Hamm, the owner of the place, and all the other men burst into laughter. Whitney joined them, and it was only when the laughter died down that his heart sunk as it sometimes did over the last six years in Elsewhere. It wasn’t that Whitney hated being in this Troborough as much as he hated how comfortable he was becoming in this Troborough. His life had been many things, but never before had it been…well… plain. Boring. Like he was any average serf in the Glass Kingdom
A bard by the name of Fabian “Feel Good” Saravia plucked his lute, singing a song about a grimuar. Whitney had never seen the hawk-face beasts in the Pikeback Mountains near Glinthaven. In fact, if he’d not been seated at a tavern in Elsewhere, he’d likely still think them myth, but now, nothing was unbelievable to him.
“My Lord,” the barmaiden Alless said, placing another flagon of ale down in front of Whitney.
Whitney’s face lit up. Who’d have thought it would take going back in time to the one place he hated more any anywhere else to finally be called 'my Lord?' Sure, his letters patent were gone, and no one but Torsten and Sora remembered him ever becoming Whitney Blisslayer, but that didn’t stop him from enjoying the attention.
“Thanks, Alless. Looking good tonight,” he said with a wink. Her cheeks turned pink. She dressed modestly, and her strawberry blonde hair was worn long and braided into two pigtails. He’d forgotten how pretty she was back in the day.
“Sure, you don’t wanna sit for a spell?” Whitney said.
She looked over her shoulder. “Hamm wouldn’t take kindly to that. Lots of folks in here tonight, and all of them looking to be served.”
“Chair’s always open…” Just as he said it, a lumbering oaf from the north side of town plopped down in it. “Till it’s not,” Whitney laughed.
She giggled. “I'll have a break soon. I’ll find you.” She curtsied, then walked away to keep working.
She’s old enough to be your mother, Whitney reminded himself. Oh, and she isn’t real.
There were more than a few times Whitney had considered abandoning his nightly searches, leaving his bed unused, and staying in hers. He’d have to close his eyes and tell himself ‘path of least resistance.’ Laying with an apparition was the definition of resistance.
“Eyes to yourself, Willis,” Hamm said.
“Have you considered some male help then?” Whitney remarked. “An old man. I’m talking saggy and gray.”
“I’ll think on it.” Hamm chuckled. He served someone else while cleaning a mug and continuing the conversation. He was a damn good barkeep in his prime. If Troborough could boast anything, it was that. Best Whitney had ever known save for Tum Tum…
The spell of longing hit Whitney harder this time.
“What’s wrong, friend?” Hamm asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nothing, I… I’m just tired,” he said.
“Old lady Fierstown working you to the bone, is she?”
“That’s a word for it.”
“It isn’t easy work making an honest living, I’ll tell you that.” Hamm placed his hand on Whitney’s shoulder, and Whitney didn’t have a chance to respond before the man laughed at the joke building inside his own head. “But that’s what taverns are for!”
“Here, here!” a few men down the bar slammed their tankards. The bard took it as recognition for the finishing of a song and began to play louder.
“Truer words never were spoken,” Whitney said.
“I’ll tell ya, I would have run after Rocco passed, but it’s a damn good thing you’re doing there,” Hamm went on. “Can’t tell you how many times I caught that Young Whitney trying to steal from my stores. I don’t know how you deal with that little menace.”
Whitney wondered if that was how Hamm had viewed him back in the day before saying, “Mostly, I don’t see him. Especially after Rocco died. He’s got that dirty look plastered on his face every time we run into each other, then he rushes by.” All of that was true. Whitney had no love for Troborough, but he never remembered being so angry growing up.
“Well, a boy needs a man around he can respect if he doesn’t want to grow up rotten,” Hamm said. “And a woman like Lauryn needs a ma…”
Whitney choked on his next sip of ale. “Wait, you don’t think…”
“Hey, I ain’t one to judge. Rocco’s been dead for five years now, and a man from noble stock like you is still around.”
Whitney had to cover his mouth to keep from vomiting. “It’s nothing like that you horny codger. She just makes a mean pie.”
“Damn right she does! Well if you aren’t... you wouldn’t mind if I asked her to…”
“Please don’t finish,” Whitney blurted. “But yeah, fine. I’m not her father, why would I care?” The strangeness of this words didn’t hit him until after he’d said them. Still, the way Hamm’s eyes lit up when he heard Lauryn was available made Whitney feel a bit better. Still disgusted, but this version of his mother deserved some bit of happiness.
Whitney scanned the room. After continually trying to sneak into the Twilight Manor as a young boy, it never stopped being strange to him, drinking side-by-side with the men he’d had thought so old all those years ago. He liked it.
As a child, he never got to hear from all the townsman who’d fought in Liam’s wars, who’d had great adventures and then settled down. They weren’t all like Rocco who was born on his farm and never left until the day he died. And traders passed through town, even here. Men from Brekliodad and Glinthaven, everywhere. As a child, they’d ignored him, so he’d pick their pockets for trinkets. Now, they’d share grand tales of Pantego, then ride off the next morning along a road Whitney still couldn’t travel.
For once, he’d mostly sit back and listen. He couldn’t tell any of his stories because they were all in the future—and on a completely different plane. If Lauryn found out he wasn’t really a nobleman looking for a simpler life, but a world-renowned thief, he might lose his cushy gig while waiting for Sora.
An odd something in the dark corner of the dining hall tore him from his thoughts. Crouching at the side of the bar, out of the sight of Hamm and the others, was a young Panpingese girl—only the truth was, she wasn’t so young anymore. Over the course of time Whitney had been stuck in Troborough, she’d blossomed into quite the young lady, and Whitney couldn’t imagine how foolish he’d been to leave her behind. Growing up every day with her, he’d probably never realized how stunning she was until that fateful day they were reunited.
Presently, he had little relationship with her. From time to time he’d stroll by Wetzel’s shack to remind himself of the hope he had for her older version, but talking with her was too complicated, and Elsewhere never let him get close enough to peek inside regardless.
The Sora he knew had always told him of the nights she’d snuck into the Manor to hear the bards play, but he’d assumed she’d been telling tall tales in an attempt to one-up him. They did that sort of thing. Yet there she was, crouching, hidden from all view, a big smile plastered on her face. Upon noticing Whitney eyeballing her, she winced, then retreated into the shadows, but not before placing a finger over her lips in hopes of convincing him not to rat her out.
All these years and she was the one who’d accomplished something he’d never been able to. He couldn’t help wonder how she’d gotten in unseen, or why she’d never showed his younger self the way.
He stood, his chair scraping the wood floor. He took a few steps before remembering his ale. Even though it did nothing to make him dizzy and forgetful in this place, it always served to buoy his heart.
“Heading off?” Hamm asked.
“Got to take a piss,” he said.
He headed out back to take care of his business, but more so with the intention of looking around the building for where Sora might have gotten in. It was brisk, the late autumn air biting at his cheeks, which meant every window was locked.
“How in Iam’s name does she do it?” he asked himself
Ha
mm guarded the place like a damn golem. He made sure that if anyone was sleeping upstairs, or sleeping with someone sleeping upstairs, they were paying him autlas. He knew every face that entered the hall and expected them all to be drinking or eating if they were taking up space.
“You lost?” The sound of Alless' voice simultaneously startled and excited Whitney.
He turned, and with his back against the wall, said, “No, just getting some fresh air.”
She drew herself so close to him their hips were touching. “Fresh air is overrated. It’s finally breaktime if you…”
She didn’t finish the sentence, but let her fingers finish the implication, crawling up his chest. She leaned in to kiss him, but he ducked under her so that now she was against the wall.
“What’s the matter?” she said, smirking, not backing down. “All talk? You do find me… attractive, don’t you? Unless it’s always someone behind me you’re staring at,”
“More than you could possibly…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and said, “imagine.”
She sauntered toward him again. “Then what’s the problem, farmboy?”
Other than how much he hated being called farmboy, that was a great question. It was one he asked himself nightly, and one he figured he’d be asking himself for years to come. The gorgeous barmaid in his hometown that all the young men, including Whitney, only dreamed about growing up. He always told himself that it was because she wasn’t the real Alless, but after so long, she was as real as any of the others.
“It’s just—”
“You ain’t a boy lover, are you?” she interrupted.
“Gods no! I just… I had a lot to drink, and I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you.”
She smiled. “I didn’t have anything to drink. You sure it’s me who’d be taken advantage of?”
“You’re right,” Whitney said, now smiling as well. “What kind of lady are you?”
“A bored one.” She wrapped both arms around his neck and pulled herself in close. He could feel the warmth of her breath, real as anything else. “Always the same men asking me out around here since I was a girl. And the traders just want to move on. Why does the man I desire constantly refuse me?”
Whitney slipped her grasp before his heart beat any faster, making sure not to spill his drink, and started off toward the town center. “I’m just waiting for the right time.”
She bit her lip in frustration. “Well, I won’t be waiting around here forever!”
I will, he thought, then cursed himself for letting it pop into his head. He didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings, real or not, but she just wasn’t… Sora. Just as he thought of her, her younger version crept across the darkness ahead, back to Wetzel’s shack after her time skulking around the Twilight Manor.
Whitney stopped. “It’s been six years, Whitney,” he said to himself. “Even if she hasn’t forgotten you, she’s probably married by now, has kids.”
He turned back to the Twilight Manor. Alless remained leaning against the wall, looking as disappointed as every night when Whitney dodged her and promised a future romantic gesture that never came.
“Why do you continue to deny yourself?” Kazimir asked.
Whitney looked toward the origin of the voice and saw the upyr, sitting on the edge of the well in the center of the square, gazing up toward the sky. The sound of the bard’s playing echoed soothingly on the air. The ruins of Iam’s chapel loomed behind him where Father Fake-Torsten sat, legs folded before a non-existent altar.
“Stupidity probably,” Whitney said.
Kazimir cracked a smirk, and Whitney sat beside him. He took a sip of his ale before offering it to Kazimir. In all their time in Troborough, Whitney had never seen Kazimir eat or drink anything save for the bite of duck he’d been force-fed on the night of their arrival. Whitney had also never seen someone so content to simply sit and enjoy the air.
“So, you’ll continue your nightly search instead?” Kazimir asked, ignoring the ale.
“It’s the best way to keep out of trouble. Good for both of us, no?
“It is. And I’ll continue to tell you that you won’t be sneaking out of here.”
“Kazimir, my friend.” He patted him on the back. “If I had a gold autla for every time I’ve been told that, I’d be rich.”
If anyone would have told Whitney six years ago that he’d be sitting in Troborough with the upyr who’d tried to kill him and Sora in Winde Port—or that’d he’d be calling him 'friend'—Whitney would have laughed. Of course, Winde Port seemed a lifetime ago.
They went quiet for a short while as Fabian, the bard, finished up a song.
“You know how many times I’ve escaped from the Yarrington dungeons?” Whitney said, finally. “There was this one time, some dirty, old man named Reese—”
“I’ve heard it,” Kazimir replied. “Save your breath.”
“Yeah, well, that was easy. Another time, these giants in the Pikebacks held me—”
Kazimir shot him a sidelong glare that he knew meant he’d heard it. Whitney pursed his lips. He’d been a drifter for so long that he’d never been around someone enough for them to have heard all his stories.
Whitney took a sip of his ale. “When did you decide to be happy here?” he asked.
“I’m not happy here,” Kazimir replied. “But I am here still, and I must accept my fate, as you must.”
“Hey, I accept it,” Whitney said.
“Your map says otherwise.”
“Well, I need something to do besides farm, and you convinced me to play the good guy.”
“Is company not enough?” He nodded toward Alless, who’d already headed back inside from her break, shoulders sagging in disappointment. Whitney didn’t have a good answer. Six years ago, he probably would have snapped and started a fight with the upyr, but he’d gotten better at not irritating the extremely easy to irritate and only other person in Troborough who knew his plight.
“Six years,” Whitney sighed. “Did you imagine you’d be here this long?”
Kazimir looked back to the sky. “Six years for a man who has lived hundreds is like the blink of an eye. The Sanguine Lords will punish me for my failings as they see fit.”
“How old are you, anyway?”
“Old enough to have tasted the blood of the first mystics in their fallen Order.”
Whitney chuckled. “One day you’ll give a real number.”
“You misunderstand. I can’t. Calendars changed, kingdoms fell—eventually, I stopped keeping count. You will too after enough time here.”
Whitney opened his mouth to respond, stopped, then exhaled through his teeth. “It already feels like forever.”
“Until it isn’t. I’ve been in this realm many times as you know, and this visit has by far been the most pleasant. For that, you have my thanks. Most times, I spend relative years dodging the wianu. It’s been nice being away from the chaos. To stand out in the sun, false as it may be. It’s been nice not having to… feed.”
It was the first time Kazimir had spoken about that particular affliction since they’d arrived, but Whitney had taken notice. The more time passed, the calmer Kazimir seemed. Whitney still felt things like the need to eat and drink—not hunger or thirst, but the compulsion. Not Kazimir. Whitney wondered what it would be like for all basic instinct to disappear enough to turn a monster willing to murder and drain a man like Tayvada into a stargazer.
“Well, I’m glad my exile is your vacation,” Whitney said.
Seeing pangs of regret ripple across Kazimir’s face never got normal. “That’s not what I meant. Dakel un Ghastrin lives out there, stuck between worlds as all the wianu are, lusting for me as I lusted for your friend, Sora.”
“There’s more than one?” Whitney asked.
“Many more.”
“Then how do you know your squid monster is the same every time?”
“Oh, he’s the same,” Kazimir assured Whitney. “He knows me, and I, him. Each
upyr has one. Just one who will hunt us until the day one of us is destroyed. He knows as well as I do that in this life, its either him or me.”
“But you’re already dead.”
“Not dead. Not alive.”
Whitney waved his hands in the air and said, “Woooooo,” like he’d seen a ghost, then reached for his ale.
“Make jokes if you will.” Kazimir’s face betrayed his grave tone. Whitney had always said he was like a fine wine, and the more time together, the more the upyr seemed to appreciate his jokes.
“Okay, fine,” Whitney said. “So are you finally going to tell me why this thing gives a hot shog about you? Why are you so special?”
“I’m not special,” Kazimir said. “But my power belongs to him. At least that’s what he would say if the vile thing could speak. I devoured a piece of him.”
Whitney’s cheeks went white. “I hate squid.”
“It was that or die,” Kazimir said, resignedly. “I was young, in love. I refused to leave Pantego until I was ready. Now I can’t even remember her face.”
“Listen to you, Kazzy in love.” Whitney nudged him playfully and earned a glower. The upyr hadn’t changed too much, and he hated when Whitney used that nickname.
“Tread carefully.”
“Fine, fine. But do you really expect me to feel bad?”
“I expect nothing.”
“Well, at least you’ve got hundreds of years out of it, powers I can’t dream of. I’m stuck here forever, according to you, and I’ll never see the woman I… I grew up with.” Whitney nearly allowed frustration get the better of him, but he took a moment to gather himself. “The truth is, I’m happy you’re stuck here. I hope you never get out of Elsewhere to fulfill your dream of drinking Sora’s blood.”
“Then I will make you a deal.” Kazimir stood. He still wore a knife, even though he didn’t need it. Whitney winced when Kazimir drew the blade, then the upyr dragged it across his palm and extended the blade to Whitney. “When I return to Pantego with the blessing of my Lords, I will not hunt your friend. And I will indulge in her blood only if she offers it freely.”
The Redstar Rising Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set 1: Books 1-3) Page 106