the door holding a rucksack full of Bactine’s things. She dropped it unceremoniously on the table, knocking over Bactine’s porridge in the process. Bactine didn’t care, for she was sulking and also fretting.

In fact, she didn’t seem to be paying attention at all. Her mother cast a concerned look at her, then looked over at Xylic, who shrugged. She gave Xylic a look, and he grinned wryly and stood up.

He took Bactine by the arm, not without force, took the rucksack with his other hand and said, “We’re leaving, now.”

“Oh, Bactine, enjoy yourself,” cried her mother, and she threw her arms around her daughter and kissed her. “Be careful!”

She waved as Xylic dragged Bactine out the door, who was more than a little surprised out of her funk.

“Bye, Mum,” she called. “I’ll write,” she added as an afterthought right before the door slammed shut.

Outside, the day was bright and promising. The sky was a particularly stunning shade of blue, and there was no lack of birds twirping in all directions.

“What’s the matter with you?” Xylic asked Bactine, as they hit the lane.

“I don’t know. Self doubt?” she replied. She gave him a critical look and said, “Don’t you ever suffer from it?”

“This isn’t about me,” he said.

“It never is,” she said accusingly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Nothing, forget it,” she said irritably, and withdrew into a spiky silence.

They passed the city and went beyond into farmland, and eventually, as the afternoon light began to fall and turn they came to a forest. Shadows pervaded the forest, and although Bactine was fond of forests, she wasn’t particularly fond of being in a strange forest at night.

“Should we wait to go in until tomorrow?” she asked him.

“Nah,” he said, not bothering to explain why.

They plunged into the forest. Trees passed, and there was a sense of being closed in. Overhead were the intertwining branches of the woode, lush with leaves of late summer. The weather certainly was pleasant. Overly pleasant. Mockingly pleasant. Bactine was irritable and listless in this forest. She couldn’t enjoy it at all.

She made a quiet, complaining sound to punctuate the sentence of her irritability.

Xylic stopped and dropped Bactine’s rucksack on the ground.

She noticed him and stopped too, allowing some curiosity to show through her annoyance. After he didn’t move for a moment, she ventured.

“Er, what are you doing?”

He gave her a sharp glance she’d never seen before.

“We’re stopping here for the night,” he said. Then he began to busy himself with clearing off a patch of ground and collecting wood for a small fire.

Suddenly, right now, all of the hundreds of times she’d asked him to tell her something about himself and he’d just sloughed her off came back to hit her at full force and she was positively livid over it. Here, again, just like every other time, he managed not to tell her a thing with his incessant side-stepping, and did it in such a way that she couldn’t pin down exactly what he was doing. She couldn’t accuse him, because he never outright refused to tell her anything. He just changed the subject. He was a master at changing the subject. She wondered if he thought she was that moronic to not know what he was doing. She wondered if he thought it was funny, and was having a joke at her expense. She wondered if he thought so little of her that she wasn’t allowed to know who he really was. Any one of those scenarios made her so furious she could do little but stand rigid and white knuckled as he seemed entirely embroiled in the ordinary task of starting a fire.

How could he be so obstinate to think about fires right now?

She flounced angrily to where he was carefully placing small sticks in a tee-pee shape and kicked them over.

He looked at her, his face denoting any of a number of things, none of them favorable.

Bactine hadn’t planned out what to do next, and felt kind of silly, but it didn’t matter because Xylic filled in the empty spaces as he stood and faced her. He really was kind of tallish.

“What is the matter with you?” he demanded of her, completely chagrined and at a loss for himself. “This is something you’ve wanted for years, and something you deserve, and you’ve done nothing but complain all day, and frankly, you’re bloody annoying the crap out of me!”

“You? I annoy you?” she returned sharply. “You never tell me anything you’re thinking!”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he replied defensively, and not quietly.

“It has everything to do with everything!” she cried, losing all sense of logic.

“It does not!” he shot back, his rapier wit at its dullest. She hesitated, confused briefly, but then he continued as his thoughts cleared slightly. “I don’t have to tell you anything!”

His retorts still weren’t very good. It didn’t matter, though. It outraged Bactine that he would say that, after all this time. He didn’t care at all! He was a… a…

“You’re nothing but a selfish, beslubbering base-court joithead!” she yelled, and turned on her heel to walk away, although where she would go in this forest was fairly dubious. However, she didn’t have to think about it for long because Xylic caught her by the wrist and pulled her back to face him.

“What did you call me?” he demanded down at her, his voice no longer raised, but positively simmering with anger and disbelief as he held her wrist in a way that denoted he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

“A selfish, beslubbering base-court joithead?” she replied quietly, realizing that was really the opposite of what he was, seeing as how he had sacrificed whatever else it was he would have done with his time to take her on this path. Considering how much he had sacrificed for her in the past, and considering all the times he’d shown he’d only been thinking about her with the things he did. It all crashed home to her in one moment, and she felt miserable over it; like an ungrateful wretch.

Her face flushed deeply and she sighed. His anger seemed to pass slowly as a cloud, but he was intent on her and coiled tightly like a spring.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He drew a ragged breath and released her.

XVI

Sangwine’s next fight was against a fellow named “Handen”, who sounded as if he was from the north country, not that Sangwine really knew anything at all about him except for his name. Gilden, the boss, had been pleased over Sangwine’s ability to defeat that insultingly lousy challenger before, and seemed to have realized that Sangwine could be a very lucrative business opportunity. Sangwine didn’t trust the fellow an inch. Then again, he didn’t trust any humans an inch.

However, the money was there, at least, and one had to do something to keep oneself.

Sangwine sat outside, in a chair, in a sort of outdoor café. It was a fairly pleasant place, in the more wealthy section of the city, which tended to run a bit more on the clean side. The quality of food also improved exponentially the further into the realm of wealthy neighborhoods he sojourned. He had a difficult time understanding why the poor tended to eat such horrible food. You can broil a fish or you can fry it; either way costs the same, so why opt for the lesser route? He was beginning to wonder if he’d ever understand the plebeian classes.

As he sat in the chair, his legs casually crossed, he vaguely noticed the numerous women who passed by. Most of them glanced at him more than twice. He had long since given up trying to be discreet. There was simply no way to do it.

The fight with Handen had gone a little differently, although overall it was mostly more of the same. He nearly laughed when he saw Handen. The humans decided a bigger fellow with a bigger sword was what Sangwine needed to challenge him. Yes, a bigger sword, which takes even longer to swing. Excellent deduction, human race.

Sangwine had obliged in drawing his weapon this time, and to be fair, the fellow was tremendous in size and musculature. If Sangwine had been missing a leg and blind, then maybe Handen would have had a chance. Even then, perhaps not. The man’s horrible wafting smell alone was nearly illustrative enough for Sangwine to know when to dodge. He hadn’t bothered to try to use his blade to parry; Sangwine knew he wouldn’t be able, by any stretch, to block anything swung from the arm of Handen. It would have cut him in two. Handen also wasn’t as clumsy with his sword, so Sangwine couldn’t rely on him to merely drop it.

Eventually, once Handen was sufficiently exhausted from trying to swing that ridiculously sized sword in Sangwine’s direction, Sangwine had knocked him off balance mid-strike and come from behind to lunge at the fallen man’s neck. Of course Sangwine didn’t cut him, but he rested the point of his sword against Handen’s neck and made it very clear he could. So again he claimed victory.

Following the fight, the bell hag had tried to fix Sangwine up with her granddaughter, at which suggestion Sangwine beat a very hasty retreat and ended up here, at this café.

He was fairly certain no one lingering around here would have seen him sword fighting in the lower part of town. Somehow he’d managed to keep his clothes unstained, even amidst the crowds, but it wasn’t easy, and then he wondered if he could find a room for let over this way. It was while in these deep thoughts that he saw Al’bert coming down the lane.

If Sangwine were to recount it, he’d definitely tell the listener that he thought something very regal and refined at this moment, but his real thoughts, the ones he never tells anyone, were something along the lines of “Holy CRAP! ”.

Sangwine immediately scrambled from behind the table, and in a sudden lapse of the ridiculously clumsy, he knocked over his teacup, and it crashed to the ground. Unable to leave an unpaid bill, even at the threat of his life, or moreover, his pride, he searched frantically through his pockets and threw a silver on the table before bolting inside the café.

Once inside, he grabbed the nearest available person, which happened to be a serving girl, and placed her squarely in front of him. He found himself faced with surprise as he realized she, for one, did not smell terrible. There wasn’t time to reflect on this, though, because she was objecting to being manhandled by an elf.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, although she looked a little curious, too. “Blimey, you’re an elf!”

“Yes, I am. And would you mind standing in front of me?” he asked.

“For how long?” she asked, looking dubious.

“Just a moment, quickly,” he said, trying to be patient, but running out of time. Besides, he wanted to get a good look at Al’bert before he passed by from behind the serving girl.

He ducked only a little, for he didn’t have to much; the serving girl was fairly tall, and he clandestinely looked past her chestnut hair to the street beyond, where Al’bert was passing. She, he noted, played her part well, trying to appear as if she was standing planted in one place for a reason.

Al’bert was walking as he always did, as if he owned the world and the world just didn’t realize it yet. Le Comte du Fromage was flanked by an interesting mélange of characters, and Sangwine wondered where he’d picked up such odd help. They didn’t look friendly, he surmised as he ducked back a little further behind the girl. Al’bert was definitely one of the last people in the world Sangwine wanted to see. He didn’t want to know why he was here, either, but he heavily suspected it was because of him.

When he was sure Al’bert was gone, he let out a frazzled exhale. The girl turned to him right away, her interest piqued.

“Soright, what was that all about, elf?” she grinned at him.

“Just an old friend I didn’t want to see,” he lied, but not entirely. Then, feeling he should show some gratitude for her assistance, he went on. “Ah… Thanks.”

She looked at him funny. He knew not what to do.

“I mean to say, thank you, for, ah, hiding me,” he said, more verbosely, thinking this might be more correct in this situation. “From that person.”

He didn’t understand why she looked like she wanted to laugh.

“Am I doing something wrong?” he asked, bewildered. She really did laugh this time.

“You are really amusing,” she said gregariously, and then she added, “Are you lost?”

“No,” he said, his brow furrowing.

“Well, don’t get upset about it,” she smiled at him. “You just look … lost.”

“I know exactly where I am,” he said.

“Lost and lost…” she said, enigmatically.

He really didn’t want to be analyzed.

“Thank you again,” he said. “And I’m not sure what passes for compliments here, but you smell rather nice.”

And then he left surreptitiously.

Chapters 13, 14

2007-11-08T09:48:00.001-08:00

XIII

Al’bert stood in the waning light of afternoon and regarded the walls of this particular city. They were large; and poorly constructed. Kind of like humans.

He chuckled inwardly at his own wit, then sighed. It was more than two months ago that Fang had put him to the task of finding Prince Sangwine and putting an end to him. During that time, Al’bert had gathered some compatriots, if you could call them that. There was Steev, the big, dumb one who liked to smash things. He supposed everyone needed one of those. The fellow who never gave his name, who everyone called Thief, was flighty, and seemed nervous all the time. Al’bert wondered just how intent Thief really was on this mission. He seemed to have a conscience, which really didn’t do well for someone who is trying to follow the orders of Fang, Overlord of Darkness. Al’bert decided long ago he’d keep a sly eye on Thief, and so he did. Also with them was a tall human called The Wiz, who was eccentric and powerful, but made Al’bert a little uneasy. He looked at Al’bert the same way the girl Al’ice did, sometimes, and Al’bert just didn’t swing that way. However, Al’bert prided himself on his ability to manipulate all sorts of people, and this was just another challenge.

With the innate abilities he’d enjoyed since birth, it was a matter of course that Al’bert was constantly in need of something to challenge him, for anything rarely did. He regarded Al’ice, the human lass, sidelong for a moment. She wasn’t unpleasant to look at, for a human. She must have felt his eyes on her, because she glanced his way, and smiled. Al’bert gave her that look, and as her cheeks flushed he felt a certain measure of satisfaction. He kept her squarely pinned beneath his graceful finger; always wanting more, but embroiled enough to be blind to anything else that might come along. She was a decent weapon, but utterly and completely unchallenging.

That’s not to say he didn’t use her, because he would have considered him completely foolish not to. If nothing else, Al’bert had an honest and healthy appreciation for sex. Well, perhaps overly healthy, he thought, but everyone has their idiosyncrasies. All along his past lay scattered the numerous conquered battlefields of his youth, and before him all he could see is victory. It was all coming up sunshine and roses, really.

There was the problem with Sangwine, though. Fang had sent Al’bert to do this, but Al’bert didn’t really like the idea of killing Sangwine. He was a lover, not a fighter, so the saying goes, and he really preferred to find some way around it. Most of what he remembered of Sangwine was a little skinny boy running around with a wooden practice sword in his hand, always with a sense of awkward purpose. Al’bert had always found him unintentionally hilarious, and Fang just found him annoying. So while Sangwine had worked on his lessons, Fang and Al’bert had worked on honing their skills in a more practical way; Fang was always drawn to gambling, debauchery, and, moreover, intrigue among the men, and Al’bert was drawn to the women, for obvious reasons. Debauchery and intrigue were a part of that too, he supposed. It was all part of the overall amusement, more or less. They’d been the best of friends; inseparable as their unique talents complimented each other to perfection.

He’d changed, though, Fang had. Gone was the fun and lightheartedness, and the quick rapier wit was replaced with fierce razor-sharp command. Fang demanded results and complete loyalty, and for now Al’bert was willing to play along.

Al’bert had his own ideas on how to off Sangwine, most which involved allowing something besides himself to do the job for him. If somehow Sangwine were to get killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, well… so be it. Even better yet, if he were to be there of his own choice. Al’bert pondered on this as he approached the gates of the rather largish human city. Quite a lot of asking around and manipulating had brought him here, and it hadn’t always been unpleasant. This city, however, was remarkably unpleasant. If Sangwine wasn’t an elf, which would doubtless stick out like a sore thumb, Al’bert would have been dismayed at the idea of finding one person in this city.

As it was, he decided it was going to be rather easy.

Al’ice brushed past him, her smile warm and languid on the backdrop of crowds.

Definitely sunshine and roses.

XIV

Not to roll his eyes while walking into what they called the “pen” took all of Sangwine’s willpower. He supposed it would be better to seem unassuming in this first of fights.

The pen, as it was penned, was a sort of fence, in an octagonal shape. The width of it in each direction was about the length of three tall men, and around it were wooden benches. Sangwine noticed numerous blood stains on the floor, and, in a new strategy, he tried to ignore the stench, which was at least five times worse in here than anywhere else he’d heretofore been in his life. Looking around at the patrons, who were busily looking him over and doubtless fritting away their sparse coin on useless bets, he noted they were peasant-class, the whole twenty or so of them.

So this is what peasants do, he thought to himself.

His challenger, Jend, appeared on the other side. Also remarkably peasant-like in flavor, Jend had a crude sword in his hand a bit smaller than Sangwine had expected, and he wasn’t a young man.

Sangwine was genuinely amused and surprised at realizing humans were even more dense than he’d surmised. He didn’t bother drawing his sword.

Gilden emerged from a side door and walked to the center of the octagon. He raised his hand in a theatrical way very unsuited for the small group of witnesses and began to talk loudly.

“On this side we have Jend of Bale Alley, and on this side Sangwine, who is an elf.”

There was some chuckling from the audience.

“Remember, the goal is to disarm, but if you can’t do that, killing works well enough,” Gilden said, then he left the ring.

A hag rang a bell.

Jend lurched at Sangwine, his sword out in an obvious attempt to catch Sangwine off-guard. It might have worked, if he didn’t move as slow as molasses. Sangwine sidestepped around Jend's thrust, and past Jend, who emerged a little disoriented on the other side. Jend was nothing if not deliberate and determined, though, and he tried again with the lunging, as if this time it would work. For Sangwine, it made the fight dip into the well of slightly ludicrous.

At last Jend realized he could not lunge Sangwine to death, and he stopped, sword at the ready, and panting.

“Draw your sword,” he scathed.

Sangwine did not deign reply to the man.

Sangwine’s silence only served to ignite the barbaric fury of Jend, who seemed to decide a passionately errant side-swipe was in order. He flung his sword blade in a long arc towards the elf, who stepped back out of reach with grace and ease. Another arc, and another followed, and each one was dodged with svelte he found sublimely irritating. Perhaps he supposed that with enough force behind his swipes that Sangwine would merely stand there and let Jend flay him, but it wasn’t very well planned out.

Finally, as Jend was lashing out with his blade slicing diagonally through the air, Sangwine dodged sidelong, moved behind him, and pushed Jend squarely in the lower-back. Being entirely off-balance, he fell to the floor face first, and dropped his sword.

Seizing opportunity, but in a casual way, Sangwine pinned the flat sword’s blade on the floor with his boot and declared victory with his demeanor.

“I win,” he said.

The entire room was silent, as if still processing what they had seen.

The hag rang the bell again.

Chapters 11, 12

2007-11-07T10:16:00.001-08:00

Later that night, Bactine and Mrs. Gallagher had a conversation.

“So he claims he’s an elven prince?” asked her mother, peeling a potato. “Do you think he’s lying?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Bactine said dubiously as she swept the floor with a long, rough-looking broom with uneven bristles. “He looks sincere, I guess.”

“All actors tend to look sincere,” said her mother, making very little sense.

“I don’t think he’s an actor,” Bactine replied.

There was a moment where nothing was said.

“He certainly has the whole regal thing down pat. I mean, he practically dismissed Xylic and I just for asking questions. And for some reason when he talks, it sounds important, even though most of what he says isn’t very important at all now that I think about it,” Bactine went on, with a glazed-eyed poignancy about her words. “It’s also as if every move he makes was carefully thought out beforehand. He moves with such grace and purpose, one can’t help staring…”

Her mother looked at her, and Bactine blushed. However, she turned her back to hide it and swept the floor extra vigorously. She was relieved when her mother returned to peeling potatoes, but then she spoke.

“Bactine…” she began. “I’m quite aware of just how beautiful and compelling elves can be, but you need to be careful. Elves and humans are … well, they’re just different. To find a common ground of understanding is practically impossible.”

“Um…” Bactine said.

“What I’m saying is, well, don’t let him crush your heart.”

“Mum!” Bactine objected. “I’ve only just met him!”

“Because it can’t work,” she continued.

“Mum!” Bactine objected again.

“It never does,” she sighed.

“Stop that!” Bactine cried. “I’m not in love with the fellow!”

Then she paused, deciding a little earnestness was in order.

“I just…” she thought for a moment. “Have an appreciation for beauty.”

Her mother just peeled potatoes.

“Like art,” Bactine justified. “He’s a work of art I can appreciate.”

Bactine smiled, satisfied with herself, and swept another part of the floor, which she had already swept three times. Her mother changed the subject.

“So what time will you and Xylic be leaving?” she asked conversationally.

“Probably right after breakfast tomorrow,” Bactine replied. “He’ll be here, so make extra.”

“I always do,” her mother said.

“I’m nervous,” Bactine said.

“Why?” her mother asked.

“What if my teacher doesn’t like me? Or worse yet, what if I don’t measure up? What if we’re all wrong about me and I really don’t have any talent at all?” Bactine thought, looking pensive. “Or what if she sends me home early?”

“Then we can say we tried,” said her mother. “Isn’t that better than nothing?”

“It is,” said Bactine.

“If you don’t try anything, then you’ll never know what you can do,” said her mother, peeling another potato to add to a rather large pile. “I’ve known a lot of people who have told me, ‘I can’t do that’. But do you know what?...”

“What?” Bactine said, indulging her mother.

“They’d never tried it!” she said. “Can you imagine writing something off before even attempting to do it? Honestly, Bactine, we create our own worst limits.”

Bactine pondered that, and watched her mother peel potatoes and found herself wondering, for the first time, if that is what her mother wanted to be doing with her life. It seemed so plain and ordinary. Not extraordinary at all. But at the same time, it brought Bactine so much comfort; comfort she wasn’t even aware existed because it had always been there.

“Mum?” she ventured.

“Hm?” replied her mother, still intent on her pile of tubers.

“Do you like this?” she asked, looking around, and making her point clear with inflection and expression. Her mother smiled at her.

“Bactine, you and your father are my life,” she said.

“Yes, but,” said Bactine. “You could be out… in the world. You could have been a writer, or a poet, or…” she paused, trying to think of something else that her mother would do, but nothing was forthcoming.

“I could,” said her mother. “But upon closer inspection, that would be a very empty life compared to the one I have.”

Bactine didn’t really understand, because peeling potatoes didn’t seem remarkably fulfilling to her.

“Someday, Bactine, you’ll do it too,” she said. “And then you’ll know what I mean.”

During the conversation, Bactine had forgone sweeping for sitting at the wooden table near the stove. She presently had her elbow propped on the table, and her chin flopped into her palm. Her mother took a large bowl of peeled potatoes and put them in the middle of the table, then thrust a knife not altogether without violence into the wood of the table in front of Bactine, starting her out of her thoughts as the knife wobbled back and forth from it’s buried tip. Mrs. Gallagher grinned at her daughter.

“Cut those for me, would you?” and she walked out the back door to gather the laundry.

XII

Sangwine wasn’t altogether pleased with the idea of fighting for coin. Alright, he hated the idea. Vehemently. It chagrined him to no end that now he had to practically beg for his keep. However, he was a Schloeffel, he thought with some pride, and Schloeffels were nothing if not resourceful. He supposed that all of those years spent sword fighting in his youth were not to go to waste.

As he walked into the predictably derelict hallway behind the door that held the parchment with atrocious spelling, he was struck with a horrible odor. Bolstering his courage, he pressed on. Eventually he made it into a room, in which a man sat, who hadn’t shaved for at least three days, and likely hadn’t bathed in three months.

“I’ve come about the sword fighting,” Sangwine said, in a very dignified way. Meanwhile, he was attempting to speak with as little inhaling as possible.

The man turned to him, and kept his seat behind a not surprisingly derelict-looking desk. He put his feet up on his desk, and regarded him some more.

“You’re an elf,” he said plainly.

“Yes, I am,” Sangwine replied, struggling to maintain his manners.

The man’s smile had a ridiculously wolf-like quality to it. It took everything Sangwine had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“What do you want with pen fighting?” the man asked.

“I have my reasons,” Sangwine said enigmatically.

His eyes flicked downward to Sangwine’s sword, which was remarkably well forged, and likely worth a fortune. Elven craftsmanship was legendary, if one could get one’s hands on it. The problem was getting your hands on it, since they were so frustratingly enigmatic.

“You’ll have to put something up as collateral,” said the man, with a lopsided sort of grin.

“No, I don’t,” replied Sangwine.

The man’s eyebrows raised, and he looked genuinely surprised by the elf’s reply. Sangwine continued.

“What you need is patrons, and what brings patrons is interest. I have a suspicion you’re lacking elves in your repertoire, and so I can offer you something you can’t get anywhere else,” Sangwine said. “So do you want it or not?”

The man looked equally chagrined and acceptant. He even sulked a little.

“Alright, fine. You start tonight,” he said.

“Good. Now, can you do something about the smell in here?” Sangwine asked the man, whose eyes widened.

“No,” said the man, more than a little outraged at the demand.

Sangwine sighed.

The man looked Sangwine over appraisingly.

“The name is Gilden,” he said to Sangwine, holding out a hand.

Sangwine looked at Gilden’s outstretched hand.

He tilted his head slightly and said, “Sangwine.”

“What brings you to this city?” Gilden asked.

“Sightseeing,” Sangwine lied.

Gilden gave him a look, and Sangwine occupied his glance elsewhere, being not very good with lying.

“Very well. You’ll start with Jend tonight,” said Gilden. “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t,” said Sangwine, and he left quickly.

As he emerged from the offending place, he leaned against the wall and drew in the quasi-fresh air outside. He couldn’t do this much longer; he didn’t know how he could bear it. He didn’t even bother to care who Jend was, almost entirely sure that the humans would underestimate him at first. He was smaller than the average male human; smaller and quite a bit faster. They’ll surely throw some fellow with a big sword at him, thinking that would overpower him right out. They never cease to be short-memoried and foolish.

After this little time among them he decided he really didn’t like humans at all. He didn’t before, but now he was quite sure.

But where else could he go?

The thought depressed him. He had to leave. He had to. But then what would he do? He didn’t dare go anywhere near Schloeffelonia again, because then Fang…

Fang. There was one day when Sangwine climbed a tree, and he was stuck in it. It was one of those situations where you can climb up, but then coming back down is a lot more trepidatious. Besides, he was only a few years old. He didn’t remember much from it, except he had been crying, but he remembered Fang, his arms outstretched and his face kind as he helped Sangwine escape his tree-prison. That was one of the few times he remembered Fang his brother. How did it come to this?

He exhaled, refusing to dwell on the madness of Fang because it was extraordinarily painful, considering his solitary and plebeian circumstances as a result. He did briefly wonder what Fang was doing now, and what he might be thinking. Fang’s crimes were well beyond the realm of Sangwine’s conscience to consider. He was beyond the point of being able to even imagine Fang’s state of mind. Sangwine could hardly lie with a straight face; Patricide was so much more that it didn’t even register.

Pushing it all aside, he went on, trying not to step in mud puddles.

Chapters 9, 10

2007-11-04T20:04:00.000-08:00

Turning on his heel, he walked off into the crowds. Yes, he was going to brood, and no one could stop him. The question from that fellow, who looked disarmingly like Fangline, was about all he wanted to take for the day. It was bad enough that he had found himself here, in this human city, where he stuck out like a sore thumb. It smelled horrible, everything appeared to be derelict for some reason, and there was an exorbitant amount of mud. Would it kill someone to plant a tree, he found himself wondering critically and fairly often.

But, as far as cities go, this one suited his purposes well enough. He wanted a city far enough from home to be remote, and he wanted it to be large enough that he could get lost in it. With that accomplished, he wasn’t really sure what to do next. After months in exile he had little left but the clothes on his back and his father’s sword, and he’d die before letting go of either. The idea of finding a job was not only foreign to him, but gave him an unfamiliar sense of anxiety. It would almost feel as if he’d given up hope, but then sometimes he wondered if he already had.

And then there was Hope, who he wondered on, and why she never returned to him. Somehow, even in the canyon after Pixie Pass, things weren’t as bad as they should have been because she was there. She was comforting; he’d always taken her for granted. She was always there with her hand on his arm or his shoulder, or his knee; her countenance full of optimism and assurance, and often fun. He missed her sorely. He hoped with all of his strength she wasn’t dead. Then again, he had no idea how one would go about killing a fairy, if it could be done at all. There were a lot of things he’d never thought to ask his father or Aunt Ellinya that he couldn’t now. He didn’t think he’d be alone like this, ever. He always thought his family would be there.

“Don’t worry, dear,” said a smiling, motherly-looking sort of woman who passed him. “It’ll be fine.”

She continued on in the other direction, and he realized he’d been in a rather deep funk, brows furrowed and anguish plain on his face as he walked. It was rare that he completely forgot himself when out among other people, having been trained for his entire life for appearances, and it came very naturally to him. He chided himself inwardly in lieu of his old instructors and gave a reserved sigh, because it didn’t matter anymore.

It didn’t matter because none of these people knew who he was, or what he stood for. They knew nothing about royalty, as far as he could tell, and very few even knew a thing of worth about elves. He found the level of miseducation in this city appalling but at the same time he had to be begrudgingly grateful for it because it allowed him the benefit of being an enigma. He was not only an elf, but one of the most pure-blooded elves in the world. Not that anyone here would know that. Or care.

Which drove him back to the subject of how to live. Menial labor didn’t interest him in the slightest, and he wasn’t sure why anyone would do it. He supposed if it came to that, he might have to … he pushed the thought away, because it was nearly physically painful to think on. All it did was remind him of his father and aunt and Hope and how his life was once so incredibly comfortable, and how now he had no idea what to do or what would happen tomorrow. Most of all, he was horribly, horribly alone.

He passed a parchment tacked to the wall outside of a seedy-looking establishment. Well, don’t they all look seedy? He considered that thought, then deigned to read it. He read it again. And one more time, frozen in indecision.

Wanted:

Fiters of some expertees

To fite

For coin

With swords

Other weapins subject to aproval

No leprikkans

Inqwire within

“Well, Bactine dear, it’s time for you to be educated,” said her mother meaningfully.

“Er… what?” asked Bactine. She and Xylic were sitting on her porch, he in the chair on two legs with Snowball coiled in his lap, and she with her feet dangling over the side while leaning against one of the weathered posts. She had to take the long blade of grass out of her mouth in order to speak more directly, and with a little more dignity. “Educated? I thought I already was.”

She could read and write, and wasn’t horrible with arithmetic, but she was best with words. She loved words, and stringing them together. To her, using words was an art form, and the more obscure a word was, the more delighted she was to learn it. She’d spent a lot of her time growing up reading; at least more time than any of her friends ever did, and mostly read the books she could find with stories. They held the stories her father considered useless, and maybe they were, but she was an imaginative girl, and she needed something to occupy her mind. Otherwise she would be restless. Alright, she was restless anyway, but it helped at least a little.

“Of course you are, Bactine,” her mother said, “But I mean using your talents.”

“What?” asked Bactine, happily incredulous. “You mean I get to-.”

Her mother smiled at her, whereas Bactine jumped to her feet and threw her arms around her mother, laughing.

“When do I start, Mum?”

“Yes, well… that’s the thing,” said her mother, cryptically.

“What?...”

“You know how your father and I can’t really afford the training?”

“Um, yes?”

“Well, there is one teacher.”

Bactine watched her mother with anticipation and trepidation, hoping it wasn’t an ogre she would be forced to learn from. Her mother cleared her throat.

“The journey is fairly far, more than a day’s walk, and in a remote place,” said her mother. “But I wrote her and described your natural abilities, and she agreed to teach you… after some, well, begging. For a fee we can pay.”

Bactine thought about that, then asked, “But how will I get there? Father can’t leave, if he missed a day of work he’d lose everything.”

Her mother looked over at Xylic, who returned her glance, looking slightly blindsided.

“Xylic, dear…” She began.

“Of course, Mrs. Gallagher,” he replied.

Mrs. Gallagher smiled warmly at Xylic.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” she said, then lugged a massive butter churn out of the door and deposited it unceremoniously onto the porch with one arm, since the other arm was busy carrying at least twenty ears of unshucked corn. “Get to work on this, would you, Bactine?”

“Alright, Mum.”

The door slammed. Bactine tossed down a wobbly stool in front of the churn, plopped herself down and began very poignantly churning the butter.

She felt the need to speak quietly, through her excitement.

“I can’t believe it, Xylic,” she said. “I’m going to be a real healer. And learn magic, like… like people.”

“Hm, yes. People,” he replied, sounding what she thought was amused.

“Well, I’m lucky. If I had a different mum I would probably be married off to some peasant boy next month, if not already. I am getting old, you know,” she said, churning.

“Old?” he asked her incredulously. “You’re, what… eighteen?”

She glanced at him. “Nice guess.”

He shrugged.

“And yes. Most of my friends are either married, or talking about getting married. Violet’s engaged now, you know.”

“That poor fellow,” said Xylic.

“How could you say that about Violet!” She sent him a dirty look, but actually found it rather funny.

“She… giggles,” he said.

“Doesn’t every girl?”

“You don’t.”

She thought about that, in a churny sort of way.

“Well, I guess I don’t.”

A long moment passed, where the sound of the wind in the grass was prevalent.

“It was nice of you to offer to take me,” she said, after a while.

“You certainly couldn’t go alone,” he answered.

“And what will you do if we are attacked by a bandit?” she asked him, teasing.

“Fend him off with my remarkable battle prowess,” he replied.

“And if we’re attacked by a wizard?”

“Steal his wand, then poke him in the eye with it until he relents,” he said, and she laughed.

“And if we’re attacked by a dragon?” she asked, challengingly.

“You know all dragons have a weakness,” he said.

“Yes…” she said. “They’re missing a scale in the most tender place.”

“Always,” he said. “And that’s where I would shoot him, using my unparalleled skills with a bow.”

He leaned back a bit further in the chair, and petted Snowball.

“Unparalleled, are they?” she grinned over at him, still churning relentlessly.

“Why, yes,” he said to her.

“You’re very modest,” she replied dryly, and turned her attention back to the wooden churn in front of her. He spoke again.

“I wonder how long you’ll be gone,” he said.

“I don’t know… I would think it would take a while to learn all the things I want to know about,” she said thoughtfully. She smiled. “It’s so exciting, isn’t it, Xylic? I could work for a noble, perhaps, and maybe even be a teacher! Or… maybe I could travel!” She churned the butter dreamily.

He said nothing in reply.

“Dinner!” Mrs. Gallagher emerged, leaning from a window and surprising them both from very separate reveries.

Chapters 7, 8

2007-11-03T21:02:00.001-07:00

VII

She’s smart and beautiful and fierce and inquisitive, and I love her desperately. He wrote it in a rushed, sloppy hand, then practically threw the quill away from himself, and closed the journal hard, as if doing so would allow him to close his eyes in the face of this whole affair and pretend it doesn’t exist. He hoped the ink would smear, and if he were lucky, maybe the words would become illegible, and then he could try to convince himself it wasn’t true… that he never wrote it at all. That he never thought it… every day. Constantly.

His elbows were on the desk and his hands were in his hair, and he was immersed in a brooding study of the outside of his journal. One of many journals, for he’d been around much longer than he looked. That was part of the problem, really. No… that was the problem.

His father trained him from a very young age how to hide what he was. It was engrained in him; entwined in the fabric he was cut from, like those golden threads in that scarf she seemed to like so much. Or maybe it was more like a poison. He was trapped between loyalty and habit and logic. However, he was something that belonged to no school of logic.

Years of solitude; he was used to being alone, or at least he had been. He’d liked solitude, and he supposed in some ways he still did and still clung to it even when he was around other people. He was well schooled in closing himself off and in cutting short inquiries. There was none better at the art of aloof than he.

His father died long ago, of old age, because he was human. He knew the same thing would happen to her, and it frustrated him. It frustrated him not only because he was powerless over it, but because he actually cared. He’d loved her from the first time he saw her, blithely making her way through the crowds with that purposeful way of hers, always slightly anxious and observant of everything around her. She’d noticed him quickly, where most don’t. She looked at him, and one of her delicate eyebrows crooked in a gesture of both challenge and curiosity. Right then he lost his mind. It made him miserable.

Somehow, by and by, her family had become family to him. Her mother especially treated him in a way he found profoundly comforting, and her father endured him, which is more than he did with most things. It was a horribly comfortable situation, and that in itself made him pointedly uncomfortable. For all this time he’d been unable to stop it and to leave her alone. They’d grown accustomed to each other. She was completely at ease around him, and he – in his stilted way – was entirely at ease around her. She knew very little about him, that was certain because he never let anything go, but she knew him better than anyone else ever had without even realizing it. He couldn’t tell her that, though. He couldn’t tell her anything.

Or could he?

Could there be someone who he could finally tell everything to? Could he even bring himself to do that? As the saying goes, old habits die hard. The idea of telling anyone, even her, made him break out in a cold sweat. How many countless years had he hid himself from everyone? He drew a very long breath and let it out, covering his eyes with his hands.

He looked down at his journal, the treacherous thing, and scowled.

What use is worrying about it, if it doesn’t matter in the end? She’ll die, like the rest of them, and he’ll go on alone, as he always did. Why should he tell her? He can’t tell her he loves her, or rather, he can’t love her. Then she would know, and then their children…? The very idea made him shudder with anxiety, to force his fate on anyone else. On more than one? Several? It would be impossible. And she would age, while he did not. She would be forced to live secretively, like he has. Either that or… they could leave.

He trembled slightly and pushed that thought away, but it pulled back at him. He hovered on this cusp between conscious and pushing until finally he succumbed and thought of how, as many times before, he’d considered leaving the city forever and finding somewhere else. Something else. There had to be something else better than this. And with her…

Sighing, he took the journal and stood, replacing it on a shelf laden with journals.

He couldn’t tell her. She was oblivious. He couldn’t tell her.

VIII

The next day, Bactine saw Xylic at the gate as she came into the city.

“You’re up early,” she said to him, looking amused, because he actually appeared quite tired. “What have you been doing?”

“I took up sculpting,” he said, and she laughed.

Following this, they went back to the market, where Bactine mooned over that particular scarf from a distance, not wishing to upset the market hag with her proximity. After a while her thoughts turned to the elf.

“Have you seen him?” she asked.

“Not once,” he said.

“I wonder if he has left,” she said, at once disappointed and relieved.

“Do you want that scarf?” Xylic asked her.

She looked dubiously at him.

“Well, besides the fact that it is exorbitantly expensive, didn’t she say it’s cursed?”

“I think she described it as ‘magical’,” he replied. “That doesn’t necessarily mean cursed, but I suppose it can. Do you want to take your chances?”

“What are you getting at?” she asked him.

“I’m just saying I could get it for you,” he said, as casually as possible.

“Where would I wear that? To my finest laundry-hanging?” she laughed, then looked over at the table, where the silken scarves lay, and her voice was wistful and wan. “That isn’t for me.”

“Why isn’t it?” he asked her.

She had no answer for him, and for some reason the very subject made her feel horrible and she turned away and began walking just to hide her reaction from his scrutiny. Inexplicable tears stung her eyes and they made her furious, because she had no reason to be crying, and no reason to be upset at all. She walked faster, and ended up in an alley, alone, crying against a wall.

Time passed, and as it did her anguish turned into a resigned calm. As she emerged from the alley, after having made extra-sure there were no lingering signs of her weakness, she saw the elf again, because he was standing a foot away from her.

She was instantly impressed by how marvelous he smelled, but wasn’t allowed to linger on this detail because his attention was focused on her.

“Are you alright?” he asked, strangely.

“What?” she asked in confusion.

“You look like you’ve been crying,” he said blatantly.

She made an inner note that this was not her day.

“Ha-ha, no. I’ve been, ah, running,” she said.

His eyes made another sweep of her features, and he replied slowly, “Oh.”

To change the subject, the demands of her mother came surprisingly easily.

“I’m curious why you’re here, Sangwine.”

He began to say something, then stopped, hesitant. She watched his expressions change, unconsciously savoring every delicate movement as a memory seemed to pain him then he deliberately smoothed all expression from his face, which she supposed he did to hide his discomfort from her. She wondered if all elves were like this. Beneath his greenish cloak he wore a pale linen shirt open at the neck, and while waiting for him to reply, she grew transfixed by his clavicle.

It was perfect. She’d never seen another clavicle like it. The form; the curve. If she had any hidden talent for sculpting in the unknown recesses of her mind, she would have taken it up for the sole purpose of recreating the perfect form of this particular clavicle. She wondered what it would be like to touch it; to run her lips along the length of it; to breathe into the delicate hollow at the center, and then she heard something very far away. It was him. Oh cripes, he was talking!

She suddenly had the odd sensation of breaking the surface and gasping for air after nearly drowning.

“Um, what?” she replied with scant dignity, ignoring the burning in her cheeks.

His smile was nothing short of bemused.

“Bactine, there you are,” said Xylic.

Bactine was incredibly thrilled to see Xylic at this moment.

“Xylic! Ah, there you are,” she said, taking his arm and smiling gregariously. “I was just asking Sangwine here why he’s come to our city.” As an aside to Sangwine, she added: “Since there are rarely, if ever, any elves here at all.”

“I have noticed I do seem to be an oddity here,” Sangwine admitted.

“Are you lost?” asked Bactine, in a useless way.

Sangwine began to answer, but Xylic stepped in.

“Where are you from?” he asked pointedly.

“Schloeffelonia,” said Sangwine.

“I’ve never heard of it,” said Xylic, dismissively.

“It sounds exotic,” said Bactine, continuing her useless contributions to the conversation.

“I … guess,” Sangwine said, apparently not very sure how to reply to that.

“Why are you here?” asked Xylic, and he seemed to Bactine to sound unusually demanding in his questioning.

Sangwine didn’t seem to like the question, because he became distantly placid, so Bactine interrupted whatever retort was coming.

“We’re just curious,” she said, smiling reassuringly at the elf. “Xylic is just a little over-zealous today. He gets that way when I let him have candy.”

Xylic stared at Bactine, who implored a response from Sangwine with a look, who in turn seemed to relax.

“I’m here because I have been exiled,” he said, as if people say that every day.

“Exiled?” asked Bactine.

“Yes, you know. Banished from my country by force of circumstances,” he defined.

“Yes, I know what it means,” she said, then she briefly wondered if this elf was actually being short with her. She dismissed the idea right out, sure that elves are doubtless far too refined to be short with people. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story,” he said in a way that denoted she wasn’t getting any more details.

“What did you do?” Xylic asked blatantly and possibly a bit forcefully.

Something about this question obviously offended him, for Sangwine glanced over Xylic once, as if in judgment, then said shortly, “I did nothing, unless you count being born prince of Schloeffelonia a crime.”

At that, the elf turned on his heel and walked away from them.

“Were we just… dismissed?” asked Bactine incredulously.

“I think we were,” replied Xylic.

Chapters 5, 6

2007-11-03T15:25:00.001-07:00

It was around the Gallagherian dinner table that the subject of elves was raised.

“There’s a what in town?” asked Mrs. Gallagher, making conversation as she spooned a ridiculously large portion of potatoes onto Xylic’s plate.

“An elf, Mum,” said Bactine, buttering a piece of bread. “Have you ever seen one before?”

“Once or twice,” her mother replied, enigmatically.

“Elves? What are elves doing here?” demanded Bactine’s father, looking tired and worked, as every other peasant father did.

“Not ‘elves’, Da. An elf. One,” Bactine said, then she stuffed bread in her mouth.

“Well, elves are nothing but effeminate namby-pambies, and if they never come this way, we’re all the better for it,” said her father, punctuating his sentence with a bite of potatoes.

“Please pass the butter,” Xylic said in a strained voice.

Bactine would have replied to her father, but she had a very large piece of bread in her mouth and instead she sort of choked. So in her stead, her mother went on conversationally as she cut more butter than Xylic could possibly use onto his plate.

“What is an elf doing in town?”

“Looking for a tailor,” Xylic replied.

“What did I tell you?” said Bactine’s father, looking very justified. “Namby-pambies, the whole lot.”

“I don’t really think he’s looking for a tailor,” Bactine objected. She felt very awkward for some reason she couldn’t define about the whole thing, and didn’t continue, opting instead to push the corn around on her plate with her fork.

Her father watched her suspiciously for a moment, then her mother continued to talk.

“I’d like to know why an elf would be here. Do you think he’s still in town?” she asked.

“Probably,” Bactine said.

“Why don’t you ask him?” her mother said to Bactine, and smiled in a very motherly way.

“Well, it’s not like I know him,” Bactine said, somewhat embarrassed. “He just asked us for directions once.”

“To a tailor,” said her father, with curious distaste.

“Yes,” Bactine affirmed, “But he didn’t really like our suggestion.”

“Who did you say, dear?” asked her mother.

“Jandlin the Cordwainer,” said Xylic.

“No, I wouldn’t suppose an elf would like Jandlin the Cordwainer at all,” her mother said, in a thinking-out-loud sort of way. Bactine’s father looked over at her mother oddly. “You have to understand, Bactine. Elves have… oh, finer tastes. Finer than what we’re accustomed to.”

“Well, I’ve no idea where to send him, then,” Bactine said, and her mother went on as if she wasn’t listening to her at all.

“It think it has to do with their long lives,” she said, dreamily.

“Long lives?” inquired Bactine.

“Oh, yes. An elf can live a thousand years, you know,” her mother smiled at her.

“I had no idea,” she replied.

“I’ve even heard of some living far longer than that. Can you imagine? Twenty generations of humans, come and gone, in your lifetime alone.”

“I would think they’d be very wise,” Bactine said, for lack of anything else to say.

“You’d think that,” said her mother, and then she added: “Sometimes they marry humans.”

Her father sighed in exasperation.

“Oh,” Bactine replied.

“But not often,” her mother went on. “I would think it’d be more trouble than it’s worth. Would you like more potatoes, Xylic?”

Xylic looked at the large pile of potatoes lying moodily on his plate.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Well, if you see him, find out, Bactine, because you don’t run into that sort of thing every day,” said her mother.

“His name is Sangwine,” Bactine added to the conversation, for no reason whatsoever.

“What a curious name,” said her mother. “It reminds me of humors. Does he seem cheerful, or passionate?”

Bactine blushed to her own chagrin at the thought of that elf being passionate, even though she knew her mother didn’t mean passionate in that way but just passionate about life in general, but it didn’t matter. Just the mention of him and passionate in the same sentence made her mind reel and she accidentally flipped her fork off of her plate onto the floor.

“I- I don’t know, Mum,” Bactine said, “He really just asked us for directions. Although… he does smile fairly often.”

Xylic handed her another fork.

“Next time you should ask him more questions,” said her mother simply, and she cut some more slices of bread, handing three of them to Xylic, who took them politely.

“I guess he is a curious individual…” Bactine meandered, trying to seem placid about the matter.

“Good, then,” said her mother, with a pleasant smile. “I have a list of things I need you to get in town, so you can get started on it right away.”

“But it’s almost dark-,” Bactine began.

“Xylic can go with you,” said her mother, “Can’t you, Xylic?”

“Um, yes, Mrs. Gallagher,” he replied.

As they walked down the wandering lane leading towards the city’s gates, it was late afternoon again, and the rays cast everything in a golden sheen. Bactine had a stick in her hand and used it to swipe at passing tall blades of grass.

“Who would have known my mother would be so interested in elves?” Bactine wondered aloud. “I mean, where did she learn all of that? I’ve never even seen one, let alone heard much about them at all. What about you?”

“I’ve heard some things,” said Xylic. “Mostly rumors, which are often false.”

“How would you know?”

“Isn’t that the way with rumors?”

“I guess you’re right,” she said. Then she grew agitated as memory struck her. “How embarrassing that Mum wants me to pry into that elf’s life. He probably thinks I’m a moron as it is.”

“Why, because you’re so dumbstruck every time you see him?” Xylic said, not even trying to hide the smirk in his voice.

She looked at him, a little surprised. Xylic didn’t usually show much emotion, so this was new. “I’m not dumbstruck,” she said, lying mostly outright.

He did little but use a smile back at her, in a lopsided way, with which he said a great deal without talking at all. She rolled her eyes.

“He’s pretty,” she said defensively, yet admittedly, and then she began smacking passing grass with more fervor.

“I didn’t know you liked that sort of thing,” he said, and she couldn’t tell if he was sincere, or having some sordid amusement at her expense.

“I like all sorts of things, Xylic,” she said, casting him an annoyed glance.

“Really?” he asked, sounding curious.

She suddenly felt defensive and instead of replying, she brushed some stray lint from her sleeve. Fortunately she didn’t have to find anything else to say, because they’d arrived at the city gates and were surrounded by the distracting bustle of city traffic once again.

They fulfilled the errands of Mrs. Gallagher dutifully, and Bactine couldn’t help but feel awkward and tense at the expectation that she should approach the wandering elf should he appear again. Much of her truly hoped he wouldn’t appear again, in order to spare herself a great deal of embarrassment. There was also the humiliation that would doubtless come from Xylic’s smirking eye as she should attempt to pry into the life of the elf named Sangwine, not to mention her nerves at actually addressing the elf directly. All in all, she was on edge, and dropped several things as a result, at varying times.

It was one of these times when she dropped something that she looked up to see her friend Violet coming her way.

“Bactine!” Violet cried and waved, walking towards her. Then she looked at the muddy parcel in Bactine’s hands. “Your mum won’t be pleased you’ve dropped the broadcloth in the mud.” Violet’s hazel eyes widened as if to accentuate how sincere she was that Bactine was going to be in trouble for her clumsiness.

“I can’t help it,” Bactine fretted. “There’s this elf, and he’s-,”

Violet cut her off as she looked over at Xylic, standing beside Bactine, with things in his hands.

“Hi, Xylic,” she said, smiling warmly.

“Hello,” said Xylic blandly.

“What are you doing,” Violet asked, “Shopping? I didn’t know you like to shop. You never go shopping with me.” And she pouted in his direction.

“I hate shopping,” he replied. Bactine glanced at him, but remained impassive.

Violet glanced at Bactine, and then Bactine shrugged.

“I strongarmed him into it,” she said, hiding any sort of smile carefully. “It’s only because he hates it so vehemently that I find pleasure from forcing him to do it. Just look how miserable he is.” And she then indicated Xylic with a parcel-filled gesture. He did his best to look the very definition of misery, but really just looked woe-be-gone.

Violet wasn’t moronic, so she caught on rather quickly and giggled. Xylic winced at the sound.

“Violet, have you seen an elf around?” Bactine asked.

“An elf? No! Should I?” Violet seemed excited at the prospect.

“Well, there is this elf…” Bactine began, but she didn’t really know where to go with it, and so she ended up gazing over Violet’s shoulder to the passing traffic beyond, searching with some trepidation. Nothing was forthcoming, so she returned her focus to her friend. “Never mind, it’s just something silly.”

Violet gave her a funny look and said, “If you say so.”

Bactine made a non-committal noise in response, and the burdened Xylic shifted his weight.

“Well, we should get this back to Mum. See you, Violet,” Bactine smiled, and turned swiftly on her heel, towards the city gates. She didn’t check to see if Xylic was following her, because she knew he would.

As she drew nearer to the gates she felt relief wash over her.

“He wasn’t there. Maybe he’s gone home,” she said to Xylic.

“Maybe,” he replied.

She closed her eyes and whispered, “Thank heavens.”