“I don’t know what you think you heard.” Art grabbed the nearest rag, started to clean the glass, and avoided looking at her. “I’m working, hard, as you see.”
“Right. Give me a bottle to bring up to Hymn. I have a question I must ask her, apparently, according to the customs of these lands.”
Iorvil suspected she’d done a lot wrong in their relationship, but it wasn’t until Venviel kindly reminded her one time too many that she’d married Hope, so and so many years ago, that she finally took the hint. No women had ever been married among her people, as far as she was aware, so it hadn’t seemed important.
“Are you paying?” Art smirked. “Or is this a robbery?”
The moment he described her request as a robbery, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere of the tavern. Iorvil saw several pirates reach for knives they’d concealed on themselves. It was a warning to her not to cause trouble. Newcomers to Caelora received similar warnings from her, if they threatened someone.
“Can I get a couple of glasses then, Art?”
“Will you pay for those?”
“I would, if I had the coin, but people around here are usually perfectly happy to trade in services with me.”
When she’d first moved into Caelora, the inhabitants had treaded with care around her, kept a suspicious eye on her activities, but once they’d gotten comfortable with her presence, they’d started asking for favour after favour. Often, they’d needed her to carry things, lift heavy objects, or look frightening at their side if outsiders tried to push them around.
If Venviel hadn’t put her foot down on Iorvil’s behalf, she might have ended up with numerous broken bones again. As a compromise, those who wanted Iorvil to help them had to offer her something in return.
“Have you considered asking your growing faithful for donations?” Art’s smirk grew on his face. “I don’t know if I should give out drinks to loose women chasing my sister. I might run this tavern into the ground, if I do.”
Iorvil grabbed him by his shirt and lifted him off the floor. “If you speak about Hymn like that in public again, I—“
“I’ll defend myself.” Hymn piped up from the top of the stairs and encouraged the three pirates who’d gotten to their feet to sit back down, reluctantly, by raising her hand. “Art, an apology.”
“I shouldn’t have run my mouth,” Art said. “I was only trying to tease Iorvil. I should have congratulated her instead, for finally getting the courage to ask you to marry her.”
“She…” Hymn straightened her dress, fidgeted, her tail thumped the stairs. “She what?”
“She didn’t think it was important, because we’ve already lived together for years. But if there are loose women running around, obviously, she needs to make it clear to them that you’re taken.” Iorvil dropped Art. “I love you Hymn, even if I haven’t expressed it as boldly as I should have. I’d welcome a life with you, wherever it may take us. Whatever what might happen. I belong with you, if you’ll have me.”
“I—“
“Farrgin’ lovely!” A pirate with a brown, patchy beard and an eye patch exclaimed, clapped his hands, and started bawling against the table top. “I miss me own wench.”
“Thank you for the…”
“Let’s go somewhere private,” Hymn said, gestured for Iorvil to follow her, and stepped up onto the second floor. “Where I can show my appreciation for you, uninterrupted.”
A few of the pirates clapped Iorvil on the back while she passed between the tables, whistled, and whispered amongst themselves.
Pieces of Her
“We don’t have to marry, Iorvil,” Hymn said, led her love into an empty room, and sat down on one of the two soft beds.
They’d decorated the tavern’s rooms with thick, warm carpets, white curtains, and furniture crafted out of the finest oak. They may have stopped expanding, and adding onto the building, but that allowed them to spend funds to improve the interior instead.
Iorvil shut the door, opened her mouth to respond but hesitated. She approached Hymn, slid behind her on the bed, and laid her broad arms around her. She never felt safer than when she lingered in the giant’s embrace. Iorvil’s body had become her castle where she could always seek shelter.
“I don’t want to be an outsider, Hymn. I want to unite our cultures, in the ways that it’s possible, and ensure a new beginning for my people.”
“Our people.” Hymn grabbed Iorvil’s hand, intertwined their fingers, and squeezed. “I was never given the chance to meet your brethren, in this circle, and I will always wish I had. They would have shown me how to respect you. If you don’t marry, I don’t plan to force you. I could have suggested it years ago, if I thought it important. We have a son. We’re family.”
Iorvil hugged her, tighter, and pressed her nose against her ear. “I don’t think they would have taught you how respect anyone else than yourself and Rhabour. Take my proposal, seriously, Hymn, and I’ll honour whatever demand your mothers make of me.”
“Nothing will change then.” Hymn leaned into Iorvil, ran a hand along her thigh. “I’ll love you in this life and the next. I’ll love you till the sky crashes down on us, past the point where the cowardly goddess remembers we exist and seeks to undo us.”
“It’s… it’s strange to feel complete when I know what I’ve lost…” Iorvil kissed her head. “Do I deserve this? Happiness? Do I deserve you?”
“I decide that.” Hymn laid down on the bed and encouraged Iorvil to lay down with her. “I don’t like it when you question choices I made a decade ago.”
“Then I won’t.” Iorvil kissed her.
They made love, desperately, as if neither of them believed they would have an eternity together, and they feared what they might succumb to if they couldn’t touch each other. Yet it wasn’t different than any other time, it was what they’d become through intimacy and honesty.
In the morning, Hymn left Iorvil to sleep while she went downstairs to prepare for another day. Hope may have given more and more responsibility to her over the last decade, but even though she’d grown older, she’d not retired yet. Hymn still worked the tavern with the plan to inherit the business one day. She no longer had anyone to compete with, sadly, and numerous were the hours when she missed Gale.
The worst moments were those where she forgot her twin had died, and she caught herself imagining she’d seen her in the flesh walking up the cliff path from the beach. Or she wondered if she should wake Gale up, because she had too much to do in a single day and her lazy sister shouldn’t get to sleep in every day.
She cried when she remembered how Gale wouldn’t ever wake up again. She put on a brave face for everyone, every day, but once or twice since her return to Caelora, she’d broken down when the bond she’d shared with her twin for a brief period had reawakened.
Gale had appeared translucent in front of her, smiled at her in the most comforting manner, and winked. For a second or two, she’d sensed another heart beating next to hers, and it had consoled her. She’d wanted to believe Gale had only disappeared, and still lived somewhere, but then the bond had died again. And days which grew into months passed without another sign.
She wouldn’t meet Gale again. If she did, she wouldn’t know what to say. Would she scold for throwing her life away, punish her for the pain she’d forced her to endure, or would she have the strength to forgive her? If Gale hadn’t been such a fool, she would have forgiven her already, but she only wished for her to come home. At least then they could argue about what she’d done. They could scream at each other, like they ought to do.
Better Off Dead
“Now that may have been a tad grim, for your whim, but I did save my Hymn!” Gale finished the final verse of the song she’d written about her twin and the pretty giant, strummed the strings of the lute crafted out of black, charred bones, and swung her hips as she danced between cheering members of the crowd.
Tanned beauty after tanned beauty surrounded her on the wharf outsi
de the inn, while the wind tugged on the rags they wore. Someone groped her, but she’d gotten used to the hands of pirates by now. The Isle of No Return may not be anywhere near as large as Caelora, but it would suffice as her home as long as its visitors threw gold at her.
“Thank you, thank you.” Gale curtsied to her audience with a flourish. “Drinks are for sale inside, as always.”
“You gon’ join us?” A tattooed man with braided hair asked, tossed a gold coin into the air, and caught it again. “My treat.”
“I’ll be down later, don’t worry.”
“Awww.” A woman who wore very little in terms of clothing groaned.
“Even I have to take breaks, before you all volunteer to give me shakes.” She smirked, strummed a final note on her lute, and retreated down along the wharf.
The crowd went back inside the inn. Four ships were anchored by the lagoon on the larger second island, while dozen of rowboats had been tied to the wharf or dragged up on the beach of the Isle of No Return. A common sight.
She made her way into the bushes that surrounded the concealed wooden structures in the middle of the isle, climbed the first vine she stumbled upon, and emerged onto the walkway in front of the room she rented.
Once inside her cramped, temporary home, she laid the lute on the bed, sat down at the table, and stared through the open hole that passed for a window. The ocean stretched out onto the horizon, while the leaves of palm trees right outside swayed in the wind. Storms were rare in the area, or she would have asked for better accommodations.
She thumbed at the leather glove she was forced to wear on her right hand. The last decade had not been kind to her, even if she couldn’t complain right now. She’d lost more than she’d ever imagined she would lose, and she still had no clue how to get back home, if it even was a possibility. Then again, she’d made her choice. She’d chosen fame, and she could pursue it if she wished. Nevertheless, she should have listened to Furore when she’d mentioned the high price of dreams.
Someone knocked on the door to her room, but she ignored them. If one of her fans wanted to worship her, they could wait until she returned to the inn. She had to eat and sleep like everyone else, despite her condition.
Gale pulled the glove off her hand, winced, and exposed the bony fingers underneath. She would never get used to the mark of death, or the complete lack of skin and flesh, but at least she’d gotten better at playing the lute with her left.
The door opened. A tall woman in a blouse, striped pants, and boots who hid her face behind a wide-brimmed hat stepped inside.
“I’m disappointed.”
Gale tried to slip her glove back on, but dropped it on the floor instead, and reached for a dagger on top of the table when she noticed how the intruder had a cutlass strapped to her waist.
“I’ve listened to you sing since last night and not once… Not once have I heard a single ditty or ballad about a certain doll you promised the world.” Phoxene lowered her hat, smiled at Gale, and quirked an eyebrow when she spotted her skeletal hand. “How did you get out of the capital? I saw you with Thotrix’s soldiers.”
“You saw me?” Gale tightened her grip on the dagger’s hilt. If Phoxene had seen her, she’d not helped. “You know, I don’t think I should tell you my tricks, but let’s just say someone found my voice appealing. And they saved me, if you’d call it that.”
Phoxene sat down on the edge of the table, placed her foot on the side of Gale’s chair, and stretched her long leg. “Did they give you the hand too?”
Gale tore her gaze off Phoxene, who’d grown no less attractive since their last meeting, and gazed across the waves. “And the lute.”
“Another goddess then.”
“A forgotten entity of death for those who reject the gods.” Gale shuddered at the thought of the realm, the afterlife, she’d ended up in. If she’d never stumbled upon Niaris and sung for her, she would still have been trapped there. “You want to rethink your opinion about the gods before your time is up.”
“Rethink my opinion? About the gods? You dare ask more of me than anyone else in the world.” Phoxene chuckled and pushed her leg on the chair against Gale. “Are you too old to travel now, or are you up for another adventure?”
“I don’t know.” She leaned away from the leg. “I don’t think love would appreciate me flirting with the same woman twice, not after I betrayed the poor girl and broke her vulnerable heart.”
Phoxene grinned, shook her head. “Love can’t be a choice?”
“Can it?”
“I heard a rumour…” Phoxene rolled the sleeves of her blouse up, revealed the ticking machines, and caressed Gale’s right arm with undue interest. “A story of how someone rose up against the gods, centuries ago, and killed one. Some who’d heard the same rumour before me claimed love was involved.”
“I’d rather stay out of their business.”
Phoxene tutted. “Did they steal your courage too? Your tail?”
“No, I… I tuck that in after the accident.” Gale dropped the dagger and rose to her feet while Phoxene laughed. “Why are you bothering me? What do you think you’ll get? Shouldn’t you be flying your airship around on your own, since you don’t care about anyone?”
“I have a fleet.” Phoxene grabbed a spyglass off her belt, offered it to Gale, and pointed toward the horizon. “We got split up after a storm, but they’re on their way. This place will be busy in a couple of hours.”
Gale took the spyglass, put it against her eye, and tried to find whatever Phoxene had pointed at. She spotted three airships above the ocean, headed straight for them at high speeds. “You saved more dolls?”
“Don’t call them that when they can hear, but yes, I did.”
“I won’t, but…” Gale returned the spyglass. “I don’t know what you want with me. I’ve made a haven for myself, by never staying too long anywhere.”
Phoxene leaned forward, pulled the blouse away from a spot on her neck, and bared a tattoo in the shape of a bite mark. “I don’t love you, Gale, don’t take it like that, but after I saw you with the soldiers, I wanted to remember our night.”
“I betrayed you…”
“And shortly afterwards, you made a stand against those who’d oppressed me since my birth.” Phoxene began to unbutton her blouse and revealed more and more tattoos depicting creatures of myth and legend. A kraken rested in the middle of her chest. “We plan to kill a god. Thotrix. You could come with us, become a hero, or I could kidnap you and enslave you to my yearnings and needs.”
“What a tempting offer…” Gale grabbed her glove off the floor, slid it back onto her hand. “How could I—“
“Don’t hide it.” Phoxene urged her. “Your hand.”
“It’s hideous. Horrifying. You don’t want to see it. No one does.”
Phoxene slammed her palms onto the table, so the machines in her arms clicked louder, and watched her with an intense, crazed look. “We’re so alike, daft girl. Since you’ve left me wanting for years, I need you to fucking please me again, or I might very well tie you to my bed on the Gustfin.”
Gale dropped the glove. “You’re going to be the death of me, and I don’t—“
“Given the choice, I would choose to love you.” Phoxene got up from the table and backed her up against the wall by placing a hand on her chest. “Knowing the consequences, I would risk you betraying me twice. What more do you require out of a confession? I can’t love you by accident. I don’t understand the feeling.”
“I…” Gale gazed into Phoxene’s grey-green eyes, but she found nothing new there except a wish to be understood. “Time. It’s been years, you know.”
Phoxene furrowed her brow, thought for a second or two. “We can fuck while you think?”
“We could, absolutely, do that.”
“Wonderful.” Phoxene grabbed her neck, planted a kiss on her lips that tasted of rum, and squeezed her hip. “You made me miss you.”
Gale had missed everyone she’d
ever known, especially Hymn, but she didn’t say that. “I did write a song about you. I’ll play it, later, on your ship. It’ll be more fitting there, doll.”
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Gale & Hymn Page 12