KafshaCallingMusic welcomed Cole as he entered the Duck. He’d arrived in an informal - and loud - jam session, musicians of all breeds crowded around the fireplace. He did not recognize the wild, gypsy song - but his body instinctively wanted to be swept up into its rhythm. Patrons were dancing and singing, now well into their cups. In the middle of the crowd, a barely-dressed Rita spun and twirled like a dervish - bright scarves trailing from her tail and wrists. Her partner, a man, appeared to be formed from gold and flame; his face fluctuating between human and reptilian with the pulse of the music. A warm arm slipped into his. “Hey,” Satonaka said, smiling softly. "Hey," he said, returning her smile, and instinctively giving her a hug. She held onto him for longer than usual, taking comfort from the embrace. "Looks like there hasn't been any trouble here tonight, that's a relief," he said. "But it looks like I won't be getting a well-earned beer until this song is over. Who's that dancing with Rita?" “Heh. You could always just go fetch it yourself, Cole,” she laughed, nudging his side. “This is Silk’s wake. And that is Professor Advocat. In his true form. Apparently, he’s known her for some time. And he's a close friend to Rita.” She hugged his arm. “I miss her.” The dance grew more frenzied as the music built toward its conclusion. "Ah," Cole said. "The professor and I have met, but yes, he did look somewhat different then." He looked around at those gathered. "I didn't realize her wake was tonight. This had better not be the last dance. I miss her too." He gently disengaged himself. "I'll go fetch that beer. One for you as well?" She gave him a glad nod, “Please?” Then she inched closer to the crowd, clapping in time to the music. Cole found Richard behind the counter, busily refreshing mugs with the frothy batch of winter ale. His tail curled like a broken spring, but still had enough energy to give a welcoming smile. “Bordun sashan! I’m glad to see you here tonight. I expect you’ll want a drink, Jahori?” After a month or so, Cole had learned that his official nickname, Jahori, translated to, ‘Cheap goods that look expensive,’ in Katayan. Cole smiled at the nickname. Silk had bestowed it herself, at about the time she finally came to understand that adding him to her harem would not ever make her queen of all of Perondor. Rather than pouring from the tap, Richard grabbed a bottle from behind the bar and set two glasses in front of him. He poured out a dollop of sharp smelling liquor the color of a setting desert sun. Richard nodded to the glass, “To Silk, yes?” Cole took his up. "Yes, to Silk." He wracked his brain for something suitable to say, finally settling upon "We didn't deserve her." Richard down his glass and rapped it harshly upon the table. Cole had tasted many liquors in his life, but none prepared him for this. He may as well have swallowed molten lead, the reddish fluid burning his throat and lungs before settling in his stomach like a minor sun. The bar swam before him as the drink turned his brain to ash. And then, as if extinguished by a wave, the burn became a euphoric chill throughout his body. Richard poured another, “You’ll be expected to speak for her tonight. She publically declared you sahn muvuhn.” He smiled softly, “It means ‘trustworthy.’ The closest thing we have to ‘family’ in your culture.” Cole nodded, his head swimming with the motion. He plunked the glass down on the bar, saying, "Then you'd best pour me another." Thus provisioned, and with the previous song having just reached its conclusion, Cole headed for the Duck's small stage and stepped onto it. Ordinarily he was taller than most of the crowd, and with the additional height of the stage he towered over the room. When he raised his arms, with the filled glass in his hand, the room fell silent. "Silk saved my life," he said simply. "The first time I ever met her, some damned thing had nearly killed me out on the street--well, I slipped and hit my head, but it's the same thing--and I was lying unconscious. Silk and Rita brought me in here, otherwise I probably would have froze to death, assuming someone didn't just slit my throat and take my purse before then. I remember the first words I heard Silk say were, 'Let's at least go through his pockets,' so while she might have robbed me, she wouldn't have let me die." "Life with Silk was complicated. She wasn't complicated, mind you--she had simple, powerful, desires--but it made you do things you didn't think you'd do. She went after everything with such passion, with such delightful simplicity, that you just couldn't tell her no. And of course it didn't help that she was so beautiful. I'd never seen anyone like her. And to have this intense, exotic person so interested in me, it was damned hard to resist." "So she didn't rob me. She didn't have to. All she had to do was ask. Telling her no was like... like smacking a puppy. It made you both miserable, and she wouldn't really understand why. Not because she wasn't smart, but because to her the world was simple: you wanted something, you got it. The world didn't make sense otherwise." "We'll miss her terribly. We'll miss how she mixed up our drink orders. We'll miss her off-key singing. We'll miss her laughter and her dancing and her amazing eyes. Mostly we'll miss how alive she was, so much more alive than most of us. So I think the best tribute we can make to Silk is to live a little more like she did. To seek out simple joys--good food, good drinks, good friends, good sex--with whole-hearted enthusiasm. Otherwise, wherever she is now, she'll look down on all of us and say, "What's wrong with you mopes? You're alive! Get on with living already!" He raised his glass high. "To Silk!" he roared. Everyone in the pub raised their glasses in unison. “To Silk,” they replied, shaking the small room with their voices. There were tears and smiles as they drank; dozens of approving nods and glances offered to Cole. Others stepped forward and began to share their tales, their memories. And for a moment, Cole could almost see Silk’s Cheshire cat grin beaming from the shadows. Cole grinned himself, and he felt a burden he hadn't realized he was carrying slide off his shoulders. And then... He felt a thick hand fall upon his shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Well spoken, Cole. She would have liked that,” Richard said. “Yes, she would have,” Rita added, walking up with Professor Advocat on her arm. The grim-faced man - now wearing his human guise - dipped his head. Advocat extended his hand, “For a athletics student, you spoke with tolerable eloquence. Well done, Student Cole.” Cole nodded at Richard and Rita, and firmly shook the professor's offered hand. "Thank you sir. I'm an awful student, but I've had excellent teachers. And it's arts, actually. Athletics is just a side interest." The Duck seemed louder than usual from the outside; Cynwyd wondered if there was a party going on- well, more of a party than normal. As he walked in, he looked around to assess the rowdy crowd; for all of it's rustic nature, it always felt *warm* in the Duck, and never so much as now. He wondered what was going on. He turned to hang his cloak at the door, and as he did so heard someone talking about Silk, and it dawned on him. He looked around again, cursing himself for missing it earlier... it was her *wake*. He started to take his cloak from the rack- he didn't know her, and felt like an intruder for all that Cole talked about her. But as he prepared to do so... Beyond them and the crowd, he noticed Cynwyd come through the front door. Cole waved Cynwyd over, wondering if his brother had shaken off the funk he'd fallen into earlier. And he was struck once again by how easy it was to think of Cynwyd as a brother rather than merely a friend. In spite of his intentions, a smile came to Cynwyd's face seeing Cole motion him over. He left his cloak where it hung, and navigated the crowd towards him and the other man. "Now here is an athlete, Professor. I don't know if you've met. This is my good friend Cynwyd of House Barimen. He's a better fencer than I am, but I'm fortunate to have some reach which I can play to my advantage." Now Cywnyd placed him, and nodded to the man at the introduction. Advocat gave a polite nod, tapping his cane upon the floor lightly. “Ah yes. I understand,” he stated. Cole’s heightened perceptions easily distinguished the cane as containing a sword; the man’s fingers exhibiting the standard fencer’s calluses. He turned to give Cynwyd a polite nod when the young man approached. A cloud passed over his features as his penetrating gaze moved from one student to another; as if he recognized something. Cole glanced at Cynwyd, wondering what the professor had seen. Cynwyd shrugged slightly, and bowed slightly to Rita as she approached. Muddiness oozed through Cynwyd’s thoughts, dulling his senses for a moment. They cleared shortly, as Osric’s voice came. <Careful around this one. He sees Us, but does not know what We are.> Rita took Cole’s arm and lightly kissed his cheek, “Thank you.” She didn’t expound further. Cole gave her a hug in return. "I didn't know you had such interesting friends," he told her. "Besides myself, of course." Richard poured everyone a round of drinks. Advocat retrieved his and lifted it up, “To old companions and new. May we all live in better times.” "Hear, hear!" Cole agreed, and downed his third glass. His head was starting to spin in a very pleasant way, and he wished the music would start up again so he could dance with Rita. And Satonaka. And he wished Rhea were there too. As if sensing his thoughts, Rita squeezed his arm, straightening her back so her buoyant chest thrust forward. “The night is young and I think it is time for another dance, Cole. Try not to step on my tail if possible.” She pulled him toward the crowd. The impromptu band noticed her and immediately began to tune up for another bout of wildness. Between the state of Rita's dress and the impending music and the lovely warm spinning in his brain, as well as the mental exhaustion of dealing with the evening's earlier events, Cole was utterly incapable of resisting. "Whatever I do with your tail," he replied, "will not involve stepping upon it." Rita kissed his cheek, running her paw across his stomach. “Ohhhh? Well, if I were a few decades younger, I might delve deeper into that comment, Cole.” She slid behind him, pressing her heavy chest into his back. Lifting his arms by the wrist, she began to shimmy against him, finding the growing tempo. Before he knew it, Cole found himself in the middle of the room - the musicians taking this as their cue to resume the frenzied beat. Horns, drums, and strings swept the pair up into a joyful tempest. A katayan woman - her black and white fur like a lynx - added her voice. The language might have been foreign, but the meaning was universe. Savor life. Still feeling a bit out of place, but knowing that a bit of merry was the way that strangers became friends, Cynwyd raised his glass in a toast to a woman he'd never seen, but cared for through Cole. And he had to admit, the familiar warmth did help him to shrug off the lingering melancholy of the grim business that predicated this gathering. He'd wanted to talk to Cole, but right now, the world outside the doors seemed quite far away indeed. Richard refilled Cynwyd’s glass and Advocat began to open his mouth to speak. But before he could, Cynwyd felt a firm hand slip into his - the normally shy, Satonaka. “Considering the number of times you’ve knocked me on my butt, I think you owe me at least one dance, Ser Cynwyd. One that doesn’t involve rapiers.” Cole, spying the two of them together, grinned and made beckoning and encouraging motions. But not for long: Rita seemed intent on keeping all his attention for herself, and Cole willingly complied. Cynwyd was momentarily taken aback. His only interactions with Satonaka had up to this point been, as she said, in the dance of steel. But a rakish grin settled onto his face as he casually bowed in an imitation of the gesture that had proceeded their other dances. Bringing his lips to within a hairsbreadth of her hand, he looked up at her as he straightened. "By all means," he responded, leading her out onto the floor. Satonaka blushed, smiling as he led her into the crowd. She slipped her arm around his waist and nodded for him to lead, “Thank you.” And as the music swept them up, the shy, spiky-haired tomboy persona fell away like mist, revealing the young woman beneath. Soon enough, they hooked up with Cole and Rita on the dance-floor. As the tempo quickened, they exchanged partners with increasing rapidity and frequency. Sometimes the women led, sometimes the men. Sometimes they danced all together. As the music reached its crescendo, they spun so fast that they were flung out and caught by the jubilant crowd. Drinks were thrust into their hands by strangers-now-friends. Cole danced and drank and gave himself over fully to enjoying himself, with no thoughts for anything other than the present. Cynwyd did likewise, truly happy for the first time since he'd discovered The Dark Hour. Time faded into dancing, drinking, and conversations that meant nothing and everything. People eventually began paying their last respects and filtering out. In the end, Cole and Cynwyd found themselves over by the fire in the beaten, sheep-dog smelling armchairs, chatting with Rita, Professor Advocat, and Richard. Satonaka lay in Cynwyd’s arms, snoring softly. From the number of yawns that circulated around the group, everyone else would soon give up to exhaustion. "So, Professor," Cole said, "when Cynwyd arrived you gave him and me both a funny look. What was that about? It's not like there's any family resemblance." Stroking Satonaka's hair, Cynwyd lazed in a pleasant buzz, only half aware of Cole's question. Advocat lightly ran his finger along the handle of his cane, smiling mirthlessly. “Ah yes. I suspect it is because I have not encountered three homunculi, all in the same day. And certainly not ones of such. . . impressive construction. Caught me by surprise, as it were.” Rita and Richard cast a confused glance at one another, trying to determine if their friend was joking. Satonaka just snored. Any warm feelings or alcoholic haze Cynwyd was feeling boiled away in the cold chill he felt from Advocat's words. "Homunculi," Cywnyd said, tasting the word as if it were some new delectable, a dangerous edge in his tone as his gaze intensified upon the older man. Though he still lazed with his classmate on him, there was now an almost imperceptible tension in his body. "Explain," he asked simply. Cole held three fingers up, looking blurrily between them, himself, and Cynwyd. He seemed confused. Advocat made a subtle gesture, whispering a string of foreign words. Rita and Richard slumped forward in their chairs, joining Satonaka in the chorus of snores. “There. This conversation is best reserved for privacy.” Cole blinked, twice, then shrugged. He spun the can in his hand again, “I have spent much of my academic career studying spirit manipulation. On many levels. And, although the work is subtle, exquisite, I can see the bindings holding you within these mortal shells.” He touched his chin, smiling – an ugly expression on his lips. “One of my students bears similar bindings, but I do not believe she realizes what she is. I have her working with Amoretta, my homunculus, in the hope that their proximity will trigger some suppressed memory.” He leaned forward, “Tell me. Who created you?” Cynwyd held up a finger, considering, his eyes narrowing. "Bindings holding us within these mortal shells," he repeated, considering. Then plunging ahead, he asked the loaded question. "Is the shell then not alive? Or does the homunculus take over a living mortal?" "Hold on hold on hold on," Cole said to Cynwyd, waving his hands. "This is Professor Advocat, who introduced himself to me when we first met as a close personal friend of Princess Fiona. You know, the nice lady we met in the castle who we were told would probably want to dissect us? We should probably be really careful what we talk about in front of him." He turned back to the professor. "No offense meant, sir." “If I were offended, Student Cole, you would already know my displeasure,” Advocat replied. "I don't think we're talking about anything to him that he doesn't already know," Cynwyd said matter-of-factly. "You asked the question, now I want some answers." Advocat coughed to intrude upon their exchange, “Princess Fiona will only know of this conversation if I deem it worth doing so. It is likely that your bindings are High Magick, and that is the domain of the Royals. And one does not step between two Royals, unless one does not have a choice. Even then, one must prepare their soul to meet the Unicorn.” He sighed faintly. He gestured at Cynwyd with his cane, “You are very astute; for an athletics student. Homunculi occupy inanimate materials, usually clay, but sometimes dead flesh. They cannot possess the Living. They must be drawn from the Wake and bound into a shell, a vessel. Otherwise, like any spirit, they dissipate. In your case, it appears as if someone has bound a spirit to your body. It animates you; and yet, it has not subsumed your original soul. Homunculi are also created to serve a Will-Worker. Yet you appear to be without a Master. It is why I now question my original assessment of you both and Ms. Baronson.” Cynwyd could feel Osric stirring; as if he was coming to a realization. <Are you thinking what I'm thinking?> Cynwyd thought. Osric considered for a moment. <There is truth in his words. But he does not have all the pieces. However, I believe I may have come to a conclusion regarding one of our enemies.> "An athletic student is just what I am by day," Cynwyd said, shrugging, using humor to deflect the unsettling feeling settling in his gut. The words 'Malachi' and 'right' were trying to join together, but he was having a hard time visualizing that. Not because of anything to do with Malachi- but because of the alternative. "I know that I'm not really going by the terms of 'tit-for-tat'," Cynwyd apologized, "but you're the first person I've been able to speak to that has talked in even esoteric theories rather than full-on riddles." "Would the soul that originally inhabited the dead flesh have all of the memories that previously resided within? And believe me, this goes towards forming a coherent answer to your question." "Narf," Cole said, distinctly. Advocat glanced over at Cole for a moment; the look not friendly. He sighed and returned his attention to the ‘intelligent’ one. “If the soul-binding was performed well enough, yes. I do believe all or most of the memories of the original would remain. The spirit would be laid over these, like a second skin, as it were. And, in time, the souls might merge into one composite entity. Something greater than the originals. “But, more frequently, they would fight for possession of the body; each personality attempting to assert control. This is why it is best to wipe the slate clean when creating homunculi from human bodies.” <Well, I'm going to take a chance,> he said studying Advocat for a moment before sighing. "I'm not sure who 'made' us, if you're right," he answered truthfully. "I don't even have any memory of dying, let alone being in danger such as to make it so... well, no more than usual," he said. "But one name has been tossed about- though never lightly," he said grimly. "And the one who is bound to me says you hit close to home, but you do not have all of the pieces, so I will give you one more." He paused again, but after a sigh, let the solitary word roll off of his lips. "Dworkin." Advocat hissed through his teeth, “The Mad Wizard. Yes. He could perform such magick. Considering his affinity with the Pattern, I doubt there is anything beyond him. If, and when, he suffers a moment of clarity, of course. But his mind has begun to wan after the PatternFall. If not for my association with Princess Fiona, I would have believed him to be dead long ago. Be it from an accident or his son’s hand.” He leaned forward, “How did you come by this theory?” "Well," Cynwyd said, "that's where it *really* gets strange." "As you've seen, there are two souls bound into each of us," he continued. "Everyone that is bound is... a dead descendant of Dworkin." "He introduced himself to Cole as Bob, but later we came to find out it was Dworkin. Partially through his antithesis- the person attempting to destroy Amber while it is yet dreaming." "Suhuy." Perhaps it was an illusion, but the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. Cole mouthed the names "Bob", "Dworkin,", and "Suhuy", and continued to look perplexed. “Suhuy is here? In Amber?” As skeptical as he appeared outwardly, a hint of worry echoed in Advocat’s voice. “This is difficult to believe, Student Cynwyd. Not only is he suspected to be have died decades ago, but the Royals would more than certainly react in a negative fashion at such an intrusion. It would be paramount to war with Chaos.” He leaned forward, "How have you even come by these names? The Crawling Chaos - as he is so lovingly referred to - is ancient history, even amongst your people." "A war has already been started, undeclared, Advocat," Cynwyd said. "And only we have been able to fight it, for only we are active during the times that the battles are fought." "As for the names, as I said, certain deceased relatives of the royals are bound to us. And there is also a certain amount of intelligence even among the students that have been conscripted," he finished. Advocat nodded lightly, his dark eyes sparkling with keen interest. “And these dead Royals, you mentioned. What do they remember? Do they remember dying? Or how Dworkin played a role in it?” He asked this of both Cole and Cynwyd. Finndo remained silent. But Osric flinched, as if slapped. [How could I be so stupid? He’s right. I don’t recall dying. I don’t even recall what transpired beforehand. The last thing I recall is Father sending Finndo and I off to war. We made to leave via the Pattern and then. . .] The Voice fell away to troubled silence. As Osric 'talked', Cynwyd listened to the flow of his thoughts. And as he did, a furrow began to form beneath his brow, becoming a fully troubled expression by the time he was done. "I don't know much of the Pattern," Cywnyd said, talking aloud to Advocat, but also towards Osric, "but what I do know is that it alters reality in some way. Does it keep a copy of things the way that they were before? I ask, because the last thing he remembers is preparing to leave via the Pattern. Nothing after, and especially not his death." "If I remember right," Cole added, "that's about the last thing Finndo remembers as well. But he's not volunteering anything at the moment." Advocat frowned. “As remorseful as I may be to admit lack of knowledge, the Pattern remains the dominion of the Royals. Princess Fiona would certainly know more than I. She specializes in Pattern research. Only Oberon and the Destroyer knew more. An interesting hypothesis, however, Student Cynwyd. Much of magick is the reformulation of Reality’s structure, not unlike editing elements of a formula.” Osric gave Cynwyd a mental pat on the back. <You have a keen mind, Cynwyd. I believe you may have unlocked the mystery of our creation.> Cole yawned widely. "Unfortunately, I was under the impression that involving Princess Fiona in this question would lead to our highly enlightening but unfortunate dissection. I don't merely want this whole situation understood, I'd also like to survive to deal with the consequences. And enjoy the aftermath, if possible." "That is," Cynwyd said sardonically, "a valid point. But we have other sources that might be able to get the information we want, and do see us as more than lab subjects." He turned back to Advocat, nodding politely. "Thank you for your insight. I hope that you profited as much as we did from this conversation." “I am more than glad to alleviate your ignorance,” Advocat replied honestly. “Rest assured, our conversation will remain confidential. I see no reason to speak with the Princess at this time.” Thinking ahead, he studied the other man for a moment. Finally, coming to the conclusion that their well being was best bought with the promise of information, he added, "If we do find out more, I'd be quite interested in hearing your thoughts on the subject if you're willing...?" Advocat nodded, “Indeed. Please feel free to approach me whenever you have further information to discuss. You may also have Student Baronson relay messages regarding this subject matter as well. There are avenues of research I intend to pursue until then.” He began to rise. “Our companions will awaken shortly,” he added. "Speaking of companions," Cole said, sitting a bit more upright, "I think it would be best if the details of this situation didn't get back to Princess Rhea at this time. I haven't tried to hide this from her--I actually tried to explain it to her, what I knew at the time, but it upset her greatly. I don't think it would improve the situation if she were to hear that I am some sort of undead construct." He laughed. "I did promise her that I would keep myself alive until it was safe for her to return. I didn't realize at the time that I was already forsworn. I guess I'll just have to honor the spirit of the promise if not the literal truth of it. And try to figure out how to explain this to her." “Princess Rhea is a smart woman, Student Cole. And a forgiving one. She will understand,” Advocat replied with steely certainty. “And as I stated before, the Royals will not hear of this conversation.” "One more quick question, if you will," Cynwyd queried, pushing ahead in the interest of time. "Have you seen any others like us, recently?" Advocat touched his chin, shaking his head. “Other than Student Baronson? No. However, as I have only recently become aware of your existence, I have not been ‘looking,’ as it were. Should another of your kind crosses my path, I will be more conscious and recognize the arcane signatures. You will be the first to know should this occur.” He tipped his hat, which had appeared from the ether. “Good evening to you both,” he said. "Good..." Cynwyd started. He’d gone only a few steps before adding, “Despite the lateness of the evening, you will be expected in classes tomorrow.” "...Evening," Cynwyd finished, the drop in gaiety in his voice very audible. "Ah well," he said to Cole. "At least we have more information than we had before." He looked to his stirring fellow students. "We'd better get them to bed, all things considered," he said, sighing. "Yeah," Cole agreed. "Rita's okay here: they have apartments upstairs, and we can just lock the place up on our way out. But we should walk Satonaka home." Cole had the right of it. Rita and Richard looked quite content to remain where they were, snoring in unison. Cole paused. "Hey, Cynwyd? That house you're staying at. Does it by any chance have a guest room? I don't sleep so well in my dorm room any more." The young woman nuzzled into Cynwyd’s shoulder, smiling contentedly. Her eyelashes fluttered like delicate butterfly wings, finally opening. A weary smile curled her lips, “Hi.” She gently touched his cheek, outlining his jawbone, before closing her eyes once again. . . perfectly comfortable. Cynwyd looked from Satonaka to Cole then back again. His mind was furiously working, his normal instincts not really applicable. Then he looked back to Cole. "Yeah," he said at last. "Sure," he said a bit more lively, having cast the thoughts that he now associated with himself when he was trying to hide from who he was. Admittedly, his hiding place had a nice amount of alcohol and female flesh and excitement in it, but he now saw it for what it was. As effective a way of killing him as his parents could ever have devised. ... but there was a certain amount of him in that persona he realized, especially at the thought that occurred that solved the whole situation. "Maybe in her current condition- especially considering 'everything'- we shouldn't leave her alone," he said, looking back to Cole. "There's more than enough room, and better to be safe, right?" Cole shrugged. "Okay. We'd better get going." Disengaging from Rita, he got to his feet, not too unsteadily. He tapped Satonaka's shoulder. "Hey. You wanna lift?" "Shhh..." Cywnyd said. "I've got her. You take care of Rita." Satonaka blinked exhaustedly, glancing from face to face. Her arms tightened around Cywnyd’s neck, as she shifted her weight to be more easily picked up. She giggled into his neck, “Mrmm… alone for years. And now two handsome men fighting over me. Must be dreaming.” Rita yawned and moved closer to the dying fire. Richard rose long enough to cover her with a blanket and tuck her tail under. He nodded wearily to the men, “I’ll close up, after you. Safe travels.” |
