Chapter Forty-Five

Finding the Joy

Michael sat through the rest of the class rather numbly when Jack returned.

Jack saw Oliver’s empty desk immediately, but he didn’t speak to it. No one was really in the mood to learn for the rest of the lesson, but he trudged on anyway.

Michael wanted to say he absorbed every piece of information about the mysterious world he was now a part of. But that wouldn’t be the truth. He had memorised, however, the number of times Oliver’s expression had changed in the short span of time the word ‘Soase’ crossed his lips.

Michael waited until things wrapped up and everyone decided to part ways. He sat down on his bunk and opened the book, skimming its many creatures until finally he found the one he sought. It was the first monster he’d found in the book which was described with less than a complete page of words. The writing was not neat but scrambled and hastily written, and much of the ink was smeared.

Shanii Entry: Saose – meaning ‘Behemoth of the Lagoon’

This creature lives in the depths of swamps, and lies in wait. It stands at fifteen feet tall and forty feet long. Its scales are akin to a cloak of folded, steel shields and its talons are close to hooker, gnarled spears. Its body measures up to two horse-drawn carriages. Its legs would crush any armoured knight without taking notice nor care. Its webbed legs and feet aid its travel through the murky waters and its eyes are a darkness so horrifying that the night sky seems pale beside them. Its teeth are round like shovel-blades, but they are sharper than fractured glass. The sound of their awakening is like that of a croaking thunderstorm. I fear I shall never unhear it.

If you ever mean to pursue a Saose. Bring two-hundred soldiers with you and tell their families to make arrangements. Saose have a tendency to crush their prey until their bodies are soft. If their prey is armoured, they will peel the armour off them, even if limbs are attached. They do it with more ease than a knife pares fruit. I attempted to draw this creature. But seeing it face to face seems to have been enough for one life time. Here is what I managed.

Michael looked upon the image and wished he’d never had. The artist had only managed to finished the creature’s great skull, dripping with seaweed and murky water as its dead eyes looked into the reader’s soul. If nothing else, the artist captured one thing, a deep and primal malice in the dark of its eyes. The kind of darkness that enjoys swallowing the light.

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He sat on his bed for an hour before the light above him pulsed on. Trying to shake off his rattled state, Michael unlocked the door to find Oliver on the other side, standing timidly. In his hand was a quiver.

Oliver raised it up. “Archie finished it, come check it out, it’s pretty neat.”

The two boys wandered down to the archery range and made general conversation. Oliver told him how there was a rune engraved into the base of the quiver, which held anything in place until someone touched it. Michael tested it and found he was right. He could shake the entire leather pouch as hard as he could and the arrows wouldn’t even so much as a wiggle, but the moment his fingers applied pressure to the shafts, they came loose like ripened apples upon the branch.

Michael and Oliver stayed out for some time, shooting arrow after arrow. He made Oliver have a go and the surprisingly the swordsman seemed to be learning. He didn’t land as a single shot in the centre, but his inaccuracy was beginning to be well grouped, which was an improvement.

Eventually they were able to laugh gently about a handful of things and before they knew it, the sun had come down around them.

They wandered the grounds for a little while. Michael thanked Archie for his hard work when they passed by the Forges. They got some fresh bread from the bakery and slowly wandered up to the tops of the walls, making their way along the battlements, talking and not talking.

It took Michael some time, but only once they were tearing off pieces of sourdough as they walked did he realise how quiet Oliver really was. Not because of the circumstance, though Michael was sure it hadn’t helped, but simply because he had grown to be.

Oliver walked like no one else was around him. His thumbs hooked into his pockets, but his hands never fully sunk in.

Michael only really noticed because Carter and Sarah both walked with their hands in their pockets. They were never afraid to fall, it seemed.

Oliver was quick to smile, or nod or laugh, but not to speak, not really. He wondered if it was because he was busy trying not to think. Michael hoped not, for he knew too well that thinking too much was a dangerous and lonely thing to be afraid of.

Oliver eventually led Michael to one of the quieter portions of the wall and there he stopped walking, and simply stood and stared out at the valley below, listening to the wind howl in the night.

Michael gently watched him. His kind face, his honest eyes, his simple, sad smile and found himself realising that of all the things he knew Oliver was, more than anything else, he was true.

The things he said were true, the way he acted was true, the things he believed in were true. And after thinking about the things Oliver had said in that classroom, Michael came to understand that a deep, sincere part of Oliver knew those moments were lost in his past. But they were jagged memories. Ones he had buried in himself for so long that even touching them seemed to make him bleed.

And so, despite not having spoken in the last half-hour, Michael put his arm around his friend’s shoulder and held him firmly. “I’ve got you, you know?”

Oliver leant his head against Michael’s and nodded softly.

“And hey... at least we didn’t have to do math...” said Michael, deadpan.

Oliver’s seriousness fought to stay but his beautiful smile slowly wrestled to the top of his face and he cracked and snorted loudly.

Michael’s chuckled silently and before he could help himself, he muttered. “I’m not saying a Saose isn’t a big deal… but like-” he held up his hands like weighing scales and raised his left, “Certain death…” and then held up his right, “or division”.

Oliver teetered between the choices and then turned and put a foot up on the battlements. Michael laughed and grabbed him and the two boys chuckled in the rising dark, and their sweet laughter rolled through the torch light.