Whisper (26 page)

Never mind that, where Jeremiah Alistair was concerned, there would never be a 'right time'. Not for this. Not in our world.

Twenty-Three –

I
had heard a story, once, about a castle that had existed on one of our now-ruined continents. Who was to say what shape it was in after the quakes, but I had seen pictures of it –
Neuschwanstein –
a romantic masterpiece of asymmetrical white spires and window-riddled sections. Blue-gray sloping rooftops and turrets, and crown-like balconies topped off the architectural wonder. It was the kind of place that inspired wonderment and imagination of times past, of medieval livelihood and glory.

But this castle hid a very different story ghosting through its halls than the one imagined by surveying its great appearance. Visually categorizing it was a misleading indulgence – the fruit of which was a far cry from its true nature.

It had in fact not been built in the medieval era at all. It was a much more recent beast of design – awe-inspirngly recent, as fresh as 19
^th
Century craftsmanship. As good as a modern fortress.

Neuschwanstein, therefore, was not a fortress of practicality. Or policy. Not by any means. Not even the work of some pompous king of old. It had been built, instead, off of no greater whim than the intrigue of pure, impractical fantasy.

Its builder, Ludwig II of that forgotten place known as Bavaria, had been groomed against desire as his father's heir from a young age. When his father died scarcely after Ludwig came of age, the son ascended to power in what had surely felt prematurely. Matters of war were at hand with a kingdom called Prussia, and in the midst of the great responsibility he was unprepared for, Ludwig lost Bavaria to the bully that was the rising Prussian empire.

Following this failure, Ludwig retreated from politics, and from the public eye, and went into hiding. Unable to live with the reality that had become of his life, he turned to realizing his other dalliances. Thus was born his masterpiece of fantasy: the castle that served as his fantastical retreat, as his limitless, glorified playground. Having always had a taste for theater and the arts, Ludwig created rooms as one might create sets – endless rooms of deviating wonder, of unthinkable impracticality and unfathomable expense – and costumed himself in attire suitable for the Middle Ages, sweeping through his halls in garish robes like a child playing dress-up, going for midnight rides via horse himself.

He had lived in a fantasy. A fortune-burning, mentally-poisoning sham. It had been a self-destructive lifestyle, an exile of appeasing insanity – one which canceled his friendships, ruined his relationships, plunged him into madness and left a gaping shadow of debt hanging over the kingdom.

He died that way – in the muddle of it all. But in the end? The factor that had the last word where this muddle was concerned?

Tourism.

His unfathomable creation, that great beast of folly and bankruptcy that had worn thin those at his disposal for so long, became a tourist attraction like none other. A place of such intrigue and wealth that it became legend, and made up for its expenses and the sacrifices that went into seeing it realized a dozen times over. All the blood, sweat, and tears that went into the mortar?

A recipe for magic, it seemed. Fairy dust that sifted out of the woodwork, floating thereafter through the halls.

Ludwig's fantasy became a thing of substance – something to go down in the history books.
Unavoidably real, as a result.

His fantasy was history, now. As good as all other history.

It was this that inspired the notion: fantasies, while pegged as exotic dalliances, as cheatings of reality, as unhealthy indulgences...could turn around benefits that nobody bothered to consider. Unforeseen,
legendary
benefits.

The kind that I increasingly intended to procure from matters myself.

Twenty-Four –

T
he 'final touches' for my new persona were select pieces of jewelry from the mystery box that Cambrie had brought in on the first day, as well as the additional artistry of Celtic-inspired symbols and knots that Lady Alejandra painted onto my face and body. These were done in reds as well, completing the blood-and-fire warrior theme they had chosen for this first trial run.

“Fortunately, regarding your concern,” Lady Alejandra said to me as she finished the last blood-red swirl on my shoulder, “the Lieutenant won't see you this way until you get there. In other words: until it's entirely too late.” Smiling, she took me by the arm and rotated me in front of the mirror so I could admire her handiwork. “Oh, and I forgot to mention,” she added, avoiding my eyes in the mirror. “To make preparation an easier, more timely process, I took the liberty of using a different kind of paint for these. So they'll, uh, already be there every morning when we start.”

My eyes tore themselves from the designs and speared her with suspicion. “What? What is it?”

“Henna,” she announced, unapologetically, gaining confidence now that the initial confession was out. “So, yes, don't bother trying to scrub these off with the rest of your makeup. They're semi-permanent. We'll just have to redo them as they grow faint.”

“You mean I'm stuck with these? Right now? Out...
there
?”

“Buck up, love. They go right along with your other tattoos.”

Of the decorations they had adorned me with, the symbols were certainly my preferred choice if I had to be stuck with one on display. I just didn't appreciate the idea of having to finally provide the necessary explanations to people. That was still something that I kept optimistically pitched far in my future.

I let out a breath, resigning myself to it. The cat had to come out of the bag one way or another. Maybe it would be better that it came out gradually, I told myself. A transition instead of the shock of it thrown in their faces all at once.

I could handle that.

*

I still did not specifically give Jay an explanation, but he saw me ride out the next time a faction was summoned, war tattoos on display across my flesh, my hair done up with far more effect in mind than usual, extra saddlebags for excess supplies riding behind me on Char's back, and my entourage at my flanks. He would hear it from others anyway, if he bothered to ask. Probably only if he bothered to listen.

I dismissed it at that, until he overturned my ambitions of walking out without ever an explanation and took matters into his own hands.

“Wait –
Cambrie!
” he called after us, before we could get through the gates, and I couldn't believe it. He was going to employ
her
consultation? And of course, she stopped to humor him. She was clumsy on her mount, unsure of herself and ignorant except for the basics, but she found the power to turn her little bay to face Jay.

I pulled up as well, if for no other reason than the disbelief that he would stoop so low as to get on my nerves through her. What could he possibly need to say to her? By his exasperated tone, I imagined he was finally putting the 'what the hell are you doing' question to someone. Surely he had to be more than surprised, seeing her with us. Evidently the madness had finally gone to far, spread its circle too wide, and he was taking advantage of having an ally in its midst to consult.

But I didn't take kindly to that nonsense. He could have asked me. Me not giving him much breathing room around me was no excuse. He was a man, and had never been one to make excuses, or need excuses. He could have asked me.

But he exchanged his series of quiet words with Cambrie, and I looked on in mordant humor, maddeningly unable to make out any of it. Jay made a few gestures that matched his earlier tone, and I imagined him detailing the nonsense that we were getting into, and challenging her common sense for joining in. That could not sit well with her, I thought, but against my assumptions of her and what made her tick, she managed the situation and returned to us, sticking with the plan. And she didn't even look overly agitated by whatever had transpired between them. Maybe there was a little more to her than I thought.

Or Jay hadn't said what I assumed he had.

I would not give her the satisfaction – or myself the dissatisfaction – of asking what it had been, and so I simply said, “Are we good?” in a bit of a challenging tone, as if she and Jay had had some lover's quarrel to sort out, and the rest of us were quite ready to be on our way.

“Lead the way,” she nodded, disclosing nothing further, and I allowed myself one last unapologetic glance at Jay before carrying on and doing exactly that.

*

The Lieutenant was indeed found short of 'on board' with my initial presentation, surprised by the unforeseen effects and equally as taken-aback to see that Cambrie and Lady Alejandra had accompanied the rest of us. But I sat tall upon Char's back and reminded her,

“It's a circus, remember?”

And she warmed to the idea well enough, if for no other reason than the fact that she didn't have time to disassemble and redirect our efforts. She shook her head before moving off. “If we're going to win this thing with anything,” she said, “I guess it might as well be the circus.” And she left us to it.

“You're lucky she has better things to do than redirect hare-brained schemes,” I said to my two wingladies.

“Aye,” Lady Alejandra agreed. “But only lucky if you don't get yourself killed doing exactly what we've been permitted to go through with.”

I acknowledged the warning, meeting her eyes over my shoulder. Of course – it would not do to count ourselves lucky and get cocky prematurely. The real battle was not with the Lieutenant.

We counted it a victory, but she was on our side.

*

To keep the fantasy alive, I sneaked Char out for a midnight ride. The soldiers were familiar enough with my antics, by then, that if the guards saw me up and about with the horses they wouldn't think twice about it. The only thing I had to do was slip out beyond the camp boundaries when I knew their eyes were elsewhere. I knew the drill, so I simply tracked their rounds and gave myself the green light when there was a gap. We had scouts to warn us of greater schemes of movement, so the guard we kept was mostly precautionary, there just in case a random evil came crashing in.

Slipping out past the tents, I directed Char out into the dark wilderness – and then let him take the reins, so to speak. Where did wild horses go, when left to themselves? I delighted myself with the notion that I was just about to find out. Did they wander, or were they driven by instinct? Would Char just continue on until I stopped him or turned him back, or would he find some special niche that was the best kept secret among wild horses?

The grasses swished between his legs, tamped down now and then by his hooves. Once or twice the head of a weed would brush against my foot.

There was not much to see, but I drank it in. Let the subtle thrill of it fill me. Char blazed an unhindered trail – wandering, perhaps, but by no means unsure of himself.

It was only after we'd put a good distance between the camp and our adventure that his ears flicked, and he craned his head around to look into the dark to the east. The swishing beneath his hooves went silent, and he raised his head to focus whatever he had noticed.

I followed his gaze, and my own eyes landed on the silhouette that had drawn his attention.

An uncanny wonder stirred through me at the horse that I saw standing there. At first it was reminiscent of the dreams I had about the stallion, always following me, appearing wherever I went. But this was no white stallion. In the end my mind was drawn instead back to the incident with the gorilla, and the unnamed horse that had appeared out of nowhere to defend me.

The darkness made it hard to see, but there was no mistaking the horse that stood before me now. While it was no white stallion, it was a horse entirely as unexpected.

It was Fly.

Twenty-Five –

I
stared at the creature manifested there in the dark grass, a thousand questions and feelings running through me.

“Fly?” I whispered, and the silhouette tested my scent on the breeze, nickered, but didn't come any closer. It was just the fact that he was alive, though, and miraculously standing there before me that mattered at all in that moment.

You survived out there on your own?
I thought.
You followed me all the way here?
And, more notably, as I recalled the gorilla episode, ...
You saved me that night?