Tamarin

Lavenza found herself lying in a familiar bed.

Given the intense sunshine outside, she surmised that it was summer, which was strange because a faint memory told her that it should only have been the start of spring. She had been sleeping on a wide, supportive mattress. A vase dressed in wisterias sat on a nightstand next to two thick tomes. Framed portraits decorated a wall painted with pleasant beige.

A knock arrived from opposite the bed. The double door there creaked open. Lavenza spotted a tray of cold beverages and snacks. Then, in walked a pair of mesh sandals. Then, in came a well known face, one with purple eyes, tattoos to match, and an unmistakable bushel of silver gray hair held together by a golden headband.

“Headmistress Eifen,” Lavenza lowered her head.

“Have you hurt yourself again?” asked the old woman. “Lavenza, dear, I simply do not approve when you insert yourself into all this nonsense.”

Lavenza sat up as the headmistress approached. Her body felt light. The headmistress always knew how to handle hurt, how to make it stop, how to make it start.

“It’s not nonsense,” Lavenza muttered.

“Don’t argue with me, young lady,” the headmistress sighed. “One of these days, you’re going to come home and I’m not going to know how you patch you up.”

“Surely it wasn’t that…serious,” Lavenza trailed off. Something felt missing.

“Of course it wasn’t serious,” the headmistress rolled her eyes. “If it was, I wouldn’t be here offering you cookies and tea.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Lavenza said. “Where exactly did you find me?”

“Out there,” pointed Headmistress Eifen. “You were out there with the other kids. You were showing off again, remember? Dancing in the trees, claiming you were fairy queen of the forest.”

“Showing off?”

Lavenza looked out the window. An orchard grove grew outside. The other children of the Menuan Monastery gathered among the shrubs. They played games and chased wild geese. A few sat by the pond and read books.

A temple sat on a plateau overlooking the monastery. Its silhouette cast a dark shadow over the grove. The temple possessed a heavy bronze dome and mud brick walls. A great host of murals were painted on its walls. They depicted the first Menuans raising their hands to the sun and receiving the gift of magic.

All of this felt nostalgic to Lavenza. It was more than comforting, it was inebriating even. These childhood vistas had been preserved perfectly in her memory. The monastery looked not a day older since the day she last left it.

That was also how she knew none of what she saw was real.

“What are you doing in my dreams, Headmistress Eifen?” she asked. “What—“

A blue pale face bored into Lavenza’s eyes when she turned back around. The headmistress’s warm expression had been drowned by a insidious stare. Her complexion took on the pigment of an empty lunar sea. Meanwhile, her headband had fallen to the floor, and her hair bundled around her neck like brittle straw.

At first, Eifen’s glare was accompanied by a unyielding flat line running over her mouth. But the longer she stared into Lavenza, the more she recognized the apostate, the more a twisted grin crawled up the corners of her dry lips.

“Finally,” Eifen smiled. “Finally, Lavenza. I’ve finally found you.”

Lavenza’s eye opened followed by a breathless gasp.

Unlike her dreams, the real bed Lavenza woke up in was far from comfortable. The apostate was unsure how she had experienced the beginning of such pleasant dreams on a cold stone surface and tattered covers. The rest of the house around her lay in ruins. The wood paneling showed visible signs of decay where termites had eaten through. There was a skylight above her. Unintentional, of course.

Whoever had chosen this house must have either had no sense or no choice.

“Sorry we couldn’t find you a better spot.”

Lavenza turned her head in the direction of a man’s voice. That was when the pain hit. She noticed her right arm had been set in a sling. Her torso and shoulder were wrapped in bloody bandages. She wore fresh robes. Whoever had done this had also taken the liberty of undressing her and giving her body a thorough cleanse.

“It wasn’t me,” said the man’s voice.

“Where’s Deme?” Lavenza asked.

“She’s with Tamarin. They’re out fetching some wood for the campfire.”

The man entered Lavenza’s field of view. He stood at a modest height, about an inch below Lavenza (though he would never admit it), and for better or worse possessed a rather indistinguishable set of bland facial features, the kind of stern but forgettable face meant for a guardsman or maybe a stable boy.

It would disappoint the common traveler on the road to learn that this man with seemingly no observable presence was the infamous Richard, the leader of the empress’s self-commissioned Hero’s Party. There was no unkempt and yet stylish quiff, just boring straight hair that fell to his ears. There was no brooding and yet seductive stare that delved as deep as The Great Sea. Richard was born with plain brown eyes and looked more the clueless type.

“Tamarin is with Deme,” Lavenza said. “And what about Faye?”

“Busy brewing potions.”

“So you’re the one stuck looking after me.”

“Yeah,” Richard shrugged. “Tamarin says you’ll open all of your wounds again if you run your mouth too much.”

“She must not know me very well,” Lavenza sighed. “Rest easy, Richard. If Deme is with Tamarin then I’ll not say a word and go back to sleep.”

“Hey. Wait.”

“What?”

“Is that it?” Richard asked.

“Is what it?”

“This is the first time we’ve seen each other in years,” he muttered. “You could stand to maybe say something a bit more meaningful.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Richard,” Lavenza frowned. “But I’m a little bit beat up right now. Do you want to maybe talk about this later?”

“That’s what confuses me actually,” he said. “Who could have done this to you? Tamarin said you had been struck by wild magic. But I can’t—”

A blunt object flew into the room from the open front door and struck Richard in the back of the head. The man cried and collapsed to the ground, cradling his neck with both hands.

A green creature with wide long ears waddled into the room carrying a wooden walking stick.

They wore long wrinkles on their face, carved down from forehead to nose. Orange smears, like rust or worn makeup, circled around their black eyes. A cloak stuffed with white feathers draped over their hunched back. They wore a simple pale shirt guarded by a brown leather cuirass.

The goblin yelled at Richard with a shrewd, raspy bite.

“You moron,” said the goblin. “When I said she’d reopen all her wounds again it was cue for you to shut the fuck up.”

The goblin left Richard whimpering on the floor and walked up to Lavenza.

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m glad you’re finally awake,” the goblin said. “Just so you know, you’ve been out for the past few days. Deme was worried sick. Literally. The child came down with a nasty fever. She almost looked worse than you, but she’s young so—”

The goblin stopped herself. She looked back at Richard.

“Sorry,” the goblin sighed.

Lavenza chuckled. A few stitches had likely come undone from doing so, but a little mirth was worth the trouble.

“No,” she said. “It’s quite alright. It’s nice seeing you again too, Tamarin.”