by Josie Walker
He sets the stack of paper on my desk, along with a silver pen. It’s fancy and much longer than the mass-produced plastic pens I’m used to. It’s been fashioned for a larger hand. It has a sharp tip like a fountain pen. If it had a feather at the end, I could pretend I was Shakespeare.
I study it dubiously, and he puts some smaller scraps of paper next to me so that I can try out my new writing utensil. He lets loose with a long string of words that I don’t understand. At my blank look he slows down. He says a single word, which happens to be one of the few I know.
“EK,” he says, pointing at me.
I’ve heard Bocc-d’ar say that. It means you. That must mean he wants me to try writing with the pen. At least I don’t have to pretend to be interested. His entire process fascinates me. I dip the pen in the pot of ink he has provided, and tentatively press the metal tip down to the paper. I am pleased that it does not run messily like a fountain pen.
I practice writing my name and find that I actually like the pen. It glides effortlessly, and my penmanship looks beautiful. I’ve always liked writing things by hand and I took a calligraphy class, and several art electives in college. I have natural artistic ability. The only reason I wasn’t majoring in something creative was because I didn’t think I’d ever be able to make a living with that kind of degree.
Once I’ve grown accustomed to the pen I look up at him expectantly, wondering what I’m supposed to do next. He walks over to a shelf of books and selects one, bringing it back to me. He places the book in front of me on what looks like a music stand. Opening the book, he flips through a few pages. There is no color on the page. The calligraphy is still beautiful but this book might as well be a children’s primer compared to what he is working on.
“WOHIN,” he says.
I haven’t heard that one before, but I’m guessing it means something like, replicate it exactly. This is the first thing I’ve found in the castle that l’m actually interested in, so I dutifully begin to copy the page. I decide to work from top to bottom so that I don’t smudge work lower down if I need to press my hand on it to work at the top.
There are decorative vines with leaves and flowers on the top left. I do my best to draw them just as they are. My natural tendency would be to elaborate on what I’m copying. I generally would capture the essence, but not an exact replica. But since he is so painstakingly deliberate in copying his detailed illuminated page exactly, I know I’m to do the same thing with this simpler one.
He looks over my shoulder and nods approval at my initial progress, then goes and sits back down to work on his project. I feel completely at ease in his presence, and I get totally caught up in my work. I want my page to be perfect.
For some reason it’s important to me that this ancient scholar be impressed with my effort. I may have finally found a way to contribute. It would be amazing if I actually got to utilize some of my natural talents. Cooking and sewing are so not my things.
I lose all track of time as I repeatedly dip the pen in the ink pot and carefully apply it to the paper. I painstakingly copy the text, which is the main body of the page. The letters are all strange and unfamiliar, but I try my best to get every line and curve exactly duplicated. Finally I finish. I set the pen down, and massage my hand. It’s cramping a bit because the muscles have grown soft from lack of use.
He sets his brushes aside and stands to look. He nods, and there is a faint smile on his face.
“SAI,” he says.
I smile back at him. If I’m not mistaken, SAI means, good.
He walks back to his desk and picks up a very fine brush, dips it in red paint and walks back to my desk. In the middle of the page he adds an s swirl to the bottom of one of the letters, and looks at me to see if I understand. I look back to the original and see that he’s right and I missed a detail.
“Yes, I see that.”
“SAI,” he says again with a nod, as he takes the page from me.
I try to take it back and point to the door, trying to communicate that I’d like to take it to my room and show Bocc-d’ar.
“NIK,” he says shaking his head no.
Then before I can stop him he takes the page I’ve copied so carefully, wads it up and throws it in the fire. I gasp. My initial reaction is to be royally pissed that he just trashed what I labored so hard on. But his smiles and nods curb my irritation.
He’s still acting like I did a good job and he’s proud of me. This is just exacting work, and every little detail matters. Of course I didn’t get it right the first time. I’m still learning. I’m guessing he can only keep pages that are perfect, and my work isn’t perfect—not yet anyway. I’ve never been one to back away from a challenge.
I grin at him, thrilled that I have found a teacher. Not only will this give me something to do, but I feel it might help me learn their language. He motions for me to come to him, so I follow to the other side of the room. He takes a large volume from a shelf and opens it on yet another of the fancy book stands.
He motions for me, and I can hardly believe it, but he seems to be giving me permission to turn the pages. I look at him questioningly. Is this some kind of test? It feels forbidden, like touching antiques in a museum. He takes my hand and places it on the cover, using my hand to open the book.
“EK,” he says firmly.
I’m sure that means you. He’s saying, you turn the pages, so I do. The colors are unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. The luminescence makes me think that metal was mixed with the paint, like what I saw earlier when the silver paint rose of its own accord to intertwine with the blue on his brush. Page after illuminated page is filled with wondrous illustrations. I recognize plants that are native to this planet.
I see marvelous flying dragons, not just the ruby red like Bocc-d’ar’s, but others in colors of other gemstones. The scales of their armor look so real I feel I could touch them: emeralds, diamonds, amethysts, and sapphires sparkle from the pages.
I wonder about the meaning of one section. The first page shows a naked man who is in flesh form on the left side, and the metal head armor on the other side of his body. The following pages contain many words and pictures of various metals interspersed with the earth, wind, fire and water symbols. I get the feeling that this is a ‘how to’ section for creating their armor covering.
How fascinating. If this is a recipe for making their armor shell does that mean I could learn to make an armor covering for myself? The very thought of getting my own armor makes me feel badass. I continue to flip through the pages, and am shocked by the final section in the book.
“Spaceships?” I gasp aloud. The old guy turns and looks at me with a smile. He nods, almost as if he can understand my question.
The first illustration definitely shows several of their fighter jets, which I saw on Sagren. A picture of one of their spaceships is in the top right corner of the page. A large, intricate illustration dominates the center of the page. Six dragons and six metalheads stand in a circle. The men in their metal form have their arms thrust toward the center.
Liquid metal shoots like geysers from their fingertips. The dragons are breathing fire that matches the color of their jewel encrusted bodies toward the center of the circle. In the middle is a half-formed spaceship. It is being shaped from the bottom up, with the lower half fully formed.
The top is just an outline with dragon fire around it. I quickly flip through the next few pages, which are filled with alien words, and illuminations. My breath catches in my throat. Is this why I have seen no technology here? Is the power that gives them their armor and space travel fueled by some sort of alchemical magic rather than mechanical devices?
The thought is so ludicrous that I can hardly begin to entertain it. My mind drifts back to the plumbing that seems to work on its own. I consider the lights that look like torches, but have no flame or light switches. I have not seen a single comput
er, or anything that would lead me to believe they have electricity, yet I know they have space ships.
Can any of this be real? Earth is ruled by science and technology, but what if these aliens are different? What if they don’t need science? What if magic reigns supreme here? Once again I feel like Belle in her magical castle. If the candlesticks start talking to me I’m going to seriously lose my shit.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bocc-d’ar
After meeting with my second in command and inspecting the grounds this morning, I am thrilled to find everything running smoothly once more. I’ve been working hard over the past couple of weeks to catch up for the time I lost while recovering from my injuries. Now that everything is under control, I decide that my men can carry on without me for the day.
I feel I have been neglecting my mate by working too much lately. I don’t usually return to her until dinner. I don’t know how she has been spending her time, but I imagine she grows bored waiting for me each day. She refused my efforts of bringing her materials for needlework, which surprised me for I thought that was something all females enjoyed.
The inner workings of my sweet TSSS’s mind are still a mystery to me. Impulsively, I decide to return to our room in the middle of the day to surprise her. I miss her so much when we are apart. Were it not for my duties, I would never leave her.
Perhaps she would enjoy touring the herb or flower gardens. Or we could go for a ride on the grounds. Anything we do will be wonderful so long as I get to do it with her. I take the stairs at a run, eager to see her. When I open the door to our room I see instantly that she is not there.
“TSSS!” My heart starts to beat wildly. The door to the water room is open, so I cross the space quickly and search in there. Has she run away again? I never should have left her so much to herself.
My initial reactions are fear and rage that she is not here where I thought she was. I try to get my emotions under control and clear my thoughts. She is probably just somewhere else in the castle. I run down to the kitchens because that is the most logical place she would be.
My mother was always baking the best smelling foods. When she wasn’t cooking she was most often working on one handcraft or another. The kitchen is a beehive of activity as men prepare food for the evening meal, but I see no sign of TSSS.
“Have you seen my mate?” I ask in a panicked voice.
“She came down this morning and got bread and fruit to take with her, but she hasn’t been back since,” the head cook answers immediately.
I spin around and sprint to the front entry. Guards are standing at their posts as they have ever since she ran away the first time. Surely they have not failed in their duty?
“Has my mate come out this door?” I ask, trying not to sound as frantic as I feel. They’re quick to answer.
“No. We have not seen her today,” the first one says.
“She’s been wandering around inside a lot lately,” another adds.
“For some reason she seems to enjoy running up and down all the different sets of stairs. We see her doing that every day.”
The men all share a good laugh over the silly antics of the castle’s only female, but I don’t join in their mirth. I know I’m probably overreacting, but after the last time she went missing I can’t help myself. I single out the guard on the left.
“You stay at your post in case she comes through here.” Turning to the other guard I order, “Get Sa-br’wren, and tell him to bring more men. I can’t find her and she may be injured. I want the castle thoroughly searched.”
I immediately go back inside to continue my search. I start by checking the staircases, since the guards have told me of her strange habits. It galls me that my men know more about how she spends her time than I do. Likely they are right and she’s just exploring inside. But what if they’re wrong?
Or what if she is inside, but she’s lost or hurt somewhere no one will find her? My breath catches as I my mind conjures up an image of her crumpled form at the bottom of one of the many flights of stairs in the castle. I’m no longer able to search calmly, because I’m running like a madman.
Sa-br’wren brings more men to join me and we branch out in different quadrants so we can conduct our search in a more organized fashion. We communicate using our battle chatter to know which areas have been cleared. I see evidence that she has been in various rooms because of her footprints in the seldom used regions of the castle.
I pause briefly in my mother’s parlor and see that TSSS has spent some time in there. Her footprints crisscross the dust in the room, and I can tell some small things have been moved by the dust free circles. I never come in this room because it reminds me too clearly of all we have lost.
Even now I can visualize my mother and sisters working on the beautiful bed covering that was never finished. It was to be a bridal gift for my youngest sister. In my mind’s eye I see the other women who often joined them working on their needle work, and playing music to entertain each other. Men were occasionally allowed into their sanctuary, but never in their battle form.
I have avoided this place for years because of painful ghosts from the past, but perhaps that should change. Maybe my TSSS would enjoy spending time here. I shake my head and jerk myself out of my haze of memories. It’s time to return to my search.
We’ve looked everywhere, and there’s still no sign of her inside or outside the castle. I keep going back to places I’ve already checked because I don’t know what else to do. I’d already be hunting for her in the woods if it weren’t for the fact that the guards at the front door never saw her leave.
That’s when a truly horrible suspicion enters my mind. What if one of the men stole her for themselves? No! They wouldn’t, would they? I find this notion hard to believe. My men are loyal and trustworthy. Only a bastard completely lacking in honor would dream of attempting such a thing.
I don’t even want to consider the possibility of one of my men betraying me. But I know that my TSSS is very desirable. She may have provided temptation beyond what a weaker man could resist. I pray this has not happened because any man who touches my TSSS will find retribution at the sharp end of my trident.
I pass the entrance to the library and decide to check it once more. There are many rows of books on the upper level so I go up those stairs and peer over the balcony which provides me with a clear view of the lower level. Comfortable chairs and tables are arranged around the room. I remember my parents loved to read and would spend much time in this room.
My eyes sweep over the room, and that’s when I see it—the secret door to the hidden tower. The ornate ironwork pattern was designed to camouflage the entrance. There is a set of stairs on the other side of that door that I have yet to search for TSSS. She’s clever; I wouldn’t put it past her to find her way inside.
At the top of those stairs is the tower room where the monk, De-Var, works tirelessly to copy the ancient texts. The wealth of information there must be saved for future generations, but it can never fall into the hands of our enemies. The sacred books hold the knowledge that is the foundation of our very existence.
It was decided long ago that this castle is the only place in all the five kingdoms where these copies are allowed to be made. De-Var has been working for years on a third copy which will be stored in our main city. Historically De-Var has had an apprentice to help with the task, but it has been some years since anyone who has applied has met his exacting standards.
I’ve offered to get him an apprentice on numerous occasions, but over and over he has told me that if a gifted apprentice is not available, he prefers to do the work himself. The work is exacting and takes both artistic talent as well as the tedious ability to replicate manuscripts without any deviation from the original text. There has not been even a single apprentice for some years.
I use my battle communication to let Sa-br’wren know wher
e I am searching as I bound up the stairs two at a time. Despair makes way for hope. I must believe that she is in the tower, and that this is why I’ve been unable to find her thus far. At the top I slam open the door, startling De-Var who instantly shifts to battle form.
I am pleased to know that his reflexes are still good, even though he’s ancient. My eyes scan the room, and relief floods through me when I see her. There, at the apprentice desk, she sits, copying manuscripts. She sets her brush down and stands as I step into the room.
Relief courses through me so strong and hard that I feel like weeping. She didn’t run away! I move behind her and study her work. How amazing. I had no idea she was talented in this way. I am thrilled that De-Var has made her his apprentice.
And I can see that this great honor has been granted solely on her merit, not because of her position as my mate. De-Var has already graduated her to working with color, and she is using fine parchment, which means that this page she is copying has the potential to actually be kept. Historically speaking, apprentices could go years before attaining that status.
True, it is from one of the lesser manuscripts, but nonetheless this is an amazing accomplishment in such a short time. Now I understand what she has been doing every day while I am working. Pride swells my chest so swiftly it’s a wonder it doesn’t burst. My mate is fierce and gifted.
“Thank you, De-Var.” I say to the old monk. “No one knew where she was and I’ve been tearing the castle apart looking for her.”
“WUTZ RAHHNG?” TSSS asks in her strange tongue. As usual I have no idea what her words mean.
“Come,” I implore her, holding my hand out to pull her from the room. My fear of losing her has my heart racing. Wild energy courses through my body which must be released. I can think of only one remedy, and I’ll require her assistance.