Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel (5 page)

As they moved out of a briar patch into flat
land covered with blue grass, Josie rode at the prince’s side, with
the Seeker of the Four Winds floating a foot above her wrist. When
the trail narrowed, everyone went single file, with Josie directly
behind Loyl. She had developed a grace in the saddle, her body
swaying in rhythm with her horse, and Lars longed to ride next to
her, but the fussy Regalan prince insisted they maintain their
assigned position in line.

In camp that evening, even
Dante and Lindsey were w
alking stiffly bow-legged. At least
Lars wasn’t the only one suffering—looking like a softie. Josie had
campfire duty this week. After she gathered the wood, she gripped a
choice stick until her
charisma
started it smoking. Then she
added it to the pile of dried grasses and wood. Lars was skinning a
squirrel, looking forward to sitting by a nice warm fire, thinking
it would go a long way in loosening his tight muscles, noticing
that scruffy Rolf with the greasy blond hair was the only Galatian
who didn’t appear to be affected by today’s rough ride.

Sure, Rolf was the resident horse expert, but
there seemed to be more to it than that. After Rolf finished
watering the animals, giving them feed, he took a seat near the
fire, which was growing larger and warmer under Josie’s careful
supervision. Eyes half-closed, Rolf sat cross-legged, hands on his
knees, looking like the poster child of relaxation.

“How come you’re not sore?” Lindsey pouted to
Rolf as she pulled the last of the season’s berries from a twig and
placed them in a Tupperware bowl.

“You’re forgetting, I was eleven years old
when I came to the future,” he said, flicking a strand of straggly
long hair out of his eyes. “Riding’s as easy as walking to me.”

“Eleven years old, huh,” Lindsey said
thoughtfully, brushing her auburn curls away from her face. “A few
months ago, you were six years younger than me—a cute, little,
seventh grader. Now, you’re four years older than me. How weird is
that?”

Rolf grinned, showing the gap between his two
front teeth. Lindsey artlessly curled a strand of her hair with her
index finger and sent Rolf a winsome smile. “Why is it you never
seem to sleep?” Lindsey asked him. Lars wondered the same thing, so
he listened with interest.

“It’s my charisma. Meditating for ten minutes
is like getting an hour of sleep.” Rolf claimed. “With practice,
most Galatians can learn how to do it.”

“Will you teach me?” Lindsey asked.

“I’d love to,” Rolf gushed a little too
eagerly.

Lindsey giggled.

Josie rolled her eyes, her usual reaction to
pretty much everything Lindsey did—Lars wondered how come she
didn’t make herself dizzy.

She sat down on Rolf’s other side.“Can I join
in?”

“Please do, Josie. Take the position
most comfortable for you, clear your mind of all
its petty inclinations, and open the portal within which transcends
space and time.”

“The portal being
the
Excito Fortitudo,” Lars interrupted Rolf, also eager to
impress the girls. His father had been a member of the Charismatic
Focus Committee and Lars had picked up a lot of not-so-common
knowledge over the years.

Rolf opened one eye wide to cast Lars an
irritated glance. “The
Exi-forti—
what?”

“The Excito Fortitudo—a new organ exclusive
to the Galatian anatomy—brought on by the Celerun plague,” Lars
replied smugly. “My Dad and his team were about to publish a paper
on their findings when the earthquake hit the bunker, so only a
select few even know about it.”

“Excito Fortitudo,” Josie echoed.

“I’m not good with fancy terminology,” Rolf
said calmly as he opened his palms to the sky as if inviting the
universe itself to come hither. “I just know how to make it
work.”

“It’s like learning how to ride a bike.” Lars
continued to butt in as the girls settled down. We’re not born
knowing we have the ability to balance on two wheels, and it
wouldn’t even enter our minds to attempt such a feat, but as soon
as someone shows us the possibility…”

“It’s more important to know how to
use
the power, than to know the power’s name,” Lindsey said,
placing a hand on Rolf’s knee, causing Rolf to blush. “Now, quit
interrupting him, Lars. You’re breaking our concentration.”

“Don’t be doing none of that magical mumbo
around me,” Hogard growled as he sat down next to them, holding a
skewered skinned rodent over the fire. “It just ain’t right.”

“Hogard,” Josie complained. “It’s your
perception that
just ain’t right
. You’re afraid of what you
think
we’re doing, but you don’t understand what we’re doing
at all.”

Hogard’s eyes narrowed. “I ain’t afraid of
nothing, cow.”

“Except the charisma,” Josie replied, holding
up one finger. “And magic. And
not
dying in battle.” The
Bulwark’s head began quivering as if he were filling with steam and
was about to explode.

Lars felt the Bulwark struggling to contain
his urge to bash Josie with his hammer. Scrambling to his feet,
Lars hastily pulled Josie up with him. “We’ll take up the
charismatic lesson again later. Why don’t you help me stoke the
fire?”

“And I’ll gather more firewood,” Rolf
offered.

“Wait, Rolf!” Lindsey jumped to her feet.
“I’ll do it, I mean go with you—uh, if that’s okay?”

A dopey grin spread across Rolf’s face.
“Sure, okay.”

Lars caught Josie’s eye—the two of them
exchanged a knowing glance. Hogard had already calmed down and he
stood there idly scratching his ass with a stick.

“I saw a patch of berries on the way here,”
Josie told Loyl. “I’d like to gather them for supper.”

“Fine,” the Regalan said. “Stay close to
camp. If you get lost, don’t wander. Just call for me and I’ll hear
you.”

“Can Lars come with me?”

“No,” Loyl said.

“Why not?”

“Because I promised Simon that I would
discourage any amorous activities.”

“Who said anything about amorous?”

“Did I mention that
Regalans have a sense of smell sharper than any
krayzwach?
” Loyl caught their
perplexed expression. “A porcine creature we use for trailing
fugitives and uncovering truffles. What I mean is...I can smell
your desire for one another.”

“Seriously?” Josie brought her arm up to her
nose and sniffed. “I don’t smell a thing.”

“Not you so much—I mean Lars.”

Lars felt his cheeks burn in humiliation.

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s normal,
especially among people your age.” Loyl said. “I wouldn’t care if
you went off together and pleasured your bodies—it’s just that I
gave Simon my word that I would encourage the two of you to keep
things platonic.”

“You let Rolf and Lindsey go off together,”
Josie complained.

“Her parents didn’t bind me by my word.”

“Please,” Josie pleaded. “Give us ten minutes
alone. What can possibly happen in ten minutes?”

“A lot,” Prince Loyl said.

“Five minutes.”

“No. We could still use those berries though.
I will send Hogard with you.”

“No, thank you,” Josie
humphed, tossing her nose into the air. “And I thought you were
a
cool
prince,
but nooo, you’re just a stuffy old coot like the rest of ‘em.”
Grabbing an empty burlap bag, she flounced off into the trees
without waiting for the Bulwark. Lars’s eyes followed her in
longing until her silhouette became one withk the shadows. Feeling
like he was withering inside, Lars let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry, Lars,” Loyl squeezed his
shoulder. “If it’s true love, this time apart will make the moment
you come together all the sweeter. By the way, what’s a coot?” Lars
shrugged, not feeling like explaining. “When Lindsey gets back,
I’ll look up the definition on her electronic device.”

(Josephine Rose Albright)

After supper around the fire Loyl borrowed
Lindsey’s tablet. When he looked up, he shot Josie a vexed stare.
Returning it to Lindsey, he announced that he needed to stretch his
legs and left. The next day, Loyl acted cold toward Josie—speaking
only when necessary, refusing to look her in the eye. She didn’t
understand why until Lindsey showed her the tablet’s history.

“Does this have anything to
do with why he’s been so sulky?” Lindsey asked accusingly. “Leave
it to you to offend a totally gorgeous Regalan prince.” Josie
grabbed the tablet. The last dictionary entry that had been
accessed was
coot: a foolish person,
typically an old man.

Could a rugged outdoorsman really be so
easily offended? Princes must be unaccustomed to direct
ridicule—even in jest. Realizing that she had hurt his feelings,
and probably his pride, Josie was determined to smooth things over.
But how?

Finding a moment to apologize was awkward
because other people were always around. Josie realized how hard it
must have been for Lindsey to admit her role in the guitar
conspiracy and apologize in front of the entire squad. The next
evening, when they were bedding down for the night, she waited for
Loyl to fall asleep and snuck over to speak with Lars.

“Prince Loyl is mad at me.
I think he took it wrong when I called him a
stuffy old coot
.”

“Is there a right way to take that?”

“What should I do?”

“Apologize.”

“I figured that,” she snapped acerbically. “I
can’t get up the nerve in front of everybody.”

“I like the old custom of writing notes on
paper.”

“Yeah,” Josie giggled, remembering the cute
note he had left on her birthday present. “I know.” She leaned over
and gave him a peck on the forehead. “A note it is, then.”

Returning to the blanket she shared with
Lindsey, Josie dug through her bag until she found a small notepad
of paper and a pen. She had packed them, intending to journal her
trip between the notepad’s sturdy plastic cover. Her good
intentions hadn’t quite panned out. She tore out a blank page and
wrote:

Dear Prince Loyl of the House of the White
Rose:

I am sorry for calling you
a stuffy old coot. I behaved like a spoiled child and that was
wrong. How old are you anyway—like twenty-five or something? Even
though it kind of sucks for me and Lars, I admire you for keeping
your word to his dad. I think you are a good leader. Smart and very
wise in your decisions. I like it when you sing. You could have
been a
rockstar
singing sensation back in the modern age. While most of the
races have been mean to my people, you have been a friend, giving
me hope that the world is still good and there’s a place for the
Galatians in it somewhere. If you ever need a favor, ask me and
I’ll see what I can do. Please forgive me for being a
whiny-baby-jerk-face.

Sincerely,

Josephine Albright

She tiptoed to his traveling bag, and folded
it into the teeth of his comb where he would find it in the
morning. Second-guessing her words, she wondered if the note was
too informal. Sometimes it was easy to forget the guy was royalty.
Good grief, she slapped her forehead, I’ve probably made everything
worse. Loyl stirred and she skittered away, fearful that he’d
wake.

The next morning, Josie couldn’t bear to see
his reaction. She hid in the underbrush and waited for him to
finish his morning routine of combing his white mane, preening his
triangular ears, and sharpening his weapons. When she got back, his
hair was smooth and standing straight out in every direction. He
gave her a formal tip of the head.

“I forgive you for being a
whiny-baby-jerk-face,” he said, the pomp of his tone and manner not
quite matching the words, as he stumbled over the alien phrase.

She tried to match his formality as she
returned his nod. A great weight lifted from her shoulders. “Thank
you, kind prince. I am humbled by your graciousness.”

“I am forty-six-years in this world and
counting,” he said, reminding Josie that the average lifespan for
his species was around a hundred and thirty, and their maturation
process was correspondingly lengthened relative to humans’. “And
yourself?”

“Seventeen years and counting.”

“I didn’t realize you were quite so
young.”

“If you count the time travel, I’m pushing
two hundred thousand. Not so young after all.”

They shared a chuckle as the rest of the
squad packed, but Josie knew the others were watching out of the
corner of their eyes. When she returned to her blankets to roll
them into a bundle, Lars knelt down to help her, whispering in her
ear, “See, I told you a note would work wonders.”

Josie nudged him playfully in the ribs. “OK,
you were right. Miracles do happen.”

.............................

(Larsen Drey Steelsun)

After another week of whining mosquitoes,
buzzing horseflies and pole-vaulting deer ticks; plus two river
crossings with ensuing sodden girths, the endless trees started to
thin. The girls’ rivalry had softened into teasing, which helped
pass the time as they drudged through the same old scenery, with
the same old people, having the same old conversations about the
weather being too hot, too cold, or too rainy, and the ground and
saddles being too hard and too uncomfortable, while the food was
too bland or too gamey.

On the positive side, clear skies, mild
weather, and good luck helped squad travel at a fast pace. The
usual routine consisted of packing camp at daybreak, resting for
two to three hours at the peak heat of the day, and hitting the
trail again until dusk. Night was for sitting around a campfire,
eating, and exchanging tales. Lars learned that Hogard and Loyl
knew his father quite well, having battled the Slivens together.
According to Hogard, ‘Doc’ was a great fighter, which meant a lot
coming from a Bulwark.