20.1: A Rare Brain Wave

20.1

Iridea

Beneath me, the cart rumbles and rocks my body from side to side with every new rotation of its wheels. At least once every minute, a stray rock decides to cross under our wheels and bounce me unsteadily off my seat, then drop me roughly onto my bruising tailbones. This added worry brings my gritted teeth closer until the pressure feels enough to break the enamel. My muscles throb with prolonged tension, held since Ms.Mais allowed Stellina to wander into the notorious Finmork Forest on her own. Sure, she couldn’t have known about the target on Stellina’s back, but that didn’t stop me from making snide remarks towards her. Stellina remains in the corner of my eyes at all times now, and I can sense she knows I wouldn’t let her leave it if she tried. She sits stiffly: back straight, hands placed rigidly parallel on her thighs. She casts some quick glimpses at me now and then but, for the most part, she stares off to a place far beyond the craggy ridges of the mountains surrounding us.

The tranquil blue sky deepens into navy as day slips into night. Tiny valley towns gleam through trees with a warm lantern-lit glow. They are quickly forgotten in the dust of our determined vehicle. The stream that loops again and again to graze our path shimmers with stars which draw Stellina’s attention from her former distant sights. The oil lamps that hang around the cart sway in time and twinkle in her forlorn eyes. I don’t know what’s worse: being the last of your kind, or not knowing who your kind are. How is she still alive anyway? What happened? It seems too personal to ask. At least, for now.

Nocturnal birds burst from the soft foliage to swirl in the midnight sky and shriek their melancholy tune. Ms. Mais’ clinking device adds to the clutter where Stellina continuously winds it in her lap, absent-mindedly. Its nonsensical clatter spikes my patience but it keeps dangerous predators away so I can’t really complain.

We sleep at last when the sun cascades over the tallest mountain in the Edelkohle range: Mount Linea, the proud keeper of the Castle of the Four. In a tumble of brilliant warmth, the sharp, cradling peak is revealed where it was once hidden by night’s cloak and the heavy forestry. Small specks circle the mountain’s spiraling slopes: carts, people, and lines of wagons trekking closer to the city at the pinnacle. We will be on that path in only a few hours if all goes well.

I wake from my mid-morning nap with a thought that tickles my brain like an unrelenting itch. Quickly, I find Ms.Mais, passing Stellina and Hawthorne who are deep in conversation while studiously studying two hunks of bread, and semi-politely retrieve her hat without much questions asked. Then, I return to Stellina who is now alone, polishing off the remains of a sandwich Hawthorne taught her to make with the hunks of bread, a chunk of cheese, and some kind of leafy plant Ms. Mais found along the river bank.

“Stellina,” I begin. She swivels her head to me, her jaw hangs open, ready for the last bite.

“Huh?” she asks, shoving the last bite of sandwich in.

“Put this on.” I thrust the straw hat towards her. She eyes it with interest and a hint of suspicion, her cheeks full of bread. “Myan people aren’t always welcoming, I should know. Especially when they catch a rare brain wave.”

“...a brain wave?” Stellina interrupts, finishing her sandwich with a gulp.

“A thought. I don’t want them attacking you or drawing attention to us. We need to stay undercover until the King potentially supports us.”

Stellina nods slowly with understanding. She gathers her flowing mass of braids into a bun, which I help her pin up, before she shoves the hat over her head. It bulges and strains but faithfully holds up. And, as I hoped, her unusual sigil and gleaming hair vanish under the broad brim.

“My clothes?” She gestures at her torn, ancient blue dress. The fabric and make would stand out anywhere, not to mention the dirt that splotches it or the rips tearing views to her elegant calves. Typically, women wear dresses with layers of skirts and a tight, rectangular bodice. Amara could never stand the fashion so she learnt how to make clothes for us. Thank fuck for that because I could never figure out how to comply with my wings in the way.

Stellina’s dress is entirely different to the fashion today. Stellina’s is simple in its intricacies, as Amara would muse, cleverly woven to drape over her long form in a silk-like texture. At the snug risen neck and the drooping sleeves, embroidery of white flowers and silver leaves dance along the hems. It really is a shame that, due to all our recent travel and whatever she was doing before our meeting, her dress has become torn and tarnished. Despite this, if Stellina were searching for attention, she’d earn it by the bucketload. 

A tall, brown shape moves excitedly at the edge of my vision. I know who it is without needing to turn. A reluctant sigh builds up in me.

“Hawthorne!” I call, piroueting to face him. His arms fall from where they had been wildly gesturing, telling Ms.Mais a story of their own. He excuses himself and jogs lightly over, his chunky, muddy boots thud into the dirt path. Fitting loosely over his athletic body is a large, well-worn, patched-up coat. There is no symmetry to the design whatsoever. Some buttons have long since sprung from their string, probably happy to be free wherever they are now. The miscellaneous collection of patches follow no order in pattern, colour, or shape. They were likely taken from the closest scrap of useless fabric he could find. Even the pockets are out of place, with one ever so slightly higher than the other. It’s a shitshow. It’s perfect.

When Stellina and her newly acquired hat come into view, his eyebrows knit together.

“What are we doing…?” he asks hesitantly.

“Hiding our very obvious, sparking target before we are face to face with a city of people and a King,” I explain. Hopefully, he won’t stall me from getting to the point. “The Cursed One already knows she’s back, we’d be doing him a favour if we made a grand announcement at every place we visit.”

“Alright, but couldn’t she also restore hope in people? Imagine how things could be if everyone knows she’s back.” So, this will need some explaining.

“Yeah, imagine. We could have uncontrollable rebellion or uncontrollable malice. A flip of a coin. What do you hope it lands on?” I place my hands on my hips and wait for his next move. He’s quick to express his opinion.

“We can handle ourselves if there’s malice, I’m willing to take the risk.” A light of confidence shines in his eyes as his back straightens. Oh how good I am at destroying sparks of confidence.

“Can we?” I deploy my readied glare, “The last fight would’ve been a blood bath if it weren’t for me.” He scoffs,

“Oh come on, we all played a part in that.” Like hell he did. If anything, he assisted the NightCrawler. The gash in my arm can prove that.

“All you did was shove a tree that would’ve fallen anyway. Give me one good reason why you’re useful to this group.” His mouth slams shut and the little light sputters out. As I figured, he can’t think of a single thing. Pathetic.

“Enough.” Stellina’s voice breaks in, like sea foam crashing against rocks, “I choose life. We will go hidden.” I smile smugly at Hawthorne. He can’t argue with that.

“Thank you, Stellina. That brings me to my point; offer up your coat, Hawthorne.” I stretch my palm outward for his abominable clothing. His nostrils flare. He hugs the coat closer to himself. Saying nothing at all, he shakes his head firmly and shrinks deeper into the worn fabric that entrenches him. 

“Oh come on, Hawthorne. You’re acting like a fucking child.” I roll my eyes and reach my hand out further. A strange mixture of annoyance and malicious glee fills me. He steps back and shakes his head again.

“I’d rather not,” he mumbles, his mouth covered by the collar of his coat. I open my mouth to push harder but Stellina cuts in,

“Leave him alone, Iridea. Promo di Zela.” My glint of glee crumbles into guilt. I shouldn’t find it so fun to press his buttons, but I do. Why am I pushing him so much? Why won’t he just give up his rotten coat? It doesn’t even matter that fucking much anyway. 

I fold my arms, keeping my moment of sympathy from reaching him. It seems that I am safe as he is too focused on keeping his coat safely to his skin. Ms.Mais bounds into action from where she was standing quietly by her horse.

“I’ve something if you need it! No need to use his. Here you go. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything.” She unfurls a fur and soot-covered black coat from behind her seat. The smell of stables and must coats the air. Stellina takes it gratefully and awkwardly fits it over her shoulders. It’s too stout for her and the frayed fabric hangs just below her waist but it will have to do.

“Are we ready to go?” Ms Mais asks as she rubs Hawthorne’s arm in an effort to comfort him. I nod and raise my chin higher. He’ll forget about this confrontation by the time we reach the Castle. It's not like it matters anyway, I meant every word I said.

“Hawthorne, sit with me.” Stellina’s voice startles me. I suck in a breath as blood rushes into my cheeks. What does she mean Hawthorne? I’ve been right next to her the entire ride. Why would she want him next to her and not me? 

I turn around to see her staring at me, her eyes squinted in a scrutinising way. I feel like a pinned butterfly, trapped and carefully observed. 

“Switch seats,” she lands the killing blow. Hawthorne’s eyes flit to mine before he rushes forward with his head bowed, eager to cross the space near me as quick as he can in case I might lash out. He takes the seat next to Stellina and greets her with a small smile. I stand frozen, unsure of what to do or say, my heart sinks. Hawthorne narrows his downcast eyes when he sees me rooted in place, Stellina cocks her head while maintaining a cool gaze.

A shock, thunderous as a clap of lightning, passes through me. It isn’t Hawthorne who is at risk of getting kicked out. It's me.