Reunions
The Drunken Goose stables were tucked beneath the inn itself, dug into the very ground like a dungeon. They were lit by the same magical, emerald glow as the sign out in the crossroads, and filled with the smell of fresh hay and the sound of quiet, satisfied snorts and whickers. Fox worked quicker than ever to get the horses and ponies settled into their stalls, but still took a moment to appreciate the sheer vastness of the stables. Not only did it have clean and comfortable stalls enough to house their entire wagon team, but it had a series of massively large, curiously designed stalls where they could park the wagons. It seemed the Drunken Goose was used to accommodating all sorts of beasts, and for a moment Fox’s imagination ran wild trying to picture the sorts of animals that might be housed in these gigantic, strange rooms.
But as soon as his chores were finished, Fox sped past Darby without saying goodnight, and rushed upstairs. He picked his way around the edge of a crowded mess hall, and through two separate common rooms, one on the ground floor and one just above it. Finally, he found the stairs that led up to the rooms that the Shavid had rented and, thankfully, found his own room empty. The Players who would be sharing it with him all seemed to be downstairs, enjoying drink and song after a long day on the road.
As soon as Fox slid the door bolt into place behind him, Farran emerged from the shadows.
“Kept out of trouble, I see,” said Farran.
“Wish I could say the same for you,” said Fox. He felt around on the wall for a moment until he found a small hand crank. As he turned it, the room filled with a warm glow. And while the light wasn’t the same emerald green as the sign or the stables, there was a similar quality that made Fox certain that these rooms were also lit by magic. The glow came from a series of intricate rivulets and veins that ran across the top of the wall, and all the way through the ceiling. The light seemed almost liquid in its subtle, shifting quality, but it did not drip or run. Fox spared it one more curious glance, then returned his attention to the solid shadow that was Farran, the Pirate God, Lord of the Seas.
The last time they had spoken, Fox’s words were filled with anger and hatred. They had been traveling down the Merchant’s Highway, and passed through a town called Florint. There, the small company they’d gathered stopped and enjoyed the thriving nightmarket. But tragedy struck the group, and Fox’s dear friend Topper died while saving Fox’s life. And Farran had been unable to save the boy. Fox had shouted at the god, and demanded that he leave. Farran protested, saying that their fates were linked, he could not depart from Fox’s side and leave him be. But Fox would not speak to him again.
The god had appeared from time to time after that, in a flickering, ghostly form that was never quite there. He had watched over Fox, despite the young man’s disinterest, and when the moment came, he had saved not only Fox’s life, but the lives of an entire caravan. After that, he had vanished entirely. And Fox felt that something terrible must have happened to him, to cause him to be finally driven away so completely.
Now, Farran was back, but not in the mirage-like form he had taken before. Though he was all shadow, he was solidly and presently there. Fox looked him up and down, and finally said, “Your look finally matches your soul, then?”
That got a chuckle out of Farran, and Fox smirked himself. “Knew I liked you, little one,” said Farran.
“Tell me honest, though,” said Fox, “what happened? With the Underbeast ... and now? How did you find a way back? And like this?”
Farran sighed and sank into a heavily cushioned chair by the window, propping his feet up on an ottoman. “It’s not quite one thing that brought me back, but rather a lucky combination of separate things. A perfect roll of the dice, if you will.”
“Tell me?”
“If I had to wager a guess,” started Farran thoughtfully, “I would think it began with your lovely friend ... my little girl. She ... prayed to me. On Midsummer.”
“Lai?” said Fox, incredulous. “She’s never — she doesn’t celebrate Midsummer like the rest of the valley. Never has, as long as I’ve known her.”
“She does now,” said Farran with a shrug. “And something about it ... woke me. I was able to gather myself up, start pulling the pieces back together, as it were. And then there’s you, and those lovely costumes.”
Fox thought back to the moment before Farran had appeared, and the decorative pirate’s coat he’d been holding onto.
“That piece has heard many a story of me,” said Farran. “The very soul of the coat has been saturated with plays, dramas, songs about The Pirate God. And you, with my memories deep inside your head and heart ...”
“The perfect roll of the dice,” finished Fox.
“Perfect,” echoed Farran.
For the moment, Fox simply let his multitude of questions fall away. Where Farran had been, what he meant by “pulling the pieces back together ... ” None of it seemed so important just now. He let the silence hang between them for several moments, before finally settling on just one question: “Are you like this forever, then?”
Farran shook his head with a chortle. “I’ll be back to my usual handsome self before long, never you mind. Until then, I shall stay out of view. Keep to the shadows. I wouldn’t want your companions asking strange questions. But once I’m ... more recovered ... ” And here, Farran truly hesitated. A hint of nervousness had crept into his voice, the kind that Fox had never heard from the god before. “Once I’m presentable,” Farran went on, “would it ... might it be possible, for me to return to your side?”
Fox opened his mouth to wholeheartedly support Farran’s company once more, baffled that the god thought he needed permission. But then, he stopped. For a moment, all the anger came rushing back. The confusion, and frustration associated with Farran’s very presence in Fox’s life. Why had he asked at all, in fact? Hadn’t Farran once made it very clear that Fox owed him? Hadn’t he refused to leave, until the Underbeast had torn him away?
But looking at his old companion, Fox smiled ever so slightly, and nodded. The Pirate God was a part of his life, complicated or not. And Fox found he was relieved, and excited, to have Farran with him once more.
And with that, the two settled into relaxed conversation. Farran wanted to know everything that had happened to Fox since they parted ways, down to the most mundane detail. As Fox spun tale after tale, there were moments when parts of Farran seemed to be recovering some of their color. Hints of red in his cheeks and vest, a sparkle of richest, earth brown in his boots. But these instances passed quickly, leaving Farran’s figure painted in inky black once more.
Farran excused himself long before the rest of the Shavid returned to their rooms. Fox didn’t ask where he was going, nor when he would reappear, and Farran didn’t offer. By the time the company began trickling upstairs, ready to turn in, Fox had already chosen the bed closest to the window, and sprawled across the bottom bunk, nose buried in a book.
“Missed a hell of a welcome party,” said James, leading the pack and stripping off his outer layer before he’d even finished entering the room. He dropped his vest and belt where he stood, then launched himself onto the bunk above Fox’s, his legs dangling lazily over the edge. “There are women in this city so beautiful, they would make even Donlan think twice about a happy marriage!”
As Donlan and Mary passed by the open door, Donlan snorted and bent his wife back in an extravagant dip, kissing her fiercely before he pulled her upright again. “City women don’t bend like that,” he said, and with a definitive nod, he sauntered away, wife on his arm.
The men in Fox’s room set up a great howling of appreciation, and even James applauded, laughing. As Merrick and Neil took the bunk beside Fox’s, Merrick began to sing in a lilting, mocking voice.
Mary, Mary, his lovely dilly-dairy
With hair so long that it’s gotten rather scary!
There’s none so fine and there’s none so sweet
That you give her just one kiss
&nbs
p; And she’ll sweep you off your feet!
The rest of his song disappeared into the chaos as the Shavid began to settle themselves in for the night. They’d rented out four rooms, tucked into a wide corner of the inn just by the back stairs. Larger rooms for the single men and women, and a smaller room each for the two married couples. Company members milled about in the hall, crossing between rooms as they unpacked and prepared for sleep. The air was filled with heavy footsteps and shouts, and the occasional bag or piece of clothing tossed from one person to another. Slowly, conversation began to die out. The lights were dimmed, doors to the hallway were closed, and windows thrown open to tempt a late-night breeze.
Outside, the city streets were beginning to still. Fox closed his book and tucked it beneath his pillow. As the room fell quiet, Fox’s mind began to drift. It was good to see Farran again. Fox had missed the advice, and the companionship. But something about the god’s odd new form struck Fox as disconcertingly familiar.
It wasn’t until the room was full of snores and heavy breathing that Fox realized: it reminded him of Topper’s death. The boy had bled ink. Thick, black ink. Farran said it was because Topper had owed Fox his soul. Something about them was linked, in a deeply magical way that Fox didn’t want to understand. And now, Farran’s whole body seemed to be made of the same substance.
It was a thought that lingered until Fox fell into a strange, dream-filled sleep. A question, floating on the waves of Fox’s mind. Did Farran Arthelliad, God of all Pirates, owe Fox his soul?
∞∞∞
“Chores first,” said Darby once Fox had joined him for breakfast the next morning. “Then the day is yours, to do with as you like.”
“You’re the lucky one then,” said Merrick through an overflowing mouthful of fruit. “Radda’s got us players rehearsing a new show all day. We won’t get a moment’s peace. Wish I could go see the city with you ...”
“Is that so, Merrick?” asked Neil, sliding into place beside him. “You know we’re going to a library don’t you? Can you even read?”
Merrick’s mouth was too full to answer, though he glared at the older boy with a ferocity that was offset comically by his food-puffed cheeks. Darby chuckled. “You’ll get your chance, Mer,” said the dwarf. His tone was light, but he glanced sidelong at Fox when Neil said “library.”
Fox shrugged. “It’s a big city anyway, I’m sure we won’t see it all in one day.”
“You won’t see it at all if you don’t get those goats milked and groomed,” said Darby, standing and stretching. “And you’ll need to find a good farrier while you’re out. Belle has thrown a shoe.” With that, he toasted all of them with his tankard, swiped an orange from Merrick’s plate, and left.
Neil helped Fox with his morning work, eager to get out into Calibas.
“You know you can go on your own,” said Fox as Neil frantically shoveled fresh hay into stall after stall.
“It’s alright,” Neil insisted. “The library isn’t going anywhere.”
But the moment they had finished, Neil’s child-like excitement took over, and he dragged Fox out into the city streets. Each time Fox tried to stop and investigate twisted alleyways and eye-catching storefronts, Neil hurried him along, always following the directions the innkeeper had given them to the university.
Fox had never seen so many proper shops dedicated to such a wide variety of goods and services. There were familiar enough sights: bakeries and pastry shops and butchers’. But then there were entire stores dedicated to dishware, with everything from the simplest, hearty stone plates to fine, tiny forks that Fox couldn’t imagine anyone having use for. There were countless apothecaries that all seemed to specialize in different potions, ointments, and oils. There was a large, opulent building that Neil called a “bathhouse,” and when Fox asked about it, Neil said he was sure the older men would drag them there later. And, not far past that, there was a building just as gilded, with a sign out front dubbing it “The Crimson Parlour.” And while Fox had never seen a bordello before, he had heard enough stories to be sure of its nature, and averted his eyes from the finely-dressed woman waving at him from the balcony.
There were too many clothing boutiques to count. There were booksellers and jewelers, and a shop that sold pens and ink that made Fox press his nose to the window. But he was never able to stop for long, with Neil herding him like a goat. Still, Fox’s head turned so quickly his eyes almost couldn’t keep up.
Footsteps of all gaits and paces beat their paths around him, from the flagstone main street to the wood-and-brick crossways and bridges that climbed overhead. And somewhere he thought might be down in the lower levels of the city, Fox could hear a small river flowing. He had never heard a city quite like this one, and the knowledge that the Known World was filled with even more such wonders made him practically as giddy as Neil.
And then, countless turns later, they made their way up a flight of perfectly level stone steps. The city opened up around them like a book, with the stone spilling out into a wide, open courtyard. The main hall of the university towered above them across the way, all fine masonry and soaring archways. A look of reverent amazement settled onto Neil’s face, and even Fox felt his very breath stolen for a moment.
There was no building in all of their travels, save the homes of lords and kings, that compared to this. It, like the rest of the city, seemed to be made of stacked units and intertwined bridges, only these had slightly more space in between them. It was like the city had simply grown that way, and this university was its finest flower. Every stone was smooth and polished, every glass window perfectly cut. And everywhere Fox looked, he found new things he was eager to explore.
His senses were bombarded with a thousand smells and feelings as the wind scattered to and fro, bringing him new sensations like a puppy fetching sticks. He could smell the sharp, biting tang of sweat mixed with armor from a group of militia trainees, sparring across the courtyard. He could hear their wooden staves thudding against each other, and the twang of bowstrings. He could almost feel the brush of feathered fletching passing across his cheek.
Smoke from the mess hall tasted thickly of venison, and a dozen unfamiliar spices. He could smell fresh earth being turned up under the boots of hurried students. He felt the shaky, uncertain nerves of those who were unprepared for their lessons, alongside the calm, measured steps of professors and instructors.
And there was something else. A strange, crackling hum that seemed to touch every sensation. It vibrated through the very stones of the university itself, and crept through the woodwork of the stables and the barracks. It snaked through the earth like thick, twisting roots, and lay on the grass like unseen morning dew.
“Magic,” Fox whispered in awe.
“What?” said Neil.
“It’s magic,” said Fox. “It’s everywhere. This whole place ... can’t you feel it?”
Neil stood quietly for a moment, eyes closed. When he opened them, an eager spark had flared to life behind them. “There is something here, you’re right. Something raw, and powerful.” And then, he smiled, with a fierce hunger. “There are powers here I have never felt before. Powers very worth investigating.” With that, Neil pressed on, a giddy skip in his step. He didn’t notice that Fox lagged behind, rooted to the spot.
The magic held him, wrapping around his limbs like invisible vines, twisting him up in their embrace. Neil couldn’t have felt all of it, Fox was sure. Nobody could. If they had, they wouldn’t be walking and talking so effortlessly. The longer he stood, the more it weighed on him. He felt as though the magic was seeking him out now, aware of his presence. Neil was disappearing into the distance, intent on finally reaching the library. Fox tried to call out, but he opened his mouth and found it full of magic. He choked, and then began to cough. As he tried to catch his breath, he found he couldn’t. The magic wrapped so tightly around him now that he could not even fill his lungs.
As a true panic began to take hold of him, something else la
y a careful weight on his shoulder. A hand. Cold flooded through Fox’s very body, and the smell of saltwater. The magic seemed to scurry away from him, leaving him free again, just in time to catch Farran as he collapsed onto one knee. Fox dropped to the god’s side.
“What was that?” asked Fox between deep, panting breaths.
Farran didn’t answer right away. He had wrapped himself in a dark, heavy cloak and gloves, and Fox saw that the hood of the cloak fastened around Farran’s mouth and nose, so that all you could see were his eyes. The pirate god was breathing heavily, but finally managed to say in a pained moan, “I won’t be able to do that again.” He reached out for Fox to help him to his feet, and Fox obliged.
“What was that?” Fox asked again.
“That was Calibas,” said Farran. “All the magic in the city hunting you down. Most of it is concentrated here, at the university. People studying ancient arts and trying to come up with new ones. Magic runs a little rampant at times, but it usually lets people alone.”
“Then why is it after me?”
“Because you’re something new,” said Farran. “You reached out, and it reached back.” He adjusted his hood, so that his ink-black skin was completely hidden within its shadow. “I managed to send it off once, but it took everything I’d recovered. We’d best find you a better defense from now on.”
“I shouldn’t just avoid the university altogether?” said Fox.
“Won’t do you any good,” said Farran, gesturing for him to follow. As they began to follow Neil’s path, Farran explained, “The magic is aware of you now. For the moment, I’ve warded you against it, but the charm will wear off. It will keep coming, seeking you out. No matter where you are in the city. It doesn’t mean you any harm, as such, but its curiosity might prove ... inconvenient.”
“No kidding,” said Fox dully.
“We’ll figure out something,” said Farran airily. “Can’t have you dropping dead after I’ve gone to all this trouble to come visit.”
Inkspice (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 2) Page 6