S01E15 - Companion

*****

Love is narcissistic.

It loves only itself and how it makes itself feel. There are some who claim that love is selfless, but I believe those monks are confusing love with something else, like actual selflessness.

I believe that love is a monstrous, neurotic beast swallowing its own tail and striking with venomed fangs when someone cuts that tail off before the meal is finished.

What would you do to keep your loved ones safe? How far would you go? Who would you sacrifice? Would you choose to save your parents, or your wife? Your wife, or your children? What are your foundational values? I pondered thoughts like these as Ryllae led me through the forest.

“Is it necessary to hold hands?” I asked as we walked back along the meandering paths, the spike of my trenchent clinking on the stones with every step.

“Do you not like it?” she said.

“Oh, I do,” I said, swinging our arms just a bit. “It’s my preferred mode of travel, actually. But I was curious.”

“It announces that I have taken a mate,” she said, reaching out with her free hand to brush a low hanging branch that invaded the space over the path. “I have been expected to conceive with a human for some time now, but it was expected that I would do so in some human dwelling, not bring them to the Enclave. It gives me a great sense of pleasure to hold your hand and announce that you are my chosen. The scandal will be talked of for decades.”

“It sounds like there’s some resentment in your voice,” I said, looking over at her. “Want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing for me to talk about,” she smiled, looking up at me. “But certain people who have been talking loudly about my reluctance to choose now have something new to talk about, and I find that very satisfying.”

I slowed to regard a pixie peering at me from behind a tree. Fifteen centimetres tall, she was dressed in flower petals and leaves with a pair of iridescent dragonfly wings. She suddenly zoomed around me to land on Ryllae’s shoulder, trilling musically.

“Yes,” Ryllae said to the tiny creature. “He is to be my mate.”

Another burst of high-pitched music emerged.

“No, he shall not live here,” she said as we continued to walk. “I will travel with him for a while and return.”

More musical twittering.

“Indeed,” Ryllae laughed, clenching my fingers in hers. “I think he is pretty too.”

The tiny pixie flew up to examine my face more closely, then zoomed off into the forest.

“Are they always so shy?” I asked.

“Most humans can’t see them,” she responded. “It makes them nervous.”

“Well, I allegedly have Elfish blood in my veins,” I admitted. “My grandmother returned from her adventure and gave birth to my mother six months later.”

“Is that so?”

“It is the family scandal, yes.”

“That may explain many things,” Ryllae said after a few minutes.

“Oh? Such as?” I probed.

“Your gift of sight. Your understanding of magic. Your omission from summonings,” she said, ticking off a mental list.

“The magic is from years of hard study, I assure you,” I chuckled. “It was hard-fought knowledge. And my mother was summoned when she was nineteen, so I’m not certain that idea holds water.”

“Knowing a thing and using a thing are different,” she said. “You may even be able to grasp the light.”

We left the main path and approached a small cottage nestled between two live oaks, the branches dipping and curving protectively around the structure. Etched in organic patterns where moss and ivy grew, the cob house blended into the forest as if it had been grown there. Doorways and window frames were fashioned from elaborately carved bent wood, recycled from the forest floor or perhaps given by the trees themselves in a gifting to their caretakers.

Stepping into a cozy room, maybe eighteen square metres in size, Ryllae removed her moccasins and placed them next to the door, indicating that I should do the same with my boots. I placed my trenchent in a corner next to a stand of brigandine. The ecru walls of the interior were smooth and unadorned, veined with a darker brown coloured material that threaded throughout the construction. Pocket-sized glass globes hung from the exposed beams on thin chains, illuminating the interior with a pale yellow light.

Small nooks filled the thick walls, occupied by sentimentals whose value was unknowable to the casual guest. A pinecone the size of a chihuahua, a stack of flat grey rocks, colourful ribbons wound chaotically around a green glass bottle, a small white saucer with a half dozen copper coins. Three slim hardbound books, standing lazily at attention between two halves of a geode.

Each nook and shelf contained something unique, some material display of the owner’s personality and what memories they cherished.

To my right a deep counter ran under a series of shuttered glassless windows, each painted dark green and painted with a bright yellow sunflower. Felted weather stripping along their edges sealed them against the chill autumn air. The legs of the stools under the counter were carved to resemble creeping vines with the seating made from a complex pattern of woven reeds. The counter ran along the wall and turned into a small kitchenette, complete with a tiny wood stove built into the cob and a flat piece of iron over it for cooking.

An oversized bed covered in furs took up most of the western portion of the room, oversized and built on a platform of cob which contained a small iron door and another nook filled with kindling, suggesting that it was heated during the colder months. A wardrobe of dark fine-grained wood stood next to a narrow door and I could see a large tub against the wall in the other room, along with a small counter and a porcelain basin.

The bed made me nervous.

She closed the door and released my hand. “Be welcome in my cottage, Magus Samuel,” she said.

“Are we here for…” I trailed off, looking at the bed.

Her laugh was light and bounced around the room. “No, not at this moment,” she said, her voice teasing. “Unless you are eager to pay your debt.”

“No,” I said, my mind filled with performance anxiety. “No. I’d prefer to get to know you first.”

She fished out a large pack from under the counter and began to empty its contents onto the bed.

“What would you know?”

“Everything.” I said, pulling out a stool and watching her graceful, efficient movements.

“Everything? Would you know me in my entirety and leave me no mystery?”

It was my turn to laugh. “That was presumptuous, wasn’t it?” I said. “I hardly know myself, so how can I expect to know the entirety of you?”

She bustled about, taking small clothes and hose from the wardrobe. “Ask your questions, Magus Samuel.” She said.

“Just Sam,” I corrected. “If you please.”

She nodded and continued her packing.

“Why me?” I asked.

“Because I am seventh generation Ebdotas and must conceive the child of a human. You are a hero summoned from another world and the power of the goddess fills your body. I would strengthen the blood of my people with your seed,” she answered, stating her reasons as if discussing a car purchase. “And…”

“And?”

She smiled again, concentrating fully on filling her pack. A faint blush crept into her cheeks. “And,” she said. “I find you attractive and companionable. I believe I will enjoy our time together.”

I’ve always found it hard to accept compliments, not fully believing them because I am unable to see myself as others do. My life wasn’t the easiest growing up and I learned unhealthy coping mechanisms, mostly in the form of self-deprecating humour and venomous repartee. I’d gotten better over the years with the tender guidance of Tanya, learning to read body language and listen for the subtle tones that give away insincerity, but the paranoid little voice inside me never went entirely. They’re laughing at you. They know you’re just faking it. You don’t deserve good things.

“So it was just a matter of time before you pushed me into a bed?” I asked, pitching my voice to carry a humorous tone.

“Oh, indeed,” she answered, her tone serious. “I was plotting your fall from the moment I saw you.”

I let her words sink in. “Wait,” I said slowly. “Is that Elfish humour?”

She tugged the straps on the pack tight and tied them, then winked at me.

Removing her sword, she tossed her cloak onto the bed and slipped out of her dress, revealing a silk chemise embroidered with tiny roses that reached mid-thigh. She sat on the bed and untied her hose, then pulled them from her feet to reveal tiny toes painted in gentian blue.

“What are you doing?” I asked, appreciating the show but unsure of the endgame.

“Packing my bags and changing into my traveling clothes,” She answered, walking over to look up at me and place a bold hand along my cheek. “Will you assist me with the armour?”

“I prefer the dress,” I said, impulsively planting a kiss on her palm and pulling the enchanted brass key from under my shirt. “Would you like to move in?”

Her pack went into the summoned trunk, along with numerous other items she would have left behind, including a mortar and pestle, jars of dried herbs and other unidentifiable things.

When we had finished rearranging and sorting everything, she gestured towards the illuminated globes and pulled the light from them in thick streamers, wrapping it around her fingers in a complex cat’s cradle and released it to dissipate in yellow glitter.

“Will you show me how you did that?” I asked, filled with an overpowering curiosity at the display of a new magic.

“If you tell me why you have a bucket of coal in your trunk.” She replied.

*****

Brice and Colin looked up from their card game as we approached and it vanished like a magician’s trick, with Colin snagging most of the coins. “It’s not quite yet noon,” Brice said, shoving the deck of cards into a pocket on his argent and azure gambeson. “Did you have other plans for today? I have some paperwork that needs your pen on it.”

“It seems that I’ve done nothing but run full out since I’ve arrived.” I said. “Any chance of grabbing a meal taking a walk about the city tomorrow?”

“I’m certain it can be arranged,” he said.

It was nearly a kilometre from the enclave to the city walls, and the first heavy drops of cold rain hit the ground before we were inside the city gate. We hurried the last few blocks to the palace and managed to get inside before the it settled into a monotonous drizzle that promised to remain for the rest of the day.

I separated from Brice and Colin with the promise to drop by after lunch and tend the necessary paperwork. Ryllae and I retreated to the small dining hall that served the west wing of the palace where guests resided. Servants were dispatched to fetch a light lunch and soon returned with a selection of breads, sliced meats, hard and soft cheeses, fruits and jellies.

“I’m not sure how I’m going to explain you to Tracy,” I said to Ryllae, slathering some sweet red jelly on a hunk of bread. The lack of sugar in this world left me with a craving for sweets and fructose products were a second rate substitute in my brain’s opinion.

“Who is Tracy?” She asked, forking some cold cuts and sliced dark bread onto her plate along with a selection of fruit.

“I can’t believe I didn’t mention her to you,” I said, frowning. “She’s my daughter.”

Ryllae paused a brief second in her chewing, just enough that I caught it, then finished and swallowed.

“Are you close?” she asked.

“She’s all I think about,” I responded, wondering about that even as I said it. When we first arrived I was in full Papa Bear mode, but quickly calmed and even agreed to make a dangerous trip a thousand kilometres away. The overwhelming need to protect and defend was dull, blunted. She was never far from my thoughts, but it wasn’t the sharp panic of my first couple of days. I ruminated on that as I chewed.

“She is your daughter and all you think about,” Ryllae said. “But are you close?”

My thoughts shifted gears. Was I close to Tracy? Since her mother died I did my best to raise her as independent as possible, to walk a fine line between being there when she called and not smothering her.

Are we close?

I know who her friends are, but only because she is attached to them at the hip, constantly hosting or attending slumber parties. Did she have other friends? Who were they? What is the name of her favourite band? Colour? Author? Her grades have always been acceptable and she’s never caused trouble or drama, tending to defer leadership to Paige and her mischief. Did she still intend to attend veterinary college?

Are we close?

“I think we were closer, at one time,” I said, surfacing from my introspection. “She’s grown up a lot in the decade since her mother died and is becoming her own person.” I said. “We’re close, but I feel maybe I have been a good provider but not the best father.”

“It sounds like you have just realised that she is becoming an adult,” Ryllae said.

“Perhaps,” I admitted. “But that realisation does not help with the problem of explaining to her that I have a new lover.”

Tracy’s voice floated in through the doorway. “You have a what?”

*****

Author’s Note: I started something in the last episode because I allowed my imagination to wander off script and this is the result. I’m happy with it, although it means I’m going to need to revise a few things.

Completion date: 03DEC2019

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