Fresh Cut Rose

Chapter 2

Night has fallen by the time we reach Two Rocks’ main thoroughfare. A sign, polished to perfection and illuminated by the fire of a street lamp, proudly declares this thoroughfare Rynor Avenue. Here, the residential neighborhoods give way to slumbering offices and businesses. Along the road we pass one of the only exceptions, a busy tavern which rumbles with excitement. It’s called The Last Rail. How odd.

A few doors down is a general store: Kellerman’s. Though the store is closed, a light on the second floor gives away its occupant. And across the way, quiet but vigilant, is the police station. The Sign above the door reads:

TRPD- Honor, Valor, Peace

The woman manning the front desk leans on her elbow, thumbing through a cheap, worn book. She glances up at us with a yawn. “How can I help you?”

Sidhion strums the band holding his badge to his chest. “I’m Sidhion Sundermane acting on behalf of the Holy Militia. There’s been a terrible accident with the train we took into town. Three fatalities, minor injuries to ourselves. We need a crew to inspect the cave-in and recover bodies.”

The receptionist’s eyes go wide. “Train?”

“Yes, we came by train. There was an accident.”

“No…” The book falls from her hand.

This buffoonery is getting us nowhere. I lean over the desk so our eyes meet. “Go and get the captain for us. That’s it. Off you go.”

The receptionist readily disappears into the precinct. Sidhion gives me a look. “You know, that was very rude.”

“She was just gawping.”

“Yes but this is a big tragedy. People are allowed to be shocked.”

I shrug.

“We’re soon taken upstairs, into a cramped broom-closet office. The room is tidy to a fault, as is the Orcish woman towering over her desk. Her skin is the typical green-gray hue of her lineage and her hair is dark as smoke. The underbite tusks that protrude from her lips are polished white but deep scratches and cracks prove her battle-heartiness. “You’re the militiamen Mayor Tennison sent for? I’m Captain Bradur.”

“Yes,” Sidhion says. “There’s an emergency in the train tunnel into town.”

Bradur squints at him. “What are you talking about?”

“The… Train?”

“Are you confused? Two Rocks doesn’t have a train.”

“Well the rail line doesn’t know that. We got here by train. Then it…” Walter looks as if he’s just been had by a con artist. “It crashed in the tunnel.”

“Oh, I see. There must be a mix-up. You came through the mountain pass and got lost in the old mines. Gotta be careful up there.”

“No it-“ Walter rubs his forehead. “Right, it wasn’t easy gettin’ out of the mines.”

“I’m sure. Whole place shut down about four years back after a big collapse. Very lucky no one was there.”

My mind is whirring. I remember sitting on a train. I was exhausted. Then the crash. Then we walked for hours. We walked here. I’m sure we walked. Bradur’s voice derails whatever thought was coming to me. “Now, about the case.”

“But the tunnel,” Sidhion tries.

“Look, I appreciate your interest in the town’s history but we have work to do. The mayor wanted to be present for our in-person brief but obviously he’s gone home for the night. I’ll send word along that you’re here but it’ll be best to come to his office first thing tomorrow morning.”

I try to focus on Bradur’s words but something tugs at my mind. Is something wrong with her? Or am I just tired? I reach for the thought but it disappears between my fingers. I’ve forgotten something. I’m sure of it. In these situations, it’s best to let the thought come back when it’s ready. I’ll remember. Of course I’ll remember.

“I had the boys clean out the old precinct and set it up for you. The town outgrew it but it’s just fine for the three of you.” Bradur sets a key on the table. She slides it back when Sidhion reaches for it. “One second. I have one more thing to say to you. I want you to be careful about how you conduct your investigation.”

“Of course,” Walter begins.

“You don’t think we’re capable?” I cast a glare at Bradur who volleys it back.

“I think you’re capable of plenty. That’s precisely the issue. I’ve never had the… Pleasure of working with federal investigators but I know the law. I know the state lets you tromp around everywhere with impunity. Arresting and executing people on no evidence at all. I want you to know that you’re in my town. And I will enforce the laws of this town no matter who breaks them.”

I turn up my nose at Bradur. “Then I want you to know something, too. Just because you’re the police captain doesn’t put you above suspicion. I am authorized to carry out sentencing at my discretion and I intend to make complete use of my authority.”

“Just because you have a badge doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

“Since you know the law so well, Captain, you must be familiar with the term ‘obstruction.’”

“Enough.” Sidhion grabs my arm. “We’re supposed to be working with local authorities.”

Walter gives Bradur a wan smile. “Captain, I understand your concern. Why don’t my companions here set off for the precinct and we can talk. I think I can set your mind at ease.”

Sidhion tightens his grip on me as he marches out of the building, all the while talking my ear off about manners.

✦ ❈ ✦

The old precinct stands guard on Canary Street, just off Rynor Avenue. Despite Bradur’s promise of clean accommodations, the air hangs heavy with dust. Ancient desks litter the first floor. Their lack of dirt proves that someone did pass a cloth over them but their stickiness betrays the lack of care.

The second floor is much more diminutive, housing only a small kitchen and an barracks. I should be used to shared quarters and footlockers by now. At least I have a moment to myself as I unpack my dented suitcase. I can’t believe Walter dropped it.

As I carry an armload of clothes, something stuffed in the corner catches my eye. It’s a lonely houseplant which must have been forgotten when the police upgraded their building. The dirt is bone dry and the leaves are withered to nothing. Certainly, this plant was once a cinquefoil. I think back to my old gardening books. If memory serves, cinquefoils symbolize beloved daughters. The irony would be funny if it weren’t so sad. I had to give up flower-tending when I enlisted. Perhaps this little thing could be saved yet.

With my clothing squared away, there’s only my work satchel left to unpack. I could put it under the bed and turn in for the night. But She is calling to me. Walter still hasn’t returned from his chat with Bradur. And Sidhion left again as soon as suitcases hit beds. It’s a perfect opportunity to have a moment alone with The Sky.

I make my way out into the night air. Street lamps stand sentinel along canary street, each pouring their light like water from an ewer, consecrating the air itself with their blessing.

Two Rocks itself is cradled between calm ocean and dense forest. Canary Street sits right in the middle where the sounds of both wash over each other like waves. Cricket chirps carry their song to the sea and so too does the sea whisper. They carry their conversation as dear friends carry on for hours, saying everything, yet communicating nothing.

And the scent of ocean salt carries on the breeze, breaking against the senses like knives on flesh. Cold air doesn’t hold scent as strongly as the warm breezes of home but here is just as worthy of smelling.

This is the welcome I had hoped for. But the culmination of all this beauty, of all this quiet majesty, is Two Rocks’ sky. I was born to worship the world’s cradle, The Luminary Mirror, and I’ve never seen Her in such splendor. As the sun crosses Her voluminous skin, it strips Her of Her plain, day-time attire. Pools of orange and purple emerge from behind Her pale blue accoutrement. She sheds the mundanity of day, shedding with it the constraints the sun places on Her beauty. She emerges from the sun’s splendor bedecked in a rolling, swirling ocean of glittering chiffon.

Her motions are perfectly deliberate, guiding every fold of glistening fabric this way and that. And in Her motion She tells the story of the world. A shrug of Her shoulder and a war is decided in favor of the aggressors. A cross of Her legs and the rain will clear right before a wedding. And here in Two Rocks, Her adornments are pouring over with magical auras. Past the deep blue, nearly black color of Her dress, one can detect waves of purple washing over Her, accentuating every curve and bend of Her body as they pass.

And fortunate is the man who She allows to make sweet communion with Her. Her countless eyes are arresting when they turn upon me. They blaze white, like hottest fire, melting away any sense of the world beyond Her visage. And in Her kiss she whispers enraptured truth, filling my mouth with sweet light, guiding my tongue with Hers to drink deeply of her secrets. And as I drink of Her, She veils my eyes in Her twinkling chiffon, healing their sorrows, filling them with light, reminding their purpose. And if I can remain standing amidst such flirtations, I can pluck, from Her, knowledge of what shall be.

Even before I knew I was alive, I was given to Her, to court Her love, to grasp at Her breast so I may see today and tomorrow. Even as our heretical affair grew more dangerous to carry, I’ve always made time to worship at The Mirror’s altar. And always She delights to share sweet kisses with me. Finally, we two are together again.

I stride around the old precinct, searching for an adequate path to the roof. To my surprise, there is already a ladder leaned up against the roof. With curiosity, I climb. The little mystery is solved when I poke my head over the gutter.

Walter is laid out on the shingles, softly dozing beside Sidhion, whose head is bowed in prayer. His palms are pressed together, clasping a stick of burning incense. The smoke coils around his hands, trailing heavy perfume in its wake, before rising up into the sky.

“I didn’t know you were so religious,” I say.

“Oh,” Sidhion exclaims. “I didn’t hear you come up. Did you need something?”

I hoist my work satchel onto the roof. “I just had some work to do.”

Sidhion gives me a sidelong glance. “Work? There’s nothing to be done until we meet the mayor.”

“Call it a personal project, then.” I find a seat just out of reach and begin to unpack my astronomical tools.

He gives me a knowing grin. “If you also intend to pray to Lunai, I can lead us.”

“Don’t make me laugh.” I flatten a star chart against a shingle. “I’m not some religious nut.”

“An atheist militiaman? That’s a first.”

The accusation brings a sour frown to my face. I try to hide it behind my telescope. “While it is encouraged to pledge oneself to an approved deity, it is not strictly compulsory. But I don’t expect some know-nothing mercenary to be aware of such nuances.”

Sidhion retorts with a scowl.

“Hey, hey,” Walter interjects. “If we’re gonna work together, we have to get along. We could be here for weeks and I want peace when we’re off the clock.”

Sidhion gives up his prayer and sits beside Walter. “Listen, Owen, we all had a hard day. I wasn’t as kind about your situation as I could have been. I’m sure you’re still coming down from shock and might have said some things you didn’t mean. Let’s start over.”

I let the telescope fall from my eye. “Sure. We can start over.”

“I’ll re-introduce us, then. I’m Sidhion Sundermane and this is Walter Barath. As you may have noticed, we’re mercenaries hired by The Militia. We’re both sailors by trade and I’ve served under Captain Barath’s flag many times. I’m a good hand with healing magic and Walter is a strong swordsman.”

“So neither of you are detectives?”

“Isn’t that what you’re here for,” Sidhion prods.

“Well yes, but-“

Walter’s laugh is as broad as his shoulders. “Don’t tell me the tales of militiamen being the best of the best is untrue!”

“I’m good at my job!” Heat already rushes to my face.

“No need to get your panties twisted, little buddy. I’m sure you’ll do just fine. You big, important detectives need good friends who can do what you can’t.”

Friends, eh? Expectant eyes fall on me. My hands readjust my tie under the scrutiny. “Ahem, well, you mostly have the measure of me. You’ve both heard I’m Owen Goldenfist of the Haven Island Goldenfists. I’m a detective but my specialty is in arcane forensics so I can sniff out any magical chicanery involved in the case. Perhaps more importantly, I’m an oracle.”

Walter leaps to his feet. His expression is a sea of wonder. “You can see the future?”

“It’s not so clear cut. The future is written in the night sky. I study the language in the positions of celestial bodies and read what I can.” That should keep them off my tail. My affair with the Sky is none of their business anyway.

Walter plops beside me, filling the gap between Sidhion and myself. “Still! You find whatever star says ‘this guy did it’ and we get a fat bonus for finding ‘em quick!”

“Well in theory that could-“

Walter slings an arm over my shoulder. He smells of seasalt and rose water. “I like you, little buddy. You’re gonna solve the case like that!”

He’s a fool, surely, but at least Walter is a pleasant fool. His display even makes Sidhion crack a smile. “I suppose we’ll be seeing each other up here a lot, then. I come to pray every night.”

“I try to make time for my hobby too.” I drum a finger against my star chart. “Most nights, at least.”

Walter peers over my shoulder. He squints and leans closer to the vellum. “Can’t make heads or tails of that.”

“Well you don’t need to.” I try to slip out of Walter’s grasp but he only tightens his grip.

“You said you do this just most nights, yeah? So you could skip tonight?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Celebrate! This is our first night on the job. We have to do something. Sidhion do you have-“

Before Walter can finish the question, Sidhion produces a flask from his vest pocket. It’s a simple metal thing stamped with the insignia of the Church of Silver. He leans his head back and takes a drink before passing it to Walter who doesn’t flinch when he takes his draught. Before I know it the flask is in my hands and bitter liquid is burning my throat.

“You like it?” A seemingly rare grin paints itself on Sidhion’s face. “Smoked whiskey, specialty of my hometown. I’ll miss it when it runs out.”

“Careful about sharing it then. You’ll run out faster, especially if you let me after it.”

“What’s the point of hoarding it like a dragon? Better to share it with friends, new and old.”

“Sidhion, I don’t get you. But far be it from me to begrudge you your generosity.” I knock my head back and finish off the flask.

✦ ❈ ✦

An infinity of flowers stretches far beyond my vision. My back grows wet against the staining red dew which sustains them. Each flower sways and bobs as it dances with the wind, reaching, like grasping hands, for the blessed stars above. Their strange dance is hypnotic, in its own way, bidding me to raise my hands and join them as they blot out the stars.

The blood steadily drenching my clothes never dries.

Cautious eyes peer at me from behind the stems. The beast hiding in the flowers bears its teeth, ready to pounce and rip out my throat. I’m in danger. I should run. I should hide. But there’s something beyond its promise to kill. Something delicate. Something beautiful. I wave a hand, beckoning the beast closer.

He strides out of his hiding place, petals dripping from his lips like a slavering dog. Eyes, brilliant with false stars, glower over me, peeling away at my flesh until I’m nothing. Silken thighs straddle me as the beast lays on my chest, crushing the air from my lungs. Delicate fingers trace the sigil burned into my heart, twisting the scars into all the wrong shapes.

His lips on mine are rapture, sweet like honeysuckle, pouring petals into my mouth until I’m drowning in him. When the beast’s lips part from mine, they leave a gift, a burden, a seed. Planted in the water of my throat, the seed presses its newborn roots into flesh.

I wake to a sore back and a symphony of snores. By their silhouettes in the moonlight, I can just make out the shapes of Sidhion and Walter asleep in their beds.

Was that a premonition or a nightmare? The itching prickle of magic receding from my mind proves the former. But, usually, I can pull some thread of truth from such visions. Tonight’s symbols hold no clear significance.

A beast in the flowers- What could it mean?

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