1076

Alice Odilia

  The ocean was a lovely thing, truly; Alice Odilia’s mother assured her it was The Old One’s finest creation. Alice was not sure if she agreed, but the quiet call of the waves was a welcome way to start each morning. Mornings were lovely things as well, especially on weekdays, when Alice was actually awake to witness them. The first moments of waking up were the finest, for the sound of the ocean was still new to the eardrum, and the soft rolling of waves made fine company to the place within one’s mind that wished to be soothed. As the sun progressed, the sound of the ocean would always be drowned out, whether that be through conversation or simply due to becoming a background drone, but mornings? Mornings let the ocean be heard, and the ocean was a lovely thing, truly.

  She yawned and swung her feet over the side of the bed. There were slippers awaiting her as they did every morning- quite kind things, they were. She shuffled to the washroom and splashed her face, shivering slightly as the ocean breeze poured through the window. Fall breezes were always cold, but not too cold, not cold enough to turn away Alice’s adoration for them. She loved the wind, the songs it sang, the knowledge it carried. The wind was an intelligent thing, for it had seen so much, yet spoke so little. Not ignorant- it merely chose to keep its secrets. She smiled.

  Now in a blue buttoned dress with a small string around her waist, Alice made her way down the steps into the dining room. The dining room was the majority of the first floor, for the first floor was home to the Odilia’s family business: The Pudgy Pelican, one of the most acclaimed diners in Port City Mare, the lovely stone city that sat upon the northernmost coast of Asenral. A wonderful and delightfully odd crossing of two worlds: Fresh cooked seafood (of which there were many similar locations in the city) and fresh baked desserts (of which there were also many similar locations) all in the same building (of which there was only one: The Pudgy Pelican).

  Alice peered into the kitchen and saw her father at the cutting board- smooth, precise rhythms output by a sturdy hand that belonged to a sturdy man. A large man, a man she would’ve feared if it were not her own father. A man any other person did fear, for he was soft hearted with family and hard as steel towards anyone outside of family. It was such a stereotypical niche, but it suited him all too well. Alice smiled again. Life was good around here, with these people. She did not have many friends, no; she had family, and family was the greatest bond one could have. This, she knew.

“Can I flip the sign?” she asked her father.

  “By all means, sweetheart,” he replied, not turning from his work. She half-walked-half-skipped her way to the front entrance, and twisted the wooden panel that hung on the window so that the side reading “OPEN” now faced outside. Breakfast hours were nigh, so the common customer- if any- would be in for coffee and a sweet. These were the easy hours. Alice’s mother appeared from the kitchen and opened the glass panel that the baked goods sat behind just under the counter. The soft smell of maple filled Alice’s senses.

  “Maple cakes?” Alice asked.

  Her mother nodded. “Only the finest.”

  A soft singing ring filled the air as the front door opened and the bells atop it hummed. A pair of two men entered the restaurant and helped themselves to a seat. Alice walked to the counter front and picked up a pen and pad. With her waitress face on and a bounce in her gait, she cheerily approached the duo. “Goodmorning, gentlemen, and welcome to The Pudgy Pelican. A drink to get you started?”

  A thinner man on the left shrugged unhurriedly. “Black coffee, Miss.”

  Alice nodded. “And you?” She pointed the back of her pen towards the softer looking man sitting across from his counterpart. He flashed a quick smile and Alice tensed, for she knew that type of smile all too well.

  “Well, darling, I’m in the mood for something sweet, you know?” He placed a grubby hand on her hip and squeezed gently. “Though, you’re probably the sweetest thing in here…”

  Alice fought the urge to tense. She had been faced with the situation before, and each time, she found herself unable to respond. She opened her mouth to respond, but the man’s grip tightened slightly, and she flushed red and closed it, trembling slightly.

  “For Kingssake, man, knock it off,” the skinny man said. The grip on her hip relaxed slightly.

  “Aw, come on, she’s the cutest-”

  The thick thunk of a butcher knife resounded as a blade slammed into the wooden table and stuck there. The man’s hand was suddenly held within his other hand, and his blubbery forehead was red and dripping beads of sweat. Alice turned to see her mother standing there, arms folded, eyes fierce. “See yourselves out of my restaurant.”

  “We’re sorry, ma’am-” the one who had grabbed Alice started, but he was cut off once more as her behemoth of a father cracked his knuckles, approaching slowly. “We’re leaving, we’re leaving, we’re leaving” he rambled as he pushed his counterpart out of the door.

  Her mother sighed and shook her head. “Men. Are you okay, Alice?”

  Alice nodded slowly, and began to count her fingers one-by-one, a nervous habit she had developed long ago. “I’m fine.”

“Mm,” her father grunted. “They were lucky I didn’t have time to get my hands on them.”

  I would’ve liked to have been able to do it myself, Alice thought. “They sure were, Pa,” she said, and forced a chuckle. Her mother smiled sadly.

  “Not the best way to start the day, sweetheart. It should be better from here.”

  “It will be!” Alice exclaimed, far too cheerily.

  “Er,” her father said slowly. “Can I get my knife back?”

  Her mother smiled and walked back to the kitchen, knocking on her father’s muscular shoulder on the way back. “All yours.”

  “Right.” He frowned. “Thanks.” He forced the knife from the table, and kissed Alice on the forehead on his way back to the butcher board. “Sorry again, sweetheart. Let us know if you need anything. If they come back, we’ll-”

  “Thanks, Pa.” She nodded briskly. “All good. Thank you.” Her father stared at her gently, then nodded equally as gently and walked back to his spot behind the counter. Alice took a deep breath and fought down the urge to cry. She was too old to be overreacting to such things anymore, and too old to be relying on her parents for every altercation. She had seen sixteen summers, and she had to act like it.

  The door jingled again, and Alice forced her nerves to be steeled. She forced the waitresses’ smile back onto her face, and turned around to greet the newcomer. “Goodmorning, sir, wel-”

  “A Good morning it is, my dear lady, for no greater pleasure has befallen me than meeting you at last.” The young man bowed, a sweeping motion with long, thin arms. He straightened and placed one hand on his chest, an assured grin across his face. His hair was cropped short and his chin was trimmed clean, with deep amber skin and silklike dark, intelligent eyes. He wore a buttoned shirt and slacks with a set of colorful robes draped around his shoulders. “My name is Arthur, Arthur Godwin.”

  Alice blinked. “A pleasure… Arthur,” she said slowly, frowning. She turned to her father, who had stopped in his work, listening intently. “Would you like to sit down? Some coffee?” She peered over her shoulder towards Arthur, awaiting a reply.

  Arthur’s cocksure expression had turned sour with confusion. “Would I…” he pursed his lips. “You know, my dear, I had quite the stately speech planned, but I didn’t anticipate you’d ask me if I’d like coffee.”

  Alice’s mouth hung open. “Uh… sorry?” She rocked back and forth on her feet and forced the smile to return. “We can start over if you’d like.”

  “I forget the whole damn thing, now, wouldn’t you believe it.” Arthur rolled his eyes and pointed toward his head. “This head of mine is useless sometimes, you know that?”

  “I’m-” Alice swallowed. “I’m sure that’s not true, Mr. Godwin.”

  “Oh please, no formalities necessary. We’ll be friends all too soon. ‘Arthur’ is just fine.”

  “Friends…” Alice cocked her head. “Just who are you, Arthur?”

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  Arthur’s smile returned. “I’m Arthur. A trained scholar from Ordensaugh, primarily, but-”

  “DAMN YOU!” Her father roared from where he worked. His fists slammed against the counter so hard that his workspace had suddenly become cluttered, a mess of meat and spices.

  “Ah-” Arthur started confusedly.

  “You’re the scholar from the piece of paper that damned freak in the mask gave me, aren’t you?” Alice’s father growled, marching toward the scholar.

  Arthur scrunched up his face in a blatant lack of understanding. “Sir?” He winced as Alice’s father grabbed his ear and pulled him towards a side room. “I suppose I will see you shortly, my dear!” Arthur called cheerily, despite his lack of free-willed mobility.

  Alice stood, frozen. The day had started poorly, but this? This was unheard of. Sixteen summers, and this was the most peculiar interaction her life had ever brought before her. Not even the salesman who had tried to sell her miracle beans compared to this. Her mother walked out from the kitchen, wiping her hands, a sad smile drawn on her face. A sad, knowing smile. “A scholar from Ordensaugh?” She asked softly.

  “It seems like it,” Alice said quietly. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “The only scholar from Ordensaugh we’ve ever had.” She shook her head. “I was starting to believe it wasn’t real, or something had changed, or…” her mother’s voice faded into nothing. “I was all too hopeful, wasn’t I, Alice?”

  “Were you?” Alice asked. “I don’t really know-”

  The door slammed open and her father shoved the young man out. He stumbled forward and adjusted his robes. “It’s him,” her father said in a hopeless breath. “He’s the one.” The scholar was now holding a scroll, the parchment still rolled   so the text was illegible. “Read the damn scroll, scholar.”

  Arthur unrolled the scroll, and cleared his throat.

Prophecy of Vermanah

Let the scholar of Ordensaugh be welcomed warmly

When he reveals his place called home

Speak the name of the Mermaid and it will guide you

  The scholar sniffed. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a warm welcome, but…”

  “What’s all this mean?” Alice asked, panic rising in her throat. “What does that-” She pointed rapidly at the scroll- “that thing want me to do?”

  “Speak the name of the mermaid,” Arthur stated simply. He stared at her with such a lack of confusion that it seemed to be the most sensical topic in the world to him.

  “What Mermaid?” Alice asked. “Mermaids aren’t even real, Arthur, there’s no-”

  “Vermanah.” He shrugged, and tapped the paper with his knuckle. “It says it right here, my dear.”

  Alice looked to each of her parents. Her mother was twisting her wedding ring nervously, tears welled up in her eyes. Her father’s face was a shade of gray, but he nodded.

  “So I just say ‘Vermanah-’” The name left her lips, and within her soul, a blue fountain began to pour, filtering salt and dust from its waters. Within her soul, an everblue pond reflected the light of a dim sun, for there were clouds on this day, in this unknown land that had become real. In the everblue pond was an everblue creature. It swam with the grace of the wind, and brought light to the depths of the pond that the sun could not reach. It was warm there.

  Alice shook her head rapidly, clearing it from the trance. “What,” she breathed, then pointed at Arthur. “Was that?”

  “The mermaid, my dear,” he replied joyfully. “She heard you call her name.”

  Alice shook a finger then glared at him. “I-” she paused, then sighed. Nowhere in her mind was there any sense of clarity as to precisely what was presently occurring. The graceful thing somewhere within her metaphysical being still swam gracefully. She could feel it in her conscience, but could identify it specifically nowhere. “How do you know about this?”

  The poised hand reappeared on his chest and the self-reliant grin reemerged on his face. “Because I, my dear, am the Buck.”

  Alice scrunched her face and shook her head. “What?” She looked to her mother. “You heard that?”

  Her mother nodded, eyebrows raised. “He’s the Buck, I suppose.”

  “He did say he’s the Buck,” his father supplied, scratching his chin.

  “Because I am!” Arthur swore. Somewhere within his wistful tone was the signature hint of distaste from a man who’s claims had just been slandered.

  “Right,” her father said. “But what does that mean?” He emphasized his words by smacking the back of his hand into his other palm.

  “I find that if I told you, it would just make things more confusing, sir,” Arthur started slowly.

  “Oh, of course.” Alice’s mother rolled her eyes. “Because us small-city folk can’t possibly comprehend Ordensaugh’s sheer scope of-”

  “The soul and power of the Kingsent Beast Umahn, the Buck of the storm, were sealed within me when I was born, in accordance with plans set in motion by The Old One Himself. Alice is in a similar position.”

  “Right- why would you tell us that? I’m about twice as confused as befo-”

  “I quite literally said-”

  “What do you mean I’m in a similar position?” Alice asked. Her arms hung loose by her sides. The bickering trio halted, and all eyes fell on her. She shrunk under the sudden gaze, but did not shift her gaze. “Did someone take me when I was newborn?”

  “The masked man?” Her father asked Arthur.

  The scholar nodded. “The same one who gave you the scroll. At some point, he bestowed the soul of the Beast Vermanah into Alice.” He folded his arms. “I… have not seen him. I have not seen his mask. But my parents gave much of the same description.”

  “Why Alice, though?” her mother asked weakly.

  “He bestowed the soul of– how the Devil did we miss that,” her father muttered under his breath.

  “I can’t answer either of those questions,” Arthur said slowly. “Especially the first one. I don’t know why he chose us, I don’t know what made us stand out to him. But we’re different from everyone else, and there’s a place for us to go. There’s a cause for us to train for, and a purpose for us to fight for. Alice is one of us.”

  “How many of you are there, Arthur?” Her mother inquired.

  “My sweetheart has to fight?” Her father blurted.

  “A place to go?” Alice asked weakly. “I have to leave?”

  “Is the food good there?” Her mother added. “There must be-”

  “My dear Odilias, maybe we should take a seat.” Arthur huffed. “It seems there are far too many questions for me to answer while standing, and-” The scholar cut himself short with a sudden intake of breath. He stared past Alice towards the outside, eyes intent. “Alice, my dear, do you feel it?”

  “Feel what?” she asked.

  He gestured openly towards his head. “Feel it.”

  After a brief moment of reluctance, Alice squeezed her eyes shut. She hesitantly searched within herself, and along with that came the presence of the graceful thing, who she supposed was Vermanah. It was there that she felt it. Another force was drawing the attention of the spirit within her. When she focused harder, she realized the spirit had been drawn to Arthur the entire time, but the one she was presently aware of was certainly not the scholar. It was hot, and it was powerful. When she opened her eyes, she found herself winded and her vision slightly blurry. Through the black dots, Arthur smiled.

  “Don’t forget to breathe while you’re looking inward. Sometimes you focus so hard, you forget the little things.” He walked past her and patted her on the shoulder. “We’ll work on it.”

  She whirled around. “What is that?”

  “Alice, my dear,” Arthur said, staring out the window with his hands clasped behind his back. “I think we just may have struck gold. There’s another Host nearby.” He grinned over his shoulder. “Two Hosts in one city! Imagine the luck.”

  “Host?”

  “Host of a Beast. You and I, essentially.”

  She counted her fingers timidly. “Why is the presence so…”

  “Hot? Powerful? Angry?” Arthur sighed and rubbed his hands together. “I’m afraid we have no choice but to go find out.”

  “We?” Alice asked. “But-”

  The place within Alice’s soul suddenly lurched, and she felt herself shift with it. The energy coming from the outside presence had increased suddenly and substantially. Arthur grabbed her wrist and pulled her out the door. “Hey–”

  “No time, my dear! You can say your goodbyes afterwards,” he called as he pulled her down the cobbled streets of port city Mare. There were horrified screams from around the corner, and a sound that was akin to nails upon a chalkboard on a far grander scale. “That doesn’t sound entirely appealing,” she heard Arthur mutter.

  They stopped on the turn of the street. There was a young man- perhaps seventeen summers, walking toward them. He was hunched over and naked; his skin alit with a crimson red glow, and each step he took was a pained stumble forward. Within each step, though, there was power, sheer power, and the stones beneath his feet cracked upon contact with the raging heat sourced within him. His arm was outstretched and being dragged through the side of a building, the visible end of his forearm ablaze. The sound roared on as he pulled himself forward, slowly demolishing the wall. His head was hung too low to make out his features beneath the curly, matted mess that was his hair.

  Arthur came to a sudden halt, and Alice found herself huddled behind him. With a grunt, the air shook with a sudden electric vitality as Arthur’s hands began to crackle and grow. He stood upright, the wind blowing his robes in an appropriately dramatic fashion. The sudden alteration in the air had caught the attention of the burning boy.

  “Your name?” Arthur called, his voice presently confident. Alice caught a hint of apprehension somewhere within the heroic image he had created. There was no reply, merely the heaving of the boy. Drool fell from his mouth, but it evaporated before it even hit the ground. Alice was frozen. If she could’ve ran for home, she would have, but it seemed her knees were not giving her such an option. “Whoever you are,” Arthur tried again, “we’re here to help you. We’re just like you.”

  “If,” the boy growled through heavy heaves, his voice half human and half unholy, “If you’re just like me, then you should boil and rot,” he seethed, “and fucking die.” His hands reignited and the air shook with sheer heat as he charged towards Arthur and Alice.