182. [BOLERO] Marks and Masks

[Designation: THE PLEDGE]

[Instrument Class: PRIMAL]

[Anchored Realm: TIDEREIGN (+2)]

[Item Description: Old age divides us, and youth brings us back. Numerous institutions on Mount Meru and indeed the larger universe beyond—nations, peoples, perhaps even two houses on either side of an imaginary wall—have been undone by age and wisdom. For the old and wise among us brace against shifting tides by holding that wisdom absolute, guarding its sacred truth as if it were a calling from a higher power. When a whole nation—a people, a house—flocks to that calling, it falls to the brave, the few, the young to choose different. To heed the call from within their beating, foolish hearts… and be the wind to knock down some walls.]

***

The next Night, Zacarias woke under the musty roof of the Cormorant's cabin.

He'd slept long. He'd slept well, though perhaps not as sweetly as his first sleep in Tidereign. Memories were hazy, but if he had to guess, he'd been troubled by some shapeless dream. At any rate, he could tell he wasn't fully rested.

Case in point: as soon as he tried to get up, he felt a twinge in his right shoulder. He grimaced while massaging the joint, even as he recalled the exact moment he'd injured it.

To be precise, there hadn't been a single incident. More like thousands upon thousands of microtraumas, built up from the moment he'd been inducted into the Aracnido Sect. Such was Manesfera's new age hustle culture: grinding down the young before they'd begun to truly live. In a decidedly physical profession like Zacarias's, it meant an accumulation of wear and tear on his weapon—aka his body—which not even a lotus flower could magic away in full.

I'll bet that fight against Skjal Sorensen didn't help. Zacarias half-grimaced-half-smiled at the recollection. That really was a damn good fight, but his liberal use of [Axle] and [Lariat] had been deeply unkind to his body—his shoulder in particular. Another very good reason to lay off the Buddha/Pranja mask as much as possible.

No point feeling sorry for myself. Time to get on with the d—uh, Night. Across the cabin, Renna Sandvik sat against a burlap sack, hooded head drooping onto her chest and still lightly snoring. Zacarias decided to let his friend snooze for a few more minutes, as he tiptoed onto the deck by himself.

There, he found Oriole standing at the Cormorant's bow. The cat man's caped back was slightly aslouch as he looked out into the rushing Sanzu. Around them, the faint sunlight left over from Dusk quickly faded into the stillness of Night.

Zacarias took a tentative step onto the deck, testing how well the Cormorant's 'load' had since been redistributed. Once sure he wouldn't capsize the rickety boat, he stepped forward to join his host at the bow.

"You weren't kidding." Zacarias said by way of greeting, meant as good night rather than good morning. "Time really flies by here. I can't believe it's already our third cycle in Tidereign, and all we've managed so far is sail a little ways up the river. You reckon we'll make it to this Duskpool by toNight?"

"Good moonrise to you." Oriole gave an actual greeting by way of greeting. "And yes. We're only a few hours out now, which should leave us just enough time to get you two settled in."

"Get settled in and nothing more," Zacarias commented with another grimace, one of pain rather than complaint. "Gonna be straight with you, Brain Cell. Your life here sounds awful. I used to think 24 hours weren't nearly enough to make the most of my days, and now, I'm stuck with only four, if that? How do you do it?"

"We manage the best we can." Oriole wore a somber smile, looking about as wise as was possible for a ginger tabbycat. "Not all of us make it. But as long as the Keeper wills it, we live and die by the shifting Gloam. Of course, I do wish the skyveils weren't quite so oppressive. If we could roam freely without the risk of unmooring, the lives of us Night-siders could look a lot different."

Zacarias nodded, genuine in his commiseration. Just last Night, after barbed words and bared teeth had been stowed away, the outrealmers learned first-hand just what could happen to a soul caught without shelter at the end of a cycle. Every Dawnbreak without fail, the gossamer curtains drooped down from the sky to inflict [Unmoored] on any soul who hadn't 'tucked in' for sleep. Zacarias himself had lost a good chunk of Health and Mana before he'd pulled his hand out of the open and back into the cabin.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

He'd felt the skyveils' cold, unfeeling flames and understood. This is what happened to me and Bubblegum on our first cycle, and we didn't even realize. ToNight, both he and Renna were safe and intact beneath a creaky roof, having accepted an invitation to shelter inside the Cormorant.

"Last Night"—Zacarias tried to pick up where they'd left off—"we didn't get a chance to delve into the weeds. This letter you entrusted to Serac. You really think it'll have the effect you envisioned?"

"I suppose there's no way for us to know," Brain Cell answered with a different smile: mischievous if a little apologetic, "until said effect comes to pass. I'd [Marked] the letter with my PLEDGE, but it was Serac Edin herself who made the crossing. I've no power over what she does with it now that she's on the other side."

I should fucking hope not, otherwise we'd be having a very different conversation right about now, Zacarias thought as he eyed the signet ring on Oriole's left hand. Copper band and earthy-red gemstone. With an intricate, circular engraving upon the latter's surface.

The Manusya was only just getting to grips with Tidereign's various strange gimmicks. Yet here before him stood a Wayfarer who'd found an apparent loophole.

THE PLEDGE, Oriole ere'Quinlan's wearable Instrument, appeared to have just the one purpose: protecting its wearer as well as objects [Marked] by its signet seal from the skyveils' filtering effects. It'd kept the Tiryaga's letter intact as a Rakshasa courier smuggled it to the other side of the divide. It also allowed Oriole alone of all souls in Tidereign to 'roam freely without the risk of [Unmooring]'.

It also had the—added benefit or side effect?—of masking its wearer from the all-seeing eyes of Pathsight. Which was how Oriole managed to appear in front of fellow Wayfarers without a single line of status to his name. Odd and odder. Zacarias couldn't imagine being saddled with such a niche brand of Wayfaring magic. But he supposed it, like all things in the universe, must serve some larger purpose one way or another.

"Is that shoulder bothering you?"

"Eh?"

Only then did Zacarias realize he'd been massaging his right shoulder again. He—much like a cat, funnily enough—didn't like to show weakness in front of others. It was to his chagrin that, over the last month or so, fiddling with his shoulder had become an almost unconscious habit.

"It's no big deal," he deadpanned. "If anything, I like having an old battle wound or two, because they make me more fuckable."

Brain Cell's eyes widened as his pupils also dilated—a notably dramatic effect in a cat person. It was all Zacarias could do to keep a straight face.

"You should have it looked at." Oriole coughed and averted his gaze. "I haven't been doing this long, but even I know it's not normal for a Wayfarer to carry old wounds. In fact, once we're in Duskpool, I'll introduce you to my friend. A doctor. He'll know what to do."

"How very chill and connected of you," Zacarias teased good-naturedly. "But are you sure it's safe to bring me into your home? You said you owe Serac a favor, but how do you know I won't up and go murder hobo on your whole city? Not to brag or anything, but I've killed a lot of things on my way to get here."

"I could ask you the same thing." Oriole restored his gaze, calm and steadfast. He might be a prude, but he wasn't a pushover. "You know I'd deceived you and yours. In fact, our relationship couldn't have gotten off on a wronger foot if we'd tried. And yet, here you are, choosing to be my guest and not kicking up a fuss about it. What makes you think I'm trustworthy?"

"Who said anything about trust?" Zacarias smiled his single-eyebrowed smile. "For now, I'm just curious to see where this goes, that's all. You did make it clear you didn't do anything funny to Serac herself, which is a good start. Both Bubblegum and I have enough faith in our Princess to look after herself… so you're in the clear, as far as that goes."

Oriole held his gaze: a thoughtful expression borne by many more than just the one brain cell. Zacarias sighed, then volunteered the rest of his unspoken answer.

"I'm also a sucker for a good, pure romance, alright? When it comes to movies, I go for the heist classics, but my favorite play is Romeo y Julieta. As soon as you told me about your deer girlfriend on the other side of the veils, I was hooked. I gotta see this through to the end, if only to get my fix."

Brain Cell came back instantly and in full force. Oriole blushed furiously, insofar as a ginger tabbycat could blush, even as his dusky hazel filled up with great black spheres.

"She's not—we've only—I'm not sure she even knows I exist!"

"But you know she exists." Zacarias put an arm around the tabbycat and pulled him close. At the same time, he pressed a fist into the Tiryaga's leather-armored chest. "You know it in here. And that's where it all starts, man. Don't worry. A polite letter is a perfectly fine introduction. Nothing too pushy. Gauge the lady's interest—your fit—and go from there."

"But what of the veils?" Oriole freed himself from Zacarias's hold, looking and sounding more than a little angry. "No matter what I feel… no matter what passed between us"—a pair of hazel eyes trained upon an earthy-red gemstone—"the laws of the Realm forbid us from ever meeting. It's not romance. It's pure fancy is what it is. I know it. And that's why I haven't told any other Tiryaga about my… I shouldn't have told you outrealmers either. I should never have involved—"

Zacarias reached again and gripped Oriole's shoulder, ignoring the pain in his. Even as he put a stop to a young man's lovesick spiral, he couldn't help but conflate the present tense with the past. His own.

"Sometimes," he spoke quietly, both eyebrows flat as stone, "all we need to break down some walls is a push. That's where it all starts, man. I would know, because I've lived it. And if the gods are good, I'm still living it right now."

The two men fell silent. The Night remained still. A steam engine's whirs and puffs filled the air, but they couldn't drown out the whispers of the ghost that followed Zacarias everywhere.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.