Work In Progress | Excerpt from "Promised Heroes"

 “Excuse me,” he said, addressing the innkeeper, “how much do rooms run us?”

The minotaur clopped over to the two of them—a friendlier gesture than his previous indifference. Benedict assumed it had something to do with the fact that he had given money to the establishment.

“Depends,” said the innkeeper, “how long do ye plan on squattin’ here?”

“Indefinitely, if I’m being honest,” said Benedict, but when the minotaur raised an unfollowing brow at him, he clarified, “Until I find somewhere to live.”

The innkeeper laughed. “In that case,” he studied Benedict for a moment, “every night and day’ll run ye fifteen tel.”

“That’s robbery,” said Mako, “at that rate, we’d be homeless within days.”

The minotaur shrugged. “I don’t see ’ow that’s my problem, little cat.” He squinted at Mako. “What are ye, anyhow?”

Mako grinned at the innkeeper, pupils expanding and contracting the way they did when he broadcasted his thoughts. The minotaur’s smugness gave way to a mask of horror and hatred, like he was seeing an unclean spirit. He stammered as he told Benedict and Mako that they were welcome to stay as long as they wished, free of charge, and presented them with a shiny if not weathered brass key labeled 2D on the bow. With that, he resumed his post at the far end of the counter and avoided eye contact with either of them.

“What did you say to him?” Benedict whispered to Mako.

The sprightlynx giggled. Oh, you know—the usual superstitious drivel. It’s really not worth repeating. Beastmen are so easy to spook that it’s almost unsporting; I’m really lowering my standards for your sake.

Benedict placed a few more silver on the counter and scooped up Mako under one arm from the barstool, hurrying upstairs.

Hey, I wasn’t finished eating!

Ignoring Mako’s squirming and protests, Benedict ascended the stairs and exited onto the second floor’s hallway, scanning the doorplates until he spotted their quarters. Room 2D had a door painted richly green, with a shiny brass knob and placard which matched the key for metal and patina. He unlocked it and hustled inside, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

Mako slipped out from the crook of his arm and stared daggers at him.

So this is the thanks I get for scoring us free room and board?

“Means don’t always justify ends, Mako,” Benedict said, crossing his arms.

Oh, don’t bore me with your worthless etiquette. You owe me your life, quiet-head.

“And you owe me a debt of service until you feel you’ve made up for causing me misery, but I don’t want you paying it off like that. It was a low blow, and now that guy probably hates us.”

Remind me again why I should care what every idiot yokel thinks of me?

“This particular yokel happens to own the building we’re sleeping in. Any hope we may have had about being treated with some measure of goodwill is gone, now.”

Oh, he’ll treat us well, said Mako, grinning wickedly, he’ll treat us like Councilmen. I’ve seen to that much. You wouldn’t believe the holy terror he has for the pair of us, now.

“That’s the thing—I never wanted to be a holy terror.”

Hang around a sprightlynx too much, and you’ll get all kinds of nasty looks.

“But I didn’t choose this! You did!”

For once, Mako looked serious. I can’t go against Imp’s Law. Sprightlynx are bound by the Deep Founding to do what I’ve been doing for you. There aren’t many rules I have to live by, but that is one of them. I’m helping you the only way I know how, and that isn’t going to stop. You will be my herald of chaos, and nothing short of your bodily death will rid you of me—and even then, I’d only track down your spirit in the trees to render my services to that, as well. Until my debt is fulfilled, you can expect all kinds of helpful mischief to abound. If my antics happen to spook a few burly cow-men along the way, then that’s too bad.

Benedict found himself more than a little frightened by the sprightlynx’s words. With his cuddlesome appearance, it was easy to forget how dangerous Mako really was. This was a powerful and intelligent creature that he had just dragged by the scruff up a flight of stairs. Even with the protection of Imp’s Law, Benedict was sure he could expect some kind of unpleasant retaliation in the near future.

Mako seemed to notice Benedict’s disquiet, as the sprightlynx grinned and turned away, swishing his tails. He trotted deeper into the room and leapt into the middle of the twin-sized bed, curling up and settling in. Benedict found himself almost trapped in the foyer alcove. The unassuming sight of Mako resting was, in that moment, as foreboding an image as anyone could have asked for.

Idiot, Benedict thought, this is exactly what he wants. Don’t let him scare you.

For all his toughening up, Benedict still gave the bed and its occupant a wide and wary berth as he explored the rest of their lodgings. Their new digs were simple enough, retaining the lazy Woodman’s rustic atmosphere. Her sole furnishings were the bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe, and a small round table with a chair and candle set before an open, rectangular window which overlooked the city’s low and crooked skyline. Maybe gazing out the window could help him ease his nerves. Benedict took a seat in the chair, setting the hat of coins down on the table. Both wobbled a little as the weights settled onto them, but the furniture remained intact.

The day seemed to have passed him by faster than he’d realized, for already the sky was incarnadine with the fiery hues of sunset, and soon the triple moons would rise. He pondered all they’d done that day, trying to get a sense of the time. It had been around or past noon when he’d woken up, and it had taken them the better part of an hour or two to actually reach the city. Then there was the wandering in the markets, the performance, and hanging about the tavern area...

The warm colors dimmed a moment, then nightfall stole the sky without transition, as suddenly and perfectly as a flipped light switch, and unveiled once more were all the splendors of the previous night’s reveal. Three moons filled the heavens, a triumvirate of queens in a court of stars, and the rippling rainbow aurora formed anew across the twinkling expanse. He soon lost himself in the gently wheeling sky, face aglow with wonder.

“Four and a half centuries have I lived,” said Mako, “and I’ve never once tired of that view.”

Benedict exclaimed and twisted around, nearly losing his seat. Mako lay on the bed as he had before, regarding him coolly with a single open eye. Benedict huffed and took a few calming breaths to ease his adrenaline, then returned his attention to the sky. He remembered the night before, and an idea occurred to him.

“Hey Mako,” said Benedict, looking over his shoulder at the sprightlynx, “what can you tell me about the sky?”

Mako stared at him with both eyes, then a smile tugged at the corners of his curving feline lips. With effortless grace, the sprightlynx uncoiled and stretched in one sinuous motion, finishing with a flick of his tails, before leaping from the bed to the table. Unlike the hat of coins, the table did not seem to notice Mako’s weight as he settled onto it.

“What do you want to know?”

“The moons!” said Benedict. “Tell me about the moons.”

Mako chuckled at his enthusiasm. “You’re a romantic, I see.” He looked out the window. “They are rightly called Kirelai, Merelai, and Lorelai—but to most, they are the Mother and Twins, or simply ‘the moons’ as you so named them. Their differing moods have always fascinated me.”

“Moods?”

“But of course. Everything in the sky has a soul—why not a demeanor? Kirelai, the Mother, is a steady old girl. Her phases have not changed since the world’s founding. But her daughters?” Mako laughed. “The Twins are quarrelsome, as all siblings should be, and always in opposite phases. The only thing Merelai and Lorelai seem to agree on is rebellion, as they are always two phases ahead or behind Kirelai.” Mako smiled in reminiscence. “I’ve always been able to count on Merelai for sympathy. Her sister reminds me too much of my own.”

“You have a sister?” said Benedict.

The sprightlynx nodded, not looking at Benedict. “And a brother, though he hardly counts. Hanzo is more fungus than fairy at this point.”

Benedict got back on topic. “What about constellations? Are there any of those?”

“Hold out your arm,” said Mako.

Benedict frowned, but did as directed, and the sprightlynx scampered onto his shoulder. With an outstretched paw, Mako began to guide Benedict’s eyes across the sky.

 “Do you see the cluster of stars right there? I want you to invoke a name. Elcrid.”

“Elcrid,” Benedict repeated. As he did so, the ghostly image of an elven woman with a drawn bow was superimposed before the constellation. Benedict gasped, studying the image as it slowly faded back into the night sky.

“You saw her?” said Mako.

Benedict nodded. “Who was that?”

“That is Elcrid, the Huntress. She protects Oephrid, the sacred Blue Lantern of the West, from the greed of the dragon Dwyndmir, who already seizes Taurelai, the Eastern Red Lantern. Say their names.”

“Oephrid, Dwyndmir, Taurelai,” Benedict intoned. One after another, the images of a twisting red dragon and the objects of his greed appeared in the sky. “Is Dwyndmir evil? What happens if he gets Oephrid?”

“There is no true evil in Canvas, only the petty vices we inherit from the Dreamers. As for Dwyndmir, he is selfish and covetous, as are all dragons. They say Dwyndmir was the first in the Repositorium to constellate. Surrounded by the heavens’ jewels, he hoarded them all, and would surrender their stories to no one. The prides of his hoard were the guiding lanterns of the eight directions. Whoever controls these controls the sky, and even the Mother and Twins were helpless to stop him.”

“So how did the other constellations get there?”

“Stories,” said Mako, leaping back onto the table and facing Benedict. “We of the earth told stories so powerful that not even Dwyndmir could ignore them, and one after another, these stories constellated and pried the lanterns from his claws. Each of the beasts and heroes in the wheeling sky above us work to make sure the lanterns stay separate from one another, so that more stories can find their place in the heavens.”

Benedict gazed out the window with Mako a while longer, but was brought out of his reverie when the sprightlynx said, “You don’t believe me, do you?”

He turned his gaze to Mako. The fairy’s expression was hard to read. Curious, yet somehow disgusted—cross, even.

“What?”

“You don’t believe what I said about the stars. You listened, but you didn’t believe.”

“Why wouldn’t I believe what you said? I’m stranded with no memories in a fantasy world; I’m open to pretty much anything, right now.”

 “Except what I said is not fantasy, it is the truth.”

“I mean…I’m sure it’s true here, but not wherever it is I came from.”

 “And you know this for certain? How?”

“I just…do. Because it doesn’t happen. Because it can’t happen. Stars are fixed in space. They aren’t even alive. Not like you and me, anyway. It would be amazing if they moved to tell stories, but they don’t.”

Mako had gone into a low crouch, ears flattening against his skull, eyes glinting dangerously. Benedict shifted nervously in his seat, leaning away from the fairy creature.

Mako leapt onto the windowsill, narrowing his eyes at Benedict. “You display an arrogance I thought only one being capable of. Who are you to say what can and cannot be? Are you a god, knowing the nature of all things? You and I are small, like grains in a desert, but you think yourself a mountain! You understand nothing, Benedict. No one does. I could contemplate a single stone for a thousand years, and still not grasp the truth of what I beheld. Can you say any different, quiet-head?”

Benedict had thought he’d seen conviction in the sprightlynx before when he had discussed Imp’s Law, but this was deeper, rawer. This was zeal. Before he could respond, Mako continued:

“Your so-called knowledge of the physical is an illusion born of pride. You think you can trust your eyes?”

Mako’s spiral glowed, and Benedict went blind.

“Or your ears?”

Benedict went deaf.

Or even your own two hands?

Benedict slumped in his chair, as numb and paralyzed as he’d been in the crater. All he knew was the presence of Mako’s consciousness within his own.

I can take away your mind, as well—your arrogant mind which reaches above its station. I can make you nothing but a soul. Nothing in the Deep Founding says I have to serve your body, or your brain…but I think not.

Sensation returned to Benedict in a flood. He felt alive, again. Mako was perched on the window’s ledge before him still, gazing down at him wickedly. Benedict realized he was on the floor, his rickety chair lying off to the side. He became aware of a throbbing pain at the back of his skull, and of the jarring of his teeth, and he groaned.

 “How much faith remains for your senses now, wise one?” said Mako.

“Why did you do that?” said Benedict, fear and anger in his voice. The minotaur had been right to give the sprightlynx that look.

Mako laughed. “All I did was nudge entropy along, quiet-head. You are not a fairy, so in time, all those senses would have failed you, anyway. Bodies shrivel, eyes dim, and so on. Why should it not happen now? Do you think you deserve the gift of youth with so cynical a heart?”

Benedict had no words, and Mako went on.

“You are chasing shadows, Benedict: an endless series of clues to an unsolvable mystery, while the light of truth shines above your head and forever beyond your reach. The truth is there—it has always been there—but it is not yours to grasp. To believe otherwise is to lie to oneself. It is a comforting lie, but a lie all the same.”

Benedict sat up, meeting Mako’s gaze. “So…what, I should just live in ignorance? Stop learning?”

The sprightlynx looked offended. “I did not ask you to stop learning, only to stop pretending you were done—especially when it distracts you from the greatest lesson of all.”

“And what’s the greatest lesson of all?” said Benedict. Mako’s self-righteousness was starting to grind on his nerves.

“That you should not waste your time grasping at mists. Everything essential, everything worth knowing, is not to be found amidst this crude matter. What good does it do you not to believe?”

“I believe,” said Benedict.

“In what?” Mako challenged, leaping onto Benedict’s chest.

Benedict hesitated. He couldn’t remember.

“Love, beauty, faith,” Mako continued, “are these not stronger than what you see and feel? Are they not wiser than what you claim to know? They are not out here,” Mako sat back on his haunches and motioned wide with his forepaws at the world in general. “They are found within here,” Mako placed a paw over his heart, “studied within here,” Mako moved his paw to his forehead, “and overflow from here,” Mako finished the gesture by positioning his paw over his bewhiskered lips, then he looked Benedict in the eyes. “We are not gods. Only Eldramayne’s understanding begins from the mind.”

The sprightlynx’s words were heavy with such regret and tenderness that Benedict’s protests turned stillborn. He sat up, displacing Mako onto his lap, and pondered the fairy’s words. The deepest parts of himself knew that he was a man of paradoxes—legions of dichotomous armies inhabiting a single mortal vessel—and crowning his consciousness was a peculiar conflux of youthful wonder and world-weary cynicism. Benedict had always been so certain he was letting the childlike half call all the shots. That was what had allowed him to retain his sanity in Canvas to begin with. But was that truly the case? When every veil had been pierced, was he really the coldly practical codger he had always feared becoming, allowing the pure half to play with an unplugged controller like a sly older sibling?

Palpable shame settled onto his shoulders. Benedict had never wanted this. He’d never asked for the burden of bitter pragmatism instilled unto him by a world which had no room for innocence—a world where his dreams and labors were at the mercy of the fickle, uncaring masses, and in which he’d had to kill pieces of himself just to scrape by. Wherever he was from, Benedict realized then and there he didn’t want to go back.

But the damage was done. The poison had run its course, and there would be no reversing all he’d done and learned. Benedict looked down at the fairy in his lap, and out the window at the impossible triple-mooned sky with its living stars and rainbow aurora.

Perhaps…perhaps something could still be done. He could not banish the venom, but maybe he could strip it of its power over him, or balance it out with something just as strong. Plug in the second controller, so to speak. What was the venom’s power? Benedict knew that he knew it, but the memories refused to manifest. It was something primal. Something that undermined all he sought to accomplish.

It was survival. Survival as opposed to living. The poison was the work of the four-headed beast of poverty, starvation, homelessness, and obsolescence. As long as Benedict was a slave to survival, he could never truly live. Not as he was meant to. Even in this world of fantasy come alive, the beast hunted him. The coin would not last forever, and eventually the minotaur would work up enough bravery to stand up to Mako and evict the two of them from the Lazy Woodsman.

Perhaps someday, Mako sent, but not right now. It is no wonder you stumble when all you see is the horizon. Look around, quiet-head—you have a full belly, a roof, and a hat full of coin. In a single day, you’ve severed three of the monster’s heads. Is this not enough?

Was it? It had been, once—but that was before he’d become a survivor. That had been before deadlines, and rent payment, before rejection and derision, before his allotted time had been stolen by years of futile and thankless busywork. Before he’d been thrown out into the so-called “real world.”

But he wasn’t in the “real world” anymore. This was Canvas. Mere hours ago, people had cheered for him, and showered him in precious metals just for standing next to a shapeshifter. How would they respond when he rediscovered his true talents? Far better, he imagined, than the people of the “real world” had. The beast did have a foothold here—but it was holding on by a single claw. It was safe to stop hiding. It was safe to play with the second controller.

With that came a flood of joy and purpose which Benedict had not known for some time, and he laughed. He laughed as the burdens peeled away from him—tarps which had been draped over something beautiful and true to forestall its decay.

At the edges of his consciousness, Benedict noticed Mako’s mind glowing with sincere approval, but for once the sprightlynx sent no words his way.