“Lift your knees! Higher!” the instructor, Voltaire, yelled as she strained to catch up to the Rigel children running laps ahead of her.
She was doing worse than her godawful training with Adna and Davian. The one and only time she’d participated in their “training sessions” had been an eye-opening tutorial on Adna’s sexuality, Davian’s interests and her own weakness. The two used the strenuous exercise as, first, an excuse to ogle each other and second, (if she wasn’t mistaken about their suspicious absence post-workout) foreplay. She’d needed to shower much longer than usual that day.
Master Voltaire snapped the whip at their heels when they lagged. After Timbrelle vomited into the barrel of wooden practice swords, he allowed her to fall behind but not to stop. She could see the pity in his eyes at watching her drag herself around the practice field. She might have felt embarrassed if she were capable of feeling anything at all.
“That’s enough. We’re not trying to kill anyone.” Master Voltaire ran a hand over his cropped black hair, looking overwhelmed at his duties. “How about we stretch, eh? Partner up!”
Timbrelle slogged to the group, the only person gasping for air. By the time she reached the children, her master was the last left partnerless. He beckoned her over to the side where he arranged them seated, facing each other.
“We’ll place our feet sole to sole. Instead of just reaching for your toes, I’ll pull you forward to test your flexibility. Easy enough, right?” He let her pull his hands first to show her the simple motion. Master Voltaire bent neatly in half when she tugged, demonstrating the form.
“I did this in P.E. I don’t remember being very good a—“ Timbrelle’s torso thumped against her knees driving the air from her lungs.
“Wooow.” A little blonde boy said in awe. He then cried to his cousins, “Master broke the new girl!”
Timbrelle could hear the group of kids gathering. Their commentary wasn’t helping.
“He didn’t break her, she’s dead!”
“She’s not breathing!”
“But she’s still moving, idiots.”
Timbrelle gasped, able to pull air into her body once again. This scared a yelp out of the youngest kids who were convinced their master had killed her.
“Back to your lesson!” Master Voltaire ordered. Shooting a disappointed look at the boy who’d first grabbed their attention. “Goate, you’ll be cleaning the practice swords tonight.”
He turned back to Timbrelle who had rolled to the side, coughing. “You alright? That looked painful. I don’t know what I was thinking pulling you so hard.”
She accepted his proffered waterskin. He hadn’t yanked her forward. It actually felt like a reasonable pressure to put on her tendons— had they offered any resistance whatsoever. Timbrelle folded like a lawn chair.
“I’m good. Just a little more flexible than I thought.” Out of curiosity she grabbed her ankle and stuffed it easily behind her head. She then spread out into the splits, legs flat and comfortable in the position. “A lot more flexible.” She amended.
“Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise? This I can work with. We’ll focus on your endurance for the time being and I’ll ask his grace to permit the Mastery test right away.” He looked excited rather than overwhelmed for the first time since the class began. “I think we can fit it in before you head off to Tellcentra.”
“When is that again? I really need an aide that will keep track of all the stuff I get signed up for. Things would go so much smoother if they told me my schedule.”
“Knock off the bitching. There’s no whining in the practice area. Go see if the kitchen has any jobs for you while we do stretches.” A rarity in the Rigel estate, Master Voltaire was permitted to forgo noble hierarchy. For many of the young Rigel aristocrats, the behavior of their master was jarring at first. To Timbrelle, he sounded like a no-nonsense gym teacher.
“Yes sir.” She replied. There was no point in being difficult.
***
“I need another dozen eggs from the coop!” The underchef ordered without looking up from the yolks he was separating.
“On it!” The maid ahead of her seized the errand.
This happened twice more before Timbrelle heard an order she felt she could handle. Unlike ‘bring a basket of the Ororuga fruit’, Timbrelle knew exactly what mushrooms he wanted from the surrounding mountain-top forest.
“I’ll fetch it.”
“I’ve got it.”
The two women spoke up at the same time. Timbrelle couldn’t see the other but she recognized the voice.
“Oh good. Ellia, take the young Rigel and teach them how to find gilly shrooms.” The underchef said, careful to aim his mouth at Ellia while focusing on his work. “Someone stoke the fire, I’ll need the heat on high.”
“I’m on it.” The next maid in line volunteered and the opportunity to back out passed her by.
Timbrelle snuck an uneasy peek at Ellia. There was no sign of distaste for her or their combined assignment. She collected Timbrelle and headed out of the kitchen.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“We’ll need to dress appropriately. The mountaintop is green at this time of year, but that’s only because the area is holy. Sleet storms are uncommon but not unheard of. The patch best for gilly shrooms is moderately far from the estate. Not nearly so far as the holmemetta truffles.” Ellia was cordial and appeared to be in a decent mood.
Timbrelle tried to walk beside the woman. Gren had taught her the appropriate way to grab the attention of a deaf Yostier. She reached out her hand, touching Ellia’s upper arm with the back of her fingers. Feeling the light touch of a person’s nails there meant they wished to say something.
“Yes?” Ellia turned to her.
“Are you alright with this arrangement? I promise I didn’t try to engineer this.”
Ellia waved a hand to dispel that thought. “I don’t mind this—truly. You offered me equality before and I mean to accept that. I cannot, however be your equal as your maid. I’ll be your guide today. So let us be two people picking mushrooms together. No fealty, no Unmade nonsense from either of us.” Ellia gave her a nervous smile.
She felt herself lighten at the unexpectedly warm words. “Yes please. I want to be treated like a normal person, not a monster or nobility. If that’s what you want too, I can absolutely comply.”
“Well you certainly won’t look like a noble when I’m done with you, that’s for sure.”
***
Timbrelle scrunched her nose at the clothes. “Certainly we could have found something less… smelly.”
“Are you complaining about the smell again?” Ellia asked from beside her. They’d been sent for gilly shrooms but Timbrelle wasn’t one to pass up a foragable item. Not when she’d lived on them alone for so long. It felt wrong.
They stopped here and there for mushrooms and berries, making their leisurely trip into a zigzagged crawl through the forest. Ellia finally put her foot down when Timbrelle suggested they dig for roots. The trip moved much faster afterwards.
They crossed a waterfall by rope bridge. The constant pouring of water and mountaintop wind swayed the bridge close enough that she could have touched the flow… as if the water wasn’t touching her already. They were soaked from the forcefield of fine mist the bridge kept swinging into. Her guide had explained over and over that the bridge, while rickety in appearance was actually designed to swing—like that would mean something to Timbrelle.
Now that she was damp on the outside and soaked in a nervous sweat inside, the rain slicker smelled even worse.
“I smell like butts.” She said to herself.
“I swear you’re still complaining about the smell. I can sense it.” Ellia teased when they reached the other side of the treacherous bridge.
“You caught me fair and square.” She admitted over the roar of the waterfall.
Ellia laughed. “Did I really? I knew I’d catch you eventually.”
“You’ve caught me every single time.” She harrumphed.
The maid looked surprised at the news, but accepted it easily. “I’m just that good, I guess. I could feel you whining. Let’s stop for a break and you can actually talk back to me.”
Ellia found a dry spot and patted the grass in invitation. She offered a paper bag with a large grease spot. Inside was a now tepid cheese sandwich. She looked proud of herself for having convinced the kitchen to heat it for them. Apparently, having freezing mountains to climb with a Rigel child earned her some pity with the kitchen staff.
From their picnic spot just beyond the waterfall they could see down into the valley. Yost Proper was easy to distinguish far below. Farmland radiated out from the circular capitol as it did with each town and village. The outermost edges of one city’s crops touched another in straight lines creating a honeycomb of bullseyes that pinpointed each city. The catharsis of such a stunning view enjoyed with a friend was quickly steeping into her bones. In a world of magic, Miasma and monsters, it was rare to feel at peace. She wouldn’t squander the precious little time she had in the embrace of that feeling.
It brought back a memory of sitting beside someone and looking down a steep mountain of descending rice paddy steps. Though she couldn’t remember the person with her, she knew it was neither her mother nor the real/unreal brother. It was another person she loved… another she’d forgotten—someone who didn’t exist in the life she had with her mother. More and more those sensations were surfacing during her daily life. Drinking, stirring, walking, singing—no matter what she did, faint recollections assailed her like falling snow. The kind of snow that disappeared the moment it landed.
Of late, she felt like three distinct people mashed into one body. One with a mom and cat, one with a brother, and one surfacing now with what felt like a lover.
Ellia brought her back to the present by chatting happily. “Do you do much hiking? You’re good at it.”
Timbrelle hesitantly abandoned the fuzzy memory. Something was very wrong with her but that something had nothing to do with Ellia and the breathtaking view before them. She needed to talk to Adna as soon as possible. It was becoming clear that they needed to get to the soul hospital.
“You could say I’ve been an avid hiker for the last three months or so.” Timbrelle bit off a chunk of sandwich. She then immediately swallowed it without chewing when she remembered Ellia saying she couldn’t read lips while people chewed. She fought back tears at the ambitious bite going down like an aurora gem.
“I like it too. My tribe would hike for days and days through Bellisit and Crudwell county. That’s where the Unmade I told you about found us. All everyone can talk about right now is how it got taken over by an Unmade who’s not affiliated with the cult. The woman is, apparently, pretty famous in their circles. Lu Mei—have you heard of her?” She waited for Timbrelle to shake her head before continuing. “Anyway, she drove out the entire population over some kind of clerical mistake and Yost can’t dig them out for fear of incurring the wrath of the Unmade on a whole. Rigel and Groleck are the only houses willing to take in the refugees and risk conflict.” She took a deep breath, basking in the ambiance of the mountain top.
“I bet it feels good to be in the mountains again.” Timbrelle said, forcibly pausing her voracious consumption of the cheese sandwich at the somewhat somber news. “I hiked every day for months but I still feel like I can’t breathe up here.”
“I heard Master Voltaire fell ill when he arrived. Doctor said it was the elevation. Think that could be it?” Ellia suggested.
Timbrelle made an uncertain noise, “I grew up in the mountains back home. I’d feel like such a wimp if that was it. But… I think I should probably visit the doctor; It’s gotten much worse since we’ve been sitting here.”
“Do we need to head back?” The maid looked her over. Be they equals or not, she had taken responsibility for the newest Rigel grandchild.
“No. I just need— to catch—my—breath.” Timbrelle wheezed, getting worse with each word.
“That’s it. I’m carrying you ba—“ Ellia froze, listening. She cocked her head to the side. “Can you hear that?”
Timbrelle gave her a confused look. She couldn’t hear much over the waterfall. She’d needed to lean in to catch whole sentences while they were talking. Ellia, however…shouldn’t be hearing anything. The very last thing they needed was some gigantic six-legged bear wandering up on them.
“It would have to be a magic sound for me to hear it. But there’s nothing on this mountain that I should be able to hear.” She knelt with Timbrelle, confused. “I’ve never heard this clicking before. It sounds like a bug.”
All at once, Timbrelle recognized the sensation in her chest.
A spike of adrenaline pierced her heart. How could she have forgotten—even for a moment? She’d spent weeks of sleepless nights in that godforsaken forest becoming a connoisseur of this exact feeling.
The creature had found her.