Author's Preface
Solana: Welcome to Hidden Narratives. I am Solana.
Merkra: And I’m Merkra.
Aisling: And I’m Aisling O’Shae!
Merkra: Solana she joined our introoooo. We have to adopt her right now.
Solana: Joining in on our intro is not grounds for adoption. Also, she is a fully matured adult only a few years younger than us. She does not need two new parents.
Aisling: I would be happier than a morlock treading a shit trough, actually.
Merkra: Baaaabe.
Solana: Mother Below…there are two of them. Aisling, would you like to introduce yourself to the listeners?
Aisling: Love to! I’m Aisling O’Shae. The Footnote Finders in the forums know me as SpicyDruidGirl. I am a druid, obviously, and I am the youngest to ever ascend to Voice of the Grove in the Forest Walkers.
Merkra: Can you give us a little background on what the Forest Walkers are and what a Voice of the Grove does?
Aisling: Absolutely. You’ve actually talked about one of my ancestors already. Madra. The Forest Walkers are the oldest druidic tribe in eastern Etos, and second eldest on Etos as a whole. We’re only lagging behind the Estersand clan in the sandsea by a few hundred years. Ummm… Voice of the Grove, right. The Voice of the Grove, me, is responsible for keeping our stories and history alive through the ages. So, I’m something of an expert on Etosian natural history.
Solana: How does one become a Voice of the Grove?
Aisling: Tedium? Back in the day it was a lot of sitting in the Great Library and listening to old people tell stories. These days most of our information has been digitized. It’s not online or anything, very secretive my people, but I can access most of it through our home servers. There is still an uncomfortable amount of listening to old people tell stories though.
Merkra: I have so many questions. Can you tell us a little more about Spirits and Spirit Remnants?
Aisling: Yeah! So Prof Grimjaw gave some pretty decent background, but we do have a little different perspective on them. Technically anybody can become a spirit, assuming your soul is strong enough. I could go into the specifics of how we believe you strengthen your soul, but it’s pretty much irrelevant to the story you’re telling. The only souls that have ever been strong enough to develop spirit fragments have been the primordial souls.
Solana: Primordial souls? You’re referring to the titans?
Aisling: Exactly. That Titan’s Graveyard Freya mentioned? That’s where your powerful souls popped out of. The one you’re talking about here, though, the one following Fletch, that’s the Briogan.
“And though I wander, and so I grieve. Each place I pass leaves a new song to weave.”
Leonie sang his lyrics back to him as Fletcher scooted into the booth beside them. The Harvest Festival in Baisee had emptied Raven’s Crest, leaving Jinty McGinty’s tavern quiet in a way it rarely was.
“Didn’t expect you to be in town still.” Fletcher nodded his thanks to Conrad McGinty as he set a mug of ale in front of him and a plate of roasted meat and fresh bread.
“I do enjoy a good party.” Leonie gave a slight shrug and sipped at deep purple wine. “But I’ve got business to handle here.”
“Oh?” Fletcher spread some honey along the still hot bread with his knife and took a bite. “What sort of business?”
“The Fletcher Sterling Lightfoot kind.” Leonie gave him a sympathetic smile and set their glass down and glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot. “Melrhos is concerned you’re getting too close to a certain Gifted.”
Fletcher chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Melrhos doesn’t have any say over my personal relationships.”
“That’s what I told him, but I understand his concern.” Leonie folded their hands in front of them and leaned back against the plush velvet seat. “Having someone so close compromised by certain…” They hesitated, bobbing their head back and forth. “Feelings could leave him very exposed.”
“You think I’m compromised?” Fletcher’s eyebrows rose. Melrhos he could understand, but Leonie should have known better.
“No, I don’t.” They said softly, reaching over to set a hand on his. “I’m just the softest voice Melrhos could send in your direction. I think the conversation is warranted, however.”
Fletcher sighed, turning his hand to hold theirs. “Go ahead.”
“How serious is the relationship?”
“It’s barely a friendship, as far as I can tell.” Fletcher looked down at his plate. “She’s just as likely to wring my neck as talk to me on most days.”
One of their eyebrows rose slowly. “That upsets you.”
“Of course.” Fletcher took a bite from his plate and wiped his face with his napkin. “I’m just trying to be friendly and I get shut down? Wouldn’t you be upset?”
“Perhaps, but have you considered how she must feel about it?”
Fletch shook his head. “About someone being nice to her? Doesn’t seem like a bad thing.” As the words left his lips, he realized just how short they fell. The look his companion gave him punctuated how plainly he’d missed something.
Leonie chuckled softly and patted his hand before taking a sip from their glass again. “Imagine it like this. From the moment you could fathom the idea, trust has been a joke. Even the people closest to you could turn on you at any moment. You’ve lived your entire life with your guard up. Then some cocky halfling with a lute comes along and shows you kindness. Even if it’s completely innocent, are you going to trust it?”
Fletcher pursed his lips, not looking up from his plate. He’d truly underestimated how deep that indoctrination was. Then he’d introduced her to Lady Dawnflare. It must have broken her brain.
“I guess not.” He sighed. “Is there any way to convince her?”
“Gently.” Leonie nodded. “And with a certain amount of persistence, but mostly gently.”
“So don’t write a song about her and sing it in front of a room full of people?”
“Please don’t tell me that’s what you were going to do.” They closed their eyes, pinching the bridge of their nose.
Long after Leonie had called it a night, Fletch sat in the booth sipping ale that had gone warm. Why had it bothered him so much? Sometimes it felt like he barely knew the woman. Then there were times, like the beach, when she made a joke and he could feel his insides melt.
* hum of static *
Merkra: What really stands out, for me at least, is how Fletcher lets this sink it. Obviously, the listeners and Fletcher don’t know what’s coming in the next few weeks, but I think he really takes what Leonie said to heart.
Solana: Definitely. He takes the advice and applies it perfectly, in my opinion. You’ll see that in the next bit, but before that, I think we have a sponsor to mention?
Merkra: Right. Hidden Narratives is brought to you by Dragon’s Hoard Imports. Anything you can think of you can find…
The King’s banquet hall had slowly emptied over the last few minutes, but that had not stopped his most captive audience. Just in front of the stage, Yasha danced along with the bright orange sprite, giggling and laughing as they twirled around the marble floor.
Fletcher grinned as his fingers plucked the strings of his worn lute. He could feel Penelope’s stare on him. It was cold, but something more. Something primal that kept him from making eye contact.
Oh though I wander, and though I grieve,
Each place I pass leaves a song to weave.
When dawn breaks pale on a distant shore
This Wayward Star’s called to roam once more.
His final line was met with an exaggerated huff and a stomp of a leather boot. Yasha stared up at him, sprite balance on the tip of one of her horns.
“No fair.” She whined. “I wasn’t done dancing.”
“Sorry, sweetie.” Fletcher pulled off his lute and sat down on the edge of the stage. “I don’t get paid by the song.”
“If I give you some obols will you play another song?” Yasha grinned, bouncing softly on the balls of her feet.
“Not tonight, I appreciate how much you enjoy it though.” Fletcher held his hand out as the sprite glided from the girls horn over to him. He glanced up, checking to see if Penelope had moved from her spot across the room, before addressing Yasha again. “You know, not a lot of people can see my friend here, have you always been able to see her?”
Yasha nodded. “Only when you’re here. There are others, though.”
“Other sprites?” Fletcher asked.
“I call them fairies.” She shrugged. “Lots out in the courtyard. I don’t think anyone else can see them.”
He stared down at the girl beaming up at him. Were it any other child, he would assume it was their imagination. It made sense there were others, but not being able to see them was strange. They must be able to choose who can see them. Which meant they’d all chosen Yasha…or she didn’t need their permission.
“Can you talk to them?” Fletcher asked.
“Only the ones that want to talk.” Yasha looked over her shoulder. He hadn’t noticed Penelope move, but she had even without looking that direction. “Don’t tell Penny though. They don’t want her to know.” She whispered.
“Your secret’s safe with me.” Fletcher winked.
“I think the bard has had enough company for the evening.” Penelope wrapped an arm around her ward’s shoulder, though the dark orange eyes remained locked on him. “Let’s go, Yasha.”
“Alright.” She looked back up at him, still beaming. “Thank you for the music, Fletcher!”
“You’re very welcome, little one. I’ll see you next time.” He smiled, and the sprite resting on his elbow winked out.
Fletch gnawed at his lip as they walked away. Penelope glanced over her shoulder, the sadistic grin of a starving predator plastered on her face. He shuddered slightly before hopping off the stage and approached the king still sitting at the head of the banquet table.
“Your Highness.” Fletcher bowed his head. “I can see myself out if there is no one to escort me.”
“Nonsense.” He stood and adjusted his fine coat as he looked around. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost, wind up someplace you don’t need…Ah! Atania!” He waved his hand toward the open double doors behind him.
She froze, looked from the king to Fletch, then approached, adjusting the half cape hanging from her shoulder.
“Your Highness.” She bowed at the waist.
“Would you kindly escort Mr. Lightfoot back to the ship?”
It had all the qualities of a courteous request, but behind the smile, a familiar predatory gaze shifted between the two of them. Suddenly reminded of the rumors and stories behind the king, Fletcher tensed and waited for Atania to make the first move.
Her jaw clenched, barely enough to be visible, but she nodded. “Of course, my king.” She bowed her head again and turned to go back the way she’d came.
“See you soon, King Vilrut.” Fletcher gave a half wave as he hurried to catch up to Atania.
The soft echo of their boots sounded through the empty hall as they walked. He smiled up at Atania, but her face had gone suddenly dark. Her eyes darted back and forth, and her hand moved to rest on her hip just above the ornate dagger handle.
“Are you alright?”
“Fine.” She clenched her jaw, muscles tensing under her ears. “Not feeling very well tonight, let’s get you out of here. Quickly.” She added and picked up the pace just slightly.
It took a moment for Fletcher to realize what was happening. It was subtle, but listening closer, there was the faintest reverberation behind their boots. Like a hand drum that was tuning up a crowd, unless you were really paying attention once the other instruments started it was all but silent. They were being followed.
Nervousness was not a natural feeling for him. On the rare occasions when it did happen, his instinct was to talk until it went away. Exactly what Atania obviously did not want him doing. He spent the silent walk through the courtyard, town, and onto the ship chewing the skin off his bottom lip and doing his best not to look around for the prowler.
Atania pushed him onto the boat and beneath the deck, closing the hatch when they went down. She ushered him quickly to one of the back cabins. After forcing him into the little room, she leaned against the door frame, watching the stairs that lead down.
“What is it?” Fletcher whispered as he tried to poke his head out of the doorway to look, but he smacked the back of his head to stop him.
“I’m being tailed. He hasn’t come below deck yet, though. Might not follow me to Raven’s Crest.” Atania didn’t look at him. Her eyes remained glued to the hatch, waiting for it to open.
“He? Who’s he?”
“Don’t worry about it.” She pursed her lips, and the little crease formed between her eyebrows.
“If you’re in trouble, I can…” Fletcher hesitated.
Gently.
If she wasn’t ready for his help, he shouldn’t push it. “Let me know if there is anything I can do.” He sucked his raw lower lip into his mouth and moved away from the door, flopping onto the bed.
She didn’t respond. For a moment, she stood there. Her eyes flicked back and forth from him to the hatch. The creak of the hull the only thing breaking the silence he let hang. She stepped back into the passage and pulled the door shut.
Gently.
Fletcher lay in the dark, staring at the vague patterns he could make out in the wood above him. The ship swayed around him, but the motion didn’t soothe like normal. He thought of Atania’s clenched jaw. The small flex of the muscle. The flicker of fear she’d tried to hide.
He closed his eyes, drew in a slow breath, and whispered to the dark.
“This Wayward Star…called to roam once more.”