9: Something Gained
“She never really told me why she stopped when she knew we had to keep going. I think she just wanted to see her one last time. But you know how it is.”
Stevie hissed as Harold pulled the parking brake knob, dumping the air from her brakes instantly, followed by the trailer brakes. The man set a timer on his watch, checked the time and picked up his log book to fill out the location of the stop and the time.
The exhaust flap clattered noisily while Harold allowed Stevie to cool down from running on the highway. They sat alongside a building which amplified the engine's exhaust note which could be heard quite some distance away. Ahead of them was the wide open parking lot packed with cars and shoppers. A few prefabricated sheds were on display and a large fenced in area of the parking lot was selling freshly cut Christmas trees.
Catherine practically kicked the passenger door open and tossed Areannia outside, shouting, "Be free, my pretty!"
The poor cat flailed her legs for a moment, and then straightened them out, just before landing on the ground. She rolled away from the truck, her size increasing rapidly and her fur disappearing back to its deerskin jacket and bright yellow pants with her boots returning as well. Areannia's hair grew out to its normal length, ears stretching to their proper size.
Areannia quickly jumped to her feet and threw her hands in the air, shouting in her normal voice, "Finally! I can speak again!"
Harold glanced up from his paperwork toward the unusual voice, then looked down at the logbook again. He paused for a moment. The voice came from outside the truck where the cat had just been thrown. Now as Catherine got out Harold saw there were two women outside with one being a little taller than the other.
Harold blinked at the elf's sudden appearance. He slowly looked around Stevie’s cab and saw the second backpack that had fallen over. The backpack was adorned with a few stylistic leafs along were animal skull charms attached to a couple of the zippers; patches about trees and animals were sewn into the larger pockets. Whether they were real or fake skulls was best left unanswered. A pair of parchment scrolls were tucked under hempen rope attached to the bag and a large water bottle was stuffed in a side pocket.
He looked at the elf again, his mind wandering back to earlier in the day when Catherine held up the black cat and spoke about the truck turning her last apprentice into said cat. He frowned deeply.
"Why did I believe her?" he muttered quietly and watched the two give each other a hug before the elf climbed into the cab.
The blonde elf stuck her hand out toward Harold, giving him a grin that was more of a smirk than a grin. "I'm Areannia, Catherine's Sister. Harold, can you do us and Stevie a huge favor by avoiding the bumps from now on? You have no idea fucking how painful it is when you aren't strapped to a seat."
He reached out to shake her hand and was met with a firm, yet soft touch. Not like Catherine's bear grip from earlier. With the elf as close as she was he picked up the sweet scent of herbal cigarettes on her and sensed well practiced magic behind her eyes. Atop her head was a backwards baseball cap and around her neck were four different necklaces.
"So, you were the cat this whole time?" Harold asked and tilted his head.
Areannia nodded. "Mhm. I was already in that form and well, there isn't much room in here." She motioned toward the back of the truck where the cramped sleeper was, then to the occupied seats.
"Then why did she tell me you were her last trainee…?” Harold blinked at her.
“I taught her everything she knows about driving.”
“Godsdammit, that woman lied to me!"
"Get used to it. There's things she won't even tell me." She finally let go of Harold's hand and flopped in the seat with a heavy sigh. "I hate it as much as you, but that is Cathy."
"I'm going to talk to her." Harold grumbled and opened the door to hop out. Areannia grabbed his wrist, keeping him in the cab and made him look at her. "Let me go!" he exclaimed.
She complied and released her hold, but motioned for him to wait. "Close your eyes and take a deep breath. I can feel your anger building and it's a bad thing to let it control you. I sometimes lose control of mine and well… it’s not good for anyone to do."
Harold scoffed. He glanced in the driver's mirror where Catherine was walking toward the truck behind them. The driver of that truck had already climbed out and was jogging her way over to a forklift, hardhat and all making her very easy to spot.
Harold folded his arms across his chest and slumped back in his seat to think about his day. How long would they be gone, truly? Did he make a mistake and his car was towed? It would have to sit there if it did. His old job was easy, but this new one seemed more of the same just with far fewer restrictions and more lies.
Areannia rapidly pushed the buttons of an older outdated phone. One with a smaller screen and a replaceable faceplate, which had images of a bunch of forest creatures on it.
"So… who was the arch druid she fought?" Harold queried.
"Do not concern yourself with the circle's affairs. What transpired that day will stay with her and those who were there. I would prefer it if I did not have to feed you piece by piece to a mountain lion," Areannia said in a cold, almost bored tone without looking at the man. She frowned at her text message and let out a cat-like hiss. "You made me mess up my message."
He tried to see who she was messaging, but he couldn't see the screen. Not for the lack of trying. No matter how hard he focused on looking at the words he only saw triple and his head felt like it was going to spin. The human leaned his head back, closing his eyes until the feeling faded.
“Who are you texting?” he asked.
Areannia swore in her native language before speaking in common, "Are you a cop?" She waved toward him, narrowing her eyes as if judging his next words.
Harold shook his head. "Don't know anyone who'd buy twenty-six pallets of office supplies." The turbo timer dinged, so he killed the engine. Silence fell inside the cab, silence so thick you could taste it.
*** ***
It had been a simple message Areannia was typing, but having to type on such a tiny keyboard annoyed Areannia and made her prone to mistakes. However, it was better than destroying expensive phones in a fit of rage. The message was addressed to her husband Rosco:
Hey! Hope your day is better than mine. Spent most of it bouncing around because the damn newbie Cathy hired hit every fucking pothole! We stopped, again, at the Tuesday’s before the Nalia scale. I don't know why she keeps stopping. It's pissing me off! Look, I need a favor from you. I found out this morning that the load can't be opened under any circumstances. Is there any way you could get us the green light at the Nalia Scale and customs gate? I’ll bake some special cupcakes for you if you do.
Love you!
Areannia stared silently at her phone awaiting a reply of any kind. The message had been read, but nothing came of it yet. She glanced toward Harold, noting he still had his eyes closed, so she quickly felt the inner pocket of her jacket for the envelope and nodded when she felt it still there.
Harold laughed quietly at something.
“Hm?” Areannia tilted her head at him.
He shrugged. "I've had nothing but shit thrown at me; First I lose my apartment, then I have to live out of my car because no one wants to take me in. I find a job, it sucks and pays shit. Find a better one that pays less. Finally, I found a different job, which I promptly lost a week later. Now, I don't know what’ll happen to me, or my car."
Areannia slowly shook her head. "You cast your dice into the winds of fate and spirits shall decide for you. What happened to your last job?"
"So… I was passed by this truck." Harold pointed at Stevie’s steering wheel and kept talking. "And a transfer. The driver of the dump truck asked if I'd like to watch. Me being the bored driver I was, I agreed. Catherine and the other truck line up, I do the countdown with my air horn and then they flew!" He slowly waved his hand across the windshield. "Both of them were faster than anything I'd ever seen before. I tried to keep up, but my truck fell back and then… I saw bubblegum lights in my mirrors."
"Ah…" Areannia nodded slowly, knowing the truth of the events. She smiled. "I'm sure she got a ticket as well. Cathy just doesn't care about them as much."
"No?" Harold tilted his head.
"Where do they go when she has no address for them to go to?"
Harold went quiet upon hearing that. He frowned, resting his chin in a hand and looked in the mirror once more. Areannia could see Harold wasn’t sure if he was destined for a life on the road like Cathy. To be a slave to the blacktop and put down kilometer after kilometer until old age, to never have a social life beyond vague contacts with people he'd never meet more than once.
His gaze slowly shifted away from the mirror toward the truck's gauges. The cracked speedometer’s glass was covered in a small layer of dust that partially hid the sun bleached needles. Paint around the bezels had chipped off on a few of the gauges, letting them rust and the wood of the dashboard faceplate was showing its age and greying.
Cathy's phone dinged with a message. It was newer than Areannia's and a bit larger, but still had the mechanical keyboard. A message from a person named ‘Shitty Job Broker’ had come through.
Areannia smirked at the name and opened the contents of the coded message. It was only two lines asking: Why did you stop again, driver? You still have time on that log book!
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Areannia's smirk turned into a frown. She quickly skimmed the previous messages to get a feel for how they communicated before she sent a message back that read: Bad stomach issues. Co-driver watching load.
The reply was near instant: Drink a potion and get those wheels rolling, now!
Areannia looked up from the phone out to the parking lot beyond, then back at the phone and sent another message: My uterus is waging a war with itself right now. I can’t drive with this pain, you fucking hoser!
Another message came back as fast as the first reply: Hold it in. How hard can it be?
"Oh for fucks sake! That's not how periods work, you twat." Areannia muttered to herself, gripping the phone tightly. The thought of throwing it across the parking lot came to mind, but it wasn't her phone to destroy.
"Hm?" Harold looked at Areannia. He saw her jaw clenched, eyes narrowed and the white knuckle grip on the phone. "What's wrong?"
Areannia took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "The broker is an idiot. They want us to keep moving.”
"Oh… why did we stop then?" Harold frowned at her.
"Because my sister is just as hard headed toward the rules as her father was." Areannia grumbled. She made the decision to just leave the broker on read and throw the phone on the dashboard where Cathy had left it earlier.
"Was?" Harold leaned toward the blonde elf to listen close, but Areannia shot him a glare that shook his spine. He held his hands up defensively and backed away. "Nevermind."
Cathy's phone dinged with another message, followed by a second in quick succession. Areannia picked it up to see who it was and set it back down since it was the broker. She then checked hers, but there wasn’t a reply from Rosco yet. In truth Areannia didn't fully expect a reply, because he was probably busy inspecting a truck or filling out paperwork.
"Did you not pay attention to her memorial tattoo?"
“Kind of?”
“You certainly paid attention to her breasts!” Areannia leaned on the cab wall and folded her arms, eyes drilling into Harold’s. "Thomas was human and could wield magic as effortlessly as you or I breathe. He worked for our father in the twenties and was a handful. Had eyes for our mother, too, and claimed he was a descendant of the Empress."
"Ah." Harold then thought of something when he looked at Areannia. "What happened to her?"
"She's still around and taking care of my youngest." Areannia shrugged.
“That’s nice of her.” Harold smiled. “How old?”
“Seven months. If you are going to ask the next question about what my father thinks of Cathy, do not bother. I am not allowed to answer it."
"Why?" Harold leaned toward Areannia.
She glared at him again before looking out the window at the trees. "It's not my place to tell you these things. I’m not my sister. If you want to know why her father fucked our mother, then you'll have to ask Cathy, not me. I've said more than I’m allowed to say already."
Areannia's phone dinged like a pair of metal plates clanging together, so she picked it up and opened the message. Rosco had sent her a photo with a message of: You're going to have an even longer day. Highway's closed until nightfall. I'll bring you guys some dinner if you want. Oh, and your car is fine by the way. Had the Arcane Investigators and Bomb Squad check it out.
Attached to the message was a picture of a semi-truck's frame rail that was clearly cracked around the point where it held the transmission on with the cab completely burnt away. Rust covered the crack and the transmission was half lying on the ground. Another truck's cab was totaled with fluids leaking out of it. Debris was scattered across the roadway with firemen tending to a small group of crushed cars, but most importantly Areannia saw where the picture was taken; right in front of the gate heading to the wasteland.
All in all, it looked like four semis and almost twenty cars had crashed into each other with one body already covered.
"Godsdammit!" Areannia groaned. "There's a pile up before the gate."
Catherine's phone rang once more.
*** ***
Catherine leaned against the door of Victoria's semi as she sat on the steps, one foot resting on the lower rung. Nia had mentioned that she wanted to speak with Harold alone, so the changeling walked off to see Vic.
The loud high pitched beeping of a foklift’s pedestrian warning device pierced through her thoughts, drawing her attention to Vic.
The disguised dragoness looked a bit rough around the edges, but she was having a long day from what Catherine could see. Vic wore dark wrap-around sunglasses to protect her eyes from the sun and her hardhat had a brim extender on it, giving her a lot of shade. From what Catherine could remember, Vic was as pale as a vampire, and mistaken for one quote often.
The forklift moved close to the trailer, slowing to lift the forks just before reaching it. Vic leaned to the side and eased the machine underneath one of the upper bundles of lumber. She lifted it just enough she could move with it. The pale lady tilted the entire bundle backward a hair before slowly backing away from the trailer.
Catherine wanted to call out to her, to ask her which ice cream she was buying, but she knew better than to interrupt the woman when she was working. The changeling closed her eyes instead, resting her head on the door.
Taking a slow, deep breath Catherine allowed the frosty air to fill her lungs. It allowed her mind to drift toward a night under the stars far from the city, far away from the noise; the terrible stale air and the pained cries of trees forced to live in tiny holes. There were no large groves in the city, only a well manicured park that was called a forest. It was but a mockery of one. Who clears the underbrush from the trees when animals could live there?
She looked over at Stevie once more and frowned. Catherine could see the manufactured trees waiting to be sold as decorations. Small firs and spruces who would never see their true potential. Trees that would never grow to become towering behemoths providing shade to all the creatures below, nor becoming homes for many animals and bugs.
And yet Catherine and Nia were enabling the humans in a way. They had the power to stop it, to give voice to the creatures of the forest where others of their kind retreated to the wilds already. She wonderedA how and where they went wrong. Things weren't this bad only a few years ago. There were still trees in the city! Things had more green, more life! Now it was only bleak and grey, the trees sickly and frail.
She hissed as she slammed her fist into the truck's fender. Catherine gasped. She quickly turned around and placed her hand over the spot to feel the vehicle's energy, an apology forming in her mind. However, the changeling felt nothing but murkiness. Only a cold and dead machine waiting to be turned on.
Catherine closed her eyes and focused even more, attempting to pierce the veil. A spark was there deep down, but shrouded by a dark mist numbing the vehicle’s emotions to the world. The happiness in Stevie was replaced by loss and darkness in Vic’s semi. The mist swirled around the energy as if it sensed something there, causing Catherine to pull away from the truck before they could find her.
She stepped back and looked over the long nose semi once more. While from a distance it looked clean and well kept, she now saw the faded chrome on the steps, the paint worn from the cab where the hood rubbed against it. The unwashed bugs in the cracks between the shiny air cleaner and body. Oil streaked down from between the bottom of the cab and door. Its mirrors were completely caked in dust. The pitted chrome on the exhaust pipe and soot running down the slightly bent tip. Even a faintly tweaked bumper.
Catherine looked over at Vic as the woman brought another bundle of lumber over to the stack next to the fence and gently set it on top.
"What are you grieving?" Catherine whispered. She turned her attention to the large open doors of the store, but only saw shadow beyond the actual doorway. Standing near the outside of the building was a group of workers in bright red-orange aprons. They were whispering and pointing at both Catherine and Vic.
That was when Catherine noticed a worker walking toward her. The balding man was fairly tall with a noticeable pot belly, his ear length a middle ground between Nia and Catherine's, marking him a high elf.
He waved, calling out to Catherine with a voice that sounded as if he was talking down to her. "Excuse me, are you the driver of that truck?" The man motioned at Stevie roughly twenty yards away.
Catherine nodded. “Is it a problem there?"
"No." He shook his head. "We were only expecting one load of trees today. You will have to come back in a couple days."
Realization slowly crossed her face, eyes widening. "Oh! No, no! I don't haul trees. I couldn't bear to hear their cries for mercy the whole way here."
"I am sorry…? Did you say their cries for mercy?" The high elf tilted his head.
"Yes." Catherine nodded once and motioned around her. "You are a high elf, but you can't tell me you don't hear the trees begging for room to grow? The cut trees used only for decorations crying for death? Their longing for what could have been had they not been farmed? A sick and twisted human tradition when they should just burn a single massive log given by an old oak tree instead."
The man shook his head at her. "No. I do not. I am not a Woodsborn like yourself and I am glad for it.”
“Glad?” Catherine tilted her head and folded her arms across her chest. “How can you be glad to be a high elf?! Your pompousness has brought us nothing but ruin.”
“So pray tell me then, why have you not retreated to your sanctuaries like the rest of your kin?"
Catherine clenched her jaw at that remark and looked over at Vic before looking at Stevie again. Her ears picked up the rustling of the leaves on the wind. What little the trees had anyway. The singing of the branches, the creaks from their bark as they swayed softly and spoke of many visitors, even speaking a word of warning to her.
Catherine’s mind was too unfocused to hear anything, except for one nearby tree, who said, “You bring danger with you, changeling. Flee!”
The changeling focused her attention on her right arm as she brought it into view and looked at the chaotic tattoo. Only to Catherine was the distinct pattern visible; Words overlaid with more words and then even more added on top of each other, resembling a sleeve of chaotic flames to other people. When she focused on it for even the briefest of moments, whole pages were legible only to her.
A document written in the Fae’s language detailed the binding of her to another until the conditions were met. One passage floated to the top above all others: On the black river of your home, you will follow the lines eternal. Feet humming, heart beating, fire breathing you will roam. Rarely stopping, never resting, the Lonely Road calls you home.
Catherine shook her hand to make the itch of magic dissipate. "I’m Phantom, a driver you can rely on to get the job done no questions asked.”
“Thar fails to tell me much aside from you not liking people.” The balding high elf shrugged at her.
Catherine nodded slowly. “I am an abomination grown from a tiny pine cone given by an ancient pine tree. They shunned me for my magical ineptitude until I left."
The man folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes. "I doubt you were born of a pinecone. You do not look like a dryad to me and you are too far from your mother tree."
“I keep a bit of home in my pockets to get around that.” She pulled a small handful of dirt from her pocket, and then put it back.
“Uh-huh.”
She shrugged. "Surely one with your regal status would know how half-elves are treated, even amongst your gilded dick of a city high atop Sonath Bimyar?”
“I am not a hillbilly,” he replied to Catherine.
Catherine raised an eyebrow, pointing to herself. “Hillbilly, eh? While you hosers revel in parties all day, drinking and lusting for each other, what's left of two worlds turns to shit!” She narrowed her eyes at him and took a deep breath.
“Ventros is doing fine from what I see.” The man shrugged again.
“I can see the damage our kin have wrought in their pointless wars. We shattered reality and destroyed two universes, not the dragons, and all I can do is watch as the forests die a slow death. I was there. I watched reality break in half and horrors spill out from the dark. Even still, my reflection fights on in his world.”
"Perhaps you are right, perhaps not. I do not pretend to know about the treatment changelings endure among the woodsborn, but among the highborn they are treated as equals."
"Hah!" Catherine let out a loud laugh, clasping her hands together with a near thunderous clap. Her fleshy disguise was passable to a high elf at least. "I don't believe that for one fuckin’ second!" She pointed at the man, eyes narrowing as a small scowl crossed her face. "You can't fool me, I've been to your precious City of Silver! It is naught but a City of Sin as the humans would say.”
The man sighed quietly and slowly shook his head. "If that is what you think, then we shall agree to disagree. However, I have yet to see a half-highborn who sold their soul for power."
"How did you…?" Catherine's eyes widened in shock. She tore her gaze from the man and looked toward Stevie, taking a slow deep breath. She couldn't see anything out of the ordinary with the truck and the trailer doors appeared to be locked still. She shook her head, attempting to back away from the high elf, but she was close enough to Vic's truck that she bumped into the steps.
The balding elf half-pointed at her sleeve tattoo. "Your tattoo is a dead giveaway to one who dabbles in the occult and spiritual. No ordinary tattoo feels like that one when it is observed. It's not daemonic, but it feels like the Old World, which means it could be…" he let his voice trail off.
Catherine tried to shrink away. She wanted to blast the man with her magic, but she couldn't with so many witnesses. She didn’t even have her shotgun. Not here, not now. There were too many people. She had to listen to the man, because she was stuck between him and a semi. She felt a pair of eyes burning into the back of her skull and one thing came to her mind; silence.
She could not speak of them, she would not. Not now, not ever. Never. It was binding and she didn’t want to dance their dance.
The tattoo grew warmer by the moment as she hugged herself and kept her gaze away from the elf. She tried to hear his coming remarks to see what he knew, but the only thing she could think of was a song which began to dig its way into her skull and bury itself in her mind. Catherine's mind swam in the harmonious beat filling her with the desire to hum along to a song she knew well. One that was on her own playlist in fact. She wanted to grab the nearest person and dance with them in a close embrace until she left a bloody trail as her feet ground into the asphalt. To play and frolic around the grove until the frozen ground claimed her soul once again.
Catherine slowly moved her left wrist to block her right wrist from view by touching the snowflakes against ‘flaming’ tattoo ahead of the actual coming flames. She tried to make it look like she was merely folding her arms in front of her chest, but it was just a bit awkward looking with one hand grabbing the other wrist.
The song and feelings were shattered by the high elf speaking once more, "However, as much as I want to poke and prod you for the reasons, we both know you must remain silent." He turned as if to leave, stopping halfway. "Might I inquire why you travelled to Silver City? This information I seek out of my own curiosity and not for the city's ears."
Catherine glanced at Vic as the woman moved the forklift close to the front trailer and slid the forks under the next bundle of lumber. The changeling nodded at Vic.
“Family troubles,” she said. “My wife was very sick and no healer in Ventros or Halifax could save her, so we traveled to Sonath.”
"I am terribly sorry to hear that,” he muttered.
"It's not your problem." She shrugged and shook her head. Then checked the snowflake tattoo on her wrist. There were still three out of five remaining, which is what she had for the last few years.
"I assume you found what you sought?" The elf glanced at her arm where the snowflake tattoo was barely visible.
“Your precious queen is quite a wild night in bed,” Catherine said plainly, her narrowed purple eyes staring the high elf down. She twisted the wrist around for him to see the snowflakes as clear as day. “Even thanked me with a gift of her own magic; five droplets from your precious Mana Fountain.”
“That is crude of you.”
“And you’re asking too many questions. Leave.”
The balding man nodded firmly. “It seems my welcome has worn itself out. Good day, Faespeaker.” He turned to go, leaving Catherine to sit there and wait for Vic to finish unloading.
Catherine closed her eyes and sighed heavily.