Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel

by C. D. Verhoff

  Despite some really bad moments, as the weeks wore on, Lars found himself looking forward to leaving the prison cell every morning for practice. It was a break from wallowing in self-pity, plus he was free from the deluge of unwanted emotions coming from the other prisoners. Instead of longing for home, he focused on learning combat moves. It was a time when the other actors’ emotions quieted as well.

  In the evening, when returned to his cell, he learned a trick to keep other’s emotions at bay—pain. So he inflicted it upon himself in little ways. When their emotions started overwhelming him, he pricked himself with a tailor’s pin he’d found in the practice arena. The flash of discomfort was like a bomb against the assaults of invasive emotions. The respite didn’t last forever, but the relief helped him cope.

  The next month was more of the same, waking to the voices of the guards, being ushered out for practice, hours of ruthless training, to return to the cell at twilight where the men played cards, cussed, and fought with each other. The only activity that drew Lars into interacting with his cellmates was the weekly poker games. Able to use his charisma to track his fellow players’ emotional reactions to their hands, he won nearly every hand. Sure, it was cheating, but it got him extra food and extra comfort items like a shaving kit, wash rags and this world’s version of toilet paper—a pile of yellowish leaves that stayed supple even when dried out.

  Once the men fell asleep, it became his routine to pull on the door’s bars, using the full strength of his charisma. They were made to hold in Gargos, so they never budged. Still, it was good practice in calling upon mystical strength. Some nights he’d lean against the wall, eyes closed, and enter into a Mind Wander. Each time, he’d travel a little further than the last, but there wasn’t much to see outside the cell—guards playing cards, theater employees doing general maintenance, sweeping, cooking, dishes, etc. He hadn’t found Mr. Bayloo’s lodgings yet and was starting to think the theater owner didn’t live on the premises.

  The highlight of the mystical trips was when he stopped at Josie’s cell down the hall. He called her name, though she could neither hear nor see him. He sighed in frustration, feeling like a star-crossed lover. Once again they were close together yet far apart. If only he could prearrange a time to meet her in the Mind Wander. For now, he had to content himself with watching her sleep. The only other times he saw her was out in the practice arena. And it was the rare day when they were allowed to talk without permission.

  One day after practice, when the first stars were popping over the misty blue horizon, the actors were being shuffled off to their separate cells. Josie was only five people ahead of him, so he risked a shout-out in English.

  “Josie Albright, meet me at midnight in a Mind Wander!”

  “Your cell or mine!”

  “Mine!”

  One of the trainers thumped Josie on the shoulder. Lars got a spear jab to the back of the knee, causing him to stumble forward into Crash, who reacted by turning and shoving him into the antlered Deerma, Illorah. Lars bounced to the ground. Deermas, Lars came to learn, had a more difficult time being confined than most, and Illorah had become slightly insane. The Deerma’s buggy eyes rolled back in his head. He tried to spear Lars into the stone slab floor. Lars rolled left just in time to miss an antler to the gut. Broken tines twirled in the air as the Deerma’s horns collided with the flagstones.

  “Cut that out, Illorah!” one of the trainers shouted.

  Illorah reared up and poked the trainer straight through the gut. As Lars scrambled out of the way, the other trainers fought back. The Deerma madly shook his head back and forth, tearing the trainer apart the rest of the way.

  Swords came out and Illorah was hacked to pieces.

  Blood pooled at Lars’s feet.

  The prisoners shrank back, talking in excited hushes.

  “Unless you want to end up like Illorah,” the trainers warned, “shut up and move along.”

  ............................

  Emotions were tumultuous back in the cell because of what had happened to Illorah. The poor Deerma bastard used to spend his evenings circling the small cell, clomping around in a nervous obsessive-compulsive way, muttering under his breath how he had to get home to help his ailing mother.

  At least he was at peace now.

  When supper was served, Lars held out his bowl through the bars of the cage. The delivery boy ladled the mystery slop into his bowl—the same bowl that had been issued to him on his first day—the same bowl that hadn’t see soap or water since. Disgusting, but a guy had to eat. This evening, more meat chunks than usual were mixed into the gummy brown sauce.

  “What is it?”

  “Beats me,” the boy said with a shrug.

  Lars sat down next to Crash on a bench and took a big chunk. It wasn’t as rubbery as usual.

  “Pretty good for a change,” he said.

  “That’s because it’s fresh,” Crash said, slurping the broth. “That’s Illorah in there, ya know.”

  Lars choked and went around the cell trying to spit out the taste of his former cell mate.

  Everyone laughed.

  “You’re just fucking with me, Crash,” Lars accused.

  Crash shook his head. “It’s him, all right, but what’s done is done, might as well make the best of it.”

  “Some things are just wrong!” Lars said, wiping the back of his mouth.

  Feeling like Jesus turning of the money changers’ tables, he went through the cell, knocking the bowls from everyone’s hands, earning him some shocked and dangerous looks from his cellmates.

  “What the hells-a-matter with you, Galatian,” one of the Commoners protested, “Illorah tried to kill you. I’d think you’d enjoy giving him this final humiliation.”

  “Well, I don’t. He was a person I slept beside, ate with, and fought with—a humanoid with hopes, fears and dreams—the same as us all.” Lars picked up a bowl of stew, scooped up a chunk of meat, held it high and let it fall back into the broth with a splash. “He deserved better than this. For once in your miserable lives, take a stand for humanoid dignity. Isn’t holding on to your convictions worth more to you than one meal?”

  Several of his cellmates looked down in shame. Others looked like they were about to jump Lars and kill him until Crash spoke up.

  “The Galatian is right. That could be any of us in the bowls here. If that was me in there, I’d want someone like Lars to stand up for me. We don’t have much say as to the working of the theater company, but we gotta show ‘em there’s just some lines they can’t cross. Turning us into slop is one of those lines.”

  “Hear, hear,” said a Regalan, who went over to a shit pot, where he dumped his supper. “Just because Mr. Bayloo treats us like animals, I refuse to become one.”

  The other men nodded in agreement and everyone dumped their food into the shit pots in a show of solidarity, though some watched wistfully as their dinner drained away.

  Hungry, but feeling like he had managed to do some good, Lars poked himself with his pin to break the charismatic link with his cell mates, so that only his own emotions remained— anxious and hopeful about Josie.

  Right now she was with the woman actors, probably eating the stew, blissfully unaware of its true content. Come midnight, if Josie showed up in the Mind Wander, Lars didn’t plan on telling her about it. Some things were better left unsaid.

  ..............................

  At what Lars guessed to be 10:00 p.m., he began to go into the Mind Wander every few minutes. No sign of Josie hovering around in spiritual form. The only movement came from Dregg who had gotten up to take a whiz in the shit pot. But he didn’t want to chance missing her visit. Before he realized it, sleep had taken over. He didn’t know how long he’d been dozing, when a he felt a kiss so faint on his cheek that he couldn’t be sure it happened at all. According to everything Lars knew about Mind Wanders, it wasn’t possible to transfer touch from the mystical realm to the physical, but could it be Josie?
<
br />   He slipped outside his body again to see if she had arrived.

  The initial stage of a Mind Wander was unpleasant, like constipation of the soul, as spirit struggled to free itself from flesh. But he heard Josie calling him softly, teasingly, Lars Steelsun, come out to play...and he bore down again, straining until he felt like a baby slipping from the womb.

  His spirit shed the weight of flesh and bone, to leave his body abandoned on the cold hard floor. Everything looked different in this spiritual state. It sounded different, more echoey. And felt different—vibrato. The cracks in the stone wall became deeper. The surface of the stone walls was bumpier. As he ran a finger along the wall, it no longer felt solid, but vibrated like a tuning fork with its own unique frequency. He could stick his finger into the brick and pull it back out again. Sparkles floated inside the dim light coming through the prison bars.

  As he transitioned into the Mind Wander, he suddenly became aware of Josie hovering a few feet away, patiently waiting for his senses to adjust. Like Lars himself, Josie’s form was transparent, an effervescent indigo imprint of her physical countenance. A white flame burned brightly at the center of her chest and tiny sparkles flickered around that flame. Even though her current state reflected her natural one—tattered clothes and messy hair—she looked incredible. It was as if the gods had fashioned her out of the fabric of the sky at twilight, sending a piece of heaven to visit him here on Earth.

  “My god, Josie,” he said hoarsely. “You are more beautiful than the starlight.”

  Her giggles tinkled like laughing cherubs. She took his hand, but he didn’t feel flesh. Her touch was similar to a jolt of static electricity. He flinched, even though it hadn’t hurt.

  “I’m not sure what I can do in this state,” she confessed. “Sorry.”

  “For starters, you can fashion your own clothes,” Lars informed her. “Watch this.”

  He pictured himself in a tuxedo. Black, with a tailcoat, navy blue cummerbund, and a white carnation in the breast pocket. Other than his bare feet, lo and behold, he looked like a butler.

  “Cool!” Josie gushed. “Teach me how to do that!”

  “Only your imagination is the limit. Picture the outfit and it will appear on your body.”

  Josie closed her eyes. Her tattered jeans and T-shirt morphed into a jean skirt and sweater. When she looked down at herself, she gasped in wonderment.

  “How about something more formal?” Lars suggested, “We can pretend that it’s the high school prom that never happened.”

  She grinned and nodded. Then closed her eyes. The jean skirt and sweater morphed into a strapless black ball gown with a silver sash.

  “Whoa,” Lars said, mouth gaping. “You’re perfection.”

  “Look at us,” she said with a titillating grin. “All dressed up and no place to go.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, reaching for her hand, “we have someplace to go. Follow me.”

  Where their hands touched, light crackled like a mini-thunderstorm, then calmed to a gentle summer rain. The white flame in his body danced like a candle in the breeze. In her excitement, Josie’s flame flared and twirled like a top. Unable to hide her reaction to his touch, she turned her face away from him in embarrassment. He took her chin in his hand and made her look at him.

  “No more suppressing our feelings for one another.” He didn’t have to explain what that meant. In this state, life became pure emotion. “There is no shame in the way we care about each other.”

  “No shame,” she said, with a tentative smile. “I do care about you, Lars. Very much.”

  Holding hands, staring straight into each other’s eyes, perhaps their very souls, Lars thought he could lose himself forever, but Josie was growing restless to explore.

  “I’ve been outside the prison,” Josie announced, breaking the moment. “To see if the Seeker of the Four Winds works in the Mind Wandering state—it doesn’t. But we know the map is at the same latitude of Tectonia—perhaps in Tectonia itself. All we have to do is travel north up the Kalida again, to Tectonia, and follow the Seeker west.”

  “How far west is the question?”

  “We won’t know until we look,” she said. “If only we could find a way to escape this damn theater company.”

  “The squad was headed to Blue River Junction. If they survived the curse, you have the Seeker, so they’ll have to come looking for us.”

  “Have you forgotten about Lindsey’s Rewind?” Josie said. “I’m beginning to understand why Red sent her along. Her charisma is the backup in case something happened to the Seeker. They might go on with out us.”

  “Your brother-in-law won’t let that happen.” Lars shook his head. “They will look for us.”

  “You might be right, but that doesn’t mean we sit back helplessly and wait. I’ve Mind Wandered the theater company pretty thoroughly,” Josie said, “And one thing is clear—Mr. Bayloo has this place locked down tight. Our best chance of escape will be when the theater packs up and changes locations.”

  “In the meantime, it’s a beautiful moonlight night.” He extended a hand. “Let’s make the best of it.”

  She took his hand with a smile, allowing Lars to lead her through the prison door. They passed through the bars as easily as the breeze.

  “My father taught me the basics of the Mind Wander years ago, but you’ve only just learned. I hope you’re being careful.”

  “Of course.”

  “Traveling too far from your body can kill you,” Lars tried to reiterate the danger. “If your vision begins to blur the situation has become critical. Turn back immediately and head back to home base.”

  “You worry too much.” She lifted up her luminous arms in wonder. “Just look at us—we’re frickin’ spirits!”

  Her enthusiasm was contagious. Just having her here, even if he couldn’t touch her real hand, was a ray of light in a dark world. He wanted this night to be perfect. With a sweep of his arm, he motioned toward the exit, and then offered her his hand again.

  “Shall we step outside, my lady?”

  She accepted his hand again and together they glided through another set of bars, floating down the corridor, into a room full of grimy humanoids, tossing dice, and cussing the air blue. They kept on going, straight through a closed oak door into midnight.

  A crescent moon hung in a starry sky; in the intensified experience of a Mind Wander, Lars could only think of Vincent van Gogh’s Starry Night. A luminous moth flew past him, the soft flutter of its wings as clear as a dove’s.

  Other than the electric vibes coming from Josie’s hand in his, he felt nothing except her happiness. Their bare feet skimmed over the ground. The arena was behind them as they followed a narrow path winding up a grassy hillside. A stone chimney with a twirl of smoke coming out of it made him lonesome for Galatia, though the scent was absent, as with all Mind Wanders. He pictured homes like this springing up in Galatia. Would he live long enough to see his nation born?

  In this state, the woodsy wildflowers took on new life, glowing with dew. Trees became effervescent, outlined with shimmering threads of silver. Out of habit, he tried to dodge objects in his path, but it wasn’t necessary. When he passed through the trunk of a tree, he was momentarily lost in its corky center, unable to see the world around him, but a blink later he was back in open air again. The space between the trees became clogged with glowing white vegetation like lacy doilies. Oceans of brambles and thorns that would discourage armies became baskets weaved from reeds and twigs of light formed by angelic artisans. Josie and Lars passed through them without a scratch.

  Their speed increased, their height soared, his heart—or whatever it was inside of his chest—quickened. Josie veered off of the path and into a grove of sugar maples. The further away from his body he went, the more he felt compelled to return to it. Like a homing signal, the increasing distance nagged at his spirit to return, but his vision hadn’t dimmed one iota, so for now he would ignore it. The taste of emancipation wa
s too alluring.

  “Close your eyes,” he said as they ran faster, never tiring, or slowing. Feeling like a young stag, Lars encouraged Josie, “And leap like a deer as high as you can!”

  She did and suddenly they were both falling. Opening his eyes, he saw they were ten feet out from the side of a rugged cliff. A great lake glimmered below them. Josie let out a scream of panicked exhilaration as they plunged toward the water.

  “Think that you can fly!” he said. “And so it shall be!”

  They softly floated earthward like two rose petals in the wind and by the divine look on her face, the way her head tilted back, her back arched, and her arms uplifted and slightly opened, he knew that she had completely surrendered to the pure joy of flying.

  “This is wonderful, Lars!” she gasped. “The world has never looked so beautiful. I have never felt so free. I’m Tinkerbell in Never Never Land,” she said, blowing pretend dust from her palm. “And you’re Peter Pan.”

  The angle of their descent shifted toward a small island at the center of the lake. They landed hand-in-hand on a carpet of white moonflowers radiating soft blue light.

  “Isn’t it magical?” Josie said, scrunching her shoulders in delight.

  “Yes...” he whispered, reaching up to brush a strand of black hair from her eyes. He pressed her back to the ground, leaned over on one knee, and touched his lips to hers. Sparks sizzled between them, making his body buzz with excitement. After he pulled away, her arms went around his neck, and she pulled him closer, kissing him back. Could the night get any sweeter?

  He rolled onto his side, beside her. She placed her cheek on his chest as he stroked her hair. Together, they stared at the sky. If he had to choose a moment to live in for all eternity, Lars decided it would be this one.

  Neither of them spoke, simply basking in one another’s company.

  After several minutes, Josie yawned and said, “It’s strange how the stars are beginning to dim.”