CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
*~~~**~~~*
Kovey Walber
*~~~**~~~*
18th of Decepter, 935 PC
----------------------------------------
“You’ve been a big help, Kovey,” Corbin White said, sniffling snot back into his nose. He pressed his back against the headboard and went back to reading his copy of The Book of The Creator. He wore a pair of spectacles too wide for his head because his own had been broken, which might explain why he had the same haircut a blind man might give himself. Didn’t have a single muscle anywhere on his body but he was skinny and Kovey envied him for that.
Kovey finished buttoning his tunic and scolded himself for not bringing his nicer one as he looked in the mirror. “Don’t mention it, my friend. I was the one trying to learn to read and write not all that long ago. It isn’t easy.” A lie. Kovey never struggled with reading or writing. In fact, they came to him like swimming comes to a fish but lying to make himself more relatable was a habit he’d developed back in the day and he couldn’t shake it for the life of him.
“Can’t imagine you struggling to read.”
He gave the odd young man something of a smile. “Oh, I did. But I’ve got a good memory. You start remembering what words look like on the page and eventually you don’t even need to think much. The trouble is knowing what the words mean. Need that or you’re just staring at letters in specific orders.”
“My mum always said I had a sharp brain. Called me perceptive. Can’t imagine spelling that word.”
First impressions seldom meant much to Kovey, not when people obsessed over impressing him. Maybe that’s why he’d taken special note of the one he’d gotten of Corbin. Either the boy didn’t care what anyone thought of him or he couldn’t do any thinking of his own, dimwitted so to say, but it sounded like he’d just put the latter to rest. Kovey figured he ought to keep an eye on him and learn some more about this strange boy.
“P-u-r-i-s-t,” Corbin said, looking at him for help. Maybe Kovey was wrong but he could have sworn he’d heard Corbin and his brother had come from money and every rich boy he’d ever met had spent hours sitting in front of their tutors learning the way of the word. It was guys like Kovey, who came from places where reading and writing were laughed at, that should be spelling out words for someone else to identify. Guys like Corbin were the kind of person Kovey used to make mental notes of when he’d walk the streets of Locke looking for work.
“That spells Purist.”
“Oh. Oooh. What we are. I see.”
Kovey waited for the boy’s eyes to go back to the book before he frowned. He hadn’t yet mentioned that he wasn’t a Purist. Not anymore anyway. There was a stigma that came with being an empty Purist and well, that wouldn’t coincide with the image he was trying to paint for the boy. Might taint his opinion. It sure tainted Kovey’s opinion of himself. How many nights had he stared at the stars begging The Creator for a second chance? He didn’t deserve one though. It’s not as if he hadn’t known he possessed only a finite amount of magic. He’d just been too messed up on pills to make good choices, used his magic like his soul was some kind of bottomless well of miracles but that well ran dry and there was no better way to describe the shift from superiority to mediocrity than empty.
The cracked mirror over the dresser showed that same emptiness in his hazel eyes that had too much yellow in them. They had a way of making him feel like he was staring at two suns collapsing on themselves with those black holes of nothingness in the middle. There was a time when he could change their appearance in a blink of an eye, hide their ugliness, and he did, far too often. But shapeshifting becomes an addiction just like pills. Put them together and, well, a well runs dry.
“My mum would have said you have a thorn in your heart.”
Kovey turned around. “Just miss my instruments, that’s all.”
Corbin sat up straighter in his bed, holding his place in the book with a hand over the trench down the middle. “You play music? What do you play?”
“All kinds of things.” He leaned against the dresser and took a sip of his wine. “Drums, violins, lutes. You name it.”
“Are you good?”
If he was being honest he would have admitted he was terrible at all of them, that he’d only picked them up because they were a way for him to express how he was feeling when he couldn’t put his depression into words. But, Kovey wasn’t an honest man, so he said, “Let’s just say, I could teach Hamlin a thing or two.”
“Who?”
“The famous luter.”
“Never heard of him but I’d love to hear you play.”
Kovey dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “Ah.” He smiled shyly then opened his hands and shrugged. “No instruments.”
“Maybe we’ll come across one on the road.”
“Hopefully.” Kovey turned back toward the mirror and cursed himself for lying to the boy for no damn reason. I worked on this. I’m not a liar anymore. This boy won’t care who I am or what I can and can’t do. Just tell him the truth.
“Hey Kovey.” He turned to Corbin, struggling to say anything, resorting to widening his eyes to answer the boy. “Can you tell me what this means?”
He was glad to have something distract him. He walked to the bed and leaned into the book, looking where Corbin’s slender finger pointed, his long nail digging into the parchment. “Unto one shall another never impose their will,” Kovey said.
“What does that mean?”
“For commoners, it means they shouldn’t force someone to see things their way. For us… it means we shouldn’t use our magic to trick or hurt others.” The Creator’s messages always had at least two interpretations. He knew as well as anyone.
“Oh my. What if we already have?”
Kovey considered this while sipping his ale. “I doubt The Creator will be too upset with you for using your illusions to fool your brother.”
“What about my mum? I tricked her a lot too. Course, those were usually Therrin’s ideas but I got a kick out of ‘em too.”
He couldn’t imagine the youth ever using his magic viciously. “I think you’ll be just fine.” Kovey wished he could feel as relieved as Corbin was.
“Still, I don’t think I will be doing that anymore.”
“Me either.”
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
*~~~**~~~*
Kovey dipped his hands in the bucket of room temperature water and splashed his face. He put his hands on the dresser, letting his head hang and his fingers tap an off-beat tune on the wood. The stress of seeing her again was mounting as the time to meet for drinks neared. This would be a whole lot easier if she wasn’t here. Lords, why am I here? I shouldn’t be here. I should be back in Leoren, playing sad songs on my instruments. Back to the bucket for several more splashes. He left his hands on his face after the last one. An image of Belvedere Ambrose formed in the blackness of his palms. Swooping curves laid by a master’s brush, bending and molding smoothly with her grace. Vibrant green eyes that managed to accent and contrast the snow white hair that hung down her back like the first blades of grass on a peaceful evening in early spring. Her angelic voice played a soft tune in his head. I love you Kovey Walber. I always have. I always will. She stretched outward calmly, asking for his embrace. Only to have her voice turn demonic and hateful when he grasped her hands. You’re a horrible waste of a man! You’ve never thought of anyone but yourself! He slammed his hands down on the dresser.
“You alright?” Corbin asked, nose still buried in his book. If there was anyone that deserved to learn how to read it was this runt. Relentless.
He mumbled. “Aye.”
“What?”
Deep breath. “I’m fine.”
Belvedere knew him when the pills were his only friends. Seeing her again, clean or not, was bound to stir up plenty of shame and embarrassment.
“You better get going. Your friends are probably already down there.”
“You sure you don’t want me to stay up here and help you with your reading some more?”
Corbin lifted that squirrely face of his. “What are you worried about? They’re your friends. I’d love to have someone to have a drink with.” He frowned. “I miss Therrin. I hope he’s safe.”
It hadn’t occurred to Kovey that his new friend might want to join them in the pub. “You could come have a drink with us.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine. I don’t really like those people down there. Kind of mean.” He looked a bit hurt, like something may have happened that he didn’t want to talk about. The oddly-fitting glasses on his nose stuck out like a sore thumb even more at that moment.
Mean. Kovey shook his head. I wonder if he realizes what’s waiting for him when we set off for Iron Helm. Lotus could sense the use of magic and while it wasn’t hard to stay out of trouble, accidents happened all the time. Purists would use their magic habitually or when they thought they were safe and the next thing they knew a group of Lotus that weren’t dressed in their infamous green gambesons would come swooping in on them and take them off to be slaughtered like pigs. Kovey never had to worry about that though.
“If you change your mind, just come out to the catwalk and have a look around. I’ll spot you.”
Corbin’s smile was perfectly lopsided for a boy like him. “Thanks, Kovey.” He went back to sounding out words slowly as he followed his finger.
As soon as the door opened Kovey was met with the steady buzz of the pub below. The jumbled voices and loud laughter nearly sent him right back into the room. Deep breaths, just like I practiced. He hadn’t always had to deal with crushing insecurity and shame. In fact, there’d been a time when many would have called his confidence insufferable. He’d made great strides around commoners, could make his way through a crowd with his eyes up and a practiced smile on his face. But being here in Thronerock, around this many Purists, this much magic, he was slipping back into the shell he’d hidden in for a few years after he emptied his soul.
His jittery fingers treated the railing like a drum though any sound they made was drowned out by a particularly loud group of men at the bar – quite a trio – Jameson Wicket, Elgar Sampson, and The Old Wolf, Yormir Huff. All three men had a mug in their hand, a smile on their face, and magic in their soul. There was no doubt they each still possessed their gift, empty Purists couldn’t feel that happy.
His heart skipped a beat when he spotted Belvedere. Her white hair stood out like a snowflake resting on the shoulders of a black cloak. Of course, there was a second snowflake across from her in the booth, waving her arm, no doubt bitching about something her sister had no control over. If Belvedere was the rose, Velvetine was the thorn with her sharp tongue and cold eyes.
The walk down the stairs made him feel like a prisoner being taken to the gallows. He stood at the bottom hoping someone would call the whole thing off but there were no saviors in a place like the Black Boar Inn – no matter what the Purists told themselves. He crossed the crowded pub like a scared child searching for his mother’s hand. Shoulders collided, eyes glared. He barely took a breath until he stood next to Belvedere’s table. There she was, his angel. Soft white hair flowing well past her shoulders. Green eyes that could rewrite the definition of gentle. Not a blemish on her skin. Her smile sent him back in time to the days when he’d watch her from afar, wishing he had the courage to tell her how he felt until the pills would put him into a deep sleep and she’d be gone when he woke up.
His memories were clawed apart violently when Velvetine spoke. “Fuckin’ Kovey Walber. In the flesh.” Woman had a voice that could scratch the rust off iron. She struck the flint and steel for her smoke stick and stared at Kovey’s round stomach. “Yikes.” The last time he’d seen her he was fifty pounds lighter and his arms were cut like diamonds. Very little had changed about her though. She had on the same tattered green jacket covered in dry mud and stains that she’d been wearing for years. She still reminded him of the hags from his mother’s stories. Sadly, only a fool would think she had quit using drugs. A tinge of resentment bubbled in his belly. Way back when, her drug problem had become his drug problem, and not in a heroic sense. “You look horrible, Walber.” Just as blunt as ever.
“Good to see you too, Vel.”
“Sit. Sit,” Belvedere said, sliding over farther than he would have liked. He sat down, hiding the uneasiness of sitting beside the woman he secretly loved the best he could. “How have you been, Kove?” she asked, rubbing his shoulder.
“Well enough.” He sounded like he hadn’t spoken in years, like he needed to remember how to do it.
“We thought ya went and killed yourself,” Velvetine said. She tapped the ashes from the end of her smoke stick onto the floor. Her grin was about three teeth short of full and far from beautiful. “What? It’s true. Last time we saw ya you was runnin’ into the forest with tears in your eyes.” She let out a laugh that a woman who had smoked for too long would possess then scratched her armpit.
“Aye. I remember.” He’d give anything not to remember that day, but it was etched in his mind for all eternity.
Belvedere came to his rescue like she always had. “Stop that, Vel.” She made a face at Kovey that said, I’m sorry for my ridiculous sister. As if she had anything to apologize for. If anything he owed her his life. How many times had she taken the bottle out of his hand? The pills? How many times had she hid him from the enemies he’d made? “Why don’t you go get us some ale, Vel?” She placed a gold Leo on the table.
Velvetine looked at her sister as if she’d been asked to climb a mountain. She placed a single finger on the coin. “Are ya gonna give me another pill?” Belvedere shook her head. The coin split right down the middle. “What’s happened to you, Walber? I remember when you used to break ribs, not just eat ‘em.”
“Nothing has happened to me. I’m just living a different lifestyle now.”
“And yet you’re sittin’ in a pub across from your old pal, Velvetine. Just like old times.”
Kovey was unsure what to say. It was an odd feeling sitting there with the Ambrose girls again, like the last five years had been a dream and he’d finally woken up to find the nightmares that he knew all too well. Rather than try to explain himself, he just watched Belvedere cup her hand over the torn coin and mend it with her own magic.
“You’re a damn fool for joining this silly little adventure,” Velvetine said. “An empty soul like you. You could have stayed hidden forever.” Was that true though? It’s not like he hadn’t met plenty of people when he had his magic. Kovey’s past was hidden well, like ruins covered in vines and moss deep in a jungle, but even ancient ruins are eventually found. He needed this war to end before his were.
“I think what Vel means to say, is that we were surprised to hear you’d be joining us.”
“No. I meant what I said.” The sisters glared at one another.
Kovey cut the tension. “I want to help change the world. The lords know I made my fair share of bad contributions to it.”
Velvetine chuckled. “Making change is for shop owners, Walber. We’re off to kill a nasty cunt because she upset the wrong person. How in the three hells are ya gonna help now anyway? Can you still use a bow? Your daggers?”
“You still just poke ‘em where the armor’s not, right?”
Velvetine gave her hideous grin. “It’s good to see ya again, Walber.”
He sat there, wondering if he felt the same.