Demons Three, and a Tree

Well, that was somewhat of a mixed afternoon and evening.  One insect queen, one shirtless guy, one undead unicorn, one demon, one vampire disguised as a demon, one demon turning into a fae, one Aoibheann, possibly turning into a stress-bunny, a demon who doesn’t remember me, a changeling and a dryad.  And I thought this place might be getting a bit dull.

Kzzz was in the tavern, trading glowing balls for whatever. I traded a couple of left-over Midari for a couple of the balls, to supplement the lighting in my dwelling.  I figured they metal has worth, even if the currency doesn’t.  The shirtless guy, last seen being zapped by a strange figure with a magic staff was there.  He clearly has something going on with Aoibheann, but what, it is hard to tell.  Come to that, almost anything to do with Aoibheann is hard to fathom these days.  I only caught the tail end of the conversation.  She was complaining that he hadn’t told her something.  He told her she would work it out, kissed her on the cheek and walked out.  That, it appeared, was the wrong thing to say, because she exploded at him, or rather, at his departing back, yelling all sorts of stuff.   Having been on the receiving end of similar explosions, I don’t blame him for leaving.  In fact, just in case she decided to turn her ire on me, I decided discretion was the better part of valour, completed my trade with Kzzz and took my lamps back to the hut.

When I returned later, I found the place quite busy, with three demons drinking.  Well, at least one was quite clearly a demon, with a skin colour I usually associate with the drow.  She turned out to be quite an affable demon by the rather incongruous name of Bunny. She was busy buying drinks for the other two; those being Rachel, who, I suppose is technically a vampire glamoured as a demon, and a rather pretty female, whose name I later learned was Rosie, who could have passed for human, were it not for the tiny horns and the rather more obvious tail.  She also had rather pretty wings that I would have otherwise associated with a fae creature.  These seemed to be somewhat of a surprise to her and she kept trying to pull them off.  Bunny seemed to be encouraging misbehaviour and drunkenness, which didn’t look to take long in Rosie’s case as she soon fell down and was deposited on one of the beds.

Rachel asked if I would be willing to tell Padishar that he did not owe me for the beer. I asked if she had given up on annoying him, but didn’t get an answer.  I also asked how the reading was getting along, but apparently, she has given up on salvation. Bunny offered to cover the debt on Rachel’s behalf in gold, coin or other goods.  I did ask if she could get me a decent biography of John Dee, but I don’t think she understood that.  I told her I would think about it, but so far as Padishar was concerned, the debt was paid. This was deemed to be acceptable and everybody seemed happy.

Even Paash, as I apparently now have to call her.  Well, she was happy that people were drinking and, more to the point, paying for the drinks.  Well, I was paying for mine and Bunny was paying for the girls.  Aoibheann reappeared, seemingly a little calmer, and tried to help behind the bar, but the presence of so many apparent demons was clearly getting to her and she disappeared off, claiming she needed practice.  I have no idea what she needed to practice, but it prompted Paash to ask how my practice was getting on. I had to confess that I hadn’t, not since Jasper Cove burned, what with all the excitement of that and getting settled here.  She didn’t push the matter.

Rosie fell asleep, Rachel decided she would go for a walk, and Bunny decided she would go to, shrinking herself down so she could ride with Rachel, between her horns.  I think it is a measure of how inured I have become to strangeness that I barely thought this worthy of mention.

Then, another demon appeared. A vaguely familiar one.  Short, read-haired and heavily armoured, wearing a sword almost as big as she was.  I remembered her as Senna, who had been hanging around the tavern in my early days at Jasper Cove.  She did not, however, remember me and mentioned that she had similarly not remembered Aoibheann and found this very confusing.  I told her that Aoibheann and I had both met her in a place that was detached from time, so it was entirely possible that said meeting was either a long time in her past and she had forgotten, or it hadn’t happened yet.  She actually appeared to be quite pleased with that, as it was the first rational explanation she had been offered.  I wasn’t entirely sure it was rational, but then, what is, these days?

She ordered dinner and Paash agreed to let her pay for it by sweeping up the bar area in the morning.  She then went off to get some rest.

Gwyn turned up – in a rather fetching dress and sandals.  It was so unlike her, I had to make the “who are you and what have you done with Gwyn” joke.  She blamed it on Aoibheann’s comments about her dressing like a man.  Relations there seem to be somewhat frosty too. I told her I rather liked it, but she said she felt self-conscious, preferring to cover up.  Then I actually managed to get her to blush, which I had scarcely thought was possible.  I told her she didn’t need to be self-conscious as she was a very pretty woman, and joked that maybe she was actually shy behind all that banter.  Sure enough, she went bright red and claimed to be a hard-assed academic bitch who would chew the bollocks off anybody who said otherwise.  My only answer to that was to say “promises, promises”.

Senna chimed in with some fashion advice.  Gwyn took that on board and complimented Senna’s pointy boots, saying anybody with boots like that had to be a friend. I commented that I would have to get some and she said I had better not or she would have to make hipster jokes about me.  I had no idea what that might mean and demonstrated the mobility of my hips by doing a bit of a belly-dance I had once learned one drunken night in Rotterdam.  She then proceeded to explain what a hipster was.  At least, I think she did.  I’m not sure I understood much of it. Something about people riding fucking penny-farthings, waxing moustaches, talking bollocks and having something called fucktitude. Whatever that meant, I don’t think she liked them. I assured her that I have never attempted intercourse with a bicycle, had never grown my facial hair and that my testicles had never spoken, so I was forced to conclude that I wasn’t a hipster.  That got a laugh out of her, but then she decided she needed another nap.  What is it with this place?  People are always needing sleep at odd hours, me included.

Finding myself alone in the bar, I decided to take a walk up to the stone.  On the way, I met up with the aforementioned Rosie, where the path to the castle and the path to the stones crossed the path from the bridge.  We chatted about how nice it was being out in the woods.  We spoke about our respective journeys here.  We seem to have had similar experiences in hopping from one place to another by means we don’t entirely understand.  She came from a place that was some kind of prison, along with her mate, who she described as a planes-walker.  I’m not sure I quite understood that, although I do recall reading a similar phrase being used to describe a shaman.  She was concerned that he might get too attached to the magical energy here and use it to gain power. We spoke of the magical energy here, because she was still worried about the wings.  So far as she is concerned, she is a demon.  I suggested that maybe there was some fae blood in her, and the energy here was causing the fae side to manifest.  She allowed that was possible, having been raised only by her mother. She departed in search of somewhere to rest up and I departed on my original intention to go to the stone.

I picked up a piece of fallen timber on the way, thinking I could possibly make something of it for Aerodine.  I got to the stone and removed my footwear again.  Looking at the stone, I wondered if I could copy the carving design onto the piece of wood. It was while I was sitting there, sketching the designs that Aerodine showed up.  I am sure I will eventually get used to the way she fades in and out of the landscape, but this time I managed not to jump. She was pleased to see me, even more so when I said I had come to escape the noise of the castle, seeking the peace of this spot.  She wanted to know what I was doing with the book.

I showed her what I was doing, sketching the design on the stone.  She looked confused by the entry on the facing page, saying that she had some reading, but it did not make sense.  I was not surprised, since that was the entry I was cogitating on Dee’s journal, which entry I had ciphered, just in case anybody read it, bearing in mind Greyson’s warning.  I told her it was a private project and in code, then flipped back a few pages to show her the entry about our first meeting. She was most flattered that I had thought of her to one of her own. That wording puzzled me a little, but I guessed she was referring to me recording my thoughts on paper, the “of her own” presumably referring to paper being made from wood.  She asked if I had thought of the little gift we had shared, the kiss, I assumed, and I had to admit I had not done so yet, but would definitely do so.

That, she regarded as very special.  Then she scooped some earth up and from it, conjured a seedling, a tiny tree.  She was crafting a very special tree, she told me, for the forest, for everyone. She said that there was talk of war, and the tree was to give confidence to those uninvolved.  I did not understand this, and said I had heard no such talk.  Her explanation of the tree did not clarify things much, making some comment about the last leaf breaking the bough.  The tree, tiny though it was, took the form of two figures embracing.  A symbol of peace or reconciliation perhaps?  She changed the subject somewhat, asking my age.  I had to think about that for a moment, being not entirely sure.  I was just shy of 32 when I was embraced, and, by my experience, irrespective of the actual year, I had experienced a little short of eight years since.  Thinking to put it in her terms, I told her I had experienced 39 summers, adding that I might yet experience 40 more. That is something, I shall have to correct some time, when I find the right time to admit my nature, and the extended life that will entail. She found that amusing, giggling that I was so young.  She asked if I had any treasure in the satchel.  I told her it was mostly books, pen and ink, a few odds and sods. Prepared for travel is how she described that, or at least for an overnight.  I hadn’t really thought of it that way, but I suppose it would suffice for that.

She said there might be another fight coming.  I told her I hoped not, but that I would defend those I cared about, despite abhorring violence.  The fight, I suspect might be something to do with those outside the castle, as she said that those I cared about would be safe inside.  I commented that not everybody I cared for was inside the castle.  Once again, she changed the subject, telling me of a minstrel or bard she had known, who would sit in a tree and play her songs.  I apologised for my lack of musical ability, but promised I would tell her a story or read a poem, next time I came. She liked that idea.  It was time for me to depart then, so I bade her farewell with a kiss on the back of the hand, and headed back to the less kind environment of the castle.

I wonder why I am so drawn to the fae places, and fae creatures.  Obviously, I have a love of the stories I read as a child and even as an adult, about the fae people and fae realms, but it is more than that, something more primal that sings to part of my being.  Maybe, like Rosie, I am part-fae somehow. I think it unlikely, for surely my father, or more likely, my mother, would have said something. Wouldn’t they?


Which Way to Heaven?

I am slightly closer to working out who left the rose.  Or, at least, I have eliminated two potential suspects. Gwyn and Rachel denied all knowledge, though, in the process,  I think I may have obligated myself to provide them with white roses at some suitable point, for example a birthday. Of course, that would require working out what the date is.  According to my diary, it is the end of May, but the gods alone know what that means here.

Rachel posed me a rather unusually question.  She asked me how she could get to Heaven. She is concerned that no matter what happens to her, how many times she dies; Padishar will bring her back, or send her back to Hell. Thus, her only escape is Heaven.

I’ve been asked some difficult questions, but that one stumped me.  Of course, I know the standard answer that Rev. Elverson and his predecessor, the very boring and very reverend Samuel Mathers tried so hard to drill into our heads through years of church services and Sunday school.  That all you need to do is believe that the Christ died for your sins, etc etc etc. Not that it ever worked.  As I have said often in these pages, after a while, church, for Mother and I, became more of social obligation than anything else.  When I was older, I had many an entertaining debate with Hillaire over dinner with my mother on the subject. Somehow, I did not think that Rachel was ready for a metaphysical discussion, so I gave her the short-form explanation.  Of course, it was never going to be that simple,  especially when she started by asking where she could find this “Jesus fellow”.  Further questioning revealed that she had not really bothered with church, and when she had, rarely paid attention.  I did try offering alternatives, suggesting that there were other religions with their own concept of heaven. Fortunately, she did not pursue those ideas, which is a good thing, as I am even less qualified to advise on the route to those destinations than I am the Christian one.

Instead, I lent her a rather battered New Testament that had been lurking in my travel bag for years.  Stained with talc and soap, as it was, and any lettering long worn off by friction, save for the ink inscription of my name and form from when it was given to me at school, it was suitably anonymous, so that it would not arouse suspicion.  I suggested that she just read the first four books and then come and talk to me.  Frankly, for myself, I would have stopped there or maybe with Acts.  To my mind, anything after that, especially after Saul of Tarsus stuck his oar in goes seriously off the rails. Revelations is quite entertaining though.

So, on top of my appointed tasks of finding the princesses and understanding the journal that Greyson gave me, I now seem to have acquired the task of guiding a vampire, currently glamoured as a demon, in the direction of Salvation. My old friend, the Reverend Hillaire Elverson would be mightily amused.

Blooming Intrigue

I would appear to have an admirer. Either that or somebody wants to convey a message of some sort.

I woke early this morning, nearly falling out of bed.  That nice big one I had in the apartment in Jasper Cove must have spoiled me.  After so many years on board ship, you’d think I could sleep in something narrow without falling out.  Anyway, as I stepped out of the door of the hut to take in the morning air and see what was happening about the castle, I found a rose. I didn’t see it at first, but as I took a lungful of the air, I detected a floral note among the usual smells of the castle, the bakery and the middens.  And there it was, on the step. A single white rose. Possibly the most perfect single bloom I have ever seen.  Even Mother, with her love of roses, never produced one like this.  I could not see a note anywhere, or any indication as to who it was from.  I rescued a small glass from my baggage – the one I used when cleaning my teeth while travelling, and put some water in it to keep the rose fresh.

I must admit I was somewhat flummoxed.  Who would have given me such a thing?  I have not been here long enough to embark on any romantic relationships.  Well, I should perhaps qualify that; I have not embarked upon any. Given my apparently innate inability to notice when somebody is interested in me, I cannot rule out the possibility that somebody may have romantic inclinations towards me. A white rose on the doorstep might well be considered evidence that this is so.  It would not be the first time I have failed to notice.  But whom?

Valene is here on this island somewhere.  While she and I always had a semi-serious thing going on, I can’t see her leaving a white rose.  A sprig of mint would be her token. Gwyn sometimes jokingly flirts, though it is so hard to tell with her, hiding, as she does, behind her wall of banter. I doubt she would do anything like leaving a rose.  A bawdy limerick perhaps or a suggestive joke, but not a rose.

I somehow doubt it is anything to do with Aoibheann.  Even if she did decide she wanted to apologise or make peace, she would do so in person, or with a badly-spelled note.  Nadya, while definitely owing me, is almost certainly still in torpor, and anyway, will have no memory of what happened.

Sophia?  Well, we have developed a warm relationship, but I don’t think I have noticed any romantic inclinations there. Of course, that’s no guide, as I am usually the last to notice.  Even so, a gift from her would more likely be red and liquid.

I did briefly consider it could be from Rachel, as a thank you for rescuing her from being beheaded the previous afternoon.  The white rose is the symbol of the house of York, and her accent betrays her as being from that lovely county. However, that did not feel right.  She did not strike me as the romantic sort.

I picked up the rose again, taking another sniff of the wonderful scent.  As I did so, I pricked myself slightly on one of the thorns.  Not enough to draw blood, but as I did so, I felt a slightly familiar sense of something I could not quite explain.  An energy that felt strange, yet known to me.  I have only experienced that before outside the castle, in the areas that feel fae to me.  Could the gift be from somebody fae?  I had already dismissed Gwyn and I doubted that Isabella would do such a thing.

I looked again outside and noticed that a patch of earth by the door had been disturbed, as though something had been planted there and was now gone.  I felt that same, vaguely fae tingle as I ran my fingers through the loose earth.  Then I remembered there was another fae-like creature of my acquaintance; the dryad I had encountered while out at the standing stone.  The way she moved on and in the earth might have left a mark like that.  Given what she had said, I did not think that she would approach the castle, but I had to allow it was possible.  A bloom of some sort would make sense as a message from such as she, even if I do not know why.  Perhaps I shall go to the stone again soon.  I had been meaning to do so anyway, as I find it a most pleasing and restful spot.  But what could I leave as a message?  My only creative skills are in writing, which I do not know if she could read, and making a gift out of wood might seem a little, well, offensive.  What could be a good gift to a tree?  I remember once, when I was caught short in the woods with Mother, she told me it was ok to pee against a tree. Sadly, I lack that ability now.  Should I take a bucket of horse shit?  I shall have to think on this some more.

I am most perplexed, dear journal, most perplexed.

A Fine Frenzy*

Never get into a fight with an insect. That is not a piece of advice I would have ever thought worthy of writing down.  Up until recently, the thought would not have occurred to me, as my experience with insects had led me to the conclusion that a rolled up newspaper or well-aimed shoe usually sufficed. But then, up until recently, my experience of insects had not included eight-foot tall, space-travelling, alien insects. Now that is something else I never thought I would write in my journal.

Yes, bug-lady is back. I don’t know if she made it across the portal and has been hiding since, came by some other route, or possibly just popped into existence like an unexpected bar bill, but she is definitely here.  And, it would seem, already making an impact.

I started the evening with no more thought than a quiet drink and perhaps catching up on some writing.  I found Cristof outside the tavern, somewhat bemused, and nobody could blame him, by the sight of bug-lady’s soldier.  Presumably the queen was hovering somewhere.  I suppose I should use the creature’s name, but I can only render it as Kzzzz.  Maybe it makes more sense if you have insect jaws.  I’ll give Cristof his due, he was not overly perturbed by this new arrival, although it was doing its “I’m big and aggressive” thing, just greeting it with a good evening, the same pleasantry he addressed to me.  He might have been somewhat distracted, I heard him saying something about somebody getting attacked by a Sluagh, presumably Nadya, as I could see her inside the tavern, rolling around in pain and cursing in a variety of languages.

I briefly explained to Cristof that I knew the soldier, that its queen was likely hereabouts, and that it communicated telepathically. I wasn’t sure if I could even communicate with soldier, having never tried it before.  I called up images of Jasper Cove, with me talking with queen, trying to project the idea of friend.  Meanwhile, Cristof addressed it, trying to calm it by saying that there would be no threat here, no need for challenge.  Soldier’s mind, as far as I could tell, was stark and simple; a single-minded determination to protect its queen.  The latter must have been listening in, or maybe the minds are always linked, I don’t really know, for she landed and even made an attempt to speak in English, although that seemed to be limited to “Hello”.

Cristof remained unperturbed, speaking almost with the grace of a diplomat, assenting to telepathic communication if that was what she was more comfortable with.  I tried to explain that the communication worked better with ideas and concepts, then “introduced” the queen, worker and soldier castes. He decided that he would leave communication to me, since I clearly had practice, asking if I could let her know that he was the lord of this land.  That, I admit, had me stumped, entirely unsure how I could explain the concept of a male queen. I suggested that an offer of somewhere to build a nest would probably go down well and he suggested a corner of the castle, before turning his attentions back to the injured Nadya.

Aoibheann appeared from somewhere, for once, not afraid, but then, she has met Kzzz before also. She tried to offer help to Nadya, but Cristof warned her off, explaining that she was in severe pain and could well frenzy. I doubt that Aoibheann knew what that meant, but I did, remarking that being frenzied upon was no fun at all.  Communication was getting a little heavy, as I was picking up on the queen and, through her, the others.  It didn’t help that she was also trying to link with Aoibheann, and I got some backlash from that.

Then, everything went, as they say, pear-shaped.  Nadya had gotten herself upright and staggered out of the tavern.  She was clearly terrified of the queen and her brood. I could tell that, even without the fear I was picking up second hand through my link to the queen. Suddenly, she was raging and attacking. I think the phrase – the red mist came down – is a very apt one here.  I could now feel anger and rage as she launched herself, fists at the ready, at the queen.

This was not a good idea. She managed to get a punch in, but then the queen was off into the air and it was soldier’s turn to do her bit.  She swung at Nadya with what I presume is a sting. Fortunately for her, Nadya managed to dodge the blow and, with no apparent thought for her safety, launched a roundhouse kick at the soldier.  Cristof explained that this was what a frenzy looked like, asking me to try to deal with the insects while he tried to restrain Nadya.

I tried, projecting “Halt” and “Call her off” at the queen, but the imagery was too confused. It was not helped by sensing that Aoibheann was in the link too, adding her fear and pain, and, it seemed a slight sense of being on the soldier’s side.  I guess she really doesn’t like Nadya that much.  I felt a surge of power from Cristof as he tried to command Nadya to sit. It seemed to be a vampiric power, as I have only ever experienced that feeling with him, Brigitte and other vampires. I felt it, I recognised it, but did not know otherwise what it was, beyond some kind of command.  Nadya fell, briefly, but again launched into attacking.  Again, I tried projecting at the queen, to take her soldier and get away, but she was not having any of it.  I caught a backlash of the scene I had witnessed when she was in the infirmary, of her ship under attack, and this time, there was no question of retreat.

Cristof, meanwhile, had resorted to trying to physically restrain Nadya.  He yelled at me to use my powers, which would be wonderful, IF I knew what they were. I yelled back at him to knock Nadya our or even put her into torpor, reasoning that might resemble death enough to end the battle.  He managed to grab Nadya, but that put him in the way of the soldier, taking a nasty blow to the shoulder.  Or so it looked, but he seemed to be unharmed.  I tried to communicate with the queen again, but damn it if Aoibheann didn’t start screaming into the mind link, adding more fear and pain and confusion.  That disrupted my concentration, and the next thing I knew, the soldier was going for me.

Let me tell you, the sight of several hundred pounds of insect trying to get the drop on you is not a sight you want to repeat.  I have no idea how or what I did, other than I felt that surge of vampiric power again, this time, it seemed, my own, and I managed to roll out of the way with a speed that surprised me.  I wasn’t about to complain, thankful that I wasn’t squished like a fly losing an argument with a newspaper. Meanwhile, somewhere to my side, Cris was banging Nadya’s head on the ground while she was trying to bite him.  I had no time to worry, trusting that he was big enough and ugly enough to handle himself.  Worker was coming at me, and I had not time to think, nor any real physical defence.  For some reason, I thought of the advice I had read somewhere about dealing with bears, and the thought came that I should try to intimidate it, be big and scary.  Again, without understanding what I was doing, I felt that surge of vampiric power, still not knowing what exactly it was, but I felt as though I was 10 feet tall, big, majestic, awesome. This power, I realised I had felt before, albeit a milder form, way back in Legacies, when I had tried to stare somebody down in a fight.  Whatever it was, it worked.  The soldier stopped, watching me, so far as I could tell, but staying back.  This was something I was doing, and not anything to do with the telepathic link.

Cris complimented me and suggested that I needed lessons.  That I could agree with, as I had no idea exactly what I had done. I risked a quick glance and saw that he had succeeded in knocking Nadya out.  I projected at the queen again, “It’s over, she’s dead.”  That time, I think I got through, as I felt the aggression of the soldier lessen.  The queen landed, gathering her companions to her, but then started approaching Nadya’s body, with the clear intent of food in her mind.  I projected a very strong no, visualising that there were rituals to be done for our dead.  At Cristof’s suggestion, I tried to explain that Nadya was out of her mind.  I had no idea how I might convey the idea of frenzy, instead, projecting images of Nadya being injured, in pain, running around without her head to convey the lack of mind, attacking without intent.  I think I got through, as I got an impression almost of amusement.  Again, I projected the idea of the lack of intent, the lack of intent to do harm.  It seemed to work, but I was having difficulty convincing her that Nadya was not food.  Cristof said that Nadya would be alive again within a few days.  I tried visualising again – the same mourning rituals, Nadya’s body on a bench under a shroud, that shroud shrinking down, then rising up again to the full shape of Nadya, her body getting up and walking again.  The queen countered with images, images from her spaceship, but a different room, some sort of vat into which deceased soldiers and drones were being dropped, being digested, and making new food for the hive. I repeated my visualisation and eventually the queen backed off, but clearly puzzled by what she saw as waste of good food. Cristof attempted to demonstrate by slashing his hand with a knife and healing it.  This appeared to puzzle the queen, who did something similar to one of her limbs, but in her case, just stood there, dripping yellow blood.  I think she was trying to explain that she didn’t heal as easily.

It was almost a relief to hear Gwyn’s voice beside me, wondering what was going on.  My head was aching from all the telepathy, so I answered her rather glibly, telling her this was Kzzz and that she was from another planet.  She responded with some comment about a big blue box appearing and the doctor coming to save everything.  I was a little confused, but I vaguely remembered her making similar references before, and it being about a fictional time-traveller.  She didn’t elaborate, seeming more concerned about acquiring some soap.  Cristof told her she should make some, which didn’t go down entirely well.  I suggested that Nadya probably knew how, but that would have to wait, adding I knew only that it was something to do with boiling wood ashes with fats.  Then I remembered that I had some soap in a travelling soap dish that was almost certainly still in my bag.  I told her this quietly and went to fetch it for her.

When I got back, Cristof had dragged one of the bins from the tavern kitchen and offered it to the queen.  I couldn’t see the appeal of a big pile of half-rotted vegetables, meat and bones, but the queen showed no compunction, diving in with apparent relish.  That was fine until she started regurgitating food for her brood, at which point Gwyn threw up.  At this point, sanity having been sort of restored, I suggested we go inside to get a drink.  She was happy enough to do that.

As we were going in, a girl around Wren’s age turned up.  I remembered her from an earlier evening, as Kale’s pirate friend, Madeleine.  She seems to be French, and I later learned, from around my era, as opposed to Cristof, who I learned was from the 12th century.  Madeleine was very grubby and also more concerned with being able to wash.  I offered to show them the pool that Sophia had used, as soon as I learned where it was, and offered her the use of my soap also.

Aoibheann turned up again, looking very much the worse for wear and complaining about the state of her dress.  I can understand that, especially now that her new one is likely to be delayed by Nadya’s state.  This was the point at which she noticed Nadya, and got all upset, thinking it was a dead body.  I tried to be kind and explain that she was in a coma.  Cristof went straight for telling Aoibheann it was torpor, which I doubt meant much.  Either way, Aoibheann seemed to calm a little.

I had finished my drink by now, so I got up and asked if anybody was going to help me carry Nadya to her wagon.  Oddly, of all the people there, it was little Madeleine who offered.  She was most insistent that I didn’t call her a little girl and that she was quite capable.  I told her I wouldn’t dream of doing so and added in French that 12 years old was hardly a little girl.  True to her word, she managed perfectly well taking Nadya’s feet.  Somewhat surprisingly, or maybe not, given Nadya’s preferred profession, the wagon was locked.  Madeleine tried to pick it, apparently something she is quite experienced at, but to no avail.  Then I had her search Nadya and we found a key in a cleverly concealed pocket.  Why I didn’t try that first, I don’t know.  Soon we had Nadya safely on her bunk and covered with a blanket.  We ran into Padishar on the way out, who seemed somewhat concerned as to what we were doing in there.  I gave the short-form explanation – she got into a fight, lost and got torpored, not wishing to implicate Cristof, however that worthy also turned up and gave a more detailed explanation.  That seemed to settle matters satisfactorily and he thanked me.  I thanked Madeleine in turn and told her we made a great team.  I would have gotten her something to drink and eat at the tavern, but she scuttled off to wherever she hides out.

So, that was my excitement for the day.  I think I’ll pass on arguing with Kzzz’s soldier in the future.  I only hope she holds no grudges.  I don’t think the soldier will.  I doubt it has the brain capacity for that.  Now, I really must see if Cristof can come up with a bed and maybe a desk.  This hut is quite cosy, but the floor is a little hard, even for me.

 * A Fine Frenzy, aka Alison Sudol.  An excellent singer/songwriter.  Check out her music here.  Tell her I sent you.  I have no affiliation to her, but you never know, I might get a mention 🙂

Lightning Rod

I told  the tale of my embrace today.  Nadya came into the tavern while I was looking for the crutches.  I joked with her about appearing to have not been flayed, beheaded etc. She laughed and asked if I got maimed often.  When I replied, only the once, she asked me to explain, so I told her the tale of my becoming.  She was not overly impressed, and showed herself to be a bit of a snob, accusing me of being Caitiff and therefore beneath her. I had not thought to claim my clan heritage, but could not let her snobby attitude pass, so did so.  She wasn’t overly impressed with that either, being, it would appear, not a fan of the Camarilla.  When I told her I had very little to do with that either, she asked if I was an Anarch or an Autarkis.   I had to disclaim both those titles, especially as I did not know what one of them was, instead telling her I cared little for politics of any kind, and such loyalties as I hold are to friends, or those deserving of it, rather than any political grouping.

Gwyn came in, looking for a drink.  We spoke a while about Aoibheann.  Apparently, Nadya had been grilling her about Aoibheann earlier, though it was hard to tell if this was interest or some darker motive.  Mostly we spoke about Aoibheann’s unerring ability to find danger, wherever it might be, even in the most unlikely places.  I compared her to a lightning rod.  When Nadya left, I told Gwyn what she was and warned that she was most likely up to something.

Since we were alone, I took the chance to update Gwyn on what had happened with Aoibheann, and apologised for any awkward scenes that might occur.  She was in agreement with me, that Aoibheann was making too big a thing of it.  When she asked why I hadn’t said anything, I told her that I had been planning on doing so, especially after Mitternacht had given us a good telling off for fighting, but that the opportunity had never occurred.  I promised that I would try to sort it out, when I could.  I told her about the incident of Aoibheann biting me and accidentally swallowing some of my blood.  She was surprised that his hadn’t turned her into a vampire too, so I explained about the embrace, such little as I know of it, and about ghouls.  She was not much impressed with the latter idea, claiming she’d make a rotten servant. I disagreed, citing her abilities as a barmaid, but did assure her that she was safe from such a thing, at least from me.  I told her it was very unlikely that I would do such a thing, and if I did, it would be with a full disclosure of the consequences, and then, only with the agreement of the person concerned.

She left a little later, intending to take a nap.  I decided I was tired of the castle grounds and decided to take a walk down to the carved stone, to see if my arboreal friend might be around.  She was not, so I thought I would try a little meditation. There, I did not succeed, save in falling asleep for a while.  I did see one interesting thing though. As I was stretching the aches out of my limbs from sitting cross-legged for too long, I saw some figures below the ridge, near a pond. Two of them I recognised, as Padishar and Nadya.  The others I did not know, but from their bearing, I wondered if these were the Unseelie royals to whom Padishar was Raven.  They were too far away for me to hear what was going on, and anyway, it isn’t really any of my business.  That said, it might prove useful information at some point.  I retired to the castle to catch up on my journal and, despite my little nap, get some more sleep.  As I write this, it occurs to me that I can claim at least one other maiming; when my dearest Catt nearly cut my hand off, way back when I took my own Raven oath.  I wonder where she is now.

The Speed of Tobacco

Where else, but in one’s journal, can a man confess his heart?  I might as well admit it; I love language. I love the way it works, the things you can do with it, the games you can play with it.  I love how different languages are inter-related and borrow words from one another.  And I even love the way language grows and evolves. Here, I find myself in disagreement with some of my contemporaries, at least, those who were my contemporaries before I was cut adrift from the normal course of time, many of whom would tsk-tsk about modern ways of speaking and decry any deviations from the ways they were taught. To be fair, I do not entirely disagree with them, for there are some modes of speech that I find uncommonly ugly. That said, I do hold that language should evolve and change; else we would all be speaking the language of Shakespeare or even that of Chaucer, beautiful though those are, in their place.

Language came up a couple of times yesterday afternoon.  Aoibheann, who had clearly been in the wars again, no surprise there, was lamenting the state of her dress and Nadya offered to make her one in exchange for something.  As ever, Aoibheann did not really know what to say to that, having lost her box of treasures in the escape from Jasper Cove.  In the end, she traded her recipe for potato chips.  It seemed an unlikely trade, but Nadya seemed happy with it.  Her comments on Aoibheann’s spelling led Nadya and I to chat a while about the changes in language.  She claimed to be fully comfortable with ‘modern’ English, but I did point out she had the advantage of having lived through it, whereas somebody extracted from, say, Chaucer’s time and deposited in the present day, whatever that might be, would have more difficulty.

The latter occasion was more a game of words with Gwyn.  Her hair was still doing its trick of changing styles every few minutes, which presumably means she hasn’t had her faerie lessons from Isabella yet.  At one point, it changed to include a pretty little bow, prompting the exclamation of “Fuck me!”  Now had I said that, Gwyn would have been straight in with a joke of some sort, so I replied by asking if we shouldn’t have at least a date first.  She played along, insisting on at least dinner and a movie first, and not wanting a quick shag. I couldn’t resist feigning ignorance of her slang and asked what tobacco had to do anything and offered her a go on my pipe.  I thought it was a pretty good feed line, but we were distracted by Nadya’s questions.

Nadya, ever the trader, was curious what skills I had to trade. I listed accountancy, carpentry, bar-tending and writing, even if the first and last of those were probably not a great deal of use around here.  Not unless the castle needs somebody to look after the treasury. Gwyn kept quiet, reasoning, I suspect, that her academic skills were of little use.  Nadya’s primary skills, she was proud to say, were in thieving.  I must remember to check my pockets any time I am around her. She also told a rather alarming tale about the number of times she had been maimed, flayed, had her tongue or eyes gouged out.  Such a busy life she has led.  She left soon after, leaving Gwyn and I to our flirting, as she put it.  I thought we were just joking around, but I find it very hard to tell with Gwyn, since she is so prone to hiding her feelings behind jokes and badinage.  Not that I am very good at spotting serious flirting at the best of times.  I could do much worse than Gwyn.  She is smart, funny, a good soul behind that brash exterior; she knows what I am, and if she is truly faerie, or partly, that diminishes the age problem somewhat.  This is all idle speculation, of course.  I doubt she means anything beyond a joke and I am not sure I need the complication of a relationship, not until I work out what the situation here is, and my place in it.

Aoibheann was mostly non-communicative, ignoring me as much as she could.  She appeared more concerned about the dangers outside the castle, and judging by the state of her clothes, she had encountered some. I must be going outside at the wrong times, for the most dangerous thing I have encountered was the dryad.  I told her about the crutches, but she deigned to acknowledge that and did not venture a time when I might find Jada for the fitting.  I do hope that she isn’t letting her personal grievance with me affect her dealings with the child.  I regret I will think less of her if she does let that get in the way.  She ate rather hurriedly and departed for some rest.

Sophia came by for a glass of wine and some food.  She has found herself a place to hide away, in a cave. I told her I had commandeered one of the huts; and that she was always welcome there, should the cave prove too cold or damp.  She said she’d think about it.  She did not stay very long and departed in the direction of her cave before I got the chance to ask a favour of her, in the matter of nutrition.  I really should stop being embarrassed about it with her.  She offered, and she is well used to the process.  I should ask her soon.  I tire of the flavour of horse and get bored waiting for various castle guards to fall asleep at their posts.

I must enquire of Cristof if there is any spare furniture to be had.  The hut is dry enough, but the floor is hard and not the most comfortable place to be.  Rather that, though, than the noise and company in the tavern.

Walk With Me

It has been said that I do entirely too much thinking. My more introspective entries in this journal are testament to that. Even as a child, both Mother and Father would chide me for spending too much time with my head buried in a book. Each, in their own way, did their best to encourage other activities. Mother, aside from the time she spent taking me walking in the woods, tried to teach me about growing herbs and doing things with them and Father taught me the basics of the construction business, in the hope that I would perhaps follow him into the family business. Had I done so, I would have been more involved in the business side of things, but Father felt that, if I was going to be telling craftsmen what to do, I should at least have some clue how it was done. For that very reason, I spent some part of my weekends and school holidays down at the yard, in the workshop, being taught the basics of woodworking by old Ray Craddock. Ray was a time-served master carpenter and joiner who had been with Father pretty much since the beginning. He taught me how to use the various woodworking tools; the basics of sawing, drilling, chiselling, and smoothing; how to make joints etc. Incidentally, he also taught me how to smoke a pipe, but I never told Father that. Then there was good old Dai Williams, who despaired of ever getting me to lay a course of bricks in a straight line. Out of respect for another master craftsman, I shall gloss over the attempts to teach me the basics of plumbing. The failure being entirely down to my ineptitude, rather than the quality of the teaching.

In truth, much as I enjoyed the company of my father’s colleagues and the skills I gained, I regarded learning such skills as a familial duty rather than anything else. That said; in later life, I tried to keep my hand in occasionally, and now, those few times recently that I have had to employ those skills, I have really enjoyed it.

Thus, I found myself ensconced in one of the many outhouses in the castle grounds, in the company of the castle’s building staff. Despite Cristof’s pessimism, the bribe of a bottle of whisky and a couple of jugs of beer quickly gained me the use of a workbench and a few basic tools. I had already scrounged up a few pieces of timber, and a visit to the stables provided me with some spare leather and sacking. I was all set, aside from nails and pins, but even those I managed to extract from the smith with a slightly exaggerated tale of Jada’s woes.

Cutting and smoothing the main upright part of the crutches went easily enough, as did cutting the arm-rests and jointing them to the main parts. I was estimating on lengths, but erred on the longer side, reasoning I could easily trim them down once I got Jada to try them on. The handles proved more tricky, and I wasted a couple of feet of timber before I got them carved to my satisfaction, and a series on mounting holes drilled so that I could adjust the position later. I reserved a couple of split pins for keeping them in place once the correct position was chosen. The sacking made a bit of padding for the arm-rests, held in place by the leather, which also gave me the grips for the handles. The smith supplied me with some wide-headed hob-nails that will do very well for the walking tips, once we have adjusted for length.

And there they were; a pair of crude, compared to the ones Jada had lost, but perfectly serviceable crutches. Ray might have possibly been almost proud of me.
There remains, of course, the problem of delivery. Aoibheann may or may not have calmed down by the time I next see her. My big fear is that her prejudice against my kind will cause her to keep the children away from me. Now that, I could not, and would not abide. I can only hope that Mitternacht, and perhaps Isabella will support me should that be the case.

None of said worthies were around when I went across to the tavern, so I left them behind the bar with a note for Mitternacht. I can only hope that Aoibheann’s desire to look after the children will outweigh her current dislike for me. If not, then I do not know what I will do. For once, I find myself turning to Father’s wisdom, who very much took the attitude, if you can’t do something about a problem today; then you will have to do something about it when you can, and there is no sense in worrying about it in between. Wise words, if only I could convince myself to believe them.