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 Posted: Mon Jul 30, 2012 8:30 pm
in which patrek and aufidius join ways.
((Pre-choosing))
The regular bustle of the tavern had receded to a vague nuisance. When Patrek Falconer had first walked through its doors seeking several weeks' shelter, his pounding headache, coupled with a raging fever from newly-treated wounds, had turned the chatter into a dull roar inside his head and he had almost passed out for the second time in two hours.
Now, weeks later, his fever had disappeared and his head ache had eased, granting him some measure of tolerance for the mindless thrum of people and the late night. Though his wounds were only half healed and he still leaned heavily on the cane his doctor had fashioned for him out of a sturdy branch apparently filched from the ground of the Wardwood, Patrek could see no further use in remaining in Oldcastle. He and his garrison had been bound for Palisade when they had been ambushed and raided, and now, though delayed, Patrek needed to see his duty done.
What he needed was a way home.
Across the tavern, he with unblinking eyes as a young man, dark-haired and bright-eyed, drained his cup and set it triumphantly on the table with a dull thud. The youth tossed his head back in uproarious laughter when his companion spoke, and his hand came up to clap the other man's back heartily. Patrek did not miss the proceeding lingering line that the youth drew down to the companion's lower back, light as a feather.
He had been watching this boy for over an hour now, ever since he had seen the young man arrive on a horse, a healthy-looking horse with a fine head and deep chest and clean, strong legs: a military horse, Patrek decided. He had watched as the young man stepped into the tavern, bold as you please with his curious-looking stringed instrument, and proceeded to churn the crowd to a fine frenzy with lewd lyrics and untasteful songs of young maids and their beds. And he had continued to watch when the man finally put down his instrument and strode across the tavern to sit and drink and flirt with the stranger who eventually went to join him.
There were many things that Patrek might have deduced from this mere hour of watching. It took a certain will to keep from judging, but there were certain things he required, and this boy happened to be in possession of some of those things. Unsavory as he might find the company, Patrek had resigned himself to the knowledge that he would have to make the acquaintance of that young man soon enough.
As luck would have it, that moment came with little prodding on Patrek's part as the young man finally set down his cups and navigated the tavern to find him, only running into three tables along the way. Considering how much the boy had had to drink, even Patrek had to concede that it was something of an impressive feat. The tavern floor was an orderless snarl of chairs and tables and legs that had irked Patrek from the start.
"So, what d'ye want?" Patrek started at the sound of the boy's voice, suddenly so close. It sounded different, somehow, now that he wasn't singing, smoother, though perhaps that was because he was no longer shouting bawdy songs to and even bawdier crowd. "Don't think I 'aven't seen ye watchin' across this here tavern," the boy continued, taking a seat across from Patrek without waiting for an invitation. "Must want sommat, methinks, man like you."
For several moments, Patrek sat silently, scrutinizing the other's face and wondering what he could have meant by that. Must want something. Must he? Though it was true that he did, and he wanted something quite desperately.
Then images of the man sitting across from him flooded his mind, and he saw the boy's exaggerated laughter and generous touches, and he recoiled from the tousle-haired youth with a grimace. "If you're looking for... company, you're in the wrong place, lad," he managed to say without choking. "I'm not... not that way." Patrek nodded toward the companion the youth had left on the other side of the tavern.
But the boy only smiled an amused smile, as if he had heard something quite entertaining, and reached for Patrek's mug to take a long draught. A long silence passed between them. Patrek did his best not to squirm under the youth's electric stare. "Me neither," the youth said finally. "Unless you was mistaken, it was him come up to me first." When he spied the confusion scrawled across Patrek's face, the youth smiled again and said, "Don't be tellin' me ye don't enjoy being flattered once in a while."
Patrek did enjoy the occasional flattery, only when he felt he had earned it, but he didn't feel comfortable agreeing with the lad so he swept the matter aside with a brush of his hand in the air and moved on to more pressing concerns. "I saw that horse you came in on," he said, leaning across the table to watch the boy's reaction. "Good, strong horse that. Looked like a cavalry horse."
The lad eyed him just as carefully, leaning back in his chair with a small shrug. "Might be it is," he said. "Won 'im with a song, I did. Good fella, that."
Patrek scoffed. "Stole it, more like," he muttered under his breath. Judging by the lad's worn shirt and vest, he had little enough to barter for a horse, and his voice wasn't silk enough to win a lady's company for a night, much less a good horse. "Well, as your luck would have it, I'm prepared to take the horse off your hands. I'll pay you well enough."
The lad shook his head. "No can do, sah. He's not fer sale."
"I'll pay you handsomely," Patrek insisted, wishing now that he had picked an easier target to barter with. He had thought, foolishly, it seemed, that the lad would be hungry for the coin that the horse could bring, but the boy just sat and folded his arms and shook his head.
"I 'aven't got much need fer money," he said. "If I 'ad it, I'd lose it in a tick, see. Too many taverns on the road these days."
Patrek was losing his patience. "I am a captain of the Queen's army," he spluttered. A lie, of sorts, but with truth enough laced into it. He had been on his way back to Palisade to receive his promotion when the ambush had happened, and now or later, he was determined to get back to receive what he had earned. It was a promotion bought with sweat and blood, unlike most others bought with coin. "I must return to Palisade."
That seemed to catch the boy's attention. "Palisade, huh? I hear there's lots o' ways for a singer t'get rich in Palisade. An actor, too." Patrek wouldn't know, so he just shrugged. "How's this, you can have the horse." He held up a hand to stop Patrek's brightened face. "If you take me with ye."
"Take you with me?" Patrek did choke then. "But that's a outrage! I can't be seen traveling with the likes of a common brigand like you!"
The boy inclined his head. "Well, then, looks to me you can walk to Palisade." He stood. "Now if you'll excuse me, I oughter go visit with me horse. G'night, cap'n."
As terrible as the boy's first proposition sounded, the second sounded worse. Patrek winced, looking down at his leg and the wooden cane leaned against his chair. "s**t," he cursed, grabbing the cane and shoving his chair back so he could hobble after the young renegade.
"Wait," he said when he found the boy squatting in front of his horse's stall while the gelding snuffled at his hair. Its coat was a light chestnut that looked a buffed gold in the lamplight. A round star adorned its forehead and it had bright, gentle eyes that lit when its ears pricked toward Patrek's voice. "Wait, I'll take you to Palisade."
"That's good," the boy nodded, turning back to the horse. "Say hello. His name's Two-Step."
Patrek moved closer and gave the horse a hearty pat on the neck. "Why Two-Step?"
The boy laughed. "Because he dun go much faster'n that."
Patrek nodded. "And you?" He glanced over at the boy. "What's your name?"
"Aufidius," he answered. "Aufidius Marks."
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Posted: Tue Jul 31, 2012 9:23 am
-Several Weeks Later.
And Into the Darkness Venture
in which patrek's choosing occurs
Damn him. Damn him to hell, Patrek cursed mentally as he stared up at the thick blanket of trees looming before him. Those trees, he knew, stretched beyond than he could imagine and farther still, a boundless woods that stood dark and silent like a guardian of the east. There were things in lurking behind the folds of those trees, things that were best left undisturbed.
But Aufidius wouldn't listen. As with all things, he took Patrek's cautionary words with an insolent smile and an indulgent shake of his head. He'd even strummed a few notes on the shoddy, hand-crafted instrument he called a lute and said, "Spirits aren't real, cap'n. There's nothin' wants t'eat yer soul, and if there was, it'd have t'get past me first."
Patrek wasn't too convinced by the lanky youth's ability to fend of the Wardwood's spirit with a few strings and off-key tunes. Even a sword couldn't cut through spirits, much less a chunk of wood. All the while he worried, and all the while, Aufidius continued to wander into the Wardwood in search of fallen wood. He would drag that wood back in the evening slung behind Two-Step and sell it toe the tavern or the doctor or whoever need or wanted some of that wood. A little pocket money, Aufidius called it, but Patrek knew that the coins would barely warm in the boy's pocket before they were fished out again in exchange for a mug of wine or ale.
They had yet to leave Oldcastle, and the young singer had taken a room in the same tavern as Patrek after refusing to depart for Palisade. "Yer still hurt," he had pointed out that first night when Patrek had seemed impatient to leave. "Ye can't walk, never mind ride. We'll stay 'ere fer a bit, till you's all better."
Patrek hated how right Aufidius was. It pained him to know that there was nothing holding him back from his duty and his promotion except his injuries, and he was tired of being a burden to himself.
But he didn't hate that as much as he hated himself now, standing at the edge of the Wardwood, poised to dive into its depths for no reason whatsoever. He had been afraid from the start that the singer's frequent trips into the Wardwood would bring back some kind of... disease or affliction that would then pass to Patrek. It chilled him to think that he might have been right. "Going to find Aufidius," he promised himself. "Going to find that great oaf." The first time he had called Aufidius that, the singer had cocked his head, pondered the word for a moment, and made a song of it.
"Aufidius, that great big oaf,
Has little need of bread or loaf,
But give him wine and you will find
That great big oaf inside."
It was enough to make Patrek wonder how Aufidius found audiences that could stand him long enough to pay him. The fact that the boy had taken to humming the infectious tune did little to placate Patrek's irritation. "All his damned fault," he growled, thinking of all the things he could blame on Aufidius. The fact that they were still in Oldcastle, this trip... among many other things. Patrek had regretted his decision since the moment Aufidius had all but forced his way onto the trip back to Palisade - not that they had even begun that trip yet.
But before he could concern himself with that trip, he would have to make this one. With a grumble and another muttered curse, Patrek ducked into the shadows of the Wardwood.
...
Afterward, Patrek would say that the days had gone by in a blur and that the shadows of the Wardwood had swallowed him and plunged him into a fit of automated motions and mindless traveling. It was difficult for him to say what had happened exactly, and what he had seen or not seen, but several sights seemed to glow within his memory.
With his limp, it had taken almost two full days to reach the Ward Tree. There were trees before that, other trees, and huge stones that seemed to stare down at him from afar, eerie but less threatening than he might have expected. And somehow, through it all, his feet had moved, step for gimpy step, guided by some higher understanding of the wood and its roads. He didn't know where he was headed, but his feet did, and they brought him to the place he needed and wanted to be: the Ward Tree. And the runes had glowed at him, welcoming him to that distant and spiritual place.
Afterward, he had climbed. His hands and feet had pulled and pushed him along the thick and ancient trunk of the tree, moving, just moving as if they knew already where he was meant to go and which totem he was meant to have. He had found it on the end of a high, thick branch, all white and gray and glowing a bold and bright blue, past a cluster of similarly glowing totems. But that one had been different, that one had been right, and it felt right in his hand, as if it had always belonged there and Patrek remembered wondering, briefly, why he had taken so long to find it and bring it home.
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Posted: Mon Aug 06, 2012 8:02 am
title
in which patrek's totem becomes a fawn
Patrek's day had begun like most any other since he had regained consciousness in Oldcastle: he had broken his fast with hard bread and poorly scrambled eggs, visited Aufidius' chestnut gelding Two-Step in the stable, and headed out into the yard to work the stubborn stiffness out of his shoulders and leg. Most morning rang with the sound of Patrek's sword slicing across a makeshift wooden target, his cane lying abandoned in the grass. Though his leg was nowhere near nimble, it had healed enough to withstand weight for short periods of time - enough, at least, to make him feel less of a useless sod. If nothing else, his daily training sessions just reminded him of a time when such routines had been second nature.
Visiting Two-Step had been a recent addition to his mornings. Ever since Patrek had hobbled out of the Wardwood with a wooden totem clutched in his hand, he had recognized the need to exercise caution. He hadn't told Aufidius; no doubt the young singer would just shake his head and tell him again that spirits didn't exist, and Patrek was not prepared to suffer such insolence again. Spirits did exist, he knew it damned well, even if Aufidius didn't, and he knew, too, that something special would happen before long.
So he had taken to hiding the totem in Two-Step's stall, half shielded by the gelding's straw bedding where neither Aufidius nor the stable boys were like to discover it. Being away from the totem had grown increasingly difficult, and some nights, Patrek would start awake just to worry about the little wooden carving, but he knew it was for the best. Better something special happen out in the stable than inside the tavern, with so many eyes about.
After that, he had waited.
Whenever he was swinging his sword and hitting the wooden target over and over with as much force as he could muster, he could forget the things he didn't wish to remember. He could stop worrying about the totem and wondering how the spirits in the Wardwood might have changed him after that trip. Better yet, he could almost forget that there was a little piece of the Wardwood hidden in Two-Step's stall, and that something was bound to happen, one of these days.
When it did happen, the force of it knocked the sword from his hand and sent him reeling across the yard to collapse in the grass, wide-eyed and short of breath and panicking more than a little bit. He wasn't even sure what had happened, but in the span of a heartbeat, he had gone from being in one place to being in two. He could see things, so many things that looked familiar and different all at once, a series of images and understandings that came in rapid fire, both frantic and highly organized. He saw multiple images of everything, arranged in a sequence that seemed to move from point A to point B in comprehension. He saw strong, golden legs and flared nostrils and dark eyes studying him intently, and then... humans. Two-legged creatures staring and trying hard to understand, and the air filled with a tense sensation of panic.
BREATHE! Patrek's own consciousness came screaming back, and all of a sudden, he found himself staring at his hands and the grass mere inches from his face where he had doubled over in the yard. A breath of air flooded through him and he forced himself upright, standing on shaky legs that screamed for the support of his cane. Somehow, almost blindly, he found it and hauled himself erect, eyes darting left and right as he tried to orient himself toward the stables. It had happened. It had happened beyond a shadow of a doubt. He stumbled forward.
And then, he heard it. "Patrek- Cap'n- SIR!" Aufidius' voice was strained and shrill when it reached him, and Patrek was filled with the same sensation of panic as he had felt moments before. Then the singer came pelting out of the stable, hair in disarray and bright eyes wide with confusion and shock. "There's... there's a... a deer in Two-Step's stall!"
Patrek managed a nod. "I'll, I'm coming," he said, pushing back the faintness he felt swarming near his head. As much as he wished he could crawl into bed and wait for the chaos of melt away, he knew this was a moment he had to witness for himself. He shoved past Aufidius and into the stable, and sure enough, there it was, a little fawn the size of a foal, standing stock-still in the center of Two-Step's stall. Its legs were locked in place, its nose twitched rapidly, and its ears flicked to catch every rustle in the stable. When it saw Patrek, its nostrils flared and its eyes, burning bright and icy blue, came up to fix their gaze upon his. Ahhh... Patrek thought. This is him. This is the one. In his mind, a series of images flickered past, as sequenced and, oddly, analytic as the last. Agreement, he thought it might have been.
Then the fawn turned his icy gaze to Aufidius beside him, and the alien sentiment in Patrek's conscious shifted abruptly. A strange sort of indignance ran briefly through him, and then he saw the fawn look back. Ahh, Patrek thought again when their gazes connected. For a moment, it seemed as though it would remain a simple back and forth, but then the fawn finally unlocked its spindly legs and took two surprisingly confident steps to reach him. It stretched out its neck, nose flaring in Patrek's direction as it took stock of the soldier and his scent, somehow already familiar, and he reached to touch his nose to Patrek's hand. Light as a feather, the soldier's hand turned and caress the fawn's nose. The touch lasted a mere moment, and then the fawn snatched his nose back and sneezed into the straw, as if to say, "You'll do."
It retreated to the center of the stall and stood again, legs locked into place. Though the fawn was a quarter of Two-Step's size, its presence seemed to claim the enter space for himself, and even the golden gelding contented himself with a corner of the stall where he nibbled on some hay left over from the morning. The horse blew a contented raspberry, seemingly unperturbed by the events that had transpired moments before, and more than happy to have a little companion in his stall. When the fawn turned his icy blue gaze onto the gelding, Patrek saw another series of images flashing before him, and he felt as if he had met the horse for the first time all over again.
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