Mead, Pistachio, and Fig...
Author: je
Title: On the Road
Story: Cryptomancy
Word Count: 826
Rating: PG (some slightly scary stuff toward the end?)
Summary: Chaill, Octavian and Aiver are not making much progress. What's up with that?
Flavors: Olde English Mead 3: Something wicked this way comes, Pistachio 22: Caught off guard, Fig 2: Labyrinth
Heart’s-Desire was a big place.
I said as much to Aiver, who had shrugged noncommittally, leaving the air open to be filled with Octavian’s reply. “It is not ‘big,’” he said, disdain dripping from his words like poison. “No place is big. We are walking in circles.”
How is that possible? I thought. “Then, why don’t we try another way?”
Octavian’s laugh was a hard and brittle thing. “I don’t intend to walk this way, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything!” The last thing I wanted was to make Octavian mad at me. He and Aiver were the closest things I had to friends.
Aiver shook his head. “Calm down,” he told Octavian, who sniffed in response.
“We are being drawn in circles,” said Octavian, “because someone wants to keep us in this forest.”
Again, I felt the blood in my face drain. It was becoming a familiar feeling. “Like who?”
The look he shot me said I was either misbehaving or speaking like a madman. “Perhaps the three angry witches in the White Castle?”
Those three witches again. “Who are they?” I asked.
“They are the sisters of your best friend, the White Lady,” said Octavian. “When she left, they moved into her home, and I imagine it is in their best interest to make sure she stays wherever she is.”
I thought of her on the stage of the opera house, haloed by the fire. I pictured the glass chandelier swinging, casting evil shadows on my father’s lifeless form. Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes, and I wiped them furiously with the heels of my hands. The tears weren’t so much for his death as knowing I had nowhere to return to, and that realization brought new hot tears of guilt welling up in their stead. “I…I don’t think she’s coming back,” I finally said.
“Nonsense,” said Octavian, at the precise moment that Aiver said, “Why?”
“I think she’s a prisoner,” I said, perhaps only fully realizing it myself in that instant.
“Of who?” asked Aiver, perturbed for the first time since I’d met him.
“Of…” Of who, indeed? My father? No, what was it my father had said to Jim Holly? He is lending one of his most valuable assets to the company. Could he have meant Avialle? “Of,” I swallowed. “Of Sir Isaac.”
“I have no earthly idea who that is,” said Octavian. “Is he some kind of attorney? I only cavort with kings and actors.”
“He is an alchemist,” I answered, for that was really all I knew him as.
“And he has the Lady of Birds as his prisoner?” asked Aiver, his badger face a mask of seriousness.
“I think he does,” I answered. “He may be dead.” I doubted that, though.
“This is the fourth time we have passed this tree,” Octavian announced, and gestured toward a crooked willow. “We are running circles. Boy! You didn’t eat anything, did you?”
I was saved by Aiver, “We have not left his side since he arrived, where would he have gotten anything to eat?”
“The alternative is that we are being watched,” Octavian replied. “Watched and followed. And mazed.”
Mazed? “What?”
“Just keep walking,” said Aiver.
“This is absurd!” Octavian cried. He stopped in the middle of the path and turned, raising his hands. “We can’t keep walking forever! Who is it? Show yourself, let’s get this over with!”
Silence washed over us like relief, and for a long moment I was sure that Aiver had been right, that we did just need to keep walking. Just when I had opened my mouth to say so, a rustling in the leaves to our side stopped me.
The sound was somewhat unimpressive, but the leaves trembled as branches and grass were pushed aside. When the wall of green parted, a hand the color of a drowned man’s lips poked through, and came down on the road near Octavian’s foot. He jerked back instinctively, and a long white arm followed, dragging the shape of what was undoubtedly a person from the trees.
She seeped into the road, knees and feet sliding through earth that I was certain had not been wet mere moments ago. Her skin was mottled grey and white and blue, and thin black hairs clung to her almost bald scalp. When she raised her face to stare at me, her eyes were empty vessels of dingy white. I would not have known she saw me, had my heart not cramped beneath her gaze.
Slowly, the woman got to her feet, mud sliding off her pale flesh. Her thin hair fell across her eyes, and she opened her mouth to reveal a row of wicked shark teeth. The sound that escaped her was as the sound of swarming locusts. I felt somehow overcome with the desire to walk into that terrible gaping void behind her teeth.
“Run,” whispered Aiver, just at the edge of hearing. And then, "Run!"
Title: On the Road
Story: Cryptomancy
Word Count: 826
Rating: PG (some slightly scary stuff toward the end?)
Summary: Chaill, Octavian and Aiver are not making much progress. What's up with that?
Flavors: Olde English Mead 3: Something wicked this way comes, Pistachio 22: Caught off guard, Fig 2: Labyrinth
Heart’s-Desire was a big place.
I said as much to Aiver, who had shrugged noncommittally, leaving the air open to be filled with Octavian’s reply. “It is not ‘big,’” he said, disdain dripping from his words like poison. “No place is big. We are walking in circles.”
How is that possible? I thought. “Then, why don’t we try another way?”
Octavian’s laugh was a hard and brittle thing. “I don’t intend to walk this way, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything!” The last thing I wanted was to make Octavian mad at me. He and Aiver were the closest things I had to friends.
Aiver shook his head. “Calm down,” he told Octavian, who sniffed in response.
“We are being drawn in circles,” said Octavian, “because someone wants to keep us in this forest.”
Again, I felt the blood in my face drain. It was becoming a familiar feeling. “Like who?”
The look he shot me said I was either misbehaving or speaking like a madman. “Perhaps the three angry witches in the White Castle?”
Those three witches again. “Who are they?” I asked.
“They are the sisters of your best friend, the White Lady,” said Octavian. “When she left, they moved into her home, and I imagine it is in their best interest to make sure she stays wherever she is.”
I thought of her on the stage of the opera house, haloed by the fire. I pictured the glass chandelier swinging, casting evil shadows on my father’s lifeless form. Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes, and I wiped them furiously with the heels of my hands. The tears weren’t so much for his death as knowing I had nowhere to return to, and that realization brought new hot tears of guilt welling up in their stead. “I…I don’t think she’s coming back,” I finally said.
“Nonsense,” said Octavian, at the precise moment that Aiver said, “Why?”
“I think she’s a prisoner,” I said, perhaps only fully realizing it myself in that instant.
“Of who?” asked Aiver, perturbed for the first time since I’d met him.
“Of…” Of who, indeed? My father? No, what was it my father had said to Jim Holly? He is lending one of his most valuable assets to the company. Could he have meant Avialle? “Of,” I swallowed. “Of Sir Isaac.”
“I have no earthly idea who that is,” said Octavian. “Is he some kind of attorney? I only cavort with kings and actors.”
“He is an alchemist,” I answered, for that was really all I knew him as.
“And he has the Lady of Birds as his prisoner?” asked Aiver, his badger face a mask of seriousness.
“I think he does,” I answered. “He may be dead.” I doubted that, though.
“This is the fourth time we have passed this tree,” Octavian announced, and gestured toward a crooked willow. “We are running circles. Boy! You didn’t eat anything, did you?”
I was saved by Aiver, “We have not left his side since he arrived, where would he have gotten anything to eat?”
“The alternative is that we are being watched,” Octavian replied. “Watched and followed. And mazed.”
Mazed? “What?”
“Just keep walking,” said Aiver.
“This is absurd!” Octavian cried. He stopped in the middle of the path and turned, raising his hands. “We can’t keep walking forever! Who is it? Show yourself, let’s get this over with!”
Silence washed over us like relief, and for a long moment I was sure that Aiver had been right, that we did just need to keep walking. Just when I had opened my mouth to say so, a rustling in the leaves to our side stopped me.
The sound was somewhat unimpressive, but the leaves trembled as branches and grass were pushed aside. When the wall of green parted, a hand the color of a drowned man’s lips poked through, and came down on the road near Octavian’s foot. He jerked back instinctively, and a long white arm followed, dragging the shape of what was undoubtedly a person from the trees.
She seeped into the road, knees and feet sliding through earth that I was certain had not been wet mere moments ago. Her skin was mottled grey and white and blue, and thin black hairs clung to her almost bald scalp. When she raised her face to stare at me, her eyes were empty vessels of dingy white. I would not have known she saw me, had my heart not cramped beneath her gaze.
Slowly, the woman got to her feet, mud sliding off her pale flesh. Her thin hair fell across her eyes, and she opened her mouth to reveal a row of wicked shark teeth. The sound that escaped her was as the sound of swarming locusts. I felt somehow overcome with the desire to walk into that terrible gaping void behind her teeth.
“Run,” whispered Aiver, just at the edge of hearing. And then, "Run!"