“Everything you know is about nothing, we just pretend that it’s something, yet it’s that pretending that gives us hope at actually knowing,” Mika said and smiling, she skipped ahead to the fox.
“She used to read a lot,” Nir explained. “If she wasn’t exploring the woods and beaches near our home, her nose was stuck in a book. Sometimes, between all the talking, she shows it.”
Clementine smiled.
An hour before sunset, they stopped in a clearing near a stream. Off in the distance they saw great storm clouds moving away, flashes of deep violet glimmered as red bolts of lightning streaked across the sky. No one said it, yet they all felt uneasy about what lay ahead.
While the fox, the gecko and the hound searched for a good place to make camp for the night, Clementine, travel weary and sweaty, walked along the stream, and, just out of sight of the clearing, undressed and washed up in private. Afterwards, she knelt and splashed gray water onto her face. It felt cool. She stood up to see Rickerty sitting, legs crossed, on a tree branch nearby.
“Welcome, my dear,” he said, blooming with color. “It’s been a while.”
Chapter Twelve
A Visit from a Trickster
Ejsmonth’s Pigeon House and Supplies stood at the crossroads of Long Road and Expiration Way for close to seven hundred years. It began as a tavern, built from scratch by the young and ambitious, Dorsal Ejsmonth. His wife, the golden haired, Sava, nicknamed the Anvil, wore the pants in the relationship, yet always encouraged her husband to strive for more and he always did. First, he built a grand dinner hall, decorated with the finest oak, where his customers could eat and talk. Then he built a trio of small shingled homes, five rooms each, with posh interiors that screamed ‘Welcome, you’ve arrived at someplace special,’ where passersbys could rest their weary bones. Soon after, he added a stable unlike any other in the land, forty stalls strong with stained glass windows reviling those of the grandest cathedrals. The Anvil, as Dorsal named it, stood open and packed at all hours of the day. Located on the border between the kingdoms of Vivéret and Old Mundialis, long before the Other came, the Ejsmonth’s grew in wealth and prestige.
The Anvil ran her namesake with such an attention to detail that word of its delicious food and great comforts spread throughout all the Dreams of Orbheim. Kings from all corners wished to stay the night, and many of them did. Legend had it that even one of the six Windcallers spent a night there. Dorsal kept on improving the tavern, adding regal drapes, beautiful crystal chandeliers and building beds so comfortable that sleeping but one night in them cured all ailments.
The Ejsmonth’s hired a staff of seven when their firstborn, Lara, the brown-eyed angel, was born. When her parents reached a ripe old age at which rest and sleep are in great demand, Lara took to running The Anvil. Her two siblings, Balian and Forby, helped, but their hearts belonged to adventure and they soon moved on to fulfilling their own dreams. After Dorsal and Sava passed away, Lara maintained the tavern’s prestige with the aid of her husband, Jaho, known as the Bear, with his great size and carpet full of chest hair. He built a great pool for The Anvil, which the nearby hot springs heated. Soon after, a small nameless town sprung up around the tavern.
During the next two hundred years, The Anvil passed from one ancestor of Dorsal and Sava to another, until its ownership fell into the hands of the clever Swan, the Hairless. Unfortunately, Swan took over at an uncertain time in the land’s history. A war broke out between four of the nearby kingdoms and The Anvil became a strategic stronghold. At first the Northern kingdom held it, then the Southern one, soon the West had dominion over it, but in the end, when the fighting ceased, the knights of the East were the ones who ate in its hall and slept in its beds. By the time the occupying forces departed, only the original tavern building, built from scratch by Dorsal Ejsmonth, remained.
With his family business in ruin and his wealth pillaged by the just knights from all four corners of the land, Swan turned The Anvil into a supply store. Changing its name to Ejsmonth’s Supplies, Swan sold basic goods and groceries to those men and women who still remained in the unnamed crossroads town. With peace in the land, the people returned and Ejsmonth’s Supplies expanded its services: from a small bank, to a post office to a feed store for the local farmers. In time, Ejsmonth’s Supplies became Ejsmonth’s Pigeon House and Deliveries, focusing on pigeon post and parcel delivery throughout the land. Under the management of Sassy Sue, Swan’s great-great-great granddaughter, the pigeon house flourished. Then the Other arrived in Mundialis.
The memory of the horrors that followed can only be found in the passages of old texts locked in the vaults of Vivéret’s capital. The short of it is that the unnamed crossroads town became a silhouette of its past, even the tavern building, for a few years, did not house an Ejsmonth in its innards. That changed when strange creatures began to emerge from Mundialis.
Florian the Third, Vivéret’s king at the time, posted a dozen knights at the tavern, among whom was Teddy Ejsmonth, the owner of the defunct Ejsmonth’s Pigeon House and Deliveries. Time passed, the Other was believed to have fallen into a deep slumber and Gillian the First, son of Florian the Third, recalled the knights from the tavern. Asking the king to stay, Teddy remained. He cleaned up the tavern building, turning it into a supply depot for Vivéret’s army. Seasons sailed on and the tavern building became Ejsmonth’s Pigeon House and Supplies. Never married, Teddy, now an old man, continues to run it.
Dodging trees, zipping between them with utmost precision, the white canary flew as if possessed. A wound beamed from its brow, silvery liquid dripping from the gash. Its feathers were ruffled and stained with black grime. Upon diving out of the woods, it took a sharp right and flew along Expiration Way. An echo of hooves resounded in the distance followed by a shrill sound. The canary flew faster, covering a hundred yards in a couple of seconds.
“There,” it thought when a large wooden cabin came into view. “The Pigeon House.” Without slowing down the canary flew in through the open door, landing softly on a neatly stacked pile of bags labeled Flour.
“Hello, is anyone here?” the canary said, panting. “Hello!”
“Yes,” a soft voice said from behind a large counter at the far end of the room where ten large cages sat, each one housing a homing pigeon.
The canary quickly rose and landed on the counter where, sitting in a large rocking chair, was a small old man with bushy eyebrows. “Postmaster,” it began. “I need you to send a message to the Prince and King Consort of Vivéret.”
“Well I’ll be,” the old man said. “Teddy Ejsmonth, you must be going senile, seeing talking birds.”
“Old man this is not a joke,” the canary said. “Send the message, ‘An evil beyond even the Other has escaped Mundialis. War is coming if you do not act. Send troops in the thousands, contact an Almighty right away.’ Are you listening?”
“I get it,” Teddy began, a big smile spreading across his face. “You’re some sort of magician.”
“There is no time old man,” the canary said. “The message! Send it! I’ve no strength left to fly.”
“You ain’t no joker, are ya?” Teddy asked, his face turning grave.
“Quickly,” the canary said sternly. “Before they arrive.”
Teddy swallowed, pulled out a piece of parchment from under the counter and began writing. A shrill sound slithered into the room from the outside. The canary turned toward the door. “Send your fastest pigeon, old man,” it said, beat its wings and flew outside, where it came upon four equestrians and, perched atop a tree, a large black feathered creature with large sunken crimson eyes, a büho.
“There you are little bird,” said one of the riders.
“Leave here now and I’ll spare you,” the canary said. The riders burst out in laughter.
“We’ve chased you for a better part of two days now,” a rider said. “We ain’t giving up; especially not after Lord Ecilám gave you quite a bruising up by that lake yesterday.”<
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The büho screeched.
“I’m not one to fight…”
The riders pulled out their swords.
“…but sometimes force is thrust upon us. Sometimes, we must act in violence for a good cause,” the canary said. The riders charged. The canary gave off a sweet tune and spun horizontally in midair. The büho screeched and rose upwards. Four feathers detached off the canary and while flying through midair, they transformed into blades. In a finger snap, four bodies lay on the dirt road.
The büho dove. The canary dodged. The büho landed with a loud thud, kicking dirt up in the air. Tilting sideways, the canary sang a soft tune that struck the büho on the chest, making it stumble back. Angered, the creature swiped at the bird with its talons. The canary dodged once more before being backhanded by the monster. After crashing into the ground, the canary quickly recovered but the owlish beast was upon it. The creature swiped at the bird as it ran along the ground. Dirt and dust flew up.
Taking advantage of the cloud of debris, the canary ran under the büho’s legs, flew up and gave off a great tweet while simultaneously flapping its wings at a humming bird’s pace. A great sword composed of a thousand metal feathers materialized out of thin air. Before the büho could turn, the canary gave off a weak squeak and the sword pierced the monster. The owl beast gave off a shriek before falling to its knees and melting away into a bubbling pile of sludge.
The sword fizzled away and exhausted, the bird fell to the ground.
As the canary took in deep breaths, it heard a lone applause and looked up. Ecilám, beaming, sauntered toward it. “That was impressive,” he said. “Ancient magic: powerful, beautiful.”
“I know what you are now,” the canary said. “I feel it.”
A pigeon flew out of Ejsmonth’s Pigeon House and Supplies, turned east and vanished into the horizon. Ecilám eyed it. “That’s a message to the Prince and King Consort of Vivéret,” the canary said. “They will stop this, ending whatever it is that you’re planning. Snuffing out your evil while it’s still in the crib.”
Another pigeon flew out of Ejsmonth’s Pigeon House and Supplies.
“Mortal men cannot halt our plan,” Ecilám said. “For fortunately, they are mortal, while we are not.”
“We?”
Another pigeon flew out of Ejsmonth’s Pigeon House and Supplies.
“I thought you knew who we were?” Ecilám said.
“I… I…”
Another pigeon flew out of Ejsmonth’s Pigeon House and Supplies, then another, and another and another, until six pigeons flew out total.
“You’ve sent out quite a many messages,” Ecilám said. “Let’s hope they all reach whomever it is that they are meant for.”
Suddenly, Ejsmonth’s Pigeon House and Supplies burst into inferno. The canary turned to watch in horror as serpentine black flames licked at the roof and consumed the walls and windows, seven hundred years of family dedication up in smoke.
“An evil beyond even the Other has escaped Mundialis,” a serpentine voice boomed from the burning cabin. “War is coming if you do not act. Send troops in the thousands, contact an Almighty right away.”
Out from the doorway emerged a strange boy in torn clothes, a soft kaleidoscopic light permeating from him. With hands soaked in blood, he held a limp pigeon in one hand and a piece of parchment in the other.
“Welcome, my dear,” the boy said. His eyes filled with TV static. “It’s been a while.”
“You have color,” Clementine said. “How?”
“I am a wizard,” Rickerty said.
Clementine observed him curiously. Accentuating his ashen features, the colors of his vibrant tailcoat, numerous pieces of jewelry and puffy shirt gave off a soft glow. Noticing her curiosity at his radiance, he smiled and the blue sunray-shaped tattoos below his eyes moved as if in a breeze; an outpouring of color bloomed behind him and acting like a massive halo it outlined his shape, illuminating Clementine.
“It’s an odd thing,” he said, his fingers running along the strings of his harp.
“What is?”
“That you began your journey chasing after a canary only to end up in Mundialis accompanying a fox, a hound and a lizard on a much grander adventure.”
“How is that odd?” Clementine said. “We’re helping one another. What’s curious is that you know who my travel companions are. Have you been following us?”
“Perhaps it is you who is following me,” the wizard said. “And perhaps what you call helping is in fact using. Perhaps no one is helping anyone beside themselves. Or… perhaps I’m speaking nonsense.”
“You are,” said Clementine frankly. The wizard smiled.
“You are a bit on edge,” Rickerty said. “I assume it’s because of the strange things that have been happening since you’ve come here, you know, the scorpion and the centipede.”
“You have been following us,” Clementine said. “Was that turquoise thing you?”
“Turquoise thing?” the wizard asked, his eyes narrowing.
“If that wasn’t you… No one believes me that its real.”
“Reality is not what it used to be,” Rickerty said.
Clementine examined his face. She tried to organize her thoughts. For as few words that they exchanged between one another, too many topics were touched upon for her to make sense of it all. “Forget it,” she said.
“Forget it?” Rickerty said. “There lies a curse upon you or your companion, the fox, and you tell me to forget it?”
“Why do you care so much?”
“I care for all that concerns me,” he said.
“And how do I concern you?’ she asked.
“All who stumble through my life—be it for a lifetime or a minute—concern me. Take us meeting for example, first before that dead tree and now here, as you journey in a company of beasts—
“They’re not beasts,” Clementine said.
“I’ve come to give you advice, Clementine of Vulpes Hill,” Rickerty said sternly. “I don’t need your distrustful angst. If you want me gone, so be it.”
“No,” Clementine said. “I’m sorry. I’m tired and… too much has happened in the past few days.”
“That is has,” Rickerty said.
“You were saying?”
Rickerty hopped off the tree branch and, as he spoke, he circled Clementine: “The shadow beasts that attacked you, the scorpion and the centipede, are the manifestation of ill emotions: anger, doubt, sadness etc. When enough of those emotions are present, they take on physical shape in the form of these specters. The curse attached itself, much like a leech, to either you or your furry friend. Unfortunately, it’s a sort of magic too powerful for me to undue. I’ve no experience with ancient sorcery such as this.”
“So how do I stop it?” Clementine asked.
“You must find someone to ward off the curse.”
Clementine knew the answer to her question but asked it anyway, “And that is?”
“The Soundsmith,” Rickerty said.
“Mr. Fox mentioned that a curse might have gotten in when I crossed into Mundialis,” Clementine said.
“Which brings up another question,” the wizard said, jumping back onto the nearest tree branch. “Why are you here?”
For a moment, Clementine contemplated lying to Rickerty and she was unsure why, but a better part of her thought otherwise. “I have to see the Other,” she finally said. Rickerty’s eyes widened; his face grew tense and serious. His bony fingers began to play with the harp’s blade.
“I think it has something to do with the disappearance of my parents,” she continued.
“You journey toward an abyss within an abyss,” Rickerty said. “A shapeless terror lies ahead of you in the depths of the Valley of the Other. This attachment you have to your parents will lead you to your doom. Remember that some things are better left lying lone in the dark, unknown. Often, it’s better to stay at a distance from your wants. Less suffering you shall experience that way.
Detach yourself from answers if you wish to feel winds of joy.”
“Detachment is well and good in small doses,” she said. “But not when it concerns those we love.”
“Valiant words for a lonely person,” he said. “Tell me what do you think you shall find in the deep crevasse of the Valley of the Other?”
“My parents,” she said without hesitation. “My dad’s study was littered with books and notes about the Other, hundreds of pages about Mundialis, the long arm, all of this. I think they came here. I think they’re still here, somewhere, and I need to know where. I need them,” her voice cracked. “I need them. I… It’s a horrid thing to lose your parents and not know why. I miss sitting and talking about boring everyday things with them. I want to do boring things with interesting people. With my parents.”
“One needs to be suspicious of his own loneliness so that it does not drag him down to someplace else, some place worse,” Rickerty said.
“There are things worse than loneliness?” she asked.
“There is hate,” the wizard said. “A lonely soul rots away into self-pity and like warm milk left unattended in the sun it grows dense; it spoils, becomes bitter and with time, deadly to all who drink it.”
A feeling of discomfort ran down her spine.
The turquoise thing watched them from afar. Confused by what it saw, its pupils narrowed, its four tails danced behind it while its large candle-flame ears moved ever so slightly to eavesdrop on the voice and the noise.
“You must be careful, Clementine,” Rickerty said. “Does it not concern you who your new companions are? Who they once were?”
“I haven’t really thought about it,” she said.
“Is it not curious that they share their thoughts so freely with you,” Rickerty said. “Was it not Marcus Aurelius who write in book eleven that calculated honesty is a stiletto? There is nothing more degrading than a friendship of wolves, Clementine. Avoid that above all. The good, honest, kindly man has it in his eyes and you cannot mistaken him for anything else than what he really is.”
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