Noticing where her companion’s gaze had landed, Shemmy chimed in, “I thought a sprucing up would’nae hurt, and I was’nae even expectin’ company!”
“I am disturbed but also quite impressed by your productivity, Miss DuBois. Painting your own house without being present, now that is something! Kudos!” He really was impressed. Having spent his formative years as a royal page, efficiency and clever solutions gave him a delight like nothing else.
“You mean it, I can tell!” She jumped with glee as she cheered, “See, neatnik, the dead can be neat too! Now scoot yerself in. I’d like to know wot someone as prim as yerself could possibly want wif the likes of me. Gam, you rest yerself out ’ere now.” As she said that to her carriage, she swayed her arm down, drawing a shape with her finger. Gam the pram knelt to the ground and ceased its animation. Gesturing out to the arm and drawing a symbol over to her left side, she called, “O’er there now, please.” Billiam watched in horror and splendor as the arm clawed with its fingers to drag itself and started painting the other side of her shack.
Once they entered the shanty, Billiam sat down on one of the cut-off trunks surrounding a large fallen log that seemed to be her dining table. “I know I have truly come to the right person! You are a master,” he exclaimed. Gazing around the small hovel he saw a bowl of water, kept frozen all on its own, with some slices of meat preserved atop it. On her makeshift bed, (a term I use loosely to refer to a heap of strange blankets and cushions) sat two more disembodied hands. These ones were cut off at the wrists and busy at work knitting something from a pile of twine. A mud-and-blood-covered squirrel ran through a wheel on a concrete slab counter at her behest, starting a rushing of water and powering a single hydroelectric lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. “Just fascinating!”
“Aye, yes, I’m an enchantress. That’s why you sought me. No need to marvel now. If you did’nae know it, you would’nae be here. What, pray tell, do you want, Billy?” He bristled at the nickname, which produced a snicker from Shemmy.
She leaned against the counter behind her, reached up, and grabbed a dusty mead bottle. Fiddling blindly again, she produced two crude vessels made of wood. While pouring the thick liquid in the glasses, she laid her gaze heavy upon him. He knew it was now or never, that he must plead his case.
He sat up, adjusted his tie, and cleared his throat a bit. He then took a big swig of the syrupy liquor, gulping it down before he could fear the dirt and grime he must’ve swallowed along with it. “How much do you know of the state of politics in the capital, Chammerline?”
Grimacing, she replied, “Fine, I won’t call ya Billy, and you won’t utter that bourgeois name at me again, fair?” Once her guest nodded, she continued, “I have been banished from the capital for witchery, I’d say, ’bout six years now. ’Twas a year after the king and queen got butchered, poor sods. They had themselves a young prince—little pretty thing named Micah, right? Well he succeeded them, with the assistance of the cardinal, who was to advise ’til ’is twentieth. That should be soon, aye?”
“You are better informed than I could’ve guessed; however, Prince Micah fell gravely ill over four years ago. They believe it was a slow-acting poison, leaving the boy comatose. Thus the cardinal has been exclusively ruling the nation. It’s lucky you were booted when you were, as exile is not something we witness anymore, only sacrifice.” Billiam blinked slowly, leaning back before opening his eyes to gauge his hostess’s reaction.
Her face had twisted to a frown under her matted, raven hair. Pieces completely tangled into braids and holding bones or feathers framed her face as she gulped at her mead. “I was, by blood, a noble lady, as they say, before my start in enchanting, so I knew the family. They mighta had a lot, but they had just as much misery. Their daughter, the slow one, we shared a tutor when we was young.”
Shemmy furrowed her brow, which was no longer covered in any hair. Her eyebrows had been burnt off, common with enchanters who have beckoned flames for otherworldly powers. In the place of her eyebrows, six small dots about half a centimeter apart were tattooed in black. This was an ancient practice of enchanters and shaman from the days before religious civilization, when the spiritual arts were accepted and celebrated. The fact that she knew of this and wore it was proof enough of her affluent upbringing and education. She allowed herself to become wild and dirty, which fit the crazed persona she created, but she was far more than that.
“Prince Micah’s twentieth birthday is on July seventeen, precisely two and a half months from today. The truth, however, is that he perished a year ago.” Billiam paused for a moment to choke down his feelings. Shemmy stared at him, bug-eyed and motionless as he continued, “Since the prince has died before his twentieth, the crown should’ve been passed to his dim half sister Margaret and her equally diminished husband, Damon, Earl of Chricton. The cardinal has kept him preserved in ice to hide this fact from Princess Margaret and the people. My group and I only know of his death because I have retained friends in the castle. Keeping up the guise that the prince is still alive though ill will allow the cardinal to stage Micah’s surrender of the crown to him. We cannot allow this to happen!” Overcome, Billiam grabbed Shemmy’s hands into his own; his tears fell, and he could not stop them.
“You need to revive the prince and thwart the evil cardinal? Ya wanna save the kingdom and all her people from continued damnation?” she asked in a singsong tone, without hesitation or emotion.
“Precisely! The prince must be resurrected so that change can finally flourish.”
“Lovely! You seem quite sure about this. ’Tis a shame it’s bleeding impossible. Humans cannae be brought back to life.” She shook her head and smiled, though sadly.
“No! It must be possible! I see all you have done here; I heard of the man you resurrected. I know you have done it! Please, Shemmy, I need him!”
“Aye, you care for him personally, then?” She was the one to reach for his hand this time, holding it softly. He barely looked up at her, his face distorted by tears as he nodded solemnly. “Then you would’nae want for him what became of that man. True, he was alive. Yes, he was breathing, his blood pumping, wif my commands all his parts able to move. That ain’t life though; he could’nae do nuffin’ on his own except breathe and bleed and shit. The spark o’ life ain’t sumfin’ we humans ’ave been able to recreate in centuries. Ya dun want your prince to simply be a breathing poop machine. Worse than death, dat is.” She gave his hand a firm squeeze, then let it go, feeling assured this topic could now be put to rest.
Instead, energy returned to Billiam. “Of course I know that, but you were working without these—” Possessed with a sudden excitement, he dug into the inner lining of his coat to produce two sparkling, foot-long needles before exclaiming, “The ancient enchanting needles of the first peoples! We researched your experiment immensely to find whatever components were missing. These were two of them.” When he pointed them out toward her, she feverishly grabbed at them, but he yanked them away before she even got a single touch. “We went through a lot to get these. We found one fully preserved, and then a woman of my group traveled to the edges of Gamola to find the only man who was able to recreate its twin. So, you cannot have them unless you are using them to bring back Micah!” Feeling triumphant, he swung the needles back in his coat and awaited her response.
“I’m impressed, Mr. Dandy. You researched well. In the ancient days, they did’nae crudely draw their hexes wif their hands. A ’chanter would knit the energy around ’um directly into their target. But that’s not—”
“Not all?” he interjected. “Why of course it’s not. You need the blessing of a faerie pool: sacred water of the dreaded lands man can hardly find and never survive, right? I have a map, and I have faelocks in my organization as well, who have taught me the tricks of entry. I just need you.” The grin on his face was so large it threatened to outstretch and knock over the flimsy, metal walls.
Shemmy closed her eyes and pondered hard. “I guess,
well, yeah, we prolly could do it, then? That does nae mean I’m agreeing, juss means it’s a possibility.”
“Really? That’s wonderful! So if you did agree, we’d have to travel to the faerie pool, bless the needles and—”
“No, silly man! The needles dun need blessing, the boy does. I dunno how keen I am on abducting a dead royal and trekking him into extremely hostile territory.” She scratched her head, not knowing whether to feel excited or frustrated.
“Hmm, I see, so the prince would have to come with us. Actually, I would feel much better knowing he’s with me.”
Shemmy suddenly became giddy and blurted out, “Awlright, then tell me the real story if you expect me to do this! Saving the world’s all well and good, but I can tell your passion ain’t there, least not entirely. He’s your lover, then, isn’t he?” She grabbed her knees up to her chest and smiled excitedly.
Billiam felt his face getting hot with embarrassment before letting out an irritated sigh. “Fine, well we weren’t really lovers, technically. Our relationship was much more than that, and also more innocent. I am in love with him; I have been as long as I can remember.” He waved his hand, as though this should be something she already knew. It was so clear to him and all those around him it had simply become a matter of fact. “Since the cardinal threw me out of the castle five years ago, and I have not been able to see him in so long, now possibly ever again, that love is practically boiling away at me. It’s a burning feeling of despair I will not be able to escape unless I try everything in my power to revive him. I must finally be with him, and I believe in my heart it will happen.”
He looked up at Shemmy to see she was practically drooling. Billiam just shrugged and continued his tale. “I grew up in Micah’s service and spent my entire young life at his side. My father, Ackerman Grimhart, was captain of the Order of Logos, the scholar knights who used to be right hand to the royal family. He had been a page and dear friend to the king, and thus it was decided when I was aged two I would become page to the infant prince. I was akin to a servant, but more so his attendant and furthermore companion. He was my best and only friend, and I his. The climate in the castle changed a lot as the war began raging. We were nine and eleven when Casper was finally bombed out. Micah and I were scarcely allowed to leave the castle, and at times not even his room. We were each other’s only comfort, and after his parents were assassinated, I vowed to become his strength.
“I knew at that time in what way I loved him, and to my surprise, he professed it to me first. Our young love never got acted upon physically besides the comforting hugs I gave him. I held him through the night the first weeks after his parents passed, but I was then banned from the prince’s bedchamber at night. The cardinal had deemed it improper at our ages. The very day he told me I was his true love was the day all knights, all those belonging to the Order of Logos, and myself, were banished from the castle. I was gripped hard on the shoulders by one of the MortiAegis monks and ripped from Micah, who had been embracing me. He was screaming and cursing, throwing a child’s tantrum. I wanted to do the same, but I still believed in my vow to be his strength. I yelled to him I would be back, it would all be okay, and that I loved him too. Another monk slammed his door, and that’s the last time I saw him directly. I do not want to have lied to him.”
Shemmy’s eyes watered, and her face glowed brightly. “So sad!” she gasped. “The love of two boys ripped away before it could even begin! Oh no, no, no! I must bring back your prince to you!” She shot up to her feet, ran to Billiam, and swung her arms around his neck from behind. She hung off him like a strange, love-crazed monkey.
“Wait… you didn’t care to do it if it meant a chance to stop the reign of terror by the cardinal and this endless war, but you will gladly for a chance that I can realize my love with Micah? Had I known you were so crazy for the love between men, I would have rethought my entire approach. I could’ve worn something skimpy and poofish, or even brought a friend.” He smirked as Shemmy’s arms went limp and she flopped down to the ground.
“Dear Spirit, I am glad you did’nae. If you had, I prolly would agree juss so you could have yer love. However, I won’t do it for free. Dat would be stupid.”
“Of course, we will pay you handsomely, and the prince is sure to grant you pardon on your exile.”
“Money? Pfft. What need I have for dat? I dunno what payment I would want though….” She scratched at her matted hair, while still lying on the ground where she fell. Grinning wickedly, she looked up to him and asked, “It’s prolly treason to ask to watch you pumping the prince’s backside, eh?”
Billiam’s only possible response to her vulgarity was to immediately drop his face in his palms. “Should you be successful, I can’t imagine the prince objecting to you witnessing a single kiss between us.” Billiam was tired of being subjected to that embarrassing blush once again, as his cheeks warmed up at the thought of said kiss. “To subject him to anything else for your amusement is a depravity I will not allow!” Seriousness erased all bashfulness from his face as he yearned to protect Micah, although he was neither there nor alive.
“Yes, yes, yer right, prudency and all that load. I will settle for a kiss, then. However, I must ask for something else. Wifout me, it’s hopeless, right?”
Billiam nodded and outstretched his hand to pull her off the ground where she had remained splayed. She propped up partially and climbed back onto her stump.
“Think, think, think…. Wot do I want? Hmm….” She closed her eyes for half a minute before opening them wide, finally inspired. “I’ve got it! I want a loft wif a lab attached in ol’ Drummond and a lifetime supply of Leonard Lemonington’s sweet, cinnamon cream puffs! Also I require a kitten dat’s colorpoint, hopefully chunky, and definitely cross-eyed. All dat’s nonnegotiable.”
Billiam smiled and shook his new ally’s hand. “My Order’s budget can definitely afford the cost of rent on a grand loft and accommodate any of your cream puff and pastry needs. Luckiest of all, my darling seal-point cat named Buttercup is positively fat with kittens at the moment. The presumed father runs into light posts on the daily, his cross-eyedness has blinded him so.”
“Oh perfect! Oh so exciting! Making history, saving the kingdom, getting sweets and a kitty cat! Today is blessed by the earth spirits, no doubt it is.” She smiled and wriggled like a giddy child. Billiam could hardly believe it had worked, that she really would do this. Her brashness melted away before his eyes, and he saw the kind, exuberant lass she truly was. “Now let’s get you that Micah’s virginity!”
She jumped and cackled, dancing around her hovel while scooping up various objects in her arms. Billiam, mortified once more, was now free of so much excitement that he could start to fear introducing her to his people. She was a blasted madwoman and a shameless pervert; delightful, yes, but she was deranged.
“I must ask that you not speak about sexual acts involving our prince around any of the people I will be introducing you to. It will most likely shock them, as it’s not something they think about daily like I do.” He grinned devilishly as he said the last part. He would have never openly uttered that in front of anyone, especially someone he just met. He feared she could be rubbing off on him already.
“Also, you shouldn’t bring too much. We have plenty of necessities for you at our lodge. I will help carry anything you might truly require, of course.” With that, their journey as a team truly began. A rather dull battle cry from Billiam, but it would suffice in getting them on their way back to Drummond by nightfall. Chammerline would thus be inducted into what was once the mighty Order of Logos, whether myself and the current members could tolerate her or not.
Chapter 2
May 2nd, 989
“I CAN’T believe you didn’t tell me about the hill path around the valley,” Billiam scoffed and looked down longingly at his wretched suit. You could have been spared, he thought to himself. Shemmy just giggled as Billiam threw the burlap shawl at her face.
�
�Well, it took longer. I ain’t one to wait for nothing, especially not some poof’s suit,” she sang, sticking out her tongue.
“It only took an hour more, at most. The difference in smell alone would be worth a day’s travel.” They reached the sewer entrance with little time to spare before darkness overtook the wastes as a result of bypassing the Valley of Peace.
Having but one peasant’s shroud, it was obvious the banished enemy of the crown ought to be the one hidden. Billiam grabbed away the bag full of Shemmy’s strange-smelling belongings so she could pull the shawl over herself. He adjusted the cover over most of her face; it was a rather distinguishable one after all. Tucking the bag under his shoulder, putting his page skills to good use, he encircled her arm with his own. “Shall we then, my lady?”
“Gah, must you be so polite? It’s awkward to feel like a noble again,” she groaned and became bashful, bouncing on her feet a bit. “Awlright, Drummond, let’s see how you’ve been treatin’ yerself.”
They entered into the dark and dingy tunnel, walking on the foot-wide concrete path against the wall. The foul-smelling liquid lay below them only a short distance. Keeping himself in front, he placed Shemmy’s arms around his waist. This was done only because the tunnel had very little visibility to begin with, and coupled with her shawl, she was essentially blind. Having him helpless ahead of her, she could not control her giggling. Her mind knew no limits to perversion, and a dirty thought constantly danced through her brain.
Defiant Revival Page 2