Chapter Four
As Glen fell asleep, the color of the waking world drained away, and the monochrome of the dream-shore replaced it once more. Again he stood in the water, which was now up to his knees. The sea creature splashed and thrashed its limbs around, screeching all the while. Anywhere its limbs touched, the water grew murkier, darkening the surface and the depths.
Glen backed away from the blackening water, which was making the water around him increasingly cold. It didn't feel like an ordinary cold; it felt like a chill that could stop a person’s heart. As the black water advanced, he rushed towards shore. In his haste, he fell into the water; his chest felt like it was being frozen from the inside. He picked himself up and continued charging forward towards the shore.
As he trudged onto the shore, he removed his sopping pants and shirt, leaving him in his underwear on the sandy beach. Many plants covered the sand, and among them were many remnants of naval battles; helmets, sword hilts and the occasional shield.
Among the artifacts, there was a skull filled with sand, primarily the mouth. Glen picked up the skull and brushed off the sand, emptying the mouth of sand. The skull was slender and brittle, though it felt like it was vibrating in Glen's hand.
The skull opened its mouth and Glen heard a piercing scream.
With a thump, Glen fell from his bed and onto the hardwood floor of his room. He rubbed his smarting head and tried to catch back up with reality. It seemed like that dream was taking over more and more of his time to rest. Hopefully, it would conclude soon enough.
He got dressed again and headed downstairs. It was late morning, and just Uncle Sid was around.
“Morning, Glen,” Sid said. “You missed your friend.”
“The half-elf?” Glen said, his heart sinking.
“Him and the mage.”
“Aw,” Glen said, rubbing his sore head. “Wish I could’ve seen Quint off, at least. Guess he doesn’t stick around.”
“Not with his workload.”
“He’ll be back,” Glen said with a sigh. “With an apprentice, he’ll need a pint every day of the week.”
“I would think he has more discipline than that.”
“Glen tries to look like this modest, pious scholar, but, trust me, he can outdrink me.”
“Not on your shift, I hope.”
Uncle Sid folded his arms and looked harshly at Glen.
“What?” Glen said.
“I mean it,” Sid emphasized. “I don’t want somebody with quick fingers finding them undone due to the drink.”
“But after I’m done working, I’m cool.”
“Just be careful,” Sid said, adjusting his glasses. “I need to go out and speak with an old friend. Lauren should be here soon.”
Sid left out the front door of the tavern. Glen peered back at the line of beers on tap and the dozens of liquor bottles behind him.
“How’m I gonna be a bartender if I can’t drink anything?” Glen asked himself.
“You’ll manage,” an unknown voice said.
Glen turned around and saw Quint’s sister, Lauren. Though Quint talked much about her, Glen didn’t know a lot about her, otherwise. They had met when Quint and the party returned to his home district of Ley in Galderian City. She was a teenager then; Glen remembered how she teased his orange hair. Hers was auburn, and worn straight. Now, it was curly, and hung off her shoulders as she inspected Glen.
“Never thought I’d be seeing you again,” Lauren mused. “Weren’t you due to be zapped by the high mages?”
“No, no no,” Glen said. “I got a royal pardon.
“Hell of a pardon if you weren’t set free,” she snorted, washing her hands in the bar sink.
“I take what I can get.”
“That’s what got you in trouble to start with,” making Glen cock his eyebrow.
“Yeah, but if what Quint said was true, you weren’t exactly following rules for five years, either. Slipping sleeping solutes into the head witch’s goblet during a honors ceremony?”
“I just wanted to see if I got the formula right,” she said in defense. “I didn’t want to poison myself by accident.”
“I dunno, maybe try it on, like, your roommate, instead?”
“That’s not nearly as fun,” she said with a grin. Glen folded his arms, not sure if he was impressed or frightened.
“I hope you don’t use any of our patrons as test subjects,” he said.
“Oh, if I did, you’d be the first to know.”
“You’ll ask me first?”
“No, you’d have blue skin for a day,” she said. Glen looked down at his arms and imagined himself as blue as a water sprite.
“If you say so,” he said, turning on the crystal screen behind them. He set it to a highlight reel of the latest paccaball match; the G.C. Knights, a proud team riding curly-haired creatures painted blue, tried to gain control of the ball from the Vimoroi Vices, an elfen team, with green-colored paccanos, just a shade darker than the grass field. “How’re the Knights doing, anyway?”
“Not so great,” Lauren replied, sipping on a glass of sparkling water. “Keff Jarkens’ paccano got food poisoning and got sick in the middle of the match. Now he’s on his secondary mount and he’s completely off of his game.”
“Aren’t paccanos pretty hardy?” Glen asked. “What did it eat to get sick?’
“They’re actually pretty fickle. Your uncle’s got one named Owen over at a local stable; he won’t eat anything but the premium feed with the little bits of reptile in it.”
“It’s so creepy that they’re carnivorous,” Glen said with a shudder. “I almost got my fingers bitten off by one of them during the big adventure. Good thing I had the electric amulet on. Poor thing would avoid me every time I tried to re-saddle.”
“From what I’ve heard of your adventure, I sympathize with anybody who doesn’t want you on top of them,” she cracked. Glen shrugged.
“Hey, I’m a good rider,” he said. “I don’t even use the whip.”
“You don’t seem like the type.”
“I’m a gentle guy, really.”
“You won’t be so gentle when you see some of our clientele, ‘specially during happy hour.”
“Two of my favorite words,” Glen said with a snap of his fingers. “When’s that?”
“Thuesday nights starting at six,” Lauren said, finishing her glass, which settled itself in the sink with a wave of her hand. “That’s tomorrow night.”
“God,” Glen said, rubbing his forehead. “I forgot what day it was. When I was in prison, days didn’t really mean a lot after a while. Every day blended together; every once in a while you might get a little frosted cake and a message from the princess, but otherwise, I just let every day go by all the same. Nobody ever came to visit. Not even…” Glen stared off into nothing for a moment before covering his face. “And now I’m almost thirty...shit, whatever happened to Morris?”
Lauren cringed and looked into the air.
“About that…” She trailed off, leaving Glen to stare at her.
“What?” he asked.
The door to the tavern opened and Morris sashayed in. During the adventure, Morris had worn comfortable, practical clothing that showed off his toned chest, which Glen appreciated just as much as the bard’s effortless practice of song-magic. Now, he wore loose, patterned robes and an odd cap, which jingled as he approached the bar.
“I’m glad I don’t have to see that handsome face hidden behind bars,” Morris said. “It’s a shame to lock up such a pretty face.” He went straight towards Glen and turned up his nose. “But I guess the same hands that stole my heart went and got you imprisoned.” Morris sat down, removed his cap, and fixed his gaze upon Glen. “Now that the jailbird’s out, what’s he chirping about, Lauren?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said. “We were just talking about you.
“Good or bad?” Morris said, leaning his head on his fist. “Either way, I like that I’m being talked about.”
“Sounds like you didn’t change much,” Glen said, hackles raised from Morris’ deep voice. “I look forward to seeing your face, but not hearing your voice.” Morris rolled his eyes.
“In lieu of my face, how about seeing something else?” He waved his right hand across the bar counter, revealing four golden cards. “Lemme read your fortune.”
Glen glanced over at Lauren, who was just as confused as Glen.
“Did he change jobs when I wasn’t around?” Glen half-whispered.
“Don’t worry,” Lauren said. “He does this to everybody.” Glen’s eye twitched before he looked back at Morris, who now had his hands folded.
“Gotta keep my hands busy,” Morris shrugged, playing with his fingers. “Now that I have one less thing to play with.”
“Okay, first off -- you gonna charge me?” Glen asked. “I haven’t even gotten my first pay stub yet. Ain’t your cards told you that?”
“The cards tell me the possible future, not the present. Now, let’s get started.”
Glen winced as he picked up the leftmost card like he was handling a poisonous snake. On its face was a multi-headed serpent, thrashing in the middle of a storm on the ocean. “The Mixon; tempest of the Southern Sea,” Morris said. “As it tosses in the surf, the waves reverberate across all worlds.”
“I do get a bit fidgety,” Glen remarked. “Does that bother some sailor somewhere?”
“All butterflies know their wings carry much more than air,” Morris concluded.
“I thought this was about a fish,” Glen said, scratching his head.” Morris clenched a fist and pointed at the cards again.
“Just pick another card,” he said with narrowed eyes.
Glen sneered at Morris before he picked a card on the right. The card featured a figure draped in green light and surrounded by earthy tendrils that chained the figure to the ground.
“The Coilvy; master of vines and swamps,” Morris mused. “You’re going to have a lot of muck and mess to clean up in your life. Be careful not to sink in the slop.”
“I’ve got nice, thick boots on,” Glen said, slapping his leather boots. “I’ll be good as long as I can lift my legs up.”
Morris smiled and perked his eyebrows at Glen. Lauren snickered, making Glen sour.
“Next card,” Glen said tersely. Morris beckoned him to pick another. Glen never thought that any grin could appear to be eating so much shit. The next card featured a pony-tailed warrior standing on a cliff that faced the ocean; the surf and spray blew all around the warrior, but they stayed there, unmoving.
“Telgrim, the lonely knight of yore,” Morris said with extra affect. “He waited at the edge of a world foreign to him, though his mother-ship never came to take him home. Forever he’s stuck in the unforgiving world beyond meaning.”
“You saying I’m lost?” Glen spat out. “You’re the one who’s been walking around in Fabriccian robes, a magic guitar and a buncha puppets.” Morris frowned at Glen.
“Quit interrupting him,” Lauren said. “Don’t’cha want to know the rest of your fortune?” Glen stared at the revealed cards, arranged around the remaining face-down card.
He picked it up. It featured a masked, cloaked figure slumped against a large, battered throne with staves, swords, and spears sticking out of it; its carvings were gold and intricate, but the faces were rusted and burnt beyond recognition. The figure wore a crown that was tilted to the side.
“The deposed prince of Nomora,” Morris said. “Cast out by corrupt usurpers and forced to watch his kingdom burn to cinders. As much as he yearned to be king, he rules over nothing but ashes, bemoaning the crooked world that lays before him.” Morris closed his eyes. “But as long as he lives, he is always bound to the path of his fate. Just like you, Glen Cairn.”
Glen and Lauren looked at each other, stunned, before Morris produced a coin, flicking it up in the air with his thumb. It landed on its face, which depicted the king of Galderia. “Now,” Morris continued. “I want a rum soda.”