Chapter 3

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There's a saying in Kaipo that goes, "the mortal wound is nothing compared to the pain that peeves." Basically, an irritating pain—such as a splinter in the palm of the hand that you write with, that's so small that you can't see it—is worse than a death blow. That splinter won't kill you, at least not quickly. It renders the hand that you need totally useless, and it annoys you so that you think you will go crazy.

Growing up was a little bit like that, slow and painful, but not bad enough to cause death. You're ready to grow up and get on with your life, but all the new responsibilities don't seem worth it at first. Especially when you're a gifted mage. More than ever, I wished that I had my brother with me. Had Edward still been alive, the awkwardness and alienation I often felt would have been easier to bear. Old friends started drifting away, new ones drifting in and out on a whim, as if their fancies were controlled by the rolling of the sea and the phases of the moon. Nothing stayed the same for very long, but the love of a twin brother would have remained constant, no matter what.

Of course, my parents still loved me, but it didn't seem like they really understood no matter how many times they said that they did. Mama at least tried to understand and help, but Daddy always seemed like he couldn't be bothered. For all that he was still genuinely sorry for neglecting me and trying desperately to make up for it, the things I began caring about made no sense to him. After a while, I think he simply gave up trying to understand and just began plowing through, anxiously awaiting the day that the turbulence would subside.

One other thing that remained thankfully constant was my studies. I was already studying the –Ja series when I turned 14, and I loved every minute of it. It often left me open to ridicule and name-calling, but it meant little to me. Even then, so fragile, I was far too stubborn and proud to care what others thought of me. What I thought of them was far more important, and I thought they were all classless bullies to be endured eventually by unsuspecting spouses.

The majority of these bullies were girls, and a few boys who were far too cool to be neutral toward me; they were either with me and snubbed or with the bully-girls and adored, flirted with and courted. The choice was pretty obvious, and I still didn't care. I was far happier to not be bothered by them and left to my studies.

But not all the boys agreed. Most of them thought I was pretty neat. As a tomboyish little girl many of my friends had been boys; for the longest time they had been my best friends. Now, at 14, they suddenly didn't seem to want to touch me. Something changed, and none of us could describe it, but it happened. Suddenly, it was no longer okay for me to hang around with a bunch of boys. Half of them became sort of shy around me, afraid to speak to me or touch me. I couldn't understand it for a long time.

And then one of my closest friends asked if I would let him court me, and I realized what was going on. Mama was sympathetic about the whole thing, but Daddy seemed to find it a mix of uproariously amusing and totally outrageous.

"I knew this would happen eventually," Daddy said, somewhere between laughing out loud and screaming in anger. "I just knew it!"

"Tellah, please calm down," Mama pleaded, but to little avail.

"Next thing you know, they'll be tearing the door down, asking for Anna's hand," he continued. "I mean, they're all fools if they don't; but if they do, they'll wish they hadn't."

"Like you're one to talk, dear."

"That's not the point."

"Tellah, drink some water and sit down for a minute. You'll have a heart attack."

At this point, Daddy did as she said. As free-spirited as Daddy was, Mama had a sort of power over him. She was the only person that he always listened to or obeyed. She was the only person who knew how to control him; and control him she usually had to for everyone's safety and peace. I wished that I could hold the same kind of sway over someone else, and hoped that one day I could be just as effective a wife and mother as she.

But practically speaking, at that moment in time, I wasn't interested in boys and was a little scared about Daddy's predictions. Not everyone was as wild about me as my former friends, but it all made me suspicious of everyone. In the months that followed, I found that most of the boys I encountered were simply decent people who held doors for me, helped me if I was carrying something heavy, or picked up my pencil if I happened to drop it. But still, I started to suspect something of every nice boy who spoke to me. Too polite to ask them what their intentions were and too obedient to question my father, I usually had nothing to say but "Thank you" and "Yes, Daddy."

When I turned 15, I met a strange new person. He had suddenly appeared, standing on the sidewalk, his nose buried in a faded old map, politely begging anyone who passed by for directions.

Even at a distance, there was something about him that I instantly liked. He was dressed in normal clothes, nondescript aside from all the bright colors. Everything about him was bright, from his stripped shirt to his gleaming gold hair and shining blue eyes, down to his charming yet slightly high-pitched voice. Even his lips were painted bright green, and I realized that he looked like he felt ridiculous. Everyone who passed him gave him a queer look or a laugh, but no directions so far.

I felt pretty bad for him, standing on the corner, dressed like a clown, begging for directions and being laughed at instead. Every wall of suspicion I had trained up over the years came down and I walked boldly down the sidewalk to him.

"Are you lost?" I asked. He turned to face me, slightly surprised; his first friendly greeting all day, perhaps.

"A-A little," he admitted with a stutter. "I'm with some people and I've gotten lost…"

"I didn't know that anyone was coming to town."

"We're passing through," he answered. "We're actually on our way to Baron."

"Need some help? I know this town like the back of my hand," I offered.

"That would be great," he agreed. "I just need to get to the inn."

"Follow me," I directed, leading the way. "By the way, my name is Anna. What's yours?"

"I'm Gilbert. Pleased to meet you," he answered, shaking my hand. "Thanks a lot."

I've had a lot of time to think on it, and my conclusion is always the same. If I had known what would happen in the years to come and just how deeply I would be involved because of "Gilbert", would I have walked away and left him to fend for himself? I've thought of all the possible consequences and still say the same: I would go through it all again—a million times, even—and it would be worth it every time. We needed each other. Daddy never did realize it while he was alive, but he needed the boy as well; only for something totally different.

I led Gilbert to the inn, where I figured I would leave him to find his friends. I was loathe to go, however; in our short walk, we had become friends. And he was leaving in the morning; I didn't want to miss any more of him than I had to.

"You should stay and meet everyone," he suggested. "They'd love you."

That was a great idea. I didn't have anywhere important to be—just a major test to be studying for, that's all, I reasoned—so we stayed at the inn for another half an hour talking.

"So, where are you from?" I asked.

"Our troupe has members from all around the world," Gilbert said proudly. "But I'm from Damcyan, just to the north."

"How did you get through the waterway?" I asked, suddenly nervous of the long-ago virus that had stolen my brother.

"We didn't go by the waterway. We came by hovercraft, over the shoals. It's not the fastest, but it beats the waterway. I've heard it's scary."

"You have no idea," I agreed.

"It's no place for a bunch of bards. There aren't any monsters out in the shoals either. So, what do you do?"

"I'm a red mage," I answered. "My parents are Mysidians."

"That's a long way to travel. What brought them all the way here?"

"Who knows? They won't tell me. Can I ask you something personal?"

"Sure."

"Why are you wearing green lipstick?"

Gilbert smiled and laughed, apparently used to such questions. "It's part of the costume, you might say. I think it looks ridiculous, but the master says that if you can get over feeling ridiculous dressed up like a clown then you can do just about anything. I have to wonder if this was what he actually meant though…"

"You know something, I'd love for you to meet my parents; I think they'd like you a lot," I suggested.

"Really?"

"Well, Mama would anyway. Daddy's suspicious of every boy that he catches talking to me. Still… I wish that you could stay longer; I've had more fun this past hour alone than I've had in weeks."

"Really? Don't you have friends?" Gilbert asked sounding a little concerned.

"Not really," I admitted. "Most people think I'm a nerd and they don't like me."

"That's terrible!"

"It's not that bad; I don't really like any of them either. I'm happier on my own where I can just do my own thing in peace."

"Doesn't it get lonely?"

Gilbert's question sparked painful memories of Edward and I when we were small, and one or two of Tatiana, one of my only real friends who was also lost to the virus. It did get lonely a lot without a brother or any good friends; most of the time I really was happy and fine, but when the loneliness settled in it suddenly became unbearable.

"Sometimes, it does get lonely," I admitted slowly. "It's not every day that I meet someone genuinely interesting and fun to talk to. I'm going to miss you."

"We're only going as far as Baron and then turning around and coming back," Gilbert explained. "We'll probably stop here on the return trip; maybe we'll stay longer next time."

"I hope so," I agreed.

"In the meantime, would you like to hear a song?" he asked.

"I'd love to!"

Gilbert's blue eyes lit up, exited for the chance to show off a little, and pulled a lyre from his backpack on the floor.

"Give me one second…" he requested, turning all his attention to tuning the fine instrument. As he concentrated on the strings and their tautness he made a series of wired expressions and I started to laugh.

"What? What's so funny?" he asked, startled from his reverie by my laughter.

"You're making really weird faces," I explained, choking down giggles. "I do that too, when I'm studying spells; people move as far away from me as possible when I'm studying 'cause it creeps them out."

"And I thought I was alone," Gilbert added with a laugh of his own. At last he was satisfied with the strings and poised his hands to play. "This is a calling-song," he explained. "You can't tell if you're nearby, but people can hear this tune for miles in every direction. The rest of the troupe—wherever they are—should come running when they hear this."

I was amazed. I thought that powers like this were limited to magic. "How do you do that without magic?" I asked.

"It's old bard-magic," he answered. "I'm still learning it all; this one's pretty simple, though. It's actually one of the few songs I can play well… I hope you like it."

He began playing the lyre so that the entire inn was filled with the soft and comforting song. I almost couldn't believe Gilbert's last statement about not playing very well; he played so precisely and cleanly with the ease of a master musician. For the tune's simplicity, it must have been one of his favorites; he played it with such care and understanding, as if the notes were life-long friends of his.

And I could see why. It was an entrancing tune, happy and sad at the same time somehow. It reminded me of stars—the stars on a clear night reflected in the lake. And it reminded me of something else that I couldn't put words to, like my mind wanted desperately to remember but couldn't.

Almost too soon, the song ended and it sort of made me want to cry; I wished it could have lasted forever. It was met with applause and cheering from everyone who had been listening, all directed at Gilbert, who looked a little surprised and overwhelmed with the attention.

"Play something else, bard!" someone shouted from across the room. As people shouted agreements, Gilbert squirmed uncomfortably.

"That was the only song I can really play…" He mumbled to me.

I was getting ready to cast a small Fire spell so that we could surreptitiously get away from the crowd when the door flew open and several people walked in. Though they all looked very different—each from some different far-off land—they all wore the same bright colors as Gilbert, and some even carried small instruments in hand. It was the rest of his troupe, come to answer the calling-song.

"Ah! There you are!" exclaimed the leader, swiftly walking over and tousling Gilbert's hair. "We thought we'd lost you forever! If anything had happened to you, your father would kill us all!"

The leader, who, judging by his accent, also hailed from Damcyan, didn't seem angry, only worried about the youngest member of his band.

"I'm alright, really," Gilbert insisted. "My new friend helped me out," he added, pointing at me." I waved back shyly, feeling sheepish from appreciation.

"My sincere thanks to you, miss, for taking care of my charge," the leader said to me with a sauve bow. "I really don't know what we would have done if anything had happened to him. May I ask your name?"

"I'm Anna Faraxhae," I answered.

"Oh, I believe I met your father earlier today. Tellah?"

"Yes, that's him. I hope that he wasn't too much trouble," I apologized, hoping that he hadn't done anything foolish or rude.

"Not really; I had asked him if he had seen Gilbert anywhere earlier today. He answered no, but added that there would be hell to pay if Gilbert was trying to court you behind his back. I see that you've already beaten him, though. Best not mention this to your father."

"I think Daddy would like Gilbert," I protested. "I wish that you were in town longer."

"Perhaps on the return trip we will have more notice; we will try to put on a show for everyone next time," the leader suggested.

After hanging around the inn for another hour meeting the rest of the troupe, it was definitely time to go home. It was getting late, and I still needed to figure out how I would explain my lateness home from school to my parents.

"We'll see you in a few weeks," Gilbert assured me as I left. "You'll know when," he added with a wink.

"I'll listen for the song every night," I promised.

As I walked away back to my house, I felt very accomplished. I had made a whole slew of friends, and that meant a lot to me. Whetehr or not my father would like it or not was largely irelevant. I had friends, darn it, and nothing could change that now.

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Author's Notes…

Yeah, I'm sure that we all know who "Glibert" really is and what song he was playing… ;)

Haha, I got a job. But only on Thursdays and Saturdays, so I guess we're good, eh?