Bits & Pieces

[Jens]

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE BRIG DAGGERSHARK
YEARS UPON YEARS AGO​

---

“ Do you think she knows? “

It was barely audible against the wind and the waves, the flap of their garments and clatter of windchimes. They were of driftwood here at the pier, once painted to reflect the colours belongst to whichever harbour around the island, that a sailor might find his berth coming back from sea, but those brilliant hues had since faded. Everything here was weatherbeaten and bleached by the sun, from timbers to the broadcloth at their backs. Their very faces, twisted to squint against the clear day as they watched the pair of children play.

Him and Old Verna had been happy to find out that the two should’ve gotten along, her grandson and the daughter of a friend. The boy, Elias, had always been a little rough and lacked manners, but Mirka had not appeared to mind, always ready to fight. They were sat some paces away on the broad planks, building a little house from twigs and bulrushes. Talking to each other as builder and house owner, who, by the sound of it, were having a disagreement on the price and quality of craftsmanship.

Bad call, insulting a carpenter.

“ Did you? “ Asked Verna, stood alongside where Jens had settled down. She had a knack for making him feel like a fool, which she well had ever since they’d become neighbours all those years ago. She’d been born here just as him, but had never taken to the ships for her bread. Unlike himself and his mother, the little he remembered of her before she’d gone and disappeared along with the ship she’d scraped a livelihood together on.

Just as the girl’s remaining parent had, now. It’d been a year since she’d been left with Jens, a favour in his part to someone who, despite his best efforts, had failed to find work ashore. The brig Daggershark had never made it to port at Altalusia, nor had anyone spied as much as a trace of her since six months ago.

A storm, a beast, pirates, rogue shroudfire. Who could say what it was this time.

“ No. “ He admitted, grinning for how silly the question sounded on hindsight. He’d not had the slightest premonition and he’d been twice her age back then, facing the fact he’d lost someone. Just like that, forever. It was so many years ago now that he couldn’t remember what it felt like, what he’d thought immediately after.

“ People rarely do. And trust — a child that age asks questions more often than not, whenever they should cross her mind. “
“ You’ve got that correct. “
“ How’s it been, for you? “ Verna asked, not bothering with a preamble. Straight to the point.
“ What part? “ When he glanced at her then, the deadpan expression about her dark face made him smile. Equal parts amusement as it was that he’d not want her to think he minded her asking.

“ Any part, Jens. “
“ They are very different parts, is all. “
“ That they are. “ She huffed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“ You should sit down, old woman. “
“ I well should not. You’ll know when you’re my age. “

Stifling some clever retort about the life-expectancy of sailors, he merely hummed and let his attention drift back to the child. That head of unruly dark curls, like her father’s, and a mouthful of sharp white teeth that were in full display as she argued, indignant. So much spirit, just like Toivo. That man had always gotten into debates with people, having an inclination for it that didn’t even require a sturdy drink beforehand. Principled and witty, one Jens hadn’t minded owing his life and then some to, which was bound to happen betwixt amicable seafarers on any which ship.

We don’t owe each other anything when we’re friends, Jens. We do things for one another because we want to, because it’s right for the heart. He sure hoped Toivo had known that is why he’d obliged to look after Mirka, not because of some— having to. Guilt or other. His own petty honour.

He must have appeared as if in pain then, staring at passing air, as Verna shifted on heel, arms folded into the square of grey wool about her shoulders.

“ Do you need help? “
“ With what? “ He asked, sounding more forlorn than he’d meant.
“ Anything. “ Verna exhaled, weary. He let out a breath too, sharp through the nose, considering the offer and what it implied. She was too old to be subtle, so he had to figure she was trying to make him say it, to name the struggle. The hardest part.

Being bound to shore due to injury, to recover, had been one of them. The pain that he still suffered, where both great teeth and shroudfire had grazed him, was comparable, if not constant. The times he’d squirmed in his sheets, unable to sleep and sometimes crying, were many, but actively less frequent. He couldn’t but to thank the Great Pike in the sky that Mirka’s stars would’ve afforded her the coveted talents of a heavy sleeper. It’s like the kid just switched off, practically dead when she hit the sack.

“ How do you tell a child such a— horrible thing. “
“ Are you asking for her sake, or your own? “
“ Both. I don’t remember the words that a stranger used, giving me the news. “
“ You aren’t a stranger to her. “

A hiss, too much like a laugh, blew betwixt his bared teeth. Verna rose a brow, watching the side of his face. His voice lowered evermore as he leaned closer to her.

“ I’m not her father either. Her kin. “ The weight on the last word seemed to draw something like ire, or frustration, from the old woman that now bent at his ear in turn. When she responded it was hushed, but all the more steady, a tone she may have given one of her sons when she scolded them.

“ Provided that she now might well lack both, she has many akin. Yourself included. “ An index, speckled and thick at the joints for how old it’s bearer, poked him in the shoulder. Sharp as a spearpoint.

There wasn’t arguing that, no matter how short it fell from actually convincing him he was the man for the job. But who else was there.

“ Use the words you would use. “
“ I’ve been coming up with none for a whole month, Verna. It’s like I— “ He paused, hand twisting in the air about his temple like he was turning a cog. “ If I entertain it out loud it’ll be the missing part that makes it real. “ Like I’m executing him — before his child.
“ You need not announce anything that we don't know — Am sure even you have hope yet, despite—
“ Despite how unlikely it is? That they should’ve all — ship, cargo and a crew of twenty, just— “ Gone missing. He caught himself before that, realizing Mirka's curious stare should've fallen to their direction. He had to tell himself she’d not heard anything, or caught his tone that’d grown impatient, just happened to glance over like she often did. Undeterred, Verna held firm.

“ Yes. People have returned, even after decades. “

That too, just as the fact that many more didn’t, was true.

“ Then— “ He shrugged, mustering a smile at the child that finally, if expressionlessly, turned back to the game of ongoing labour disputes. “ Let it be so. “

By the merciful Gods, let it be so.

 

[Aarno]

THEY MINE SPECTROLITE IN THESE HILLS
YEARS UPON YEARS AGO​

---

There was someone in his house.

It stood a squat shape amidst the tall pines and cold rockfaces, edges of the roof smoothed out by a thick layer of snow. Nothing but a gradient of grey ahead, save for a sliver of firelight glowing past closed shutters. Smoke, rising from the chimney, swimming with stray embers.

He slowed down his pace on the snow covered path, mindful of every hidden root and rock which made it a nightmare to traverse this time of year. Every spring the melting waters exposed more, flowing down from the mountains and washing off another layer of gravel. Making little sinkholes in the sand and the dirt. Not many came up here.

Whoever had now, their tracks had long since been swept away, nothing but pristine dunes all the way to his front door. Hours ago? The warding wreath yet remained suspended off the large nail in the door, a circle of dry straw and evergreen branches twisted together. Tucked into it were flight feathers from a goose and a swan, the latter’s hollow stem with a dose of mercury for protection. Dusted with frozen crystals. They gave a crisp shiver as he pushed into the warm indoors, lent daring by the mason’s hammer he’d slipped out of his toolbelt.

“ Finally. Some retirement, this— Do you have any idea what time it is? “

Kaisa. Her voice stilled him before the sight of her did. She’d assumed residence on the single cushioned seat he owned, her figure twisting as she hooked one elbow over the backrest.

“ Well, aren’t you a positively threatening sight. “

Leather huffed as he looped the hammer wearily, handle down.

“ I could say the same of you. “ He retorted, turning his back as he made to unbuckle the toolbelt off his waist.
“ I cannot wonder why — I was born the very image of lounging serenity. “

To whomever knew naught about her. He’d been that way, once. The toolbet gave a clatter as he hanged it up on one of the knobs on the wall. His cloak was next.

“ Quite the locale — contrast. Smells like a swamp. “ The seat creaked as she shifted, tossing a blasé glance around.
“ That’s the moss, betwixt the logs. Insulation. And the uh— “ He snapped his fingers together, eyes pressed closed. “ Suopursu. “
“ Marsh labrador. Brewing poison? “
“ You need some? “
“ I might. “

They’d fallen to a deadpan tone, granting each other nothing. If she’d come requiring something, she appeared in no rush to ask for it.

“ Why have you come? “ He said tiredly, throwing himself to a seat on the bench by the door. She let the question rest then, gaze averting as she reeled back a host of initial answers. Implied past affection or some other banal deflection he would get to dismiss outright.

Is it against the law to wonder about one’s beloved ex-husband? A pang of impatience made him pull off his shoes with excess vigour. Both of them had time to hit the floor in a pointed tap before she spoke again.

” There’ll be an accident. ” She started, fingers dazzling with rings as she fiddled with the drape of her dress, where the hem wrinkled at a folded knee.

” This some actual knowledge you have or mere wanton prophecy? Miska read the bones for you— ”
” That is an art — ”
” Sure. And a right artist he is. ” He interrupted, pushing the shoes beneath the bench with his heel.
” You’re ugly when you’re jealous. ”
” I’m not jealous. ”
” No? You used to be. ”

With palms planted on knees, he rose and met her look. She’d adjusted on the seat, open scrutiny about her posture and narrowed eyes. Startlingly unchanged in her spirit and mannerisms, composed and with the general air of perpetual amusement no matter the joy or hurt.

” I used to be many things. ” He responded, belated but firm as he moved past her, for the kitchen nook at the other side of the cramped cabin.
” A competent magician amongst them, exhibit by— “ Her hand swung at the door. “ Iron and straw. “
“ You saw the horseshoe— “
“ Excessive, even for me. As such, disbelief as yours would be amusing if it wasn’t so absurd. ”
” I don’t dismiss the practice. Just the charlatans. ”
” Hmh. ”

Though he didn’t see it, there was a smile in that hum. It was jarring, how she for the first time in their entire acquaintance wouldn’t get dialectic, restraining that age old impulse to question his gut. She was a creature of evidence, not intuition. Nor flattery.

” Competent, huh. ”
” You insult yourself just as you do me. I don’t marry talentless fools. ”
” And that worked so well for you. ”
” It has worked great for me. ” She cocked her head, angling it so that the shadows fell upon her face in that appealing way they did in portraits, white wimple about her head turned luminous by the firelight. A nacreous shimmer in her grey skin, the few inches of it she’d allow strangers see. Her features had grown sharper in the years they’d been apart.

He had to wonder what it was she saw in turn, appraising so openly what hovered by one of the tall cupboards in this dingy little house. Something older, definitely. His hair was longer, too, unkempt from the dry winter air and wind. Rustic, she may have said, in a way that left one unsure how she’d meant it.

“ What sort of accident? “ Idly, he brushed loose strands behind his ears and reached into the cupboard, glazed earthenware clinking.
“ You get into arguments. “ She started, head turning like she meant to imagine it in the fire.
“ Rarely by accident. “
“ Granted. Another quality, admirable for a scapegoat. “
“ This a scheme? “ With two cups and a pitcher in hand, he closed the cupboard with his elbow. His tone must’ve betrayed his curiousity, as she roused to attention, smiling true.
“ Not mine. “

In his return, he bowed his head to avoid the bouquets of herbs and dried blooms that hanged suspended off the rafters. Like a curtain, separating two spaces within the single room he lived in. The third lay at the opposite end of the cabin directly behind his guest, marked by a four panel screen that’d hide a narrow bed, a chest of clothes and a small copper tub. That bit of luxury he’d dragged all the way out here, to these barren, rocky hills. Kaisa may have laughed about it, had she not done sillier things in her life for the sake of luxury. Extended greater effort for much smaller things.

Every bit counts, when you need it the most.

“ Shoes off my cushions, girl. “ He ordered, tapping her knee with one of the cups.
“ I’ve six years on you, boy. “ She protested, taking it from his hand. “ And don’t you forget it. “ Otherwise she moved not a muscle, hovering the cup in the air. Pour.

The pitcher tilted and she cut the flow of wine off at the halfway point in a nod. A woman of the finer arts and then some, she investigated the flavour expressionlessly. He watched this less than a step away, filling his own cup from the pitcher. Only when he took a swig himself did she relent, unfolding her legs to let them dangle past the armrest. As she settled, trying to reclaim comfort, the brass of her chatelaine chimed like it often had when she’d marched through the halls of their shared home at Crown’s Hold. Had she held onto those rooms, since?

She’d always liked space. Perhaps even more now, when he wasn’t there to haunt it.

“ Thank you. “ He said, leaving her immediate vicinity in a tap on her shod foot. She gave a mock toast.
“ Don’t ever say I don’t do anything for you. “
“ I wasn’t planning to start. “

He spoke past his shoulder, hooking the leg of a stool with his foot and pulling it out from where he’d stowed it away next to a pile of firewood. He set it down three paces from her — a generous distance, for past years’ sake.

“ Who’ll frame me? “ He asked, taking a seat.
“ You’ve much faith in yourself, assuming that’ll be what dooms you. If you were angry before, these woods will make you more so. “
“ So far they’ve had the opposite effect, I find. “
“ A man weary of injustice finds enlightenment by forfeiting all power that’d allowed him the ability to change things. Interesting. “

Perhaps that was what he’d done. Had one a narrow, biased view of change.

“ You’ll grow tired in these woods too. Their squabbles. Your personality and queer ways grant you the mantle of prime suspect. “
“ For what? “
“ I don’t know. But it will happen. “

He bobbed his head. A magician was granted their secrets, no matter how infuriating.

“ When? “
“ Does it matter? “
“ No. Will someone die? “
“ Maybe. “ It sounded sincere enough. “ You might. “
“ Unless— “ He shrugged, face twisting with an impression of cluelessness. She shrugged too, a bit of victory in it.
“ Unless. “

They indulged on the wine, unhurried. A smile imposed itself on his face, for the toil of a long day, the ungodly ache in his bum leg, the sheer absurdity of how his night was going. He almost laughed.

“ You’d have me flee. “
“ If that’s what you want to call it, yes. “
“ Where? With you? “ His look met hers, frame straightening like with challenge. She bared fangs, coy, head keeling.
“ Would that help you decide? “

He allowed himself appear puzzled, to amuse her. There wasn’t telling whether it worked.

“ No. “ His figure inclined forward, elbows against knees. “ I like it here. “
“ I can’t imagine why— “ She scoffed into the cup, voice muted. “ Cold, isolated, uneventful— “
“ Not enough so, what with you being here. “
“ So this— “ She paused to swallow the mouthful, index indicating their surrounding circumstances. “ Is because of me? “

It was in daring, that he might just go ahead and insult her in attempt to make her leave. He’d never found that a reliable method for anything with her — not as much as a hard truth was.

“ No. It’s because of my work, I enjoy it. “ A little something flipped in his gut, like the thrill of a lie or a fact rarely admitted and finally spoken out loud. It wasn't unpleasant, just odd.
“ You had other work. Important work. “ She snapped. “ It still baffles me how callously you threw it all away. “
“ It didn’t amount to anything— “
“ And you sitting it out in these woods does? If you truly felt as impotent as you claimed, you could’ve done something about it. Not left to waste away out here— "
“ You dared me to divorce you— “
“ Do not put your own lack of ambition and tenacity on me. “ Her bracelets gave an aggressive chime as she pointed at him, then herself, baring teeth. “ Your spark is gone because you allowed it. “
“ It’s not. Just— Used differently. “ His look dipped away from her, considering the mirror in the wine.
“ In service of what? Carting around heavy rectangles for some barn— “
“ Or a house. “ He smiled innocently, more for the fact he knew she wouldn’t understand, than actual amusement. “ Things live within stacks of those rectangles. And I get to help. “
“ Ugh. “ She rubbed at her forehead, fingertips nudging the edge where fabric met skin. It itched now that she’d made comfortable in this warm room, as did her bundled up hair within the folds and the pins and the cap, but she wasn’t about to relent and take it all off. Let her hair out, remove a barrier and a mystery. Did she still wear her dark curls the same way, parted on one side and chopped to chin length?

“ Age doesn’t suit you. “ Her tone was different, with that rumble of disappointment.
“ Time is a hammer. “ He shrugged. “ But if what you say is correct, perhaps I need not suffer it for long. “
“ Poor jest. If you mean to enrage me, there are easier ways. “
“ I doubt that. “

A silence lingered for a second, then another. Third, as she stared at the front door with an air of defeat. What she had failed to do, eluded him.

“ Will you stay? “ He asked, neutrally. As one did offering a favour for which he had no preference whether it be accepted or not. She wouldn’t turn to inspect his expression, but nod. Once.

“ Yes, until morn. I imagine you’ll walk me down to the village, after breakfast. “ Her head inclined as she drained the rest of her wine. Yet cradling his, he wouldn’t dispute her.
“ It is only fair that I should. “

And after that, stay himself would as well, undeterred. She didn’t show up again and despite having threatened her with writing, he couldn’t do even that much. For days, weeks and months. Years, eventually.

For a whole three of them, nothing happened.

 

[Oliver]

JUMALAN VIHAN RUOSKA
A GENEROUS TWO DECADES AGO
​

---

The rye in the fields was high, golden, a summer’s late afternoon air so hot it was heavy to breathe, scents of dust, resin and dry grass mingling with a fourth, indescribable thing. He’d called it the smell of sunlight, but that had earned him a mere scoff from his companion as they lay on the warm rocks, staring at the sky and the tall pines. The spot was some ways away from the village, a little uphill and with a great view to the fields that’d stretch on and on until dense forest cut them off in the horizon. The cloud of dust they’d kicked up on their way down the dirt road yet lingered, that fine powder stuck on every inch from his dark hair to the tips of his leather shoes. He half felt like kicking them off, positively boiling even in his fair summer clothes.

He’d made a point to complain about it, as he did every year, but for one reason or other Kaarle hadn’t much told him to shut his gob about it already. Nay, he’d in fact extended great effort to appear wholly unbothered for days, persistent even now as Oliver keeled his head to watch his profile. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the way his face screwed up in the bright sun, lending him the perpetual expression of someone who’d just caught a whiff of shit in the breeze. Perhaps he had — it was the country.

The silence was rather loud, considering Kaarle, much like himself, was rather fond of all manner of remarks and debates. It’d allowed them become friends in the first place, growing up as neighbours.

“ What you thinking about? “
“ Nothing. “ Kaarle retorted, not even bothering to look at him. Mistake.
“ I don’t believe you. “ He retaliated, mock punching him in the shoulder. Kaarle recoiled in a loud ej jumalauta för fan, grasping at his arm and charging a haphazard kick at his shin. It didn’t land — his friend was too fast in meeting it with one of his own.

“ You curse too much. “ Oliver remarked, struggling to keep laughter from his voice. This usually managed to just kindle on Kaarle’s fury, but today was different. Frowning, he merely pushed Oliver away by the chest, so wearily it didn’t even leave a mark on his white shirt.
“ You talk too much. “

Suppose he did. Lips pursing, he rose to a seat and slouched against his elbows, figure deflating as breath left him. A faint patter reached from next to him as Kaarle picked the bark off a twig with his fingertips, skinning it one tiny sliver at a time. He kept flicking them against the woodland breeze, with exceeding vigour until a more forceful gust blasted all of them in his face. Oliver stifled a snort as he spluttered, starting up to his feet from where he'd lain alongside.

“ Shut up! “
“ I didn’t say anything! “ He protested, though he wasn’t half as successful in it as he may have been had he not grinned. Kaarle waved him off, throwing the twig into the brush in a flourish. Like he was pitching.

Oliver considered the sight of him as Kaarle settled to stand, staring to middle distance with his hands on his hips, back turned. He’d always been a slighter sort of boy, faster where he wasn’t stronger, but not enough so that one could've have called the two of them polar opposites. Oliver was just, more square and taller by a margin that grew wider. By how their difference in age didn’t exceed a year and six months, the tale about his short friend soon catching up was wearing thin. It was a strange resentment, those complaints, as one couldn’t be but what they were.

And there was nothing wrong in what he saw. Never had been. Under that judgement, Kaarle shifted as if to glance at him and he looked away, afraid to be caught staring. He had to suppose it’d gone unnoticed when his friend spoke. It was a low sound, formed with some difficulty.

“ Sorry. “
“ It’s alright. “ Oliver responded in a shrug, smiling innocently. For a fast whistling by moment it seemed that’d be all they’d say for the rest of the day, just standing and sitting there, terribly still with their thoughts. Until Kaarle relented in a huff.

“ I need to leave. “
“ Yeah, it is kind of hot in here, isn’t it—“ Oliver made to get up, but stopped at the look on his companion’s face. It boded ill.
“ I mean the village. Out of here. “ He tossed a hand, indicating — well, everything. A perfectly fine view and then some. It took Oliver several seconds to realize his heart had sank and his expression quickly followed. He frowned.

“ You don’t mean that. Where will you go? “ He splayed his hands, truly asking. There’s cowshit, fields and farmer’s abodes as far as the eye can see. With the occasional brigand or other in them thickets and bends in the road. What will a peasant’s son—

“ Those highwaymen. Them that pretty close burned the village down— “
“ Yeah. What of it? “ Oliver interrupted, suddenly impatient. He’d lost two siblings and his uncle in that raid. Kaarle had lost more. And everyone lost someone by the time winter came, the plundered granaries imposing the sort of death that a sword could only dream of.

“ Some knights took care of them. I’m thinking—“
“ You’ll never be a knight, Kaarle. Even if you could, you’re— what, eight years too late? Those boys start training at— “
“ Not that kind of knight — thems that sits in their stupid castles. Arseholes. “ There was so much venom on the last word Oliver was surprised the boy didn’t just hiss like a viper too. He drew a breath, tempering his own tone.

“ Hedge knights are a story. “
“ These aren’t. And I’m going to find them. “

He hated how much it sounded like a promise. Suddenly forlorn, he clasped his hands together and stared at them, uncertain what to say. Suppose there was but one thing.

“ Then I’ll wish you luck? “ He tried, looking up. Kaarle’s amber stare met his eyes openly, but it wasn’t a challenge. An invitation.
“ You could come with me. “
“ Eh— “ He breathed out his initial reaction, all surprise and dread. “ I don’t— “
“ Don’t you want revenge? “ Kaarle snapped, turning on heel to face him proper. The sun was high behind him but he was yet close enough to eclipse it, a halo in his curls and pointy horns as he cast an aggressive shadow. His expression was worse, a mix of disbelief and something like hurt.

“ Revenge against whom, Kaarle? You just said those brigands are dead— “
“ There’ll always be more of them. Fuck, we’ll fuck the knights and the lords too, I’ve heard— “
“ You’d just leave everyone? “ He blurted, on instinct. The question was one he’d have to ask himself more than anyone else, the reality of it writ on Kaarle’s face. It didn’t so much lose spirit as grew harder and he felt so terribly stupid staring up at what his carelessness had wrought.

“ I don’t have anyone. “ And the way it was spoken made it true. Almost.
“ You’ve me. “ Oliver suggested, sounding small. Suppose it was kind of a mumble, lest he hope too much. His friend didn’t take two seconds to consider it, which felt disproportionate against how profound it’d felt to say out loud. It meant so much and so little.

“ That’s why I said I’d like you to come with me. “

It was almost the same statement. Yet there was that little difference that he suspected would force his hand. He’s asking—

“ I’ve family here. My youngest sister is two — My parents, they— “
“ You could protect them. The whole village. “ Kaarle implored, glancing at the woods about them. Somewhere out there were the bounds of this little community, one so far from everything and everyone, often forgotten. Unless taxes and tithes and forming a militia were concerned. Servants, the lot of them.

“ I want to do that. Maybe someone can show me how. “ The more sincerely Kaarle spoke, the more he turned away, casting his look further into distance as his ability to meet eyes diminished. Like he harboured some horrible fear that people might witness he cared deeply about something. Oliver bobbed his head, despite the fact his friend couldn’t see it.

“ How will we do that when we’re not here? “ He asked the obvious. Kaarle shrugged in turn, scuffing up some of the crispy moss beneath with the sole of his shoe.

“ I don’t know. But a precious fuck all of a difference has it made thus far, when we have been here. “

It was true enough that whom lived by the plow more often than not fell before who’d do so by the sword, if ever did the two meet in unamiable circumstances. And yet he’d seen a mere carpenter take down a knight, unhorsing him and then bludgeoning the man to death with nothing but his tools. He felt that Kaarle would not hear such a story, unreceptive to anything but a yes to his plan.

“ I’ll think about it. “ He managed finally, trying to be diplomatic. It was enough for a whole thirty seconds, before Kaarle broke the illusion of quiet acceptance.
“ You’d rather just stay here forever? “

And he dared look him in the eye. They’d both somehow shriveled beneath the implications of it all, one for his sentimentality and the other for his disappointment. It was sinking in, visceral, and his heart hurt. He hoped Kaarle’s might too, even if he’d rather leap off these cliffs than speak of it.

“ Just— stare at the rye, build some house, marry Silja and— “
“ Now, hold up— “ Oliver interrupted, straightening with indignation. “ Whenever have I said I should want to marry anyone at all? Let alone— “
“ I don’t know! “ Kaarle shouted, arms flailing. “ You smile at her. And talk and disappear to the woods with her and she— “ As his friend launched to the entire extent of his logic, Oliver couldn’t but lay down on the rock, bury his face in his palms and groan.

How storybook that would’ve been, now. Perfect.

“ She likes you too, I think. “ Kaarle finished, like he meant to convince his supine friend of a horrible crime he’d committed.
“ You think she likes me? “ He roused, hazarding a flattered smile despite the crestfallen air about his company. There was no denying the evidence — they had spent plenty of time together, him and her. Silja was a savvy sort, crafty and preoccupied with much the same things he was, like the smell of sunlight, best practices for hiding an all manner of things in the woods from both lord and thief or just plain conflict when expected norm met feeling. She was easy to talk to, share secrets with. One of them he’d shared with no one else, but her.

“ I’m not marrying anyone. “ Was all he managed as assurance, worn down by Kaarle’s defeated frown.
“ If you say so. “ The tinge of anger in the otherwise detached response didn’t improve matters. Kaarle liked to pretend he didn’t care and it was just as infuriating every time.
“ I just did. “

It was hard for Oliver to keep bitterness from his tone. He’d never asked any of these things in turn, no matter the amount of times he’d caught his alleged best friend chatting up whichever girl. Who was he to impose his own jealousy in such a way, selfishly bind another to what was an oath in all but name. Were they so fragile together that the moment one of them — and gods forbid that be himself — found someone to settle down with, they’d just submit to abandoning one another. What sort of friendship was that?

Suddenly, he found himself rising from the ground, dry lichen crunching and billowing as he patted it off his shirt, arse and knees. He felt Kaarle sneak a glance at him, but he’d not give him the satisfaction of doing the same. Two can play this game.

“ I’m going home. “ He announced, moving past and down the cliffside, hopping from ledge to ledge.
“ Yeah. “ Came a response from behind him, utterly blasé, and that was all he’d get. Same old, from His Highness.

He picked his way through brush, stone and branch with not so much rage as just hellbent determination, no matter how much the evergreens caught in his clothes or how many a times the drought-ravaged moss gave way beneath his step, making him slip. He didn’t even draw a proper breath before he was back on the road, wherein he ground to a halt in a huff more belongst to bulls than adolescent boys. Standing on the soft wheeltrack, he dared glance up at their vantage point. Their spot.

Kaarle had disappeared, too proud to stay by his lonesome where he could yet be seen. There were other routes down the cliffs, but none were as easily or safely traversed as the one himself had just descended. They were longer too — more than couple minute’s worth.

Kaarle being Kaarle, he could yet beat him to the village despite it. Oliver wasn’t going to let that happen.

“ Idiot. “

In a growl, he begun at a sprint up the road towards home, running until he no longer could.

 

[Aarno]

A BOWL OF TREATS AND A DANCE
TWENTY YEARS AGO
​

---

A perfect excuse for a lavish party, his minor accomplishment. They’d even brought out the better tapestries.

The woven pictures of someone else’s great deeds swayed softly in the breeze come blowing from open windows, the darkness of a late eve absolute beyond their tall frames. He lingered in the way of the draft, taking refuge in it and the vicinity of the cool plaster about the walls, for despite it being merely the latter half of spring, the night had descended hot as that of summer. The air swirled lazily in ribbons, thick and fragrant as bathwater. Ceremonial smoke swam in it from myriad censers about the estate, all of them differently shaped earthenware. Their painted forms made centerpieces for the decorated banquet tables and chandeliers, breathing out a gauze that’d mingle with the bodies of the guests.

And what proper guests they were, too. Everyone had left him perfectly alone, with and without congratulations, free to make his way through the crowd that’d split to those who spectated and those who’d occupy the open expanse of the mosaic floor in a dance.

Standing by himself, he felt caught in a liminal space betwixt the two. What the heart wanted, his body wouldn’t give, cemented to place like by some anxiety. Indecision or societal fatigue, a sort of tiredness with the banality of the entire occasion. The opportunity was there to forge a bright beginning, to make connections for a future he still wasn’t sure he wanted.

But what else was—

There. Beneath the music, was a faint crunching. Like that of rats nibbling on their bounty or a horse inhaling corn by the mouthful, growing louder the better he noticed it. Periodically, the insufferable bacchanalia was accompanied by the sheer chime of something being fished out of a glazed bowl with bejeweled fingers. He rotated lightly on heel as a statue moved by mechanism might, twin embers happening upon the source of the noise. Sat on a chaise longue that’d been set to hug the wall by an outrageous installment of palm leaves, peonies and feathers, was a young woman. Her hair wasn’t pinned nor was she veiled, a billow of dark curls cropped to the chin covering most of her profile. A long sharp nose stuck out, as did the mouth that remained busy through another handful of roasted almonds and candied fruit.

Pretending to pay attention to the musicians and couples dancing beneath the sparkle of the chandeliers, he approached her on the sly. Or perhaps she just pretended in turn that she couldn’t see him, not even as he stopped at the end of the chaise where her leg was lazily dangling off. The foot was twitching to the music, a bit of bright red stocking visible at the ankle where the dark hem of her dress and neck of a pointed leather shoe failed to meet. How festive.

“ You’ve taken the entire bowl — The kitchen staff has been in a twist over it. “ He remarked, glancing down at it. The girl didn’t bother turning her head enough that she might see him past her curls.

“ Better me than the flies. It was just sitting there, as everyone’s too damn prim and proper to actually partake on the banquet tables. Bloody shame. “ She scoffed, biting into a glazed raspberry.
“ Suppose it is. “ He tried in the affirmative, correcting the set of his shoulders in an absent fidget, hands brought together at the front.
“ You suppose? For such a young person you are saddeningly unworried about the callous waste of perfectly fine food. “

She was looking at him now, directly in the eyes, appraising the face that’d ripple yet with a boyish uncertainty. He cleared his throat and looked away, like something should’ve caught his attention in the crowd. She was so uninteresting, surely.

“ I didn’t choose to throw this party. “ He said after too many seconds, defensive.
“ But it is your house. “
“ It is my father’s house, actually. “
“ Hmh. “ Her gaze narrowed, index beringed with gold trying the lips that’d pressed to a thoughtful line. “ What happened to your mother? “
“ How saddeningly unworried are you to pose such a callous question to a complete stranger. “ He snapped, shoulder length hair and fashionable halfcape whipping aggressively as he rotated on heel to face her proper. The smile she exhibit was positively infuriating.

“ Different strangers, all of us. You don’t have to answer it. “ She responded cheerfully, gathering up her legs to a neat fold. One hand smoothed down the hem of her dress as another held out the bowl at him. “ A treat, young man? “
“ Aren’t you a little young yourself to call me that. “
“ Relatively, no. "

From her, his look dipped to the bowl as he seriously considered throwing the offer back in her face. And yet it hovered there, disarming, her hand urging him along in a little shake that sent the contents ricocheting. She even tilted her head, damn her eyes.

A breath left him heavy, deflating the chest and thenon his bristled exterior as he fell to a seat beside her.

“ So you do know who I am. “ He remarked, letting himself pick something from the bowl. This seemed to satisfy his company, the beam of it clear on her face. Unashamed.
“ Not really. Apart from your being Master Latva’s son, freshly out of an apprenticeship. “ She answered, watching closely as he inspected the glazed strawberry.
“ That’s more than I’ve on you. “ Glancing at her sidelong, he placed the entire thing in his mouth. She appeared to revel in the fact, smiling wider.

“ Are you a loose woman? “ He blurted out amidst chewing, so sincere it shattered her composure. A witch’s cackle left her, head tossing in a way so overtly wanton it made him blush.
“ Why — You approach me in hope of a little something something, boy? What with it being your big day. “ She countered, picking a caramel almond betwixt middle and thumb. His face had fallen with embarrassment, attention scanning the people about them for prying stares. Had she looked, perhaps she would’ve spotted some, but such disapproval was worth less than nothing to her — her posture told him as much, shoulders open and chin high.

“ People give you a wide breadth. “ He responded, lower, eyes rowing over the sight of her. She sneaked the almond betwixt her teeth, fangs bared.
“ Plenty reason for that. Prejudice is one. “
“ It doesn’t bother you? “
“ Why should it bother me. We are not friends, them and I — leaves me well enough alone to my lounging. Awfully comfortable, rich people’s chairs. “
“ You frequent parties as this — of wealth you don’t know? “
“ Quite. I’m something of a popular avec. I mainly come for the food. “ Her jaw worked, fingers bent beneath her gaze as she considered her neat little nails idly. “ No offense. “
“ None taken. Who’d you come with, miss— ? “
“ You don’t know me — you wouldn’t know her either. “
“ Only one way to fix that. “

At that, she straightened her spine and ran a hand through her hair, as if to make herself more presentable. From there, the hand was offered to him in a caricature of a formal gesture.

“ Kaisa. “
“ Aarno. “ He gave introduction in turn, taking the hand so readily given. Carelessly. He felt through the skin of her palm, extending into fiber and sinew — how heavy the gold about the fingers, how warm it was within the layers of her dress, how deep an inhale that’d expand against the seams. The tiniest pain at the right shoulder, comfortable shoes. A little flicker of the brow, a rush of the blood. Thrill.

“ So, that’s your talent. “ She spoke in an aloof tone and a smile, leaning closer as the touch lingered. It’d do so only because she allowed it, the truth of it in the very marrow he rifled through. She freed her other hand, the bowl landing in the sliver of space betwixt in a soft plink. “ No master I know teaches that, though. “
“ No. “
“ A skill wasted on a witch. You should’ve become a physician. “ A deep inhale staid in her lungs as she reached out her hand. The tips of her fingers tried metal, lifting the weight where it’d rested against his chest. The thin chain of his magician’s pendant shifted like a slumbering snake about his neck, the faintest little huff on the green brocade of his collar.

“ Wasn’t my prerogative. “
“ You’ve all within your prerogative, boy. Hate being useful? “ A brow quirked as she glanced from pendant to him.
“ Hate to be a disappointment. “

For a couple seconds, she said nothing, a deeper concentration in the stillness about her. Like she’d let herself go, stepped away from her body that remained on the chaise, moored to the bauble. People had a similar look about them when they’d allowed a tale or inspiration to truly capture them. The eyes saw everything and nothing at once.

“ You’ve inherited this. “
“ Yes. “
“ It has a long memory. Extended periods of darkness and dust. Why? “
“ You can’t read that? Perhaps you should’ve become a faire quack. “
“ Someone died. “ She parried, so convincingly he almost believed it a real deduction. He shook his head.
“ You’re guessing. “

She laughed, letting go of the pendant in a little flourish. He could feel the amusement in the spontaneity of the gesture, the joyful theatrics that backhanded hurt whenever it threatened to bloom. All that wanton cheer left his reach in an instant as she withdrew her hand from his.

“ Usually works. It’s very common. “ She settled her elbow on the armrest, leaning against it so fully she almost slouched.
“ Conjecture. You’d be satisfied with that? “ Straightening from where they’d held another, he sat back against the wall. Too ramrod to appear half as relaxed as she.
“ People at the faire certainly are. “ She remarked playfully, parting her lips to sneak in a candied cherry. The sugar crunched like the thinnest glass as she chewed it up, the sound of it quickly drowned out by an applause. It was the ending of a dance, people congratulating each other and the musicians that seamlessly proceeded to another tune. This one begun slower, but threatened to pick up pace. He wouldn’t move, nailed to just watching the meander of bodies. Listening and feeling as Kaisa shifted alongside.

“ You don’t dance? “ Her tone was lower, one of feigned dissatisfaction.
“ I do. Well, too. “ He admitted, brushing a loose lock of his silver hair behind a pointed ear. Kaisa hummed, brows arched.
“ Now your being cloistered out here with me makes even less sense. There a lack of partners? “
“ Perhaps I’m merely reserving the attention of a prospective one for when the proper tune begins. “ He indicated the rest of the room lazily, fingers hazarding a blind search in the chaiseborne bowl that was growing empty.
“ You don’t mean me, surely. “ She sniffed, chin inclining proudly. “ What with me being a loose woman. What will your esteemed friends think. “
“ Though they might even figure me awfully daring for it, that’s not my main concern. It’s, um— “ He keeled his head, as if to whisper in her direction. Frowning with exaggerated, if annoyed curiousity, she adjusted her curls behind one long ear. To listen.
“ You are very short. It’ll make me appear much taller in comparison. “

She buoyed her head, an affirming mmh resonating in her mouth. Their hands collided as she reached hers for the last almond spinning about in the bowl, but only he flinched. To her, this seemed supremely amusing, like she’d just been awarded some honour she couldn’t wait to detest.

“ A warlock’s impression — how cunning. Surely I’d be loathe to refuse your wishes now. “

He shrugged at that, blasé seriousness about him cracking to a self-assured smile. Resisting the instinct to mirror the expression, Kaisa rolled her eyes and unfolded from her comfortable seat. In an instant, she’d swung herself to standing, one hand on her hip completing the petulant posture. The other, she extended at him.

“ It’s your party. “