Printable View
The moon hung in the pallid night sky, a solitary source of illumination at winter’s end. Duffy watched it wistfully, trying to find the right words to settle the growing tension between the five siblings stood out in shawls and woollen overcoats atop Castle Brandybuck’s Library tower. Leopold, Lilith, Arden, Ruby, and Duffy. Together after war and peace and everything in between.
“I don’t know what to say.” Ruby pulled her cloak tighter across her shoulders. Her breath pealed into whirls of vapor.
“How about, ‘why are we outside?’” Leopold stomped his boots, desperate to keep the blood pumping around his body.
“I think Duffy was trying to make a point.” Lilith darted the bard a murderous glance, then walked to the edge of the battlements and leant out into the updraft. Her hair danced lie kami raging. “Hopefully before we all freeze to death.” She felt no cold, the fire of the Komodo’s rage warming her body eternal.
“Okay. Here’s the deal.” Steeling himself for the inevitable barbed tongue backlash, the bard did away with the awkward silence and put his thoughts into words. “When I was in the Tap, I saw how the Thayne became…well, Thayne. I saw that they were anthropomorphic, reliant on the belief people hold in their idols.” He plucked at invisible strings, and with a whorl of power the circular pit atop the tower came to life.
Colour, thousands of hues, formed a tapestry of memory and madness. The troupe broke their circle and stared in wonder and confusion. A vision of their first performance rolled up over the granite and knocked Lilith back. Childhood memories and darkened dreams turned into skeins of the future and the promises of tomorrow. When it finally settled into a starry sky full of a thousand planets, Duffy continued.
“But the Thayne do nothing. They watch the world and wait for trouble, too scared of what men will do if the Tap returns.” He bit his lip. “The War of the Tap stripped away most of their power because magic, the Tap itself, became more important to people than them. They let the Forgotten Ones run rampant across the world because they saw in their actions opportunity to destroy the wellsprings.”
Phantasmal images of the pantheon appeared in silver lines that criss-crossed between stars like constellations. Duffy pointed to each in turn and named them.
“What I’m proposing, when you’ve all finished getting over me dying and coming back to life and dying again…is to kill the Thayne.”
Ruby spat her wine.
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard him, Ruby. Don’t be-“
She cut her husband off. “Kill. The Thayne? No.” She stomped her heel and with a flourish of her own power, the orrerry that surrounded them fell away lie a broken pane of glass.
“Hear him out.” Arden folded his arms across his chest. His auburn furlongs fluttered in the wind. “He deserves that much.” He nodded gruffly at his brother.
“Hear him out? Fuck no. You all hid Duffy from me for nearly a year. Each treacherous one of you lied to my face. And now, after springing him on me on a false pretence I’m supposed to move on and start another war?” Never one to be outdone, Ruby’s auburn hair began to dance of its own accord, embers forming in the roots and red feathers appearing from her rage either side of her parting.
Arden rolled his eyes, but approached Ruby and without remorse delivered a stoic backhand across her cheek. The top of the tower erupted into unburning fire, coruscating over the ramparts and igniting signals malefic across the illusionary night sky of the troupe’s sanctuary. Silence returned with deafening weight.
“You good?”
Ruby lifted her head, cheek reddened and eyes burning, but nodded with grit teeth.
“I’ve had about enough of this.” The swordsman returned to his post, and the troupe stood once more at the points of an invisible star. “There are reports coming in all over Scara Brae of strange occurrences. Floating islands. Water boiling. People with no magical talent losing their minds. Something is happening.”
“Precisely! Oblivion’s death brought Tantalus back into the minds of the people of Scara Brae. The belief in Tantalus changed the dynamic of the Pantheon…it’s caused a shift in balance and that shift has put pressure on all the sealed wellsprings that once gave Scara Brae it’s power.” He didn’t need to recite the story about the Molyneux Uprising, of the fall of the Innari. They had all lived through it and tried to forget what the Tap did to good men.
“You can’t be serious…” Ruby’s expression sent a shiver down Duffy’s spine. “You’re Tantalus.”
“No. We all are. Even ‘becoming’ his avatar only gave us a place in the heavens. Only together can we truly make an impact, can we truly give power back to the people.”
“That power, I hasten to remind you, killed the Ayar and devastated the landscape in a thousand-year war…” Leopold rested his hands on his hips. His churlish grin turned into a flat, deadened expression of sincerity. “My people were slaughtered and Berevar’s civilisation destroyed. Or did we just forget what the Tap does to people?”
Duffy drew on the Aria once more, the connection stronger in the castle than in Althanas proper. The orrerry reborn, images appeared of five figures at the centre of maelstroms and melees, proud smiles and terrifying visages marking them as the Forgotten Ones. One at each point of the star in which the troupe stood, the images stood a thousand-foot-tall in sandstone and midnight hues.
“We have all been misled. The War of the Tap was orchestrated by the Thayne to ensure the wellsprings collapsed. They gave the power of the Aria to the Forgotten Ones to bring about their reign. They used that war to destroy the Ayar and lay low the Old Gods.”
Everyone took a moment to calculate and stare with contempt at each of the Forgotten Ones. Pode. Denebriel. Oblivion. Apotheosis. Xem’Zund. Only one remained. They looked at Oblivion’s image with loathing, unable to shake the unwavering hatred instilled in them by all he had done to enslave, ensnare, and destroy everything they held dear.
“How do you know this?” Lilith began to draw kanji in the air, the symbol for fire, and sent each to her sibling’s side when she realised they were not going to be returning inside anytime soon. The letters danced with purple flame and the decadent traditions of her ancestors.
“I saw it. Being part of the Pantheon gave me insight into the history of Althanas. Little snippets were all I needed to realise the truth. If we help force open the wellsprings, it will weaken the Thayne and when weakened…” Duffy ran his tongue over his piercings, excited at the prospect of doing what he had always wanted to do – make Scara Brae an island of culture, magic, and prosperity.
One by one, the images of the Forgotten Ones shattered, their fragments returning into the night sky and forming nebulae and neutron stars. One remained, Apotheosis, and Duffy pointed at it.
“And he’s going to help us.”
“You want to ask the most powerful, corrupt, tyrannical man to ever walk the face of the world for help?” Ruby raised an eyebrow. Inside, Duffy knew she was about to explode, but too many parties and debutante balls had taught the spell singer a thing or two about keeping face.
Duffy nodded.
“Well, no. I mean, he’s going to help us. We’re not asking for it.”
“What does he have that can help?” Lilith mimicked Leopold’s defensive posture.
“Before Oblivion made us his playthings we had a purpose. We were a family. A troupe the likes of which had never been seen. We’ve spent centuries being the heroes the world needed, never truly getting to ‘live’ our own lives.”
“You didn’t complain. You love being the centre of attention.”
“I,” Duffy blushed. “That’s beside the point. Our home is Scara Brae. We haven’t truly brought its heart to life for decades because we’ve been torn. We’ve been fighting in other people’s wars for too long, and now we have the chance to do what we were born to do – not made.”
“Be Scara Brae’s happiness and joy.” Arden remembered the oath they all took over Rodden pie before the Molyneux Edict banned magic from Scara Brae’s streets. Before Oblivion hid himself in them to live eternal. “What are you suggesting?”
Taking his cue, Duffy continued his exposition and started to grow excitable. He gestured with his hands and used the orrerry to paint a picture clear as the night sky. The troupe looked skyward, tensions thawing as art made them forget the urge to kick their brother off the tower.
“I want you to sing the Last Song with me.”
Images of the troupe in their youth, before Oblivion stole Wainwright’s sole and lead them astray plastered across the sky. Arden’s demure, silent smile. Lilith’s plucky Scara Braen waltz. Ruby’s flamboyant and headstrong foxtro. Leopold’s pudgy cheeked charm. Duffy, amidst them all, daggers spinning and glitter abundant.
“I want you to help me free the Aria of the taint caused by all this wallowing, because the Aria isn’t part of the Tap like we’ve been lead to believe.”
“You’re fucking joking.” Ruby’s poker face cracked. “We promised we’d never sing that song. Ever. Again.”
“I know! I know…” he padded air to suggest she calm down. “But…the Last Song doesn’t do what we think it does. It doesn’t reset us. It doesn’t make us forget. It resets this.” He spread his arms wide and the orrerry cracked, its pictures tumbling away to leave a pallid, sickly moon alone in a blackened midnight sky. A chill returned, and the troupe did anything they could to keep away the bitter cold.
“I don’t follow.”
“It will take the Aria back to its beginnings, and use back to the day Oblivion possessed Wainwright’s body and ended our lives.”
One by one, the troupe widened their eyes and dropped their jaws in realisation.
“Wait. The Aria isn’t part of the Tap?” Arden, the most poised of them all, tried to remain focussed on facts. “How is that possible?”
“The Thayne are scared that they’ll die. That people will realise the truth about them. Think about what would happen if the people of Althanas realised they were not dependent on the Tap, and all its inherent dangers, or the Thayne, and all their pedantry and rules to gain power…to live. To defend themselves.” Duffy gurned. He realised how absurd even he was starting to sound. “Magic comes from too many sources to name. The Tap is just one. Unleashing it on the world will spark a wave of creativity and invention that will return this world to the golden age.” He nodded as Ruby made to interject. “Yes, I know there’s a risk it will also end in chaos…but the status quo has hamstrung continents for millennia. It has to stop.”
“You’re forgetting what else the Song does…” Lilith walked to the trapdoor on the opposite side of the tower and knelt. She clasped the handle and heaved it open. “Come on, it’s too cold up here.” She gestured for everyone to go inside the castle. Nobody moved an inch.
“Duffy…the Last Song will change us. It will…” Leopold shook his head. “I don’t think I can.”
“Nobody? Okay then, when you all freeze to death remember I told you so.” Lilith let the trapdoor slam shut and returned to her post.
“It will take us back to the exact moment we lost our sway. We’ll be as we were the day we performed I Want to Be Your Canary for Valeena’s ancestor for the first time. Remember our last Lux Aterna? Our last true moment of brilliance?” Apparently, from the expressions on everyone else’s faces, they didn’t.
“What will it achieve?” Leopold plucked a bottle of lava wine from thin air and set it onto the floor. He plucked five glasses from his avian safe and made to pour them all a glass of red, steaming alcohol.
“The Aria will become as was intended. A wellspring of creativity connected to every bard and poet and thespian across every world in the cosmos. We’ll get our power back, and with it, the ability to truly put smiles on people’s faces…the ability to fight the Thayne on our terms, without the stagnation they’ve smothered across time.”
“But the Castle…” Ruby looked around at the other towers, and then at the tallest, on which a clock face as tall as a giant foretold of a new day’s dawn. Midnight went too quickly, and one AM greeted them with heavy sobriety. “This place has become testament to all we’ve achieved despite Oblivion’s curse.” She sighed. “You ask too much.”
“This place, Ruby…it’s become a place associated with the Tap. With fighting the Thayne. With trying to undo what they did to make sure the Tap never returned to Althanas and that Tantalus was no longer able to give free will to the people of Scara Brae. To people all over the world.”
“You’ve lost even me now, Duffy. What are you talking about?” Arden helped himself to a glass and drained it without a thought. His stomach bubbled and then heat spread to every extremity. His tanned skin bristled with sweat in the moonlight.
“I saw something in the Tap. The Thayne corrupted Apotheosis. They turned him against the Forgotten Ones so that they would in turn try to destroy him.” Duffy conjured the orrerry again, unable to maintain it for long after being stripped of much of his power in the fight against Hromargh’s avatar. “The Thayne were too scared to be seen amongst mortals. They used the paranoia of the tap wielders at the height of the war to defeat the only person to ever claim to be able to kill a god.” He sighed. “All this time, we thought Apotheosis was in hiding. Waiting for a time to reclaim his seat of power. We were wrong. The Forgotten Ones killed him, centuries ago.”
The image of the fateful encounter between old friends formed overhead. Pode pinned Apotheosis to his throne with a flurry of red, horned vines. Xem’Zund drained his strength, turning the wellspring in Apotheosis’s heart into a draining vortex. Oblivion used his memory magic to torment his mentor, and Denebriel preached virtues of laying down arms and giving in. Suffering was clear on the magister’s face, his expression one of contorted rage and bitter realisation he was betrayed.
“When he was dead, they lost their only chance of winning the war and the last of the true Tap wielders went into exile. The wellsprings were closed, one by one, until only a handful remained. From that, they could reclaim a shadow of their former selves in time…which is lucky for us, otherwise they would never have been killed.”
“Why would the Thayne go to so much trouble to kill one man?” Lilith pictured the threads of fate in her mind’s eye. Whichever ones she cut, none lead to a logical conclusion – an end game.
The rest of the troupe took a glass, drained it, and held it out for Leopold to refill it in silence. Ruby brooded, still angry over Duffy’s deception. Arden tried to gauge how serious his brother was, unsure wherever or not he could give up his own power carved into the world for a higher cause. Lilith hushed the growing voices in her head, the Greater Oni reminiscent of the Forgotten Ones. Leopold just drank, eager to prove he was at least good at something. At the back of his mind, the merchant clamoured for the chance to be his true self…to claim back some of the trappings of being an Old God, which he abandoned long ago for the sake of a love he now knew to be undying…to be worth any suffering.
“He was the only chance the Tap wielders had of defeating the Thayne. With them gone, the Thayne could establish themselves as divine, beyond doubt. Magic, and the Old Gods, and all the joys of the golden age died along with Apotheosis. Irony is a bitch, but worse still…becoming a Thayne gave me everything I needed to give up everything to rectify.”
“You’re saying to me with an honest face that the Thayne messed up?” Arden shrugged. “Won’t they expect us to try and stop them?”
“They tried. Hromargh is dead. Well, his avatar is, but that means he will need time to recover. Remember what you used to say to me, when I was a street thief?”
“What bleeds must die…”
“And if it can die, then it is not a god.”
“Why did you take so damned long to tell us this?” Ruby tossed her glass to one side, and Leopold conjured a vortex to suck it up, aghast that she didn’t recognise it as their wedding toast set. “The battle in Scara Brae was three months ago!” Fire danced in the spell singer’s eyes. Half wine, half winnow, Duffy was running out of time before the inevitable kick in the bollocks.
The bard slouched, momentum spent. He had hoped to get them on side before revealing one final humbling truth. He had spent that time scouring every inch of his past, every place he’d ever slept, every home he’d ever robbed, visited, and partied in. Every street corner on which the troupe had performed and every caravan with which he’d travelled to spread poetry and song across the world. Finally, he found what he was looking for.
“I needed to find these before I asked you to sing with me.” He held out his hands and as the orrerry flickered to life again, several relics appeared in vortices of blue ribbons before him. They hovered for a moment, then floated to their respective owners for the taking.
A glowing orb as big as a grapefruit and full of midnight’s children reached Arden’s palm. Two daggers, one sharp, one with a bite found themselves in Duffy’s hands. A atana, sharp as death greeted Lilith like an old friend. A necklace, more beautiful than any crafted in an age dropped about Ruby’s neck and clasped itself shut lie a promise sealed. A goblet, depicting a summer scene with madrigals found its way to Leopold’s confused self. A well of power formed between them when the reunion was complete.
“Where on earth…” Lilith swung the katana with a childish smile. “I thought they were lost when…well, you properly died the first time.”
“Wainwright’s Relics once meant something. The promise he made to us the day he took us in and made us a part of the Tantalus Troupe still stands. So long as we are together…so long as we hold these items…the show will go on. We will never be apart, immortal or otherwise.”
Ruby screamed.
“And there we have it!” She stomped. The orrery died, and the castle trembled.
“Ruby?” Lilith sheathed the katana beneath her obi, stance wide, heart racing. The troupe spread apart, recognising a fight when they saw one.
“The Last Song will get rid of the last, and only good thing to come of Oblivions’ Curse. Immortality.” She jabbed a finger at her brother, who felt it like a knife thrust and began to edge away. Ruby advanced.
“Ruby…Ruby!”
Duffy dropped to his knees with his hands across his groin. His daggers formed a shield too late to stop the polished black stiletto from making a long overdue connection.
“That won’t matter if Duffy’s found the relics!” Lilith appeared in front of her sister, hands wide to shield the bard from a follow up. “We can be free, Ruby. We can carry on our lives and put this behind us!”
“And who will pay the price?” She pushed Lilith to one side. Arden stepped in, and Ruby relented. She glared fire at the prone bard, nostrils flaring, and hair dancing with fire that if it came near anyone else would have melted metal.
“We’ll pay it together.” Leopold rested a hand on his wife’s shoulder. She turned to strike him, but the palm stopped just short of the make, her mouth wife with surprise.
“I…I’m sorry.”
Lilith helped Duffy up, red hair messy and piercings trickling blood as tongue and tooth clashed from the grimacing pain shooting around his pelvis. He composed himself quickly, all too used to Ruby’s peculiar, and forceful way of expressing her disgruntlement at his actions.
“These relics have a heavy price, I know that more than anyone. There’s a chance using them will bring Lucius back…but we will fight that together, like we have always done. It will protect us, it will give us the power to kill a Thayne proper, and in doing so, bring the balance we fight so hard for back to Scara Brae before the Thayne crush the last vestiges of hope and spirit from our home…” He rested against the parapets and quickly drained a glass of lava wine when Lilith brought it to him. It gave him the edge to stand up properly.
“…if that happens.” Ruby calmed down and embraced her husband. Leopold leant back to avoid losing an eyebrow again, but hugged her back just as tightly.
“We’ll fade. Mortal or otherwise, we’ll disappear from the world as though we never existed.”
The truth was simple. Wainwright Jones once believed in the stage so much his belief gave birth to a tiny star amidst a night sky of gods and monster. The newest of the Thayne, Tantalus was different to his peers. He walked amongst his believers. He helped them. He inspired them. His presence in the crowds of the troupes he gave patronage to give him power and power gained too quickly can spark jealousy even in gods. They turned the Forgotten Ones against Apotheosis, and then planted seeds in Oblivion’s head to do away with Tantalus. He possessed Wainwright, and used the demi-god’s power to re-write the lives of his troupe. In a young Ruby, Duffy. Lilith, Arden and Pettigrew he sewed parts of himself and became eternal.
“The day Oblivion killed Wainwright was the day the Innari went mad. He used everything at his disposal to ensure we would never remember who we were. That we would never give life to Tantalus through our actions. Scara Brae has fallen into decline ever since, and if that continues to happen whatever remains of Tantalus in the cosmos will disappear just as we will.” Duffy had felt the fatigue when he had been in the Thayne’s Pantheon. They tolerated him, but they would never accept him. Seeing the look on the crowd’s face when the Restless Fugitive performed a play that once drew crowds of thousands was the final straw.
“I’ll do it.” Arden nodded gruffly. He turned to Leopold.
“Aye. I think I’m tired of pudgy cutesy me.” He looked at Ruby.
“I did used to be quite the bombshell…” She stuck her tongue out at Leopold. “You take full responsibility for using the relics, Duffy. The only person to pay the price for using it will be you. Is that clear?” She pulled away from her husband and took her place at the north point of the star. “You’re the leading man, so lead.”
“Agreed.” Duffy knew he would come to regret that pledge later. He had seen what madness the relics had wrought on Jensen Ambrose. “Lilith?”
The assassin nodded. “A katana is the only way to my heart, dear brother. Let’s sing.”
They took their places, one sibling at one point of a star that had been the backdrop for their tempestuous reunion. It mimicked the leylines of power that connected the matrix of the Aria to Althanas. They were buried beneath the skeletal remains of Brandybuck Castle, covered up by centuries of war and widowing and obsession with the Tap. With vengeance. With regret.
“I can’t promise this isn’t going to hurt…it’s been a long time since we sang the song with a full choir. Even when there were three of us, it took weeks for me to able to move.” He remembered that day in his nightmares. “We all know the words. Let’s just…thank you everyone.” He smiled. It was a genuine, unabashed, unselfish smile. Duffy couldn’t remember the last time he had asked for help from his family without an agenda. They were all in this together.
They held out their hands, cleared their throats, and embraced one another.
“Wainwright played and he knew the words…” The first line came from Ruby, and then Lilith sang along in harmony. “He saw the heavens in the crowds.”
“The stage taught me to out speak someone who outdrew you.” As one, the baritone and harmony mixed and the tower shook. The etchings in the tower’s base glowed, and the orrerry brought to life the images of the first time the troupe used the song. Five hundred and forty-nine years ago.
“The minor lines and the major quips! The jittery leading man composing new lines.” Ruby’s hair set alight. The tanto about Lilith’s waist glowed umbra shades as the Oni within roiled in pain.
“Our faith was strong but we needed proof, we watched him writing on the roof, his talent, and his smile oh it threw you!” Duffy seemed to lose weight. Arden’s eye glinted, and his sight began to return. With every line, a scar or heartache fell away, and wreaths of flame and blue ribbons began to knot about the tower top as energy and passion and magic unbound by the Tap’s sycophancy came to life.
“He tied you down in line and love, he broke your dreams and built them up, then from your pen he drew hallelujah!”
The fires and lights gathered, swamping the troupe and splitting them apart. The castle began to crumble, stained glass raining down and the lake that disappeared over an infinite cliff boiled away.
“Brothers, we’ve been here before, we’ve seen this dread and we’ve walked this score, we were all alone before we knew you.”
Everything turned mercury silver. Bodies vanished. Centuries of stagnation faded away. When the lights faded a single wooden jetty formed. It stood at the heart of a mercury sea as endless as the eyes could see and a million leagues beyond. A red headed belle stood at one end, heart racing, youth returned. A red headed mute clutched a blade forged with blood, home at last. A tall, dishevelled man with bird feathers and top hat began to feel whole again. A young, stub nosed thief with a heart of hold bounced from foot to foot, and a woman with a trapper hat and cog bejewelled glove gave life to the union between tradition and debauchery. For the first time in centuries, the Tantalus troupe were themselves.
They slowly turned to look one another in the eye, the arguments and hatreds forgotten. They raised their hands to their hearts, and saluted in unison.
“It’s good to be home,” Duffy smiled.
Some Time Later
Five friends, siblings, colleagues stood on the edge of a snowy square. A black-haired bard free of his burdens. A red headed matriarch with love rekindled. A silent swordsman ever watchful. A seamstress with the fire of home in her heart and a soldier still fighting the long war. For the first time in an age they gathered peacefully, no arguments and no worries besides those of the stage. The late afternoon slowly turned to dusk and the city they called home wound down from its hustle and bustle. Winter in Scara Brae felt more cathartic than usual.
No winds danced through its streets. No markets lined the avenues and boulevards, and no threat of war played on the minds of its citizens. This was the home they all remembered. It was the sanctuary they had fought so hard to preserve. At the helm, Duffy Bracken buttoned up his overcoat and turned up his collar as the temperature began to drop.
“I’m surprised I remembered my lines.”
“That’s what that debacle was?” Ruby raised an eyebrow.
“Well. Most of them anyway.”
“I think we can forgive a momentary lapse in your recall given it’s been forty years since we performed our coup de gras.” Ruby touched the feather in her hair and let the bridling strength of the Old God in her soul wash over her. Unlike Duffy, the snow was not an excuse to look anything except ravishing in red silk and leather doublet.
“It’s not a competition, we’re all rusty.” Lilith gave her sister a look and put her in her place. “Your dancing is as stale as Duffy’s delivery.”
“Alright, alright. I was just saying,” she replied defensively.
They had practiced for weeks in the sawdust smothered playhouse they had built in the ruins of the Prima Vista. Though their new home lacked the stained-glass dome of its predecessor, The Orlouge proudly displayed its purpose to the city, the need for secrecy abandoned and the pride of thespians painted onto the sign above the entrance for all to see.
“The real question is why we have to put all this effort in to freeze our tits off in the middle of winter.” Despite spending a lifetime in Berevar’s tundra, Leopold had grown too used to the warmer climate of the south. He wore a battered black overcoat and thick woollen jumper, but still felt the cold stiffen his joints.
“Sod the cold. Why did I give up a cracking pair of tits and thighs for this?” She gestured at her former self, and then to the peaceful Market Square.
“The Last Song.” Duffy said it softly, as though he expected them all to know what it meant without exposition. He hoped they did. It was the principle on which the Tantalum Troupe was founded six centuries prior. “The first great work of Wainwright Jones.”
“A song which can unweave the fabric of reality, re-write time, and kill even gods couldn’t have cut a girl a break?” She dropped her hands to her sides, only just realising how disappointed and frustrated she was. “We’ve gone from leading men and women of the world stage to rosy cheeked toddlers barely able to throw together three Acts.”
Market Square seemed oblivious to the melodrama. Footprints crisscrossed through the blanket of snow and a single raven pecked at the frozen boughs of the oak tree at its heart. Bells rang in the distance to mark the arrival of five o’clock.
“This is our fresh start, Ruby.” Duffy turned to his sister, and then smiled at each of the troupe in turn. “We’re finally free of Oblivion’s curse. We’re free of all the things that have turned us against one another over the years. I for one would pay any cost to be able to stand here, with you, getting ready for Lucian’s Call.”
“Even frostbite?” She smirked.
“I haven’t heard that name in so long…” Lilith walked to Ruby’s side and nuzzled her shoulder. “Let’s not ruin the beauty of it. The snow brings out the best of the city, and my cheeks have never looked so rosy.” Ruby patted the assassin on the cheek to emphasise her point.
“This is like spring in Berevar, so it could be a lot worse.” Leopold looked skyward at the promise of the sun hidden away behind thick snow clouds as grey as his eyes and as heavy as the moment before a first kiss.
They moved towards the centre of the square, like revellers at dawn still drunk with the thrill of it. Arden followed behind, torso bare, sword in hand. Each of them had paid a personal price to get their do over. Though his right eye was healed, and he saw the world for all its glory again his voice fell away, memories of his life spent in the back alleys of his home returned.
“We all came to the troupe lost. The things we saw before that first magic moment as part of the crowd will no longer define us.” Duffy waved a hand over the tree before them, its trunk engraved with mourner’s favourite lines from the troupe’s plays. “Wainwright brought us together, one by one, and taught us everything he knew. Lucian’s Call reminds us of that, so if any of you can think of a better play to perform as our first I’m all ears.” He leant against the oak tree that marked the site of his first tomb and waited.
Nobody could. They gathered in a loose circle beneath the oak’s boughs and reflected on the days ahead. Satisfied they were ready to act out the Midwinter Revel, they thought about what was still to be done before they reintroduced themselves to Scara Brae’s citizens.
“I’ve not seen a winter this bad for nearly a decade. What are we going to do?” Lilith knelt and filtered a fistful of snow through her fingertips, careful to avoid any yellow patches. It was soft and light, undisturbed at the base of the tree by the toing and froing of merchants and mistresses.
“Ruby could put some of that smouldering and fiery temper to good-”
A snowball slapped the merchant across the face with a galosh. Ruby smirked from ear to ear as she bent to pat together another. Leopold raised his arms to defend against a follow-up, all too aware that returning the favour would lead to a night on the sofa.
“We are not having a snowball fight.” Duffy folded his arms across his chest. “Not now…”, he grinned. “We have work to do.”
Ruby dropped the snowball. “Spoil sport.”
“I’m watching you,” he replied, pointing to one of the statues that stood around the site of the old fountain.
When the avatar of Hromargh had descended on the city, his rage had shattered the centuries old landmark that pointed out the city’s heart. In its stead, Valeena had commissioned a pantheon of heroes from the isle’s long history. An anatomically incorrect statue of Duffy leered down at them from behind a mask of pigeon poo.
“We could wait to perform until spring. The cold plays havoc with my soprano.” Lilith offered, eager to keep them on track. She looked around the square to size up the mammoth task at hand. Dress patterns and tailoring shopping lists filled her mind.
“Lucian’s Call is a celebration of midwinter, Lilith. It has to be on Yule.” Ever a stickler for tradition, Duffy felt anxious even thinking about going against the Queen’s wishes. She had been not-so-subtle clear about what would happen to the troupe if they put so much as a hair out of place. “She made about four thumbs across throat gestures in the throne room, in case you missed it.” Duffy had developed quite the longing for the good old days after they departed the palace, when coming so much as a stone’s throw near Valeena’s domain got a bard’s head cut off.
“I just thought she was being coy…” Lilith furrowed her brow. Now she looked bac, the Queen had seemed rather keen on the idea of using the Midwinter festival as a building block for something greater. “Does she really think it’ll breathe life back into the island?” As far as she knew, Scara Brae was every bit the melting pot of people and industry it had always been.
“Our patron thinks the deep winter is leaving her coffers out to dry.” Leopold had the privilege of being privy to the city’s affairs now he was the troupe’s quartermaster. He had to listen to ode after ode about how they mustn’t go so much as a half-penny over the budget ‘gifted’ to them by the royal household. “We’ve sent word to Corone and the Bladesinger councils. We’ve somehow been pressganged into the tourism industry.”
“That’s precisely what we set out to do, isn’t it?” Lilith smiled. “Spread the word about the Arts!”
“But Radasanthians are delicate little flowers, and the elves break in anything less than pure sunlight. How do we keep them warm for three hours of innuendo?” Ruby began to see the bigger picture, though made a mental note to pad the bra of her costumes, just in case.
“Which is just one of the many things we need to sort out before the big day.” Duffy tried not to think about how long that list was. “We’ve got a great space to work with, so let’s bash heads and sort out the details so we can build the stage and start live-rehearsals. He looked at Leopold expectantly.
“Yes. There’s room in the budget,” the raven-haired dragoon rolled his eyes. Money talked in Scara Brae, Leopold just wished it wasn’t him doing all the talking.
“Good man. Any ideas about keeping the rabble from a cold death, or from going home to blankets, bosoms, and hot chocolate?” He pushed away from the oak and began to pace his height back and forth. His breath pealed into wispy vapours as day turned to night.
“Little fires in pits spread about the stage?” Ruby offered, only ever able to think of fire and gin when it came to the logistics.
“We’d never get a permit for that.” Leopold replied.
“There are braziers we could use, the Queen said we could help ourselves to ‘city property’.” Lilith liked the idea of having carte blanche.
“Oh! Yes! Like the good old days of Queen Lear or Bacmeth!” Ruby’s eyes glistened. “Ugh, why has it taken us six months to get back into shape?”
“You spent the first two months after our little renaissance of form feeling yourself up and flirting with bellboys.” Leopold frowned, but secretly enjoyed seeing his wife happy again after spending half a decade moping after Duffy’s fourth and hopefully final death. A look, don’t touch philosophy had saved their marriage. That, and finding himself with a body that didn’t perspire so much as thinking about walking up stairs.
“We’re here now. That’s all that matters.” Duffy turned to his family and pointed to the east road. “We’ll have guests come in that way and form a half circle around the stage. We’ll put braziers around the square to give people something to keep warm in between acts, and the Queen and whatever nobles deign to turn up can take to their usual raised stands on the far side so everyone, rich or poor, gets the same view of the play.”
“And someone can hopefully put an arrow in Valeena’s forehead.” Ruby dared to daydream for a moment.
“Or yours,” Duffy gave Ruby a suggestive look. “Any objections?”
Arden clapped to draw the troupe’s attention. They all turned to their silent brother. He clenched his right fist and waved over the soft and undisturbed snow at his feet. A single word appeared.
“Pentagon?” Duffy raised an eyebrow.
Arden wrote an addendum.
“Oh, the shape of the stage. Why?”
“Ha, yes, good point. Symmetry. Trying to get a crowd to stand around a circle usually ends up with someone falling off the stage or a barn dance.” The words disappeared and Arden went back to his observations. His calm, placid face odd at ease with the growing confusion and tired expressions of his siblings.
“That’s that sorted, then. Anything else?” Leopold finished off his hip flas and dropped it through the veil into his private vault. His hand re-appeared with a notepad and pencil to make amendments to his to do list.
Ruby took a moment to steel herself. She checked Arden was out of earshot, then ushered the bard back towards the oak tree. When they arrived beneath its branches she folded her arms across her chest and gave him plenty of time to think his words through carefully. He looked at her heel nervously.
“There’s a rhyme in one of Wainwright’s diaries. One for the moments when all’s too dire, two for the times when suffering ire, three for the end of life recant, four for when a brother’s scant.”
“And knowing how little I like riddles…”
“If one of use sings it boosts morale. If two of us sings it can heal light wounds and reinvigorate another. If three of us sing we can change the tide of fate. If four sings…well, I think even you know what that means.”
“When a brother’s scant…cheat death?” Ruby’s eyes widened.
“I told you singing the Last Song would free us of Oblivion’s Curse. The charge of never dying, of never appreciating life.”
“Which it did…”
“But it doesn’t mean we’re mortal. Well, we are, run me through right now and I’ll be dead as a penniless man in a brothel. But…so long as four of us remain we can cheat death still.”
Ruby took a moment to compile her thoughts. Her eyes shone in the twilight, and glowed bright as the late afternoon became early evening. Lights appeared like fireflies along the edges of the square as lanterns were lit and fireplaces stoked. Scara Brae continued without them.
“Good lord, you’re never going to stop dropping bombshells on me, are you?” She tried to laugh.
“It gets worse.”
“Oh, really?” Ruby clicked her fingers and a bottle of gin appeared between them. She reached for it, thankful that some things never changed, and poured an ample measure straight down her throat. She smacked her lips and held it out for him.
“Amen sister.” He took it, but staved off the urge to down it until he’d said his piece. “When five of us sing the song, well, you’ve seen it. It can rewrite history. It can change reality. It can shape the world as we see fit, and it’s that use that I have always feared. I need you to understand that the Last Song remains a weapon…we should only ever use it if there’s nothing else we can do. I mean, the other verses, sure, but that last one…never again.”
“Never again? Duffy…why, think of the good it could do.” Ruby’s mind raced, half with revelation, half with perspiration of common sense.
“Think of the bad. If we hadn’t made the vow to refrain from singing it before Oblivion came to Scara Brae the world today would be very different. Wainwright taught us the song because he thought we, and we alone would use it responsibly.”
“That man’s judgement was never sound.”
“Neither is ours.”
“Yours.”
“Ours, Ruby. We’ve made so many mistakes over the years free of Oblivion’s influence.” He frowned. “I just wanted to tell you the truth, and I mean the last absolute truth I have to tell.”
“What do I do with that knowledge? You obviously didn’t truth me enough to tell me at the same time as the others.” Pouting, Ruby took another more delicate sip and spied her siblings through the gloom. Leopold and Lilith but specks of shadow on the horizon, and Arden cast in torchlight as he toiled away with the stage decoration and signs.
“If you die do you want us to bring you back?”
“Oh.”
Life was a gift, a morale the troupe had learned the hard way. Duffy approached each of his family in turn, seeking their permission, and thoughts about their newfound mortality. He too had to think long and hard about wherever or not this was to be his final act as a man. They all knew of the dangers of using the Song to cheat death. They used it on Wainwright in their first life, and it had tormented his soul so much it split in two. They’d spent half a century fighting the wraith that was set free from their fearless leader, and half a century more picking up the pieces left in the wake.
“I don’t know…” Ruby bit her lip. She had never had to think about it.
“I mean, we can just leave you to rot if you like but I thought I’d ask.”
They positioned themselves on a low bough of the tree and sat in silence, swinging their legs and trying to find inspiration. Ruby watched her siblings finish off their chores and make their way back to the centre of the square. Each of them carried frosted beards and snow-mottled hair, and expressions that suggested they were about done with freezing their bollocks off.
“Did you say yes?” Leopold asked, sheepish smile informing Ruby that they had once again discussed her behind her back.
“Oh, like that is it?” She rolled her eyes. “After all these years you’re all still afraid of me.”
“Not you, dear,” Leopold stopped ten feet away and Lilith and Arden flanked him. “It’s those heels of yours, you see.” He pointed at his wife’s pointed shoes. “We’ve all been on the receiving end of a swift kick.”
“Or a flying heel across the dining room,” Lilith amended.
“Why do you even have to ask?” Ruby turned to Duffy, perplexed.
“Freedom of choice is something we’ve never had. You know the risks of the Last Song, and of using Wainwright’s sword…or even Arden’s blood magic.”
Whatever method they used to revive themselves from herein, there would be dire consequences. Risks within risks within risks. Even Duffy found himself asking the question. What was death like? Truly?
“We’re all done with the preparations. At least for the stage.” Ruby turned away and steeled herself for the journey ahead. “Let’s go home, we can talk about this over a hot meal and a litre of brandy.”
“Wait…” Lilith smirked. “You’re being civil?”
“We’ve turned over a new leaf, remember? This is me, you know,” she widened her arms and gestured at herself self-importantly. “Being a new me.”
The troupe shuffled their feet and looked anywhere but at Ruby. Duffy sniggered.
“Well. That’s something I’ll never forget you saying.”
The bard raised his wrists and shook his sleeves down below the wrist. He clashed the obsidian bangles together and disappeared in a whirl of blue ribbons and rumbustious fanfare. Lilith, Ruby, and Leopold followed suit, leaving Arden alone to silence thoughts and the dance of an evening breeze over freezing snow.
“I’ve a bad feeling about this…” He turned away, a wicked smile on his face, and business of his own to tend to before he truly gave up his old lives. It was too hard to teach this old dog new tricks.
Name of Judgement: Tap Dancing
Judgement Type: Workshop Submission
Rewards:
Duffy receives:
3190 EXP
210 GP
As begun before Althanas Festival, is not due further rewards.
Did not have the cost of the 2AP for the Workshop request, so therefore taken from Philomel (judge).
“Hear the voice of the Bard! / Who present, past, and future sees; / Whose ears have heard / The Holy Word / That walked among the ancient trees.”
William Blake