The Briar Patch: Ch. 14 - Into the Cellar

It also doubled as he would find, a common ground to truly melt the icy vindication that Lockes on their own, could not have so easily drowned out, and the two could talk for hours on end, much to Vye's dismay, on the different cups, their imbued depth, imparting flavor, and unique qualities.

Vye thought it all tasted downright terrible. End of story.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Clover

Silas stared at the turtleneck his flatmate was sporting.

"Well? What do you think? It's going to be out on shelves come fall." Neiro grinned, giving a twirl to show off the back as well.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Merriment

Shols were, Zeal noted, astonishingly light on their feet and lithe besides.

They were holed up for the night, and his charge had been stricken by a bought of homesickness. But one of many, as of late.

The little Shol's yearning, though kept to himself, was all but evident in his furtive glances and vague stares, the slight mentions, or how all his thoughts seemed to drift towards past memories of his beloved Bræmbel Ring. 

A Circle that though unmentioned, whose presence he was very clearly aware and felt bereft of.

It was then that Lockes had drawn the younger Shol in with the beginnings of a song. When little Vye picked up the tune, the severed Shol threw in a twist of light footwork and a graceful whirl.

Fiddleheads swirling around them, the Bluepine reached out and grasped Vye's hand, pulling them to fall into step.

Vye was far too naive, too young to see it for what it was. The lengths that Lockes and Zeal went to for his benefit. A thankless job, certainly, to be a caretaker.

Yet Vye was not so foolish in his youth as to squander it.

A mere distraction it may have been to the Bræmbel Shol, a coincidental break and nothing more, but one Vye is grateful for nonetheless.

So they danced late into the night, twirling and singing in the Heart's Song.

Seeing his ward's delight and fully diverted attention, Zeal decided that they were well and would continue to be so without him skulking about like a wary hawk. 

With a relieved groan, Zeal took leave and allowed the tension of the day to ease from a body fraught with tolls far more draining than simple physical exhaustion.

There would be plenty of that to go around in the coming months, and a great pleasure should they not.

The Briar Patch: Ch. 12 - Borrowed Time

"Impressive, the both of you!" They laughed, and joined the two by the firelight, "And now, you will each receive your own Time."

At this, Zeal looked to Vye for an explanation, but the young Shol seemed just as lost as he was.

---

Vye tared at the husks filled with soil.

"Vye?"

At his name he looked up, "Zeal."

He spoke in low tones, not meant to carry, "What's wrong?"

"These seeds... they're alive but--"

"But what?"

Vye just shook his head with mounting perplexity.

What an oddity they were.

He could sense the seeds calling to him, but they were... empty. They didn't simply lack an aetherical signature, and neither were they lifeless for he could feel the intrinsic pull within each of them, but it was as if they were incomplete.

As if they were drawing him in.

"Come now, stop gawking and claim your prize." The Bluepine smiled, giving them a small nudge.

Sharing his companion's hesitation, it was with reservations that Zeal did so. 

But for all the buildup, the culmination of their efforts was sorely anticlimactic. Several brown beads pooled into his awaiting palm.

"... That's it?" Zeal raised them up to eye level, inspecting the smooth pearls.

"Do you even know what 'that' is?" Lockes asked even as several vines reached up to the higher levels, returning with a heavy sack and two hollowed log segments. These the vines pushed into Zeal's hands before he could respond. 

The sack contained loose, dark, and loamy soil, while the bark husks as he found, had not been thoroughly hollowed as he first presumed. Rather, the center had been carved out while still leaving a flat at one end as a seal. A container of sorts. 

It wasn't too difficult to piece two and two together, and he grabbed handfuls of soil to fill his log. As he reached to fill the other though, the Bluepine stopped him, "Not so quick now, that is Vye's log to fill."

They exchanged glances and Vye clambered off of Zeal, doing as the older Shol bid and filling the log. And so they planted their seed into their respective pots, and set about tending to it per Lockes's instruction.

"What do you think will grow?" Vye stared at the pot. Something was stirring within but oddly enough, he couldn't feel what it was.

Zeal just grunted and pulled the small Shol down beside him, "Nevermind. We'll find out on the 'morrow."

---

Some plants grew swiftly, this he knew, but never had Zeal seen one go from seed to bloody plant in less than a turn of the sun.

When he awoke at first light, raising himself off the ground to stretch, he felt a tickling prod along his neck and shoulders. Craning around, he was greeted by a startling shock of green.

Vye who had been curled up on him, tumbled off with a startled cry as his makeshift pillow abruptly sat up. The young Shol grumbled at him, discontent evident in the low rumbling from their chest--a sound produced by an irate or threatened Shol. It was a vocalization formed from deep within rather than at the vocals, to express provoked ire. That is, until his charge caught sight of the potted plants.

They stared at their individual plants. At first glance they appeared the same, an odd botanic that bore two crystalline baubles in their center, of which were filled with a seed.

"Your's is different from mine." Vye leaned against the husk, raising himself onto his toes that he may better see the dormant plant within. 

Zeal similarly knelt down to inspect it, resisting the rising temptation to tap the bubble and jostle the seed. A rather troublesome encounter with a splash of aromatic oil from an inconspicuous bottle had given him plenty cause to be wary of even the most unassuming of things. 

Vye had no such hesitation, poking and prodding the transparent baubles to his curious Heart's content.

"Vye." Zeal shook his head, laughing to himself and dragging a hand over his face. There were no words for which to describe the young Shol beside him.

The selfsame one that was now looking up at him, perplexed.

"Don't just go around poking whatever curiosity you find."

"But what's it do?"

"It's the vessel for your Time." 

Zeal started, swiveling aroung to face the Bluepine. They flashed him a grin.

Lockes had been there the entire Time, silently observing, watching the exchange with mild interest, "Pull it off."

What he could only assume to be the odd fruits of the plant came off with a tug, offering but a little resistance before popping loose. A glint caught his eye, and Zeal noted that the where it connected with the plant, there seemed to be a rather sharp needle. Like the spine of a succulent, but with a hollowed center.

Purpose fulfilled, the plant wilted, curling up until all that was left was a shriveled brown pearl.

The small Shol at his side started, throwing bewildered glances between Zeal, the remnants of their plants, and Lockes.

Lockes sidled between the both of them, pushing past to gingerly pocket the shriveled husks in the same satchel they came from. That the severed Shol tucked within the cavity of the long forgotten Enigma, still open from when they'd read it the night before.

"Come here and sit on the ground. No not you Vye, just Zeal, he's tall enough for the both of us... On second thought you too Vye. Make yourself comfortable and stay still alright?"

Lockes held up their hand expectantly and Vye almost reflexively placed his atop the awaiting palm. The dark Shol turned it over, giving the appendage a quick once-over. Without further explanation, they grasped the baubles from Vye's plant--and with unsettling precision, jabbed them into the tender flesh with one practiced, deft movement. The fibers offered sparse, if any resistance, and the needles glided under Vye's skin, piercing superficial vessels.

Vye tensed with a yelp, before falling limp and emitting a high pitched, distressed whine ceaselessly. The sensation of having his nectar forcibly drawn was unpleasant at best.

Zeal started, but several vines smacked at his alarmed hands, barring his way. A few coiled around his midsection and appendages to restrain him for good measure.

All this went on whilst the Bluepine tended to Vye. 

Lockes didn't even bother glancing up, opting instead to hold Vye still as the baubles filled with liquid gold. 

Vye's pained cries subsided into an intermittent, but still very much distressed, peeping. The crystal piece was still held in place on his wrist.

With their freed hand, the Bluepine combed the burgeoning foliage. A silent encouragement.

Just a little longer. It'll be over soon.

At last the sharp was carefully drawn out, and the half filled orbs placed on one of the large conks jutting out of the walls of the hollow. The young Shol rubbed gingerly at the needle pricks on his sore wrist before scuttling off onto a high perch to glare distastefully at the glass baubles, the golden fluid twinkling innocently back at him. That had hurt.

And then the Bluepine whirled to face him with a smile that made his skin prickle. Zeal was suddenly very much aware of the vines still restraining him.

"No."

"Yes." The curvature and sharp points of their teeth made all the more conspicuous by the Shol's widening grin.

Some Time later Zeal was rubbing at his own sore wrist.

"Come now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" The Bluepine hummed, twirling a bauble filled with a dark red fluid.

Zeal frowned and the Alpione Shol scoffed back, "Oh, don't be so dramatic. You've suffered worse."

"Didn't know Shols were into blood magick." was his disgruntled reply.

"Blood magic? Is that what you think this is, some kind of hex or hokey magick like of those of the castaways and their ilk?" Lockes chuckled, well aware of the messy tangle of blood magic in the history of fleshlings. The baubles were set down beside Vye's.

Perhaps to those who walked by Solaris's grace, such a heathen ritual would appear to be muddling with blood magic. But nay, any incantation invoked would be worked on the life giving essence, not utilizing it. 

Moreover it was nor a magick hurt, but to mend, and strengthen.

"I'll not consume it in my spell. It'll simply be your bottled Time materialized."

With that they pressed the pairs together, the sharps fitting the opposing groove with a soft pop as they sealed together into a single, piece.

A familiar, piece.

"An hourglass...?"

"Caught on have you?" Lockes pulled out what the mercenary presumed to be the dark Shol's own hourglass, and set it beside the others.

But, there were starking differences. Inside Vye and Zeal's own freshly made hourglass, the timekeep sand was still fluid, and it lacked the wooden frame that Lockes's hourglass had.

Just as Zeal noted so, a smidgeon of green squirmed into view, floating in the life essence.

From within the small seed germinated rapidly, green tendrils spreading through the crystal glass and forming the brackets of the hourglass as it soaked up the blood.

As the plant took in the fluids, the blood dried and disentegrated into fine powder that neither clung nor stuck.

And with that, it was complete.

Holding out their hourglass framed by living wood, Lockes passed the delicate piece to them, smiling as they marveled at the it, "With these, I would bestow upon the two of you your own Time."

The Briar Patch: Ch. 13 - By the Firelight

This wasn't good.

But Zeal told himself it was just fun and games. A way of passing Time until his wounds healed.

Time came and went.

Flesh mended.

But still they hadn't left.

Certainly, it was for good reason.

Their ascent up the mountainous range had been poorly Timed, with the harsh Winter looming ever on the horizon and in the howling winds that grew ever colder as they nipped at their heels, chasing them and hurrying them along.

They were stranded--at least for the Winter.

This Lockes would not yield on, and with a firm hand, demanded that they overwinter in the Alpione Ring.

"Do not underestimate the cold indifference of Winter." The Shol had stated with a grim smile.

Life came in a chorus, Death in silence.

Tragedy Winter buried in a peaceful calm. A most deceptive sense of tranquility, for in its sweet insidious embrace, did Life pass unto death. Never to wake againeven by Spring's urging calls.

They had a reason to stay, Zeal told himself.

But he couldn't deny that the thought of the storm still to come felt farther and farther away by the day, though it but drew ever closer, looming

Nor the pleasure he took in the evenings spent by the fire, brushing Vye's foliage, and awaiting the much anticipated moment when Lockes would return from their rounds to share that day's collection of foraged goods, tell yet another tale, and present them with a new Enigma should they have finished the previous one.

Days passed in merriment as they read the various Lockboxes, unlocking them and adding their own signature to the collective.

Not with a flourish of script, but with a bit of their aether, just as many of the Alpione Ring, and to Zeal's surprise, many outside of it, had before them.

Vye with a signature seed and Zeal with a clip of hair.

He inspected the plethora of mixed aetherically dense seeds, some doubtlessly from the tropics, and others clearly succulents.

The way Lockes had explained it, though Shols usually didn't stray far from their borders, wanderlust was commonplace in their kind. A norm, really.

He had to scoff here, for Shol territories in themselves, stretched for acres around the Fairy Ring.

They're most acutely attuned to the Heart's Song. They were also known to visit other Fairy Rings using their own as a portal.

But it wasn't just for the purpose of entertainment.

To their delight certain boxes extended to them a "branch" or so Lockes called it.

The Alpione Ring was heavily warded.

Subtle and camouflaged, for it followed the residual and natural flow of aether that coursed through the land, but not imperceptible, Zeal realized.

Not many were able to sense it, let alone enter, such a place.

As it were, reading certain Enigmas it seemed, were the keys that granted them passage through such wards.

Through this they found their way into the Alpione equivalent of what Zeal believed to be a pantry, a Vye a treasure trove. From an abundance of hoarded nuts, and dried fruits, mushrooms, preserves, vegetables, fruit leather, flour, and grains, to cooking oils and some strange yet delightful sauces that Lockes claimed to have been aged for centuries.

Another, a medicinal cabinet and store full of odd vials. This Lockes did not permit them to wander in for long, despite the lifted wards.

One particularly challenging lockbox was in itself a map mirroring the Alpione hollow. This one lead them to a hidden den whose entrance was concealed.

This Lockes barred their entry altogether. Though Vye did describe it as the Sholian equivalent of a treasury where therein lay perhaps the only material good that a Shol would covet so.

Curiosity piqued, certainly, but Lockes had made of point of making it very clear that none were to enter and he thought it best not to provoke the Bluepine's ire.

The cellar though, was perhaps the fondest discovery, for not only was there a plethora of drinks to wet his lips--it was admittedly a penchant, and he had been craving for a good bottle, of which he had seen but a dry spell since this journey started--but few liqueurs were as fine as that aged by the Alpione Ring.

It also doubled as he would find, a common ground to truly melt the icy vindication that Lockes on their own, could not have so easily drowned out, and the two could talk for hours on end, much to Vye's dismay, on the different cups, and their unique qualities.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Nothing Unusual

It's nothing unusual.

A late night turned morning, the annoying fatigue and exhaustion, and the overwhelming urge of an itch of frustration that can't be scratched.

Sleep will not come easy tonight.

It never does when doubt prevails.

I wonder useless thoughts, think, question, and wonder some more.

But regardless of how high one piles them, the thoughts of a fool amount to nothing.

And that is what I am. A fool.

I welcome the comfort of lacking consciousness, for thoughts of the late hour evoke naught but the long baleful woes.

Memories of a friend who has better company to keep.

Of an underappreciated and enduring Mother who gave up so much for so little.

Of a bright little girl. Who should've been so much more.

Who they claim to be of a memorable smile, and to impart one in those whom she meets.

One who has grown but only bitter and jaded, yet harbors oh so childishly and foolishly, a meek candle of hope.

Neither strong enough to stoke the flames nor smother it.

Useless, indecisive, cowering, little thing.

A little girl now grown.

Who can do little more than cry.

For friends who were never her's.

And a Family she once had.

Blind to her blessings and fortunes.

Because she is, but a child.

And a fool.

The book closes with a soft, yet solid and firm thump of paper. And I lay the pen down.

It is exceedingly late and in the late hours the body protests too much for little. Odd that he hadn't yet spoken.

"Merely waiting, as any gent would. Done already?" His voice is silky with mock sophistication. Overly prim and snobbish.

A jeer at the values which I myself held dear.

"Neskyii." It's difficult not to sigh, and harder still not to bleed exasperation at his name. For a moment I'm at a loss for words. Not quite as unusual for one such as myself as others may be inclined to believe.

"I hope I didn't keep you long." Was the mild reply, copying his mock etiquette, and I make to stand. Only to find him mere inches away as I turned.

It's startling, unnerving, and I stumble.

Backing away, I could see those mirthful golden eyes as they regarded such wariness with glee.

It ever delighted this shade of mine to engage in such awful games, harmless though they may have been thus far. They are unpleasant at best and wholly onesided in their entertainment.

He relishes in his petty triumph a moment longer, his grin baring the slight peek of a sinister arrangement of teeth, before casually returning, "Not at all." A pause. "It's a good night to die."

Prickles sting at my back, tickling up the spine. "Is that so." It comes out as more of a statement.

He doesn't answer, staring flippantly at the bound journal resting atop the polished wooden surface of the desk.

He's curious. He hadn't read the most recent passage and I'd no mood to let him skim the pages.

"Then I welcome it. Quick and painless, if you can."

This catches his attention, as I knew it would.

Not often was I content to sit back and permit his transgressions without struggle or retort. Less so to beggar mercy of all things.

"I'm tired." Is the only explanation I would supply for his silent yet buzzing curiosity. Rest assured, it was a necessary reprieve.

Surprised, but quick to recover any shock, he grins, "The candle you would snuff?"

"To burn, but longer and brighter the next day."

His face falls and twists into an ugly snarl, jagged teeth bared.

"Let me rest where I can Neskyii, I'm not strong like you."

And that little compliment is enough to make him leave the room in a rasp of sand. To grant me the recuperation I so desired, and to permit myself the hurts, that they may take their due now and not when the heat burns fierce.

When I next open my eyes it will be to an equally dark world, but one where my dysfunctional eyes were of perfect clarity. Where the skies were simultaneously dusk with last light, and blue with midday languor.

And he would be waiting, flashing steel in hand.

To deliver me unto the hands of sleep with a mercy I'd not known he had.

No mockery, no games. A flash of steel and--

--I awoke with no sense of the passage of Time, only that it were Time to rise.

Yet it was not of Neskyii's doing that I awoke, but that for however long it was, was blissfully unaware in the throes of sleep. For once, sound.

Wordlessly I thank him, and he nods but once, and retreats deep into the recesses of mine mind.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Distrust

When they first met, he had been such a desperate little thing. Searching for someone, anyone, who would accompany him on his merry chase, journeying into an unchartered, restricted, and if that wasn't enough, quarantine zone. And even after, journey with him still.

A companion.

A friend.

A brethren.

He was none of those things and he made a point of showing his pursuer the same.

But still the little thing insisted on tailing him so adamantly, undeterred by the cold shoulder that they were met with at every turn.

Why him?

Was it his reputation as the best Seeker? His impossible record of success in every Hunt? Or perhaps the absurdity of some of the tasks he had been put up to by some client or another?

After all, so long as the contracts were full and of worthwhile exchange, he was indiscriminate of the assignment or the issuer.

Certainly, he seemed the perfect candidate for the task. Yet despite the fool's errands he put up with, Zeal was no such individual himself.

And there was too much about this dubious case that had him turning away.

A desperate client.

Alone.

Willingly to offer a king's ransom with no apparent source.

Unwilling to divulge any background, be it of themselves or the circumstances.

The sparse and reluctant details divulged regarding both the quest and their own background.

The quest itself being of only vague directions with no solid objective.

Even after an hour of interrogation, the conversation yielded not more than seemingly aimless wandering of thereabout directions of travel with no real destination noted. A long journey of undetermined length with no understanding of where, what, or why, nor a solid objective.

Everything about the case gave him pause.

And so he declined. With a firm finality.

That was currently being made not so final.

He flew on his feet, losing his small pursuer in the hustle and bustle of the bazaar. This was becoming a real nuisance.

A day or two he could understand. Not an entire month of pursuit, so strong, or perhaps desperation born, was their resolve.

But it made no difference to him, he would evade the little one as he always did.

But just as he'd lost his tail, what started as a territorial dispute between stalls had blown into a full fledged scuffle, vendors and market-goers alike were gtting caught up in its wake.

And he would be too if he lingered.

The mercenary tsked, glaring at the commotion. There had been rumors of the precious substance being circulated in these parts. But such delicate inquiries over topics mandating appropriate discretion could not be made with all the fuss.

Another wasted attempt.

He leaped onto the roofing, taking note with passing interest that the mob seemed to be fighting for something.

Zeal lighted down in an alley and had been ready to hightail it out of there when he heard it.

From where he was, the voices came loud and clear even in the rush.

It couldn't be.

Staring at the fray, he gave a sigh and readied himself to take back to the rooftops to scour.

He couldn't miss this opportunity.

But there was a harsh tug on his shirt and he stopped in his tracks.

Not again.

"Contract." Angry tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, his face tense with frustration yet pleading with him just the same, "Help!"

He scowled, "No."

"I--" they struggled to speak, small hands clenched at his shirt, as if to keep him there by force, "I can give you--"

What a laugh.

"Nothing I don't already have." With that the seeker none too gently, shook off the small hands clinging to him, "Shoo."

"I--I have it! What you're after!" they cried out, voice growing hysterical.

How.

Zeal turned, glaring down at the small creature. If the little one would play him for a fool, he would regret it, "Certain are you? Then name it. What is it I so desire."

Shaking hands reached into the folds of the cloak and pulled out a thin, corked vial.

The reaction was nigh instantaneous.

"That's..." Pupils blown wide, so much so that his iris appeared almost entirely black.

Zeal took in a slow shuddering breath as a light floral scent permeated the area even through the porous stopper.

He needn't see the scintillating fluid within to know what it was.

"How...?"

Had he managed to procure the very item that had eluded him?

But there wasn't any Time.

The commotion in the bazaar was moving, footsteps were hurtling towards them.

It seemed today was one full of disruption.

Zeal grit his teeth and snatched the offered vial, turning he grabbed the small one in his other arm, tucking him under as he ran.

Never stopping as they turned alley after alley in the maze of the city, and with a quick backwards glance to check for tails, he transported them to his current dwelling.

Certain they were alone, he dropped the poor thing unceremoniously on the floor, much to its discontent, which was made clear with a sharp cry.

Zeal stared at the vial.

He couldn't believe it.

Pure, undiluted, liguid gold. Free of impurities.

This was impossible. Shols went extinct over a century ago, for there to still exist such a priceless substance untainted...

Zeal turned towards the little one and his breath caught.

As all his questions were answered.

Pushing himself up on the floor, the small creature shook his head, the movement following down its child-like body as it ruffled its downy plumes. The hood that had come loose in the struggle had fallen, revealing the unmistakable tender green foliage that had been hidden beneath.

"You're... A shol."

The small Shol stared up at him, frightened, but determined.

"Make a contract with me." They uttered in their broken imitation of speech.

Zeal stared at the vial of golden nectar.

What a surprising bit of moxie.

"Fine."