Nature and Blight

by Matt Rogers

  Chapter 35: Forbidden Love

  Journey and Pursuit (Lazy River)

  They fled with great haste, it was needed, the Elvin were on their trail. It didn’t take much for the mercenaries to get organized and on the run. It was somewhat different with the Midgings. They’d been enjoying themselves for a while. It had gone to their heads. It led to their throats as they broke out in song.

  “Cause weee… are the Midglings… my friends!”

  Bum… bum.

  “And weee’ll… keep on fainting… till the end!”

  Bum… bum… bum… bum.

  “Weee… are… the Midgings… Weee… are… the Midglings…!”

  They were sitting on barstools, mugs raised high, arms over shoulders belting out the favorite tune in all Middlesome.

  “No… time… for Humans… ‘cause weee… are… the Midglings…!”

  Pause for effect.

  “Of… the… world!”

  The crowd was enjoying their merriment, urging them on with cheers of delight at every chorus line. It reached a crescendo when the two lost their places, both lyrically and situationally. They fell off their perches as they forgot the next line.

  “Whoa!”

  Thud!

  “Ha!”

  They were beyond the physical, into the spiritual, drunk on cactus cuisine and communal celebration.

  Burp!

  “Hey, Stu?”

  Belch!

  “What?”

  Burp!

  “I seem to have fallen down!”

  Belch!

  “Ha! Me too!”

  They were halfway to their feet when another found them. Another who was not in the same mood. Another who wished to alter theirs.

  “Okay Midglings, it’s time to go.”

  They looked up bleary-eyed and confused. Why? Why did they need to go anywhere? They were having the time of their lives and were not in the right frame of mind for leaving. Stu, therefore, explained the situation accordingly.

  “Now you looky here, Mr. Brutus. We are not going anywhere. We are staying right here and finishing our drinks.”

  The barbarian looked down with confusion.

  “But we need to…”

  Wort, also in the throes of fermented passion, cut him off.

  “We don’t need to do anything, Mr. Party-Pooper. We only need to order another round from that nice man with the long beard. Now, where is he?”

  The two were almost back on top, placing their tiny tushies on the stools when Brutus decided normal persuasion wasn’t going to cut it.

  “Midglings” he began mildly.

  “What?” they said moodily.

  “Boo!”

  Flop! Flop!

  He scooped them in his arms and made his way to the front of the establishment. Savage and Deadaim were already there, talking to Santa.

  “In here you’ll find twenty gold pieces. We need a boat and we need it now.”

  Santa took the bag Savage proffered, looked inside, smiled wide and replied.

  “Take whichever one you want.”

  So they raced outside, took Deadaim’s advice on which boat he thought was the most water-worthy and jumped aboard.

  “Man the oars while I let loose the sail!”

  Their roles reversed on the water as the barbarian, raised on seashore and familiar with its ways, took charge. The fact Savage took no insult and immediately went to work was no longer surprising to his fellow mercenaries for they’d quickly come to realize when it came to the Sergeant power was not an aphrodisiac. He never took charge of anything. It was given to him. Every time. Even by strangers. The reasons were many and widely complex but they all boiled down to one overriding aspect; the man held a presence. Even among Giants he stood out. He didn’t use braggadocio or self-inflation to gather others under his shield, he used something greater, something he was born with; a gift from the gods who allowed some to naturally lead.

  They rowed away from the shore in the small vessel, Brutus raising the sail as two who were strengthened through combat pulled oars. Two more were in attendance, laid out prone and unmoving as their bodies responded to fright and intoxication with blessed blackness. They’d made their escape but were uncomforted. They knew the others would follow. They were sure in the knowledge. They were right.

  He entered without anyone realizing. He was unseen because he wished it so. The place was full, crowded with others who knew not their purpose in life. He remained in the shadows, always watching, ever vigilant. He waited for the one he knew held information. The one he would visit. The one who would talk or die. The night dragged on but he remained neutral, one with the rafters, unviewed by those below. He knew they were gone but didn’t know where. They’d found the camels but not the riders. They had altered their passage, changed transportation and he wished to know what it was. The patrons were growing tired, spent from a night of personal pleasure, giving nothing to society, receiving the same in return. The others were also waiting, invisible even to him. He knew they were inside but couldn’t detect their presence. Their kind were shadows at night, impossible to verify. He saw the one stir, open a back door and step through. It was time. He moved.

  “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

  The fat man was sitting , smoking a pipe, awaiting his arrival. The room was his personal sanctuary, set apart from the tavern, filled with everyday life. A chair, a table, a glass of water. Slicer took it all in, then asked the question.

  “Where are they?”

  The man smiled. There was no reason to be mysterious. The man knew they’d be visiting, he’d been forewarned. It would, therefore, be his call whether he lived or died.

  “They are not here.”

  He slowed everything down. His pulse became singular, barely registering a beat. His respirations ceased altogether, his chest no longer rose. It was how he began things, how he confronted others, how he determined the future. The mind and the body were not always in sync. One could find fault if both were not unified. Listening carefully could produce two clues. Both increases. Both registers of falsehood. When the man spoke he listened. The mind was ever wary of the truth. When it was not uttered it became anxious. The anxiety gave everything away. If the man lied he would know it. His heart-rate and breathing would increase. Both were of the body, unaware the mind was troubled but responsive to its worries. The man’s reaction proved him truthful. He wondered how long it would last.

  “Where have they gone?”

  The man swallowed and smiled again.

  “I don’t know.”

  A slight intake of breath, not much but an indication not everything was as it seemed. Slicer knew the game and played accordingly. If the man wished to hide behind half-truths he would find the shelter insufficient.

  “When did they leave?”

  The man appeared to ponder the question. Slicer knew it for what it was; a stall for time. It was always the way of Humans.

  “I don’t know.”

  He could hear the man’s heart skip a beat, felt the exhalations of air as the man let out what nature provided. He had three answers and the man would provide the fourth.

  “Which direction did they travel?”

  The eyes said it all.

  “I don’t know.”

  With every being the reactions were innate. They could be altered, subverted if one knew the ways but most did not. The man made a mistake, uttered a lie which showed the way.

  After the Elvin left Santa heaved a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure but thought he’d made a mistake. He couldn’t be positive, because the Elvin were such secretive creatures, but he saw something in the assassin’s demeanor which gave him pause. It should have. It was true. He had given all away. He just had no idea how.

  “They are not here.”

  The others listened as one of their kind, their leader, spoke of the facts he’d gathered. The first was easy. The man truly didn’t know their whereabouts. His response had been clean and
pure.

  “They have taken to the water.”

  The tell was, as always, subconscious. The man knew the truth even if he knew not all. He may not know their precise location but he knew the general one. He’d swallowed. He had a glass of water at his side but refused to do what all others did. He never even glanced at the decanter. He did what he felt appropriate, ignored what he perceived would give away location, instead swallowed his own saliva to wet his throat which had gone dry. The mind was not limited to heart and lungs. It held other reserves. Thirst was one. It was not a fan of fabrication.

  “They have recently departed.”

  The man had given away the information with stalling. It was unnecessary. They already knew their quarry had left recently but the man couldn’t help his natural inclination of buying time for those with little.

  “They travel north.”

  Everyone questioned eventually gave responses. They might be fakes or mistruths but they were always there. Generally the first reaction was sufficient. Especially in their eyes. Too many muscles were involved for those receiving the interrogation to alter their true inclinations. When he asked direction the man’s retinas spoke the answer. The orbs didn’t move. They stayed glued on Slicer. His did not. His changed almost unperceptively. Enough, though, to recognize when they shifted northward the man’s retinas widened. Sometimes those questioned were not willing. Sometimes they needed encouragement to show the way.

  “Two will cross the river. Two will remain on this side. Three will take a boat. All move north and we will avenge the one we lost.”

  So the Elvin split up. They were happy to do so. They were unaccustomed to groups, smaller parties more to their liking. Slicer, not afraid but unenthused about water-travel, chose to cross with another, one without a name, one he knew, one he wished to know better.

  She moved with grace, as one with the horse as it was the herd. She followed orders instantly, without hesitation, without emotion. She thought herself beyond the ideal, without need, above want. She was wrong.

  He watched with sideway glances as they moved along the shoreline, always aware where she was, always infused by her presence. She had never spoken, unable to perform the simple act due to the death of another. He knew of her past, approved of her decision and applauded the strength required to forever sever speech. He saw in her a mate, a partner, a love. He was confused with the thought, worried of the repercussions, distraught with himself for allowing the feeling to exist. He wondered again if she held the answer, if she knew the secret, if she had obtained the truth. If the tongue could remove one action what could be removed to delete another?

  The river wound along, always flowing but never rushing. It held no elevation change, was without whitewater, absent rapids. It was impossible to resist, impossible to stop what she wished not to occur. Thoughts were never a pleasant experience. With him by her side they were agony.

  He knew the dream impossible, forbidden, unforgivable. It did not matter. He could no longer reside without her by his side. He made a decision, one outlawed by his kind. An assassin with a mate became one with a worry. Any who knew could use one to thwart the other. It had forever been the way; the Guild or the family. Once chosen the marriage was unending, the bond unbreakable, the promise forever intact. The Guild was his family, there could be no other. He would need to choose. Life without her or death with. He decided death was preferable.

  She knew of his feelings, it was impossible to miss. She held the same. She’d never known love, never felt its power, amazed by its lure. She could see no alternative, no different path, no detour to use. She knew the law, respected its purpose, understood its need. Theirs was the way of separation, not of uniting. They could take no mate for to do so would alter their thoughts, change their perceptions, decrease their lethality. She did not care. She could no longer deny what the truth provided. When he chose she would agree. It would mean the end, Death herself visiting in Elvin form but she worried naught for life itself was unrelenting and without him she wished no more.

  He moved the horse closer, aware she was also aware, intrigued with emotion. They both felt it but neither spoke. They were lost. Two who had no hope of a life together, two who had no wish for a life apart.

  She could tell he’d made the decision. She waited with hunger in her eyes, an aching in her chest, a desire she could no longer control.

  Each could tell the other knew, each could tell the other responded, each could tell the other their love.

  The time was right, he knew it was true. The sky was lit with stars, the moon full with light. She slowed so he could approach. What he was about to do would alter their trajectory, change their purpose, redefine who they were. He was willing. She was ready. Life was not.

  The boat appeared. His thoughts changed. Her feelings tempered. They would have a chance again, sometime in the future, the possibility remaining alive. But first they had a mission, a need, a reckoning. They were still of the Guild, had not broken their vows and owed a final deed to a fallen comrade.

  He signaled for her to keep pace, she nodded and they followed. They held their mounts further from the shore, sight not as important, their foes located. They would pick the time and place. The others of their kind would also be present, it was only a matter of time before those on the opposite side also found their prey. The plan was simple; attack from two sides, bring death from the rear. They would slow the ship through combat, attacking from the shore so those on water would seek defense. Defense altered speed. The ship would slow and another would gain. The trap would be sprung by the leader when he was positive those on the other side were prepared. He smiled inside. He would find his revenge. He would declare his love. He would kill the others before they could return the favor. He knew they would not live long but he was content. They would, at least, live to love.