There was pen on paper, the clink of the fountain pen on the glass, more smooth strokes, and quiet mummer of a woman choosing her words, all which happened quickly and anxiously.
Dear Mr. Chartward,
I have come to understand that you wish to visit me and my mother. Have my assurances that this will not be worth your time. Her memory of that event has not improved. Whoever decided to sent you will be sorely disappointed.
If you must have a story, she has taken to painting in her free time - beautiful murals that capture the imagination in vibrate colors and patterns. A girl from the village, Emi, has been studying under her and has dreams of attending the Cinthia University of mages and arts. Emi is young, talented and a story waiting to be told.
I know there is no dissuading you from coming here and intruding on our lives. You are not the first and won’t be the last. I only ask that you accept that no matter what people wish to believe, my mother does not have the answers you seek. For your luck and mine, I hope you cancel your trip.
Kindest regards, Elisabeth Swonharth
Hello Ms. Swonharth,
You are correct in your assessment that my superiors are adamant about send me there.
I’ve heard, however, that the mountains are quite pretty this time of year. I’m look forward to seeing the flowers blooming against snowcapped peaks and the green growths reach for the warm sun. I’m also look forward to meeting this Emi you mentioned. Believe me when I say my only intention is to have an amicable stay and a story to show my superiors. I’m sorry that you are bothered as often as you seem to be. If your mother doesn’t wish to speak to me, I will respect that.
I do have a warning to share however. My travels have been prone to turbulence and 3 days ago my carriage was attacked by, what I presume to be, fey. A man, I did not know him well, was taken and while I am confident that I may barter something for his well being, it would be disingenuous not to inform you that fey folk have been spotted in the area. Do with this information what you well.
In addition, should anything untimely happen to my person, please inform the necessary people. The way my employers view the fey is unbecoming and I wish to deescalate the situation rather than enflame it. But if after two weeks I do not reply, the situation has become more dangerous.
Sorry about all this, Denial Charter
Warily, Elisabeth, sat herself beside the fire. Sleep tugged at the hem of her blouse, but despite her busy day she had a letter to get to. So though her mind was on her brother and his squabbles that only meet her ears, the quiet tears her mother had cries for no reason she could explain and Emi’s strained smile as she dropped more than one cups of paint brushed, she layed her pen on paper:
Hello Mr. Charter,
Thank you for your warning, i have informed the town council. They are not prone to offensive measures, but after verifying that there are fey in the area, will likely put protective measures in place. I wish you luck with your rescue negotiations.
Perhaps…
The pen stilled. Perhaps what? Perhap they could make the most of the visit? Perhaps this man could help? After a moments consideration: no. Elisabeth was curious and wished him no harm, but she didn’t put any weight to his pretty words and if he was in a tricky position or feeling guilt for coming, that was something he chose. His letter painted him as an unusual man and that was putting a surprising, moronic, amount of faith in good fortune. She wasn’t writing a letter to her brother who needed coddling for a broken heart, her mother who needed gentle words. She was writing to a stranger who fancied himself a hero —and assuming he was also an amicable fellow— he could do without a clotting politeness that had followed her all day. She picked a fresh page and began again.
Hello Mr. Chartward,
I hope your rescue is successful and not at much cost. Your warning has been relayed to the town council, which will be keeping an eye out for further fay activity before they act upon it. Bring evidence of their involvement would be ideal.
On the matter of spring, the flowers are quite pretty this time of year. Should everything go well, you and your companions may arrive in time. It is quite a bright and joyous affair. There may be a story there, though i suspect a run-in with the fey is more exciting than anything you will see here.
That said, I don’t take lightly with having to inform a strangers acquaintances of him demise. I understand the pressing nature of your message, but for future, refrain from giving such duties to me, or if needed, give me for specific instructions such as the addresses of those you wish informed and perhaps a message to give them.
For my sake and yours safe travels, Elisabeth Swornharth
Dear Ms. Swonharth,
I am in one piece and more or less the man who wrote to you before. All went well. The fey kidnapped Marsh in hopes that he could tell them what has change since their last visit in this realm. The court hasn’t been here since the great war and though some of the elders still seek retribution, the majority seem content to live and let live. That said they have some requirements which I have attached it — along with a lock of fey hair— to this letter.
After rereading my previous letter, I admit you are correct. It was mindless of me to not give you adequate instructions. Though, as I’m sure was understood, I was quite preoccupied at the time. But I jest. I won’t ask you to inform anyone of my demise again without proper instructions again.
I recon that at our current pace we shall arrive in 3 days. Hopefully this is adequate time to witness the spring fest.
Kind regards, Daniel Charter
Daniel sealed the letter —it was as satisfactory as he could hoped for— and called for his owl. Peter swept into wagon with a flap of his pale gray wings. The gust disturbed the piles of papers and books on the barrel he was using as a table. Daniel put them back in order and ran a hand down Peter’s back. He was soft and calming and looking at Daniel like he already knew what he was thinking. It felt easier to admit the truth to those eye and after a day of avoiding question, knotted humor and polite smiles it felt good to admit it so someone.
“I don’t know what happened, Peet. I don’t remember it. I could’t tell you what a fey looks like, sounds like. I remember falling, I remember questions. I remember the deal I made, each word like it was etched into my mind, but I don’t remember what I gave up.”
The fay had wanted a history. A comprehensive record of histories, but Daniel couldn’t remember anything that would fall under that category. In the letter to Ms. Swonharth he mentioned a great war, but he had only heard of it because the fey had written of it in their requirements. Both Marsh and Vivian had recognized it instantly and grumbled about how Daniel had been right. When he had asked: right about what? Vivian had scoffed: don’t be coy, not all of us payed attention to history, no need to rub it in. Daniel hadn’t known what to say after that, but he wasn’t dumb. Marsh had forgotten things as well or at least didn’t remember the fey either. The fey were know for placing usual prices, why not memories.
“Peet, what if it wasn’t just the long ago facts, people and events?”
Daniel pick up a loosely bound stack of papers.
“I wrote these, it’s about the intersection of holy magic and the Pendara puzzle. I don’t remember any of it and barely understand it. I’m not even sure I know why they sent me to get information from Swonharth’s mother, an event there based on the letters.”
Daniel pushed his hair out of his face and looked at the roof of the wagon.
“Peet, what did i do? What am i going to do?”
Peter cooed and rubbed himself against Daniel’s arm. It reminded Daniel of a different ceiling and a different assortment of papers around him. He doesn’t remember anything about those either, but he knows the papers were his and they were going poorly. Peter had lightly pecked at his then smaller fingers till Daniel had pet him while his father set some water on his desk.
“Daniel, it’s going to be alright you know.” “Right, because my teacher is going to have pity on me and let me try again?” “No, because we are going on a walk and when you come back you will be able to read the words in front of you, they aren’t nearly as bad as you think.”
Daniel remembers looking up, looking down and muttering, “no thanks.”
His father had stood there for a moment to see if he would change him mind; when he didn’t, he left his son in peace. “Alright, suit yourself. See you at dinner.”
Back to the present, Daniel shrugged on his coat. “Come on, Peet, let’s send this letter.”
Morbina Parth tapped her fingers on the table. The glasses were untouched, one beside her and two others stood opposite her. She checked her coms for incoming massages. The holographic screen had nothing for her. She slipped off the wrist com and left it on the table to peruse.
The room was as she remembered. A low table sat in the center with a overhead light that cast light and shadow like the petals on the left shelf. The wine cabinet, ceramic statues and vases were all there. The small of the flowers her mother always adored hung in the air: sweet and clotting.
Morbina traced her hand over the wood, pausing at an ornate box. Careful not to cut herself on the display dagger near it, Morbina dusted it off with her coat sleeve. Her boats thudding softly as she walked to the desk on the far side. From behind that desk, the room looked different. “What do you plan to with them gone?” Serpris had asked. With the family portrait behind her the question settled on her shoulders like a long sought mattle. It made her smile.
In the box was a pen, Morbina tucked it in her pocket swiftly and began systematically going through the desk drawers. She discarded and reorganized as she saw fit. She was mostly done by the time her first sibling arrived. Holles didn’t look as her as he hung his satchel on his chair and sat down, but he did speak, a quiet accusation: “You throw out the flowers.”
“How has work been?”
“They aren’t dead” Holles said into his drink.
“Speak for yourself, they have been dead to me for years.”
Holles looked up at her then, bitter poison and something brittle in his eyes like fear. “And once they serve their sentence?” Morbina didn’t answer, didn’t need to, but a thought crossed her mind. It was a pin and Holles would be the moth. But that would have to wait, because the door slammed open and a tall, board figure stumbled through.
Rowan like to think his emotions made sense. Now, of course, you could not expect something as complex as the body to always function the way you expected or to function properly at all -- that was what the mind was for. It could bridge the gap between the whims of being and the situation at hand. Because at their heart, emotions are no different than hunger or fatigue, they indicated a need. Satisfy the need and the feeling going away. And what is more simple than that?
So when seeing his friends exchange heart felt words makes him feel hollow, habit told him to find the need. Kind smiles, lingering hands on shoulders, earnestly biding each other well, it didn't require a genius to name what he was witness to: connection. Connection in a language he didn't understand and might never. But the need was simple, some part of him craves the comfort of company. What bothered him was that he had their company, their care, what more could he hope for? So he shelves the thought and spends time with them. Trying to understand the ease they had and he didn't.
The feeling resurfaces later, this time he is with his family. Everyone is doing their assorted tasks, leaving the air quiet and busy as the same time. So Rowan goes back to the drawing board. Connection wasn't it? He had hugged him mom upon returning home, had exchanged words of connection with his sister. They sat there now, only meters away from him. Maybe he was wrong, maybe what he called for was something else. But, if not connection what else did a lonely heart want?
The third time, Rowan could no longer hold the feeling gently in his hands, looking it over for secrets. We love you. That was what they had said, not to Rowan, but his friend. She was troubled, by far more than most of them, eaten by a cold understanding that her problem could not be solved by answering a need and would not dime with time. But, despite what fear would tell her, she was not alone. Rowan cared, his friends did too, but they had gone out and said it. They had said the four letters Rowan would never say himself. Ones he found he couldn't say. He tests the words on his tongue, but they make no sound.
Now this wasn't a problem. On the contrary, love is often associated with romance, something Rowan doesn't wish for, and he would be understandably worried of his friend taking it that way. It was easier to avoid the confusion that might arise. And with his family, sure, they cared about each other deeply, but love never mentioned by name. It would simply be weird if Rowan expressed his care that way. But, in his mind of minds, he knew that, as valid his reasoning was, this had nothing to do with that.
He was scared. People are scared when they think they will get hurt. That much he allowed himself. So though he spoke a different language of care, he found himself holding back there too. Because to let himself feel the care he felt, to wear it for the world, was to invite pain and disappointment. That left him with a few options. Part of him wanted rid the glass he could now see between him a the people in his world by breaking it. But if anything was going to end badly, it was that route. He would need to touch the glass and fell the pressure on the hand on the other side.
As with many things he fails the first time. When he sat quietly with his sister, she put away her phone to look at the sky with him. They exchanged pleasantries and a shared weariness from an eventful day. But when the space was there, Rowan took a left turn and suggested that they make use of the day that was left. Nervous energy was tapping against his skin despite the weariness in his bones. His sister looked at him, tired in the eyes and said she would rather they didn't. Rowan not the most observant pushed regardless, this would be good, the solution he decided and when neither of them were listening, but gradually speaking loader, Rowan understood his mistake. This was not what he wanted to argue so he left her be.
Flustered he did as he said he would, not quite present, but glade for the sweat on his brow. Maybe this is what he needed to feel the world around him, to hear, touch and change it under his hand. He felt better afterwards. More ready to except that he was putting far to much though into this and to every so often the world is simply far away. Some things right themselves and Rowan had to acknowledge that this would too. This too he knew. Emotions don't often stay, often they are fleeting and he could live with that.
It was later, when he and his sister lay in their shares room. That he told her plainly: he was sorry for the argument before, it had not been his intention and that he valued her presence and simply didn't know how to tell her. She smiled forgivingly and told him it was alright -- as she had said many time when Rowan was unsteady on his feet. A quiet sort of calm followed. Technicalities arose again, the push and pulled over how to get it done, but there was a underlining thread. One Rowan often felt with her, but had let fall to his feet. She knew, he knew and that was enough.
His language of care was different then his friends and their baffling openness, but it was one that he more often shared and felt the absence of when he didn't. It was the dedication that came with the gift he made, the honesty which he gave for free, the spot in his corner that his friends and family occupied and the acknowledgement that they mattered to him. It would hurt if they left, if for one reason or another things ended badly, but that was alright. It was the price of feeling his eyes tear up with contagious laugher and the warmth that of all the places the people he cared about choice to go, they spent time with him.
Meshner or what remained of him stretched and pulled the lightfoot into order, the best approximation of order he could manage. He would sometimes hear Viola and Portia make remarks about his competence, how they considered ways to get the Voyager's Kern back more quickly, and tired to not let it affect him. Kern hadn't had to try and aim for an objective stance, through the more Meshner replayed her actions the less sure of his has become. Regardless, it was becoming clear that more so than her, he had brought his defects with him, he still has bouts of synesthesia and sometimes he felt himself overwhelmed with a shape that wasn't his: human, ship or Fabian's he can't tell anymore.
Over time he learned to allocate less resources there when his systems began to overload with them. There had been whispered suggestions to terminate those coded pathways altogether and Meshner had consider it for a long time, but he opted to delaying that choice as long as he could. One day he would have to he was sure, but for now he won't. Things fell into a rhythm then. One where Meshner focused on the ship and not what he had lost. One thing threated to disturb this balance. Viola, Helena and even Zaine had all asked about what happen, about how he worked now, he had brushed them off and in Viola's case become adept at denying her answers as she ask often. The problem was Fabian. After he told Fabian most of what had happened, though notably not all of it, Fabian had taken the information and continued his research, sometime finding memories Meshner would rather he didn't in his systems. See, Meshner systems were faulty compared to Kern, his understanding and ability to translate between the crew's languages was imperfect. And though the others had tried their hand at fixing him, after insistent reminders from Fabian that he was the most qualified, the duty had been acquiesced to him. Meaning Fabian had been given full reign of his systems to pock and prod as he saw fit.
Fabian often crouches in his lab rewriting code for his experiment and asking question about how these changes affected his performance. They were not leading questions about his health like Helena's might have been, but depersonalized technical questions that he would have asked before. Sometimes he would sigh in the way that was uniquely his and mutter in a language Meshner was becoming more fluent in that at least the ants were more cooperative than his neurons. The familiarity made Meshner feel more alien and distant that he had expected. After all Fabian had often looked at him as though he was a infuriating problem what would not be solved before everything had gone wrong but before Meshner had never felt it himself as strongly as now.
It was not all woe, however, Fabian also made plans to create a new implant. This filled him with an excitement that Meshner could easily read form the tiny scientist. There was relief there too. In an uncharacteristic moment of solace, Fabian confided in him how close it has seemed that all his work would be lost to an uncaring cosmos, how sometimes he marvels that it hasn't been. His pride at their work warmed Meshner, for even if he often doesn't have the time to simply reflect, for Fabian too see this as a success means a lot to him.
Sometime when the noise of running the lighfoot dims, he looks out into space. Not one he recognized, Kern's framework sees the world quite differently, but one with beautiful colors he had never seen and world of understanding he had only dreamed of and then the refection strikes him. He had set out to understand the Poriids as though he was one of them and with Fabian help, along with the stored information that Kern had not rewritten to fit his being, he now could. He had hope to transfer information between them and for a future that would come and in a way he now could.
Granted after some ship critical failures following one of Fabian's attempts to transfer some of his understanding, they had concluded that it took up too much of Meshner focus but had otherwise been a success. When the voyager arrived with Kern to replace the Meshner that runs the ship, they would experiment with his ability to retain that understanding and aid with converting it into something humans could understand and hold in their minds. In many ways they had succussed. Meshner checked the ships systems with a new warm pride and the promise of more to come.
Senkovi closed his eyes to the hum of the station. He could almost imagine nothing had changed. Baltiel would ping him to remind him of the next meeting and Senkovi would nod along without paying attention. Disra, I've reminded you of this meeting 3 time. Are you listening this time? Yes, yes, jut ping me when it starts. Then he would get distracted again and show up 5 mins late. But no ping comes this time, it never would, even as one of Senkovi once in a blue moon reminders ring, everything else is quiet. Senkovi pulls his knees up at the thought, wrapping his arms around them.
At first when the ringing doesn't end he assumes he needs to turn it off. When he looks for a meeting reminder and doesn't find one, he checks the stations systems. There is no alert he can identify, but he begins checking them manually. The ringing grating on his tired ears. Maybe that is why he does not think to turn around and peer into the glass he has been leaning against. Eventually he finds the source: Senkovi_turn_reminder_1:26_remaining.
He turns then and sees Paul resting near the glass pulsing blues, oranges and a bristled peach. It is the fist turn of the game. Paul must have started it. The game was one of the older training models, one of his early successes, maybe this Paul hadn't played and was curious. It would likely be trivially easy for him.
Senkovi plays his tile and watches. Paul215_turn_2:58_remaining, Senkovi recognized the number and squints. Paul215 knew this game, had played it with him often, but then got bored of it and hadn't touched it since. Now he played it swiftly and in line with the strategies Senkovi had witnessed before. Senkovi can't bring himself to wonder why he would start an unprompted game now after several years. He can barely focus on the game.
About half way through, he beginnings to drift off, his mind taken by memories and phantom voices once more, but the ringing cut through it again. Senkovi issued an order to terminate the game, he couldn't do this right now, but the command was ignored. Paul was hindering him. Senkovi begrudging makes his turns, but notices that Paul tactics have changed. He is making mistakes that make every little sense.
At first Senkovi wonders if the errors are a new tactic or if something has gone wrong with Paul, but then he notices-- Paul is letting him win. Giving him the resources that he should be giving to completing the task. The game is finished moments later and Senkovi feels tight in his throat. He lays a hand on the glass and Paul comes up to meet it. Senkovi looks into his eyes, looking for an explanation. They didn't give him any, but there was recognition there. Paul ripped a soothing blue again and Senkovi felt the warm water on his cheeks before he realized he was sobbing. The realization made him sob harder.
Paul bristled with alarmed red for a moment and Senkovi tries to wave his alarm away and catch his breath. "It's going to be okay." Senkovi told him, resting his head against the glass as a new wave of tear crashed on him. "it's… it's going to be okay."
Yusuf Baltiel considered his crew. He had hear of a few of them before.
Disra Senkovi was a rising star in the space of terraforming, but Yusuf knew very little about him save that he was... challenging to work with. Though after greeting the man in person, he seemed perfectly amicable, even a little nervous. A bit like a new kid on their first day on campus. He was clearly confident about his work though, perhaps overconfident. Yusuf would have to keep an eye on him.
He had also met Erma Lente. She was professional and had a coldness Yusuf associated with doctors. She was their biologist and medic after all. She has a sense of humor that he hadn't expected however. Yusuf could see himself leaning on her cold comfort if they ever needed her medical expertise.
The rest of the crew felt more personable than those two. Some were easier or harder to read --such as Gav Lortisse, a larger quiet man who was polite, but otherwise neutral or Kalveen Rani a woman with a easy smile and bright eyes-- but after calling up their files and meet each on the crew personally, Yusuf was satisfied with the people at his disposal.
He was noting his observations, who would likely be good under stress, who needed to be watched, who could be relied on to be on top of things when he wasn't, when his superior pinged him with the last of the information and updates. Yusuf cleared his throat. Most of crew turned his way. Senkovi hadn't, but he was looking over the information himself and was likely focused enough to listen.
"As you all know this mission will be unlike anything we have done before. The first step on our journey will be Tess 834, there are several inner planets that are suitable, along with several gas giants which may have suitable moon. We would be 30 light years from earth and this will one way trip so become acquainted with one another and get along. In addition..."
Yusuf went on to specify the details of the trip. But it became readily apparent that all of them had keep themselves up to date and the speech was more a test of the crews patience than informative. Yusuf was glad, a crew that applied themselves. Towards to end, he notice Senkovi pocking where he shouldn't and blocked him. Senkovi looked up sheepishly at that, but Yusuf didn't draw attention to it, rather he gesture that the speech had come to an end. He scanned their faces like a showman viewing an audience. Rani smiled his way and he smiled back.
"As you can see we are going on an adventure, but one we could not be more prepared for. To smooth travel and sweet dreams!"
Nod - one apocalypse later
Yusuf must be breathing but he can't tell anymore. He just tightens his grip on the axe in his hands as Lente nocked on the shuttle door. He could hear all 3 of them coming. His crew, his people, but they are not anymore, are they? The blinking lights in the shuttle glimmer against the axe blade and more a moment Yusuf considered turning it on himself, ending it all here and there. But he thinks of Senkovi who hasn't picked up the call yet. The thing would wear his skin after, he sure. Would he know if it did, would he still think? Briefly he wonders if Lente, Lortisse and Rani still dream. Maybe. He knows they won't when he is through with them, though. It has to end.
The door opens slowly as Lente pries it open. She pants through a wide smile; there is no humor there anymore. She laughs though. "Don't you see, Yusuf, this is the next adventure."
Noland’s heart pounds in his chest. The sounds around him bleed together and apart with no hope of him following. The stolen knife feels awfully light in his sweating hands. He holds it against his chest like a child’s toy, taking shallow breaths and pressing his back against the metal of the cashier counter. Despite this he knows where he is and why he needs to get away.
For all practical purposes, he is in a shopping center on the 5th floor behind the 3rd cashier of a supermarket. No one… no one else is there, no one he can call for help, but there is a clattering of tumbling metal wear further into the shop. Far enough that he has some time before it thinks look here. Past his hiding spot is an elevator, only a short sprint away… one he can make surely.
Noland clutches the knife, not daring to whisper but wishing with all his might. Then he runs. He sneakers thud not against the tiled floor. His hand feels cold as it fumble for the button, missing at first then pressing both rapidly. There is a growling from behind hime, a wet screeching sound of edges on the floor. Noland doesn’t turn around, not when he feels the monsters breath, not when a long limb wrapped around his throat pulling his back or when he falls but does’t hit a surface.
Everything is ringing, but the first thing Noland hears is the people. There are never people. The floor is cold and slick. Against closed eyes he sees the harsh glare of fluorescent lights. There is also a hand on his shirt. He shoves it away, scrambling backwards as fast as he can. He is trembling all over. None of what he is saying is coming through as clear words, but the hand stays away.
A feminine voice is saying things in a calm tone that Noland eventually recognizes as a breathing exercise. “Breath…in… and out.” Some of Noland’s stutters must have been understood because the voice tells him: “one is going get you.” He sobs in reply. The person keeps speaking, but Noland has started counting his breaths and wrapping his head around what he needs to do next.
“Tell me where I am.” Noland says calmly when he can. “Everence shopping center, 12 street, lenik.” The words glossed over Noland’s ears. “The 5th floor?” “Yes.” It is different with the bright lights and people pausing their browsing to watch the commotion, but Noland’s heart sank with bitter understanding. He shakily gets up to his feet, leaning against a central railing. “I have to…” The elevator arrives and he smiles weakly. “My ride is here.” The woman didn’t smile back, looking him over. He knows she knows what he does, he can’t let go of the rail.
“My name is Melenie Hark.” She offers her hand. “Your still unsteady on your feet, i don’t want to catch you a second time. What is your name?” He looks at her hand. “Noland March. I… I know this is looks bad, but… can I be alone?” “Alright, I’ll help you get somewhere less crowded.” Noland looked at her, but she did not budge. He takes her hand and with her help gets into the elevator.
After silence, Melanie clear her voice. “You were worried about being chased, correct? Is there anything you would like me to report to the authorities?” Noland give a nervous laugh. “No, it’s alright, it’s not like that… I…. I have a condition, must have forgotten to take my medication.” The elevator landed on a random floor and Noland takes the opportunity to stumble past the incoming people and away ftom any follow up question. Thankfully she lets him.
Merlin didn’t think of herself as someone with a lot of friends. She was very friendly and knew many people who were friendly back. A keen eye would observe that Merlin did have a lot a friends. More accurately she could alway use more and sometimes she felt them most when on her own.
You see every afternoon, when the world grew dark, Merlin would walk through the forest and tells the tress about how her day had been. What had excited her, things that had left a mark, ones she wanted to do or see again. Merlin at no point thought anyone would be listening, but sometimes she told stories. The clever sparrow, the wise gray mouse, the day the sky was alight with colors no one had seen before.
When she grew older, Merlin tried journalling them, this didn’t have the same appeal. The stories weren’t hers to tuck into a book forgotten, they were to live and breathe. This expressed itself in many ways over Merlins life, but even when people would listen, there was a special space for the ones she told to no one she could see.
Perhaps it was better that Merlin never learned that something did listen. When she told the bright stories of a future to come the flowers rose to meet it, when she spoke of a boy’s broken violin and told the story with golden threat, it righted itself.
There is a question of what Merlin would have done if she would have known. Would she have felt the weight of it on her tongue as she sung? Would she had grown her gift into something greater? Would she have gritted her teeth and laid her head back staring at the sky when it didn’t work? Or would she have cried with joy when it did?
But no, she never so much as guessed. All she knew was that her world was more alive for it and she hung to that like everything that hear her.
I am intact and the same man who wrote to you before. Firstly, I would like to apologize. You are correct. It was mindless of me to not give you adequate steps in the case of my demise. Though, as I’m sure was understood, I was quite preoccupied at the time. But I jest, it won’t happen again.
All went well. The fey simply wanted to be informed with what had change since their last visit in this realm. We were considered a hostile force, but I believe I persuaded them that all parties are content to live and let live. They will be unseen or hear if we do not seek them out.
I await my arrive to see this spring fest you speak of. I recon that at our current pace we shall arrive in 3 days. Hopefully this is adequate time to witness it.
Kind regards, Daniel Charter
Daniel sealed the letter and sent for his owl. This draft was satisfactory if not all strictly true. Daniel understood what the fey had wanted but he was unsure how the turns had been satisfied. A comprehensive record of histories? Daniel was not only at a lose as to what that would entail, but important date, people, event none of it came to him.
He hadn’t told anyone yet, since he had enough information to assume what had happened, enough to know to keep this too himself. The prospect of studying days past a second time did not thrill him, but his job depended on it.
His familiar came at last and carefully took the letter from him, taking off into the sky.
A speck in the great blue is swished to one side then the other. It is small. Small enough that it take a moment to identify. Then it twitches and in sporadic moments it bellows and beats against the water. The speck is slow moving and without mind or reason, but its round body doesn’t cease it’s twitching. The speck then meet another and they collide head on. This is not a big deal. The two correct with no real understanding that this surface was not the sea floor or a piece of debris, but another of its kind. No feeling of loss at the fading speck drifting away.
The water shift and blurs as Percy lays his head on the edge of the glass. He can relate to some of it, other parts he can only wish for. But if there is one things he knows, the jellyfish will keep pulsing with or without
Somewhere, somehow, something is happening. Really, everything is happening. A death, a birth, a murder, a kind word, the beginning of new life, the slipping into an old one. All of this is happening, yet this moment, this one moment, felt empty. But maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.
How many other people were staring out into nothing, sitting at desk, lying awake or dead on their feet? Somewhere a woman is catching her breath hands on her knees wishing her life was different. Somewhere a man is cleaning his glasses not noticing when his hands still and time slips by as he thinks about everything he still needs to do. Somewhere a teen is setting their phone down and gritting their teeth in annoyance, ashamed when they pick it back up. Somewhere someone is tired at a table slowly typing words that you will one day read. All moments that will lead to others and things no one can foretell.
So yes, the moment is but that: a moment. Many moments new and old in their own way. But only one of them is yours and it is yours to spend.
I lie awake in my hammock as the sea rocked me. It would have been soothing, did it not feel like dark water was grasping around the ship, churning and pulling. Eventually i have enough of the perpetual falling and breathlessness the metal cabin left me, so I shrug on my waterproof jacket and slip on my boots, hesitating before grabbing the gloves. There would be no point in angering people by opening the hatch more than required, so i took them and carefully make my way outside without disturbing the crew.
The frosty on the door crunched as I braced it open and stepped over into the misty air. The fog had grown and covered the deck now, leaving only the onboard lights peering through. I felt for a tether and found the lot of them hooked up the left inner rail along the cabin wall. The ocean had calmed considerable from the storm the afternoon before, but I felt better to know the tether was there.
I followed the rail around from the side of the boat to the central deck. Shapes and shadows of people could be seen as they past lights in the fog. I unhooked the tether from the rail and felt for the rail of the stairs that lead to the captain deck. She was busying with charts and navigation and asking her specialist clarifying questions. The first mate was current unoccupied those.
“Wain?” He looked up at his name. “It’s not your shift yet, is it?” “No, couldn’t sleep.” Wain considers for a second. “You can swap with Pavlo, he helped a lot through the storm.” I nodded and went to find him.
Thank you for your warning, i have informed the town council. They are not prone to offensive measures, but after verifying that there are fey in the area, will likely put protective measures in place. I wish you luck with your rescue negotiations.
I appreciate your understand of my situation. If your writing is an accurate measure of your character, I alway look forward…
The pen stilled. Did she look forward to meeting Mr. Chartward? After a moments consideration: no. She was curious and wished him no harm, but she would much rather not have her presents at all. Assuming he had been honest —which was not a given, it was easy to paint yourself as brave and charming in a letter and this could be his idea of sweet talking her into handing over her mother secrets— assuming he was simply an amicable fellow, he deserved her honesty. She picked a fresh page and began again.
Hello Mr. Chartward,
I hope your rescue has been successful and not at much cost. Your warning has been relayed to the town council, which is keeping an eye out for further fay activity before they act upon it. Bring evidence of their involvement would be ideal.
The flowers are quite pretty this time of year. You may arrive in time for the spring fest. It is quite a bright and joyous affair. Should no other troubles reach you on the road, you and your companions should be able to see its proceedings.
It is quite a responsibility you have given me. I don’t take lightly with having to inform a strangers acquaintances of him demise. I understand the pressing nature of your message, but for future, refrain from giving such duties or, if this needed, give me for specific instructions such as the addresses of those you wish informed and perhaps a message to give them.
For my sake and yours safe travels, Elisabeth Swornhart
A girl stood impatiently as her mother adjusted her mask. She twiddled her thumbs, not quite listening. “I know, i know.” She said when her mother gave her the chance. “Don’t take the mask off or touch anything without gloves.” “Hmm.” Her mother agreed, leaning back to access her work. “Can i go now?” The girl asked. “Alright-“ and the girl was off. “…be careful.”
The girl didn’t know many things, but what she understood about her world was this: the sky was always dark, but thankfully some plants glow. It’s always cold, but before everything was scorching hot. And the world wasn’t safe anymore, but only her grandparents said that bit.
She wondered what it was like before as she climbed over rocks. They looked like parts of them had been blown away. Leaving a battered and a jagged side that looked like the stone that grew out of the ground and ceiling of the girl’s home. Around her neck was a camera a simple one her dad had given her. She took it out now to photograph the larva in the holes in the rocks. They were gray with black heads and legs. One of them snapped its little mandibles together in a way the girl saw as as a greeting. She learned the larva lives underground too and smiled back.
The girl returned to her task. She wants to find a flower it was purpleish pink and it glow in the dark! Many things grow in the New World, the fungus, the vines —sometimes even the mice. But the flower were rare. She had seen one and promised herself to take a picture of it, but it didn’t seem to be there anymore.
She wondered further, trekking up a hill —if you could call it that. It formed a ring around a lower flat plane of glass. Not good for flowers at all, but the ridge held of proud collection and the girl headed over. The flowers had reaching pedals that fall to the side as they look up to the sky. The girl took her picture and laid down in the gray sand, humming a tune to herself.
You are correct in your assessment that my superiors are adamant about send me there.
However, last I heard the mountains are quite pretty this time of year. I’m look forward to seeing the flowers blooming against snowcapped peaks and the green growths reach for the warm sun. I’m look forward to meeting this Emi you speak off. I look forward to speaking to you in person. Believe me when I say my only intention is to have an amicable stay and a story to show my superiors. I hope this soothes your worries about my presents.
I have a warning to share however. My travels have been prone to turbulence and 3 days ago my carriage was attacked by, what I presume to be, fey. A man, I did not know him well, was taken and while I am confident that I may barter something for his well being, it would be disingenuous not to inform you that fey folk have been spotted in the area. Do with this information what you well.
In addition, should anything untimely happen to my person, please inform the necessary people. The way my employers view the fey is unbecoming and I wish to deescalate the situation rather than enflame it. But if after two weeks I do not reply, the situation has become more dangerous.
