Chapter 3 #2
The small fragment of logic she still possessed identified the pattern as that of footsteps, like the thud of boots, perhaps with wooden soles.
Yet it sounded nothing like human footsteps, not even with the most expensive, most sturdy-soled boots she could imagine.
And when the sound stopped yet again, she could not help herself in speaking although silence would be the wiser course.
“Say something,” she choked out.
The suspense and unknowing tore her apart. Her fevered mind conjured up horrors and she prayed she was wrong. Magic lived here for a reason and roses belonged only to the gods now. If this were not a god, then it had to be a god’s creature here on earth meant to protect and punish.
When only silence answered, she shouted in challenge but this time in Varnasian knowing better than to hope that any intelligence here would understand Rivanic. “Say something!”
He swayed with the rare delight of fear radiating off the woman.
His chest heaved as he fought the instinct to bury his nose in better smelling places of her.
His claws itched to dig into her and hold her while he sated his senses on the prey caught in the courtyard.
He hungered for anything she offered and longed for so much he could no longer name.
He started when she spoke, anger diffused by the unexpected request, faculties unbalanced by the expectation in her voice.
Words. She spoke aloud and she spoke to him.
She had spoken much while on the grounds, addressing the Magic, chattering to herself now and again in Rivanic, but nothing to him or for him to respond to.
He kept his distance so that he might not be discovered, ensuring only that the Magic tended to her needs.
But these were words, simple words that he could hear and understand.
And they were addressed to him. How long had it been since there had been words?
Years. So many years. And years too since he had put any coherent thought together with them, at least until she came.
Almost nightly, words floated through dreams but that was the extent.
Say something, she said.
Roars or howls or growls or snarls would not satisfy. She wished to hear him speak. His mouth had not done such a thing in so long a time. He could not remember the last time he had even spoken to himself.
Say something, she said.
What could he say?
He had once been full of words. They were there, somewhere, buried in years of forgetfulness and survival. Words to ask. Words to answer. Words that meant nothing. Words that meant everything. There were words he had to say. Not now, but eventually. If he ever wanted to leave.
Say something, she said.
She cowered there, terrified, reeking of fear. And he tried to think of words. He tried to think of what to say. Nothing difficult. Nothing trying. Just a few simple words.
A painful noise emanated from his mouth.
Words would not come. He growled at his inability.
He had done this before and he would master it again.
It just took coordination between his throat and his tongue and his lips.
He could answer her. His second attempt though sounded just as bad as the first and he snarled, hating this exercise. Had he forgotten how to speak?
“Please,” she asked. “Please, say something.”
He tried again, taking time to form his words, each word taking a lifetime to utter.
“What wouldst thou,” he took a deep breath to finish, “have me seye?” His words came halting and slow, but cold and angry now at the frustration of his miserable attempts.
When she did not reply, he grasped for more words. “Thou hast stolen.”
“You have silver and furnishings and candles that would bring a fortune to someone like me, but I did not touch them!” She spluttered in indignation.
“I left them where they were. I only took cuttings from your rose bush. Roses no longer exist in the world. I thought I could make them take root.” She held the flower and stem out to him.
“I have lost so much. This,” she shook the cuttings in his direction, “is so little.”
Her fear faded with the rise of her anger, and the scent she emitted changed.
The change helped clear his mind. Gone were the bodily thoughts, the baser inclinations, the warmth of physicality.
Now logic reigned, and he could indulge in his righteous upset.
The rose in her hand taunted him. She had no idea what she held.
His voice held without giving into the whine of his efforts and he repeated with more confidence, “Thou hast stolen.” He mouthed words before he spoke them.
“Thou art a thief of roses. Why woldest thou have more than shelter and mete?” The words came more easily now, the practice and the use both freeing his tongue.
“Thou woldest deme me host so povre that thou woldest fleece bushes for thy profitte?”
“If you wish it back, then have it,” she snarled.
“‘Tis dead!” he exclaimed, the pain from the initial howling tinging his words, frustration creeping in with her inability to understand and her ignorance over what she had done. “Thief and murderer, both.”
“I am neither.” She raised her head in defiance.
“Thou art Rivani,” he proclaimed from the dark. “Thou art of the race of magyc-workers. Thou art of the architects of mine undoyng.” She pressed her back against the door, her eyes hunting for him in the darkness.
“If I am so odious, I will go.”
“That whyche dwelleth yn my terrytorie bylongeth to me. Thy peple decreedeth yt so.”
“I do not dwell here,” she pointed out, attempting to poke flaws in his logic.
“Thou dwellest wherever thy cartte be and thy cartte resteth yn my forest.”
Her fear swelled once more in his nostrils.
“A bargain then? What can I give you to pay for the cuttings I have taken?”
He wanted much, but only one thing struck him as equitable.
“Thou must gyve me a year and day of thy life.”
She opened her mouth several times to speak but reconsidered each time. Moments passed before she formed a complete thought.
“Do you mean that I will die a year and a day earlier than I should? Or do you mean that I will be a servant? Or,” she gulped audibly, “your mistress?”
He growled again, frustrated with his inability to be clear, and concise, and understood. Words came. His enunciation improved with every phrase, but his language lacked. If he lost his tongue it would be no great impediment as he did so poor a job of expressing himself.
“None of such servyce,” he assured her. “Thou wilt resyde here, with me, for the stated durationne, as companionne, yf thou must have positionne afsigned.”
“And what does ‘companion’ entail?” She asked.
She retrieved a shard of glass from a pocket in her skirt and tucked her hand behind her back.
Then she eyed her only other escape route — up her side of the horseshoe staircase and into the apartments from whence he had come.
“What are my responsibilities? What will be provided for me and what will be my responsibility to provide?”
“Thou soughtest shelter — thou shalt have shelter. Thou soughtest protectionne from those without my domayn — thou shalt have protectionne from those without my domayn. Thou stolest for thy profitte for rebuildyng thy life — thou shalt have opportunyttie to rebuild and profitte on thy departure.” He struggled to think of what he could offer since it had been such a long time since another guest stayed.
If nothing else, there was magic for guests.
He could make concessions with that. “Thy hunger shall be sated and thy thyrste quenched. Thou shalt be provided room and byd and every comfortte of thy desyre.”
“You offer much for little. But this is supposed to be my payment. What is required of me?”
“Thou mayest not leave the forest. Thou must resyde and accorden withyn my domayn. Thy tyme ys thine own and thine amusements and entertaynments thine own concerne. Thou mayest request what thou wilt, yet grantyng of thy will shalt be at my discretionne yf not yet provided. Thou shalt refrayn from tendyng, touchyng, and pluckyng roses without mine agreement though thou mayest attend any oother florae thou choosest.”
“What do you get from this arrangement?”
“Thou must endure my companie on occasionne,” he requested. “Thy room remayneth thy sanctuarie where Y may not dysturb thy solytude.”
“I need a place to winter anyway,” she mused. “If my time is my own, then I can ready supplies for my departure. And you did say I would be compensated when I left.”
“Aye, ‘tis so.”
“I would like to request that we change the wording of the bargain. I will stay here for a year and a day under the conditions you have set forth but I will not give you anything save that which you have described — the endurance of your company.”
He nodded his assent and then recalled that she needed words as he remained in shadow.
“Thy gyvyng describeth thy paymente and no more. I accept thy amendmente. Thou shalt stay for such tyme as hath byen dyscufsed according to conditionnes whiche hath already byen described as recompense for thy,” he almost said ‘theft’ again but sought another word for an equitable contract, “transgrefsionne.”
“I will not be treated as a plaything, There will not be any expectation of me in an emotional or sexual manner. I will hurt you if you attempt such. I will endure your company but not your insults or abuse. I reserve the right to leave for my own room when I choose and to remain there for as long as I wish without threat or coercion. While Varnasian is not my native tongue and your manner of speaking is archaic, I will not allow you to take advantage of me.”
He sighed at his inability to make such things apparent in the conditions he presented. “Thy meanyng and desyres art acknowledged and understood. I shall abyde by thy conditionnes.”
“I will not be touched,” she added.
“Thy request mayest not be moost practycal.” Touch could happen by accident even if he took pains to prevent it.
Such required accommodation. “Yf agreeable to thee, Y wilt swear ne’er to touch thee by yntentionne unlefs thou giveth thy permifsionne or yn event that thou art yn peril that Y must transgrefs thy request.”
“Very well. May I touch you?”
He floundered for a response since that had never been a concern before.
“Yf thou wishest.” He hesitated. “Thou woldest not likely choose to doon so oother than yn violent manner. Thy weapoun wilt not deal damage as thou art ymagynyng yf such thyng be cause of thy ynquirie. Thou perhaps mayest hurt me but thou sholdest know that mine existence canst not be so easily escaped.”
She glanced down at the hand that held her glass shard and heaved a sigh.
“I am inclined to accept,” she conceded, “but I will never agree to any bargain unless I see with whom I am bargaining.”
He could deny this request, but she deserved to know the creature with whom she would be residing. Still, as she had been asking for conditions, he asked for his own. “I shall acquiesce to thy request yf thou permitest mine approach, quite close, that thy scents mayeth be known to me.”
“No touching,” she warned.
“No touchyng,” he agreed.
“Then yes.”
He stepped from the shadows one clawed paw after another.
“My gods, you’re the Fir’Darl.”
The glass shard slipped from her hand and lay forgotten in the grass. She kissed her fist and put it to her breast. She closed her eyes, steeling herself for his approach.
He descended the stairs with deliberate pronounced steps, ensuring that she heard him with every thud on stone.
The scent of fear swelled again with his approach, carrying him across the courtyard on a wave of rare delight.
He halted only a few feet away from her.
The fear and her scent tempted him to breach the distance and invade her space for the prospect of a sweeter experience, but he refrained, unwilling to terrify her more than could be helped.
When her breathing steadied, he braced himself and squared his shoulders in preparation for her reaction. Her eyes opened and she stared blankly at him for moments. Her face paled. Her throat constricted. She opened her mouth as if to say something but no sound came out.
She vomited.
He retreated to the shadows.
She trembled and heaved again, angling her body away from him. She wiped her mouth on the apron portion of her skirt.
“Thou hast seen. Dost thou agree to the bargayn?”
“What choice have I?” Her voice quavered.
“Notwithstanding, thou needest speak consente.”
She raised her head as high as she could and directed her gaze at the shadow. She took two deep breaths to steady herself. Her voice dripped with resentment.
“I agree, Fir’Darl.”