An Old Friend

“Empyrean stars nested amidst the vault of heaven, washed away erelong before the rising sun. Each fading pinprick a story lost, heard and remembered and deftly spun. Counted once among the Nine, skies bequeathed to noble crown—Hers by birthright and history, garbed forever in starry gown. Celestial Queen, Keeper of Fables, to Earth She descended, visage imperturbable. Record of all lives in hand, She walks the earth to comprehend, lives lived and loved and lost, She seeks to understand all men.” 

-Excerpt from “Patron Goddess of the Troupe”

“Never let the feeling of loss be mistaken for the feeling of regret. To love and lose is different than to love and regret,” Zygan said. He strummed his lute once, then looked towards me. Despite the bustling crowd of marketgoers passing us by, and the gurgling fountain we sat upon, his words were crisp and clear.

“What do you know?” I asked, a sour frown creasing my forehead.

Zygan was twenty years my senior, in both age and experience. He was a minstrel, bouncing from town to town to herald the coming of courtly nobles or high-ranking knights. It was a decent gig but lacked the freedom I sought. Even so, his advice was usually helpful, if annoying.

“I know that you fled a broken home,” he said, playing with the knobs on his instrument. He strummed again, pursed his lips, and adjusted the tuning ever so slightly. “I know you’re loath to get close to anyone.”

“And?” I asked, frustrated.

“And this life appealed to you because you can’t sit still.”

Less than a year ago, I was a captive of my mother’s depression, bound to an empty home and listless. My days consisted of taking care of her and studying—and daydreaming about doing neither of those things. Now, I was penniless and miserable, but it was a comfortable misery, the kind you can sit with and remember that you are alive.

“I took to the road because I had nothing left at home,” I said. “Not because I’m running away. I knew I shouldn’t have told you anything, you’re always so—ugh, you always nag.”

“You can tell yourself whatever lies you like, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lie to me,” Zygan said. He leaned over and flicked me on the forehead.

He began to play. The tune was simple and upbeat, and when he cried out it wasn't a song that sprang forth, but a recitation. “Lord Ulbreith cometh, upon his white horse. His gallant knights follow, to winter in Fallon. Prepare your best, come greet him this eve, for tonight we party and dance and feast!”

Zygan continued his minstrel work for another half hour, while I sat and watched. When we first met, it was in a town plaza much like Fallon’s, and I watched him with hope-filled eyes. He played in taverns and bars on his days off, and despite following him for months, I had not grown tired of his music.

“So, what is your next move?” Zygan asked as he packed away his lute.

“I’d like to get away from the regular route,” I said. “We’ve been back and forth between Fallon and the Royal Capital for months now. I want to see something new.”

“I figured the time would come sooner or later,” he said. “It’s a shame, I had hoped you would take my place when I retired.”

“Retire? Surely you have another twenty years in you,” I said.

“These old bones won’t last another winter, I fear,” he massaged his left knee, grimacing. “A lifetime of wandering finds me back where I started. Ironic, isn’t it? Fallon is nice enough, but I never imagined I would spend my retirement here.”

“Then I suppose this is where we part ways,” I said. “I think I will leave tomorrow.”

Zygan shook his head and clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t go crazy without me around, yeah? And make sure to visit.”

“I’m sure I’ll be back around these parts someday.”

“And if you ever need help, you know where to find me. Twenty years of serving a generous lord has given me some inroads, I’m sure I could find you a respectable job,” the older man held out a hand, and I shook it.

“If that time ever comes, you’ll be the first to know,” I said.

*****

“Where are we going?” Elma asked, holding the hood of my cloak over her face with one hand.

“I have a friend in Fallon who can help us,” I said. “He’s done crazy shit like this before. I think. Maybe.”

“You’re not engendering confidence,” she muttered.

“Can it.”

After the sun crested the horizon, I sent the letter I wrote ahead of us. Zygan would no doubt offer aid, but I thought it poor form to show up unannounced, trailing potential disaster in my wake. He deserved more than that.

“We will take a wagon to Fallon, and make our plans from there,” I said.

“Fallon is in Count Cannáed’s fief,” Elma said. “Enemy territory.”

“Enemy? Wait, is he—”

“Yes.” She said, cutting me off before I could finish my question.

I whistled through my teeth. “I understand now. If half of what I’ve heard is true, he’s twice as cruel as the Demon Queen and three times as evil.”

We rounded a corner and found ourselves on the fringes of the market square. Stalls lined the edges, and hawkers cried the benefits of their wares. We ignored them, making a beeline for the row of wagons near the main thoroughfare.

“Headed for Fallon!” One driver called out, his hands cupped around his mouth. I raised a hand toward him and approached.

“When do you leave?” I asked.

“At midday. One silver a head.” He said.

I nodded and handed over two silver coins, silently bemoaning my mounting expenses. “Do you mind if we wait in the cart?”

“I don’t, but it’s an hour yet,” he said.

“That’s fine, we’ve nowhere else to be.” I offered my hand to Elma, and she took it, climbing into the covered wagon bed. I followed suit and sat across from her. The seats were unpadded, but the bed was sturdy and level, and the canvas tarp kept the sun from our eyes.

“Once we get to Fallon, you must do exactly what I say,” I said. “Zygan is a good man, but he’s finicky. There is a chance he will turn us in, so we must proceed with caution.”

“Why are we going to someone for help if you fear he may turn on us?” Elma asked, fidgeting nervously.

“He’s well-connected for one. He served Lord Ulbreith for quite a long time, and has friends in high places,” I explained. “He owns his own land—it’s not a rental, he’s a proper burgher—and most importantly, he likes me for some reason.”

Elma nodded, but she looked queasy. I pushed the hood of my cloak from her face and looked into her eyes. Her face was pale, but her eyes told me everything I needed to see. She was resolved.

“Whatever happens in Fallon, I won’t let them take you,” I said.

“Why are you so adamant?” She asked. “I could understand if you wished to bed me, but to go this far…”

I leaned back, and closed my eyes. “You have to promise not to nag me.”

“What?” I could hear the confusion in her voice, and I laughed.

“I’ve only ever told Zygan about my past, and he nagged the hell out of me. I’ll tell you why I’m helping but only if you promise that you won’t.”

She was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “I promise.”