Alexander could hear Riley fighting with the roots. He’d watched for the first few minutes, but the impossibility of the situation began to bore him. She would pull and tear one away, and another root seemed to reach out and grasp the boat.
Makes sense, sure. Of course. Why not.
He stared at the misty figures on the water instead. They kept getting closer. Past lovers that had scorned him. People he had borrowed things from without asking. Dead friends. They pantomimed and played out scenes of his life on the surface of the water, and the roots of the tree spread and grew over the boat. He knew which was more interesting.
I wonder if we’ll drown or if we’ll get eaten.
Riley made little cries of frustration. The figures in the mist seemed to get closer every time she made a sound.
Maybe they eat our shame.
He looked at Ruskin. The dog had his tail wagging, moving between watching the figures and barking at Riley.
That’s probably why you’re safe.
Exasperated, Riley turned and said, “You could help, you know.”
The figures shot closer to the boat. A stone’s throw away. Or a bottle. He picked one up and chucked it. The mist swirled and reformed unfazed.
“So we are talking now?” Every syllable brought the mist a little closer.
She sat down on the bench and stared at him. Ruskin jumped in her lap. She shoved the dog off and kept giving Alexander that pointed look.
Alexander shrugged and sat down on the bench next to her to watch the show the swamp was putting on.
Not this scene.
It was his father. He wondered if she could recognize himself ten years younger. His chest had been fuller. His arms stronger.
His father was pointing and his voice rose high. “You’ve brought shame on the company for the last time.”
“We are Ellium! We are revelers. It’s what we do, it’s who we are. It’s what you taught me.” Alexander cringed at his petulant voice.
The misty form of his father pointed at the bottle in his young hand.
I forgot how drunk I was that night. I shouldn’t have been, the memory is so clear. Maybe I should have drank more.
“How many chances have I given you? Only because you’re my son.”
“I missed one show.” He watched the mist bottle shatter on the water. He flinched as he saw himself take a swing at his father. His father caught his shoulder and pushed him to the ground. The glass had cut his arm.
Riley turned her head. Alexander pushed his sleeve up and showed her the scar.
His father’s voice continued. “Take your tools. Take this money. You are no longer Ellium. You are still my son, and I still love you, but I have to do what’s best for the Company.”
Riley raised her eyebrow at him.
The bag of silver fell and the mist dissipated.
Alexander opened his hands and swept them into a shrug. “Do you want to hear a story?”
She looked at the tree roots growing over their boat. “It may be the only thing that will let us escape.”
“Even if it’s only in our minds.” He tried to force a smile.
“Once upon a time, a boy was born and bred to the Ellium. His mother was fine and beautiful. She rode horses, standing and dancing on their backs.” He felt a tear pricking at his eye.
“His father was a great leader. A showman, of course, but a leader above all. The boy was raised with nothing but the finest. Every day was an adventure. Every education a song. He wanted for nothing. The Company loved him.” He stared at the roots as he spoke.
Are they creeping away?
He stood up. It would not do to sit for this story. The boat rocked under him, but less than the ground did after a bottle. “The boy was a fast study. He learned everything he was taught. By the time he was ten, he was permitted to trod the boards. He loved the applause.” He put a hand to his chest.
“Crafting came easily. Singing was a joy. His mother taught him to tumble. His father taught him maths and philosophy. Neither could teach him to lead himself.”
The roots definitely like it. They are letting us go.
“When he was thirteen, he tasted his first sip of wine. Everything finally made sense. This was not an uncommon age amongst the Ellium. A glass after a good show. The players all celebrated. If you were on the stage, you were a player. And I was a player.”
His voice felt strange. It sounded loud and theatrical, but there was a pull. He looked behind him and realized the mist was performing as he spoke.
If I am going out with a show, let it be dazzling.
“By fourteen he found his way into an actress’s bed. He was surrounded by friends, beloved by all. There was no Ellium craft he could not master. At fifteen he got his first lead role and the word ‘nepotism’ was not spoken, though his father led the casting.”
“Adulation and praise helped fill and dig a void. The tender embrace of women and men was like a handful of sand to the pit in his heart. There was always something missing. He pushed people away. There was only one way to quench that longing.” He picked up one of the empty bottles. He threw it at the figure of himself drinking alone in the mist.
“Thus came the first warning. He was sixteen. He no longer drank with the players. He drank alone after the shows. And before. He would miss a cue, stumble on a line. He didn’t think it should matter, since he was the best. But then he slept through a show. Just one.”
He looked at the water. His mother walked into his tent and shook him by the shoulders. Empty bottles lined the floor of the room. “She begged me to get a handle on things. I did, for a time. Three seasons, perhaps. I drank only water.”
The boat no longer disrupted the mirror of the glassy surface. Ruskin sat, panting a smile. He sat at Riley’s feet. He did not look at her.
“Of course it was Gallia. Gallian Sparkling. We had just performed for the king. A tray passed by me, carried by the most beautiful waitress. She smiled, and I smiled. And I took a flute. I drank only one that night, and I drank deep of that waitress.”
“I thought this was proof to myself. I started drinking after the shows again. I would count the glasses. Neither my father nor my mother could object. For an entire season I was the star and I shined.” He held his hand in front of him, then his fingers fell. “It all slipped away.”
“Accusations. All true. But I was a man, now, and I railed at my father. I swore off the drink. I swam in lovers. It was something. For a year. But it never lasted.”
“When I was eighteen I missed a show. I don’t even remember what it was I drank. But I drank all day. When my father pulled me out of the wagon, there was no anger in his eyes anymore. You saw. He cast me out.”
The air drew the words from his throat, giving them form. The mist hung around them like a curtain now. No more figures, just a shroud.
“Being a freelance bard is easier in Gallia than anywhere else. They love the arts there. There are many other companies, theater troupes, mummers. It was easy to find work with my talents. Until my reputation overshadowed them. Unreliable.” The mist whispered it back to him in dozens of voices.
“The word followed me everywhere, like a brand.”
Riley stared at him. He met her eyes. It was the same look they all had, once they saw him for all that he was.
“I have other talents, though. Tinkering is in high demand everywhere. Thus I went door to door. Nobles at first. Fixing trinkets. Of course, they have their own network of wagging tongues. Perhaps an item or two left their homes with me.” He waved to the bottles. “But they have so much.”
“I was reduced to knocking on the doors of peasants. ‘Any pots need fixing? Are your children literate?’ It is hard to inquire into people’s needs when they have so little, but everyone needs something.”
“Then the shakes came and I couldn’t fix things anymore. I made another oath. I swore the drink off, but the only work I could find was that of a messenger. I carried parcels and packages all over Gallia. But the wine called to me. I lost parcels and packages all over Gallia. All that was left was begging, borrowing and stealing. The occasional assassination.”
Riley shook her head. She kept opening her mouth to speak and then closing it, the mist was easing in and out of her with each breath. Alexander felt it deep inside himself, pulling at him. “I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m weak. Not every war can be won with a sword, many wars are fought inside ourselves. Battles can be fought and won, or lost in my case, in a dining room.”
He stared past her and went on. “I had convinced a servant for the king to let me sleep with her. Perhaps she thought she had been convinced, perhaps she thought she could save me. I was grateful for a bed. Her mistress came to see me. She asked me if I was interested in a job. A delivery.”
“I was brought to the court of the Gallian king. Before me sat a wooden trunk. They said it was a gift to the Duke of Kisten. The king sat a bag of coin on top of the trunk and I could tell by the sound it was gold. They promised a second upon my return.”
“I gathered my effects, and my dog. I set out north. Along the Commerce Road, Ariland, Kaldenval, west to Terndowns. There are a lot of taverns on that road. By the time I reached Kisten, the bag of gold was gone.”
Riley’s hand was on the hilt of her sword. Her face was red. “From the Gallian king?”
“I didn’t ask questions. Why would I?” Alexander sat back down. His voice would not carry anymore. All that came out were whispers.
“The Duke of Kisten was as shocked as you might expect. A gift from the Gallian court? Did they even know his name? But he opened the trunk. I stood there staring, pleading for a gratuity. They gave me a small bag of silver for my trouble. I took my leave, but not before I saw the robe. It was the finest piece of clothing I had ever laid eyes on. A true gesture of goodwill.” He let himself laugh. It came out as a wheeze. The mist had completed its saturation of the boat. He could feel it in his breath.
“I wanted to hurry back to Gallia, but the fig wine is cheap in Kisten. I lingered. I heard rumors. The Duke’s court fell ill, afflicted with rashes. Weeping. The Duke was ranting.” His voice grew softer and softer as he spoke. “I knew all that was waiting for me in Gallia was a dagger in the dark. So I headed north instead.”
“I used the last of the silver to buy passage on a log barge.” He tried to raise his voice and couldn’t. “The Ellium were in Midgat, or should have been. It didn’t matter though. I was searched and arrested for smuggling. The stench of the fig wine gave me away. You know the rest—” His voice was gone. The mist drifted away.
The roots had released the boat and he felt it drift free.