Chapter 21

A trading post served as the only lifeline between the mining town and the next larger village. It was enough to get the supplies they needed. Marik and Bakura, acting as a pair of wayward adventurers, loaded their wagon with flour, salt, onions, citrus, and kale, the ingredients they'd need to feed an entire encampment for three days. Frelsa knew the schedules of the guards, allowing them to plan when and where to drop their sacks of produce, bread, and dried caribou (that Bakura hunted and smoked). They hid from the slaves as well as the slavers to prevent betrayal, making the food appear as if by magic to the slaves, and during the day when they hid in the woods, the party of four could hear the slaves singing of god-gifts and miracles.

On the third evening, the slaves tucked themselves away in the cold, dirt-floored, lean-to shanties that served as their shelters, and the bulk of brigand guards retired to the town proper where they enjoyed steins of ale and beds and fires to keep themselves warm. Ryo walked through the alleys and narrow passages between buildings, Frelsa in step behind him. She continued to wear his cloak. The flesh puckered on the bare patches of Ryo's skin between his vest and gloves. Frost covered the lichen growing up the stone walls and the wind blew against their faces, cold and sharp as daggers. Shouts and slurred lyrics to drinking songs echoed from the public house, Ryo hoped most of them were schlogged.

"Remember," he spoke in a stern voice to Frelsa, as if she were a crewman aboard La Muerta. "You stay out of sight until the fighting begins."

"Unless you're in trouble," she argued.

"The whole point of this is for me to get into trouble, but not until I'm ready for it. Do as you're told."

"But what if –"

"Then you run and get my brother and Marik. Do nothing on your own."

"I've bled for over a year now. Who are you to tell me what to do? I'm grown."

Ryo looked at her and smiled. "Who am I to tell you what to do? No one, but if you deviate from the plan you'll put my life in danger. I may not be able to ever save him, my pirate captain, but I'd like a fair chance to try, so please don't get me killed by jumping into the fight too soon."

Frelsa dropped her eyes, staring at the pebbles in the road. They went to the old, abandoned temple once used to lay offerings at the gods' various altars but currently used as a latrine since the brigands overtook the village. Ryo climbed to the bell loft, leaving Frelsa to hide in the shadows behind the temple. He rang the bell, the vibrations shaking his hand as the deep, lonely peal echoed across the town. Ryo jumped out the tower's window and landed on the roof of the temple. He ran along the cobble stone roof, losing his footing twice, but he caught his balance both times. A Mimosa grew beside the temple and Ryo used it as a ladder to get back to the ground and find Frelsa. He took her hand and led her a safe distance away from the temple – far enough to remain hidden, yet close enough for them to see and hear the men stampede into the temple to investigate the noise.

A flame-bearded giant stood outside, waiting for the others to investigate and report their findings. Ryo pressed his mouth near Frelsa's ear. "Is that Lykill?"

She nodded.

Ryo kept his glazzies on the man that towered over the other men by at a foot. After noting the location of a long, iron key hanging from Lykill's belt, Ryo plucked the tin whistle from its pouch and licked his lips. He played half a tune, enough to spook the brigands and draw their attention in his direction. He grabbed Frelsa and they ran to another hiding spot. He repeated the game, playing and hiding, until the brigands screamed at each other and attacked every shadow. They went to the edge of town, where an old grain shed stood empty save for the rats and cobwebs. Ryo climbed up to the roof, striking flint against the steal of his dagger until orange flames curled along the shingles of thatch. He set three patches ablaze before retreating. They had to move slower to avoid the drunk slavers searching for them, but remained calm as he stepped through the alleys and tall hedges near shops and houses.

They returned to the bell tower. This time Frelsa climbed the Mimosa tree with Ryo to stay concealed. Ryo continued up the roof and back to the bell tower. He rang the bell a second time, only three gongs, before he slipped out the window and pressed his back against the outer wall, waiting to see who investigated.

The gods blessed Ryo with Lykill, a torch in one hand and a mace with a silver-plated skull as a cap in the other hand. Ryo held his breath as he watched from the shadows. The torch-fire exposed Lykill's faint, blue glazzies, glazed with the telltale signs of too many horns of mead. Ryo thought of how easy it'd be – to slip behind him with a dagger and cut his throat. He wasn't a wolf; he wasn't a creature of honor; he was a slaver and a rapist that murdered his own children by working the mothers to death in the mines. With Ryo's dagger sharp and his sword enchanted, it'd be right, and proper, and sweet, to kill the bastard, but Ryo couldn't bare the thought of tainting Glass with the blood of a drunken sod that'd never see the blow. Open combat would ruin their plans, so Ryo kept himself concealed. Instead of a dagger to the throat, Ryo snuck behind Lykill and removed the key from his belt. He went out the window before Lykill realized anyone was in the room with him and waited for the slaver to descended the tower stairs before he left himself.

Ryo lead Frelsa to the edge of town, towards the slave encampment. He curled her right hand around the iron key and her left hand against against the handle of his dagger. "It's time for you to go and free them and start this rebellion."

"Why aren't you coming with me?"

"They'll be checking on the slaves soon. I'm going to make sure you have enough time to unbind everyone's manacles before that happens."

"But –"

"I'm a performer, Frelsa. I know how to glamor them and stay alive. Your job is to be a hero and free your fellow slaves." He gestured to his cloak around her shoulders. "Keep my cloak and dagger. A key, a cloak, and a dagger, that's a good start for hero's garb."

"I can't let you die. You said you wanted a chance to rescue your lover."

"Oh, I don't intend to die." Ryo stepped back. "I will show you a secret, and then you need to go." He pulled Glass from the strap on his shoulders.

Frelsa's glazzies grew broad as she stared at the clear sword. "That . . . sword."

Ryo nodded. "Glass." He sheathed it. "So stop mothering me, Bakura does it enough as it is. Go and finish your part of the quest while I finish my part."

She nodded, lips and jaw set in a tight, determined line, and ran into the black, tree-shadow. The wind still blew cold and strong. Ryo heard the men screaming about the fire and he walked into the center of the town, no longer hiding behind buildings or shade. He played Wielders of Glass. The brigands surrounded him, daggers and axes pointed at Ryo. He continued to play until Lykill slapped the instrument out of Ryo's hand. Ryo looked up at Lykill. "Does that mean I'm not getting a copper for the song?"

Lykill pressed the silver skull against Ryo's jawbone. "Was this all some fool's game you've been playing? Trying to get a riveted audience for your performance? What are you really at?"

"I'm telling a story. You've all become a part."

"Well now, I love a good story. Go on and tell it, minstrel."

Ryo nodded. "Once upon a time there was an actor that lived in a world that seemed ugly. No hearth to sleep beside, no cinders to keep him warm on lonely nights; instead, he slept in a wagon with his troupe."

Lykill pressed Ryo's jaw with the mace. "Funny."

"I suppose that's too early in the tale. How about this? There was a devotchka gathering mistletoe in the woods when a group of slavers discovered her and kidnapped her. She worked as a slave, and as she matured, the other women dressed her up like a malchick to safeguard her purity, and it worked until a lout named Vándr figured out her secret and tried to rape her."

"So you bedded her instead? Promising to kill the big, bad men for her?"

Ryo laughed. "Gods no. I'm on a quest to rescue my love. Wouldn't do to bed girls while on a quest of true love."

"Nobel, so you were going to kill us out of the kindness of your heart?"

"With a tin whistle? I don't think that plan would work."

"And is this also a flute?" Lykill reached for Glass.

"I would not do that," Ryo warned. "She's particular about who can touch her."

"Hah! You're rusted little stick won't even be worth stealing off your corpse." Lykill curled his fingers around the hilt to draw the blade, and screamed. He dropped his mace on the ground and used his free hand to pull himself away from Glass' hilt. The hand he used the grab the sword was bright red with frost burn. Ice crystals gathered at his wrist and the beginning of his arm. Lykill held the injured wrist, still screaming. His cohorts started, staring at Ryo as if he may be a demon.

The wind blew Ryo's growing hair in a blizzard of white strands. He pulled the sword free and showed the glittering edge to the group of brigands. "I could have cut your head off in the bell tower, but I decided you weren't worthy to touch Glass' edge with your rotten flesh. However, you are missing your iron key."

He saw the other men's eyes widen with Ryo's revelation. One malchick with a sandy, gray-streaked beard, knelt beside Lykill to check. "The camp!" He shouted and the men ran towards the slave encampment, ignoring Ryo, either more concerned with their slaves or afraid to go near the sword that destroyed their leader's hand before even drawn.

Bakura didn't have his brother's scruples. He knew the North enough to understand that it was better to die in battle than to be wounded or crippled and left alive, but the wankers out numbered them and axes had a better reach than daggers. Bakura slashed at eyes and wrist-tendons, leaving a trail of crippled, moaning men behind him. He noticed the frailer women, many with bruises and one with a swollen stomach, following him and dispatching the sods for him, and he didn't judge them for getting their vengeance; he thought it noble.

One of the blokes made the mistake of calling Marik an Eastern damsel with a sewing needle. Marik removed his wolf's cloak and killed his way to the man with the offending tongue. They still fought, Marik toying with him, slicing shallow cuts into skin. It wasn't enough for Marik to kill the sod, he wanted to humiliate the slaver. Bakura watched Marik work the malchick to his knees and then take his head. For all his talk of being wrong for adventures, Bakura thought Marik did well once he actually decided to participate.

Around them the slaves shouted and forced their way up the hill and towards the town. Most men and women fought; their pics clashed against the slavers' axes. Bakura saw Frelsa fighting with Ryo's dagger in one hand and a chisel in the other. Though young, she called out encouragement and tactics to the other slaves, and they listened to her. The slaves were unified under the single goal of freedom, while the brigands were disorganized after Ryo's stunt left them confused and leaderless. The slaves also had the advantage of three days of proper meals and the high moral they caused, whereas the brigands were drunk and slow to counter. Members of both groups died, but they reached the town with most of the slaves alive.

Bakura could hear music, a drinking song, and once he reached the town square he saw Ryo playing and corpses lying around him in a circle like a macabre fairy's ring. Bakura looked at the dead men, but only saw signs of Glass on the mangled hand of the leader. "So you managed not to kill anyone," Bakura said.

Ryo stopped playing. "No one wanted to fight me, so the miners ended up killing them all."

Bakura grunted. Marik stepped in front of him. "Hey Bakura, go fetch my cloak."

Bakura looked at him, the blood and battle-flush on his skin made him fierce and strangely desirable. Bakura couldn't stop staring. "Don't take orders, lovey."

Marik hugged himself. "Please, the sweat's freezing to my arms."

So rarely did Marik say please that Bakura found himself turning around and walking back down the hill until he found the boulder Marik used to abandoned his cloak before the fighting. By the time he returned, the other slaves sang and praised Ryo and Frelsa for getting the key and setting them free.

They commandeered the public house first, drinking beer to celebrate their freedom. After songs and beer, they went back outside, gathered up the cadavers, and burned their bodies in a single pyre. Except for Lykill . . . the now-freed slaves strung up their former boss' corpse at the front of the town with a sign labeling him as a slaver. With the morbid celebration over, everyone retired to the public house to sleep near a fire.

Marik, Bakura, and Ryo chose a large, two story house near the back of the town. "Biggest house in town, probably their leader's," Bakura said. "Let's avoid the master bedchamber, shall we?"

"As long as we're near a hearth," Marik answered.

They disappeared up the stairs and Ryo watched them go. He went to the kitchen, built up the hearth-fire, and started making bread. He wanted something to occupy his hands, and the soft flour and water yielding against his fingers as he formed dough soothed his need for busywork. "All that damn sneaking around and fighting has me wired when all I want to do is go to sleep. I wish beer relaxed me as it did others." Ryo laughed, sprinkling flour over a spongy ball of dough and kneading it against the wooden counter top. "Gods, it's not even weird to talk to you like this anymore. I'm used to it, though I wish I could hear you speak back to me. Bolshy yarbles, everything is backwards – magic swords, magic lovers, rescuing a village. This is what reality has become for me."

Ryo placed the loaf in a cast iron pot with a fitted lid. and hung the pot above the fire to bake the dough. Ryo cleaned his mess and set the extra flour and salt to the side, they'd take it with them. He went outside to the stable, checked their oxen and pony, and then went back inside to search for sleeping furs. He dug through a storage chest in the main room and found several fur hides and a dark green cloak. Ryo stood up and examined the green material. It smelled like fresh, unworn linen and Ryo slipped it over his shoulders, admiring his reflection in a looking glass. "I know what you're thinking," he spoke to a Kek he couldn't see or hear but knew watched him. "The green looks like the sea and my skin looks like foam." Ryo smiled. "I'm going to wear it, then. It will help me tempt you awake when I find you – to be dressed in a felted vest and covered in verdant green. My hair's a mess, though"

Ryo found a dagger and trimmed the longer strips in the front and fixed the damage caused from when he sliced off his braid. When he was finished, he blinked at his own reflection. "Whatever you're saying – stop. It would make me blush." Ryo turned away, retrieved the sleeping furs, and followed the starchy scent of bread back into the kitchen. He removed the pot and uncovered the bread to let it cool. Ryo spread out the furs near the fire and slept with his cloak pulled around him.

As soon as Ryo's eyelashes fluttered with the start of a dream, Kek knelt beside him and brushed his lips along the curve of Ryo's jaw.

Ryo sighed. "Thought I'd never fall asleep."

"Why are you on the kitchen floor?"

"The bread, well, the smell of bread, and the fire. Makes me relax. Beds make me think of you. It's nicer on the floor."

"I think I just saw a mouse scurry by."

"As long as he doesn't eat my bread or get into my flour then I'm okay. A mouse isn't as bad as the rats on La Muerta and I've slept on that floor plenty of nights."

Kek toyed with Ryo's green cloak. "You do look fetching in this. It's darker than your eyes, but it brings out the jewel-tones in their color."

Ryo rolled on to his back. Kek sat straddled over his hips. Ryo poked Kek's stomach. "I told you not to say things that would make me blush."

Kek pushed his fingers into Ryo's hair. He bent forward and kissed Ryo, sighing and pulling away. "I can feel you, smell the bread on the counter, taste the salt on your lips, but it's still not the same, is it?"

"No, not quiet the same. It's still magic keeping us together, only magic."

"Ryo, find me. Even if it's just to feel your lips truly on me one last time as you say goodbye."

"Or good-morning."

"Ryo." Kek bent forward and kissed Ryo hard, clicking his teeth against Ryo's.

Ryo grabbed the back of Kek's hair and maintained the hard, almost painful kiss. When he pulled away, he used his thumb and pointer finger to grab Kek's chin. "We're almost through the mountain pass and in two or three weeks we'll be at the coast. It'll just take a boat and a quick sail to the exiled islands after that. I will see your eyes open. It will be like watching an iris bloom from the bud."

Kek nodded, he knew Ryo wouldn't hear any other story, and who knew? The North had transformed Ryo - white caterpillar to white moth. Kek stared down at him. Ryo's hair grew thick in the cold, like an animal's coat often will, and weeks of guiding oxen and using logs to lever the wagon out of ruts had put a few pounds of muscle on Ryo's chest and arms. A true unicorn in human form, Kek didn't think he could resist if Ryo demanded that Kek opened his eyes. Kek swallowed, a wanton heat pooling in the lower half of his body. He started tearing at Ryo's clothes, tracing his tongue on the curves of Ryo's muscles.

"Lovey," Ryo moaned.

"I need you right now," Kek spoke in a choking whisper.

"Then I'm yours."

Kek stripped them both bare, covering his own shoulders with the green cloak to use like a blanket.

Ryo rubbed Kek's shoulder through the pine green fabric. "Looks good on you, too."

Kek fastened the clasp loose behind Ryo's neck, locking them close together and cocooning them in green. He leaned close to Ryo's ear. "I bet it looks best on us both together."

Ryo grunted, wrapping his legs around Kek's waist. Kek pushed inside Ryo's body, feeling blanketed by Ryo's warmth. The crackling of the fire and the mixed smell of cedar smoke and fresh bread triggered a flash of light behind his eyelids. Kek gasped from the intensity of the light, and then his head swam as he saw things that hadn't happened, and perhaps never would happen.