Page 6 of Thief of Roses
When the snarling died down and the silence resumed, it was almost worse.
What a fool!Magic always had its counterpart, its recoil.For every good thing, there existed an evil.For the beauty of such flowers, something terrible had to reside here.Roses were relics of the gods and she had just cut them from a bush!No wonder the gods were furious.Oh, how stupid and foolish!She feared that this Magic had made her lax, a complacent dimwit, and so it was.She would pay.
She huddled back against the door at the start of a familiar eerie sound.She stopped breathing to listen to the reverberating thud against stone, a thud louder than the frantic beating of her own heart.Rhythmic and growing ever nearer, it stopped somewhere upon the courtyard balcony.Her eyes scanned the area looking for the source of the ominous noises.With the balcony in such dense shadow and facing the sun, the brightness blinded her.When the rhythmic thuds resumed, she could only guess at the direction, assuming the source came down the stairs, adhering to the places where she could not see.To be in such potential mortal peril and not able to see the other presence infuriated her.
The small fragment of logic she still possessed identified the pattern as that of footsteps, like the thud of boots, perhaps with wooden soles.Yet it sounded nothing like human footsteps, not even with the most expensive, most sturdy-soled boots she could imagine.And when the sound stopped yet again, she could not help herself in speaking although silence would be the wiser course.
“Say something,” she choked out.
The suspense and unknowing tore her apart.Her fevered mind conjured up horrors and she prayed she was wrong.Magic lived here for a reason and roses belonged only to the gods now.If this were not a god, then it had to be a god’s creature here on earth meant to protect and punish.
When only silence answered, she shouted in challenge but this time in Varnasian knowing better than to hope that any intelligence here would understand Rivanic.“Say something!”
He swayed with therare delight of fear radiating off the woman.His chest heaved as he fought the instinct to bury his nose in better smelling places of her.His claws itched to dig into her and hold her while he sated his senses on the prey caught in the courtyard.He hungered for anything she offered and longed for so much he could no longer name.
He started when she spoke, anger diffused by the unexpected request, faculties unbalanced by the expectation in her voice.Words.She spoke aloud and she spoke to him.She had spoken much while on the grounds, addressing the Magic, chattering to herself now and again in Rivanic, but nothing to him or for him to respond to.He kept his distance so that he might not be discovered, ensuring only that the Magic tended to her needs.But these were words, simple words that he could hear and understand.And they were addressed to him.How long had it been since there had been words?Years.So many years.And years too since he had put any coherent thought together with them, at least until she came.Almost nightly, words floated through dreams but that was the extent.
Say something, she said.
Roars or howls or growls or snarls would not satisfy.She wished to hear him speak.His mouth had not done such a thing in so long a time.He could not remember the last time he had even spoken to himself.
Say something, she said.
What could he say?
He had once been full of words.They were there, somewhere, buried in years of forgetfulness and survival.Words to ask.Words to answer.Words that meant nothing.Words that meant everything.There were words he had to say.Not now, but eventually.If he ever wanted to leave.
Say something, she said.
She cowered there, terrified, reeking of fear.And he tried to think of words.He tried to think of what to say.Nothing difficult.Nothing trying.Just a few simple words.
A painful noise emanated from his mouth.Words would not come.He growled at his inability.He had done this before and he would master it again.It just took coordination between his throat and his tongue and his lips.He could answer her.His second attempt though sounded just as bad as the first and he snarled, hating this exercise.Had he forgotten how to speak?
“Please,”she asked.“Please, say something.”
He tried again, taking time to form his words, each word taking a lifetime to utter.“What wouldst thou,”he took a deep breath to finish, “have me seye?”His words came halting and slow, but cold and angry now at the frustration of his miserable attempts.When she did not reply, he grasped for more words.“Thou hast stolen.”
“You have silver and furnishings and candles that would bring a fortune to someone like me, but I did not touch them!”She spluttered in indignation.“I left them where they were.I only took cuttings from your rose bush.Roses no longer exist in the world.I thought I could make them take root.”She held the flower and stem out to him.“I have lost so much.This,”she shook the cuttings in his direction,“is so little.”
Her fear faded with the rise of her anger, and the scent she emitted changed.The change helped clear his mind.Gone were the bodily thoughts, the baser inclinations, the warmth of physicality.Now logic reigned, and he could indulge in his righteous upset.The rose in her hand taunted him.She had no idea what she held.
His voice held without giving into the whine of his efforts and he repeated with more confidence,“Thou hast stolen.”He mouthed words before he spoke them.“Thou art a thief of roses.Why woldest thou have more than shelter and mete?”The words came more easily now, the practice and the use both freeing his tongue.“Thou woldest deme me host so povre that thou woldest fleece bushes for thy profitte?”
“If you wish it back, then have it,”she snarled.
“‘Tis dead!”he exclaimed, the pain from the initial howling tinging his words, frustration creeping in with her inability to understand and her ignorance over what she had done.“Thief and murderer, both.”
“I am neither.”She raised her head in defiance.
“Thou art Rivani,”he proclaimed from the dark.“Thou art of the race of magyc-workers.Thou art of the architects of mine undoyng.”She pressed her back against the door, her eyes hunting for him in the darkness.
“If I am so odious, I will go.”
“That whyche dwelleth yn my terrytorie bylongeth to me.Thy peple decreedeth yt so.”
“I do not dwell here,”she pointed out, attempting to poke flaws in his logic.
“Thou dwellest wherever thy cartte be and thy cartte resteth yn my forest.”
