Peculiar Soul

Chapter 11: A Poet's Dream

Chapter 11: A Poet's Dream

Today we embark on a grand undertaking. Throughout history, man has viewed souls as instruments of fate - blessings, curses, miracles. It is my hope that future generations will mark today as the day when souls became the instruments of man.

Let us not shrink from this purpose. We all have souls, we all know the manner of their business. They trade in power and suffering, potential and consequence. So must we.

- Inaugural Address to the Institute Board, 651

Stepping outside of the butcher shop was, somehow, the most surreal moment of Michaels day so far. It was mid-day, hot and clear with the faintest hint of a breeze trickling through the streets. Idyll in front and incomprehensible death behind.

The apparent normalcy of the village did nothing to dispel the images still fresh in his mind. Leons death had been quick and brutal, but the other four - his soul trembled in an echo of the vision he had seen, of the luminous souls Jeorg had freed from mortal confinement and cast back into the river.

It had been a profound experience, indelible in his memory. Frustrating, too, for all that he had yet to comprehend. He stood beside the door to the shop in mute contemplation until Jeorg emerged to touch him on the shoulder.

Come, Jeorg said. Time to walk back home. His voice was tired and quiet, lacking its normal clarity - burdened, underneath the words he spoke, with the admission that this would be their last visit to his clearing.

It was time to go.

Michael followed Jeorg quietly. They walked back out of Varneck and onto the common road with only the wind and birds voicing their opinions. Michael had questions, of course, but none of them seemed adequate to the moment.

I saw their souls, he said instead, speaking as they entered the shaded canopy of the wood. When you came in and - stopped those men.

When I killed those men, Jeorg said. Do not hide behind euphemism. Some things should not be palatable. Speak honestly. If you cant bear to say what youve done, change your actions before your words. He paused, then shook his head. You said you saw their souls? More than just usual sight?

After they were - dead, Michael said, I saw their souls as if they were part of the river. Shining lights. They were still for a moment, as if waiting; after that they went upward and vanished.

Jeorg raised an eyebrow. Did they, now, he muttered. Interesting. Do you know what that means?

Um, Michael said. No. I didnt feel like I could interact with them. Im still missing something important. He bit his lip, struggling to put the experience into words. Im not sure. There was a lot happening at once.

Michael looked at Jeorg. What does it mean? he asked.

The old man didnt reply; instead, a smile crept across his face. Ah, he said. Long past the time I should have left here. Ive become too comfortable, too familiar. Only the occasional young guest to trouble me. Been many years since the last time someone asked me a question I couldnt answer.

I dont know what it means, Jeorg said, chuckling. Far too long since Ive been able to say that. He shook his head, then stretched his arms up with a grin.

Im glad youre feeling so good about it, Michael said, unable to keep a smile from his own lips at Jeorgs enthusiasm. But where does that leave us?

Jeorg let his arms drop to his sides. In the best possible place, he said. This is where we step off the road to walk rare and dangerous paths. We are about to disappear.

Michael paused in his packing and looked up, wide-eyed. Im sorry, he said. Mendian? Even if we could get across the ocean, they dont let foreigners in.

Mendian! Jeorg confirmed. By way of Esrou. Friend of mine there. She wont be happy with us bringing trouble to her door - but I have a favor to call in.

I suppose that addresses my question of what you were going to do about their closed border, Michael said dryly. But what about our closed border? Surely the Institute will have men at all the likely ports, once they learn of their teams disappearance.

Jeorg waved a hand dismissively. Once they learn, he said. Will take some time, days at least. Long enough for us to get to the bay, board a ship. Well be in the Mendiko Strait by the time they realize anything has happened.

They wouldnt follow us there? Michael asked, holding up a shirt - his original shirt that he had arrived in, looking worn and ragged. The physical demands of Jeorgs farm had long-ago rendered it somewhat tight in the chest and arms. He set it aside, putting the rest of his few possessions into the knapsack and cinching it shut. The Institute has shown itself willing to play loose with the law.

Within Ardalt, that is the case. Jeorg smiled, picking up the small figurine of a woman in Mendiko clothing from the chest of drawers. Mendian is a different matter. Protection of traffic in the strait is one of their Guarantees. There are factions in their council that chafe under their law of neutrality; they would pursue any breach of the Guarantees to put Ardalt in its place. Even Spark wont risk Mendiko intervention in the War.

Jeorg straightened up, drawing his own knapsack closed. Come now. Plenty of time to talk on the road. Well take the south-west road, find a ship at Maiburg. Usually one or two in a given day that takes a continental course.

You know this offhand? Michael asked, pushing down his irritation at Jeorgs evasive change of topic. That he was right only worsened the annoyance.

Jeorg managed a smile. I have been a fugitive for a very long time, he said. I keep an eye on these things. He cast a glance around the room, eyes straying here and there - then something changed in his face, and he looked back at Michael. We should be off.

Michael looked at Jeorgs knapsack, which held even less than his own. You dont want anything else? he asked. I know you cant take it all with you, but even so

Theyre just things, Jeorg said, glancing once more at the Mendiko figurine. Their value is in what they make you feel. The memories they bring. Just like the mind guides the soul, the object gives the mind a cue to see and feel - to remember. But - only a cue. He smiled again, a real smile, and clapped a hand on Michaels shoulder. They walked out of the house and looked around the clearing.

The trees swayed gently in the summer breeze, rustling leaves paired with droning insects and birdsong. Crops grew in their plots and the beginnings of fruit hid in green camouflage amid the leaves of the orchard and the great tree that loomed over Jeorgs house. Michael looked up at its branches for a long moment.

It seems sad, Michael said, to imagine all of this empty.

Jeorg snorted. The garden will be fine without me, he said. The vines will grow as they please, and the trees never needed my meddling. This place will be beautiful in one year or ten, or one-hundred. It will change, but that is only life.

Jeorg held his chin up. I founded it. I led it for years. Worked to make Ardalt into a mirror for my dream.

For a moment, Michael saw the reflections flash in Jeorgs eyes once more, saw the glimmer of the man who had walked into a butchers shop earlier that morning and commanded four men to die - then it was past, and there was only Jeorg.

What happened? Michael asked.

Jeorg shook his head. Same thing that happens to every dream, he said gruffly. I woke up.

Michael received no further answers to his questions that day; talk of the past had put Jeorg into a foul mood. It was likely that the loss of his home and farm were having more of an impact than the old man pretended, in Michaels estimation, but he was not about to exacerbate the issue by bringing it up. He could scarcely cast blame. In calmer times Jeorg would have been the first to admit that it was easier to give good advice than follow it.

Instead, he succumbed to the silence and walked. Walked and thought. They made it more than halfway to the port before the light faded and Jeorg steered them off the road into a small copse. There were no games with the foliage this time, it parted for them like a wave and returned as if undisturbed after they had passed.

A short distance later they arrived in a clearing, obscured from view partially by nature and the rest of the way by a subtle thickening of the undergrowth that Jeorg arranged along one side.

As the sky deepened to black, they sat in the still-warm night air and ate some of the salted pork they had brought - bounty from their hunt weeks ago, though it seemed like longer still. They had left plenty in the smokehouse, as there was too much to carry. Michael felt another pang as he thought about it - not merely the food, but the trees, the crops, the wine. The collection of unfinished threads that had been abandoned and scattered by their departure.

It struck him as wrong, at a fundamental level. It was too much like that empty void, the cessation of purpose. If the process, the purpose of those things were what defined mans mind, as Jeorg had claimed, severing them was entirely too close to death for Michaels comfort.

Jeorg slept, or seemed to. Michael lay looking at the stars and wondered what he might do if he found himself in the position to change everything that he perceived as wrong - and whether he, too, would come to regret it in the years that followed.

It had cooled appreciably by the time Jeorg woke, looking unsurprised to find Michael already awake. The sun had barely begun to color the sky, turning the stunted trees around them into hunched silhouettes.

We should eat while walking, Jeorg said. It wont stay cool for long.

Remembering yesterday, Michael didnt argue. They were back on the road in short order, their trail erased thoroughly behind them. When the sun came up in truth, they were well on their way toward the port of Maiburg.

They passed a few small villages as they walked, though none close to the road - the older roads hewed closer to the coast. That terrain was too rough for the wider tracks that modern infrastructure demanded, however, so new roads had been made on the level terrain farther inland. The road would lead them to Maiburg, because whoever drafted it cared about connecting to Maiburg.

One mans decision, resulting in villages languishing away from the new artery of transport. In his current company, Michael felt himself dwelling on the impact that one mans decisions could make. Intentionally or not, Jeorg had plotted a road for Ardalt that even he had not been able to follow.

They kept walking through midday, but rather than scorching heat the early afternoon brought a dark line of thunderclouds that swept over the sky. Michael eyed them nervously, then turned to Jeorg.

I dont suppose you can do anything about the rain, he said.

Jeorg laughed. Nor would I, he said. For every one of you, there are a hundred farmers.

Michael rolled his eyes, although the answer had been precisely as he had expected. The clouds came in to fill the air with expectant gusts of wind that capered in the advance of the storm - then the raindrops fell, and the world turned to mud.

Good that this happened now! Jeorg shouted over the noise. We could use the bath!

Any muttered profanity that Michael may have indulged in was masked by a polite thunderclap. It rained and thundered for the better part of an hour, turning the road to puddles and muddy ruts that sucked at Michaels boots. By the time it had passed he was cold, uncomfortable and chafing where his clothes were plastered to his skin.

Jeorg held his hand up to the sky, smiling upwards at the lightening clouds. Quite a storm, he said. He looked down at Michael, then cocked his head. Were both very wet.

I had noticed, Michael said. This is going to make the rest of the walk unpleasant.

A hasty conclusion, Jeorg said, wagging his finger. Wait for all the water to fall.

Before Michael could do more than blink, the water soaking his clothes fell to the ground in a splash. Chills swept across his body as the rest evaporated into a light mist. He looked up at Jeorg incredulously, his teeth chattering.

The old man only smiled and beckoned him forward. Come on, he said. Not too much longer now.

True to his word, they saw the outskirts of Maiburg before the sun had battered through the storms remnants. By the time it had, they were already walking the port citys drenched streets. The smell of the rain mingled with the salt from the bay, and as they drew closer to the harbor Michael smelled some nearby fishmarket.

He idled outside the harbormasters office while Jeorg stepped inside, looking at the people walking past with their daily business. How many of them would have had different lives, but for Jeorg? Better lives, or worse?

A flash from a nearby dock caught his eye, and he turned to look. A man stood panting heavily at the quay, staring down at several crates of fish. He held a hand over one, and it began to pulse with a bright white light that dazzled Michaels vision; when it cleared, he could see traces of frost spidering over the outside.

He was startled from his examination by Jeorgs hand on his arm. The old man smiled and brandished a slip of paper in one gnarled hand.

Dock seventeen, he said cheerfully. Small freighter going straight through to Arenga, scheduled to depart in three hours. The captain takes passengers for a fee.

That was fast, Michael remarked. And awfully forthcoming of the harbormaster.

Jeorg snorted. He got his fee too. Come on - time for us to visit the continent.