The Innocence of Teacups

The sun shone mightily as he did a single cartwheel which transformed into a handstand. He kept as still as possible, curious to see how long he would be able to keep his balance. Was great to get some proper practise in. Practise would last all day seen as Freyr promised he would not ask for him until tomorrow. Maybe he would manage that fourth black flip today.

“Impressive,” a voice said softly, causing him to crumple to the ground in a heap. Sasha. Shit. If Freyr saw Sasha alive there would be trouble in store for him. He un-crumpled himself double quick, as Sasha came over and lingered a few steps away from him. “Carry on, don’t mind me. I enjoyed watching you; it made me forget for a moment.”

Oh boy how awkward was this? He rubbed his elbow and tried to think up a way to get rid of Sasha. Knowing his luck Freyr would venture outside to get some air then all demons would break loose. Sasha came closer, leant against the cherry blossom tree.

“To be honest I was hoping to see you.”

Double shit. Had he been sussed out?

“You remember Lanzo from yesterday, don’t you? He’s dead, and I needed someone to talk too. You’re the only person I know in this town. Besides a church seemed the right place to come gather my thoughts. I hope you don’t mind.”

Mind he... guilt bubbled round his stomach. You could try locking away guilt but it would forever be lingering round somewhere in your body. He wondered how Freyr managed to lock away his conscience so easily. His was threatening to burst because Sasha had thought of the mute lad from the church. No one ever bothered to think about him before. Why now?

“Did you hear the mayor is dead? I think whoever killed Lanzo did the mayor in too. Maybe whoever it was, didn’t want us digging round for dark magic. Never mind about those things, an innocent lad such as yourself doesn’t need to hear me droning on about cruel killers. Your handstands and cartwheels are much more interesting. Being able to do them fluidly is quite a skill to have. You don’t usually see that kind of thing outside of shows put on by troupes. Do you know what a troupe is?”

Of course he knew what a troupe was. Oh, but he must keep remembering Sasha thought his brain was missing several clogs. The guy was beginning to sound patronising, probably not on purpose. Finding a polite way to talk with someone who couldn’t speak back must be difficult.

“There’s this amazing show put on where I come from. Acrobats jump through flames. There’s jugglers, singers, and dancers too. They’re all very talented.”

Sasha sat down beside him. What a bother. It must look odd for a so called retard to go round gracefully performing acrobatics. At least Sasha had only been witness to a few cartwheels and a handstand. Throw a back flip into the mix and who knew what conclusions would be drawn up.

“I was wondering if your Freyr was about.”

Forget the dumb act. There was no way his master and living victim could meet. He shook his head, making Sasha smile at him.

“I knew you must understand me. You’re just shy I reckon. Do you know where Freyr is?”

He pointed towards town, hoping Sasha would take off this way in search of Freyr and not come back.

“Are you pointing at town?”

He made no reaction wanting to keep as little communication between them as possible.

“Town, well I’ve no interest going there anytime soon. I’m about to leave. Going to cross those mountains as planned but don’t you worry, I think I might be back here someday soon. If I am I shall pay you a visit.”

Please don’t, that would be a terrible idea. Then again they would be gone near the end of summer.

“Another reason I came to see you today was because I have something for you. I’ve been sorting through Lanzo’s and my stuff. Now there’s only me, I can’t carry both our packs across Violet Mountain. There’s this heavy thing I got which can’t possibly come with me. I didn’t want to give it away to just anyone.”

At that Sasha went digging through his pack, he came out with a large book with a heavy wooden cover, dyed dark blue. Sasha placed the book on his lap then opened it up. On the first page was a painting of a huge castle with gothic spires. The castle was gothic however the surrounding forest was a lush green, and sky was light blue, with bright yellow suns.

There were paintings on all the other pages too. Sasha flicked through a few allowing him some time to look at the paintings. One page really stuck out to him. He placed a hand on the page to stop Sasha from turning, wanting to have a proper look at the man painted onto a stone throne. Sleek black hair framed his deathly pale face. His hand clawed round a stone goblet. He wore a long black cloak with crimson lining. His mouth gave a wicked grin, showing pointy canines. Vampyre.

“Evil looking, isn’t he?”

An evil type atmosphere sure was sparked up when looking at this vampyre. However he was only a painting.

“You know every picture in this book tells a story. There’s no words but you don’t exactly need written words to tell a story. All you have to do is look in this book and you can create a story all by yourself.” Sasha pushed the book onto his knee. “Whenever someone’s calling you dumb or giving you a hard time, try creating a story to help you feel better.”

The book in his lap looked expensive and he knew it was wrong to accept after killing Lanzo. Heck it was wrong him even breathing the same air as Sasha never mind taking gifts from the guy. He pushed the book back towards its rightful owner.

“Really I want you to have it. The pictures are all plastered inside my head. I looked at them so many times before. It’s best someone more needy gets enjoyment from this book. Remember whenever Freyr’s calling you dumb give the pages a look over, get some relief.”

He closed the book and stroked his thumb along the cover. So much kindness towards a horrid wretch like him. If only Sasha knew what he was then the book would no doubt be slamming him round the head. With no way of forcing Sasha to take back his book he went over to a patch of dirt and smoothed it out with his hand then beckoned for Sasha to come over to him. When Sasha approached he traced, THANK YOU, into the dirt. This was a dead giveaway he was far from dumb but no longer cared.

“You can spell.” Sasha laughed. “I must look a fool giving you a book of paintings when you must be quite capable of reading.” The laugh past and Sasha looked him over. “What I don’t understand is why Freyr goes round calling you dumb when there’s obviously something ticking in your head.”

Writing was something Freyr didn’t know he could do. He taught himself how to read and write one autumn when Freyr had been selling books. A couple of those books he managed to borrow without asking and copied the script onto a piece of parchment. Writing them hadn’t been too difficult, understanding what they said was an obstacle so one day he held a borrowed book out to Freyr and pleadingly looked at him, begging to be read too. This Freyr eventually did and he paid close attention to following the sentences when Freyr was reading. After a few of these unknown reading lessons from Freyr he tried reading himself. After a while he managed to sound out written words for himself, inside his head of course, and knew what they meant.

He pointed at his throat.

“Something to do with you not being able to speak I suppose. People get funny round those who are different, even if it’s only slightly different, so you have to stand up to these types and prove them wrong no matter who they are, even your Freyr. Quit being shy kid.” Sasha clapped him on the back. “Guess I best be getting along. Talking to you really helped clear my head. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime, if not goodbye and have a wonderful life.”

As Sasha walked away from the graveyard, he ran his hand along the book. Shy him? Sasha thought he was shy rather than dumb. Spoke his mind that one even if his speaking was rude and totally wrong; a shy person could never go round assassinating people. Yeah, he could let Freyr know where to shove his new knife when it came and not kill anybody ever again. He got up right then to find Freyr, look him in the eye, and protest his assassin duties. When he got into the church he slumped into the side of the door, Freyr was nowhere in sight; so was probably up in his bedroom. Never mind there was no point getting heated up with his master just because some stranger he was supposed to have killed gave him a book of paintings. His conscience was playing up not Freyr’s.

He placed the book in the middle of the shrine. Maybe Pek could burn it for him. Then again this shrine belonged to a harvest deity who probably didn’t go round burning books on command. Pek was still a deity so if he did exist somewhere then depending on what viewpoint towards his situation was taken would surely come and give him some advice, damn, or comfort him. Words were unable to leave his mouth however thoughts could be heard. If Pek did exist, he might be able to hear a thought prayer.

You know Pek if you’re there and real maybe you could listen to me for a moment. I’m really confused. Freyr has always...

Exactly Freyr had always been there for him thus the problem was with Sasha.

...Sasha was kind and I didn’t want to kill him, so I didn’t but Lanzo is dead and I feel terribly guilty. The guilt’s never lasted this long before. Am I a bad person? Freyr’s been kind too.

His thought process jolted and disappeared as Freyr moseyed on into the room. Anywhere his master went he always managed to cause static without even trying. Everyone present would hurry over to greet him. You couldn’t help but admire someone with such a powerful poise.

“I was about to come find you.” Freyr shook a picnic hamper. “A sunny graveyard is a fine place to wine and dine wouldn’t you say?”

He moved round the shrine to block his new book from view then stuck up a thumb. Lunch outside would be lovely; it might even make him forget his guilt or at least push it to the back of his mind where all the other guilty thoughts were stored. As Freyr walked down the room, he moved himself round the shrine to keep him from seeing the book. His fingers tapped against Pek’s shrine. Trying to speak with a deity how ridiculous to have even tried. Deities did not exist. If they did he was sure they would make an appearance now and again. If you were being worshipped you had a big ego thus would want to see the people who doted on you. In conclusion he was sure deities would have the most inflated egos in the universe.

“Are you coming or what?”

Sure he was. Freyr was stood in the doorway, looking outside, admiring the hot weather, giving him a few seconds to snatch up the book and shove it underneath a pew. Then he walked after Freyr and they went to sit under the cherry blossom tree to have their lunch.

Was bizarre to have sat with Freyr enjoying the sun without any complaints or lectures. The afternoon had just been the two of them, enjoying life as though they were related. Not that they were but he longed for them to be on the good days. Now he sat at the hole in his roof watching stars shining away.

What was that?

He leant further out the roof. From the ground came dark red swirls with zaps of pink in between them. The swirls spiralled up so high that when he craned back his head he could still see them, as though they went on forever. This was one of those times when he could really use a voice to shout: Come see this Freyr! Instead he ran an assault course through the attics many beams, darted down the ladder, and thumped on Freyr’s bedroom door. There was no answer so he banged again. Too impatient to wait round he burst through the door however the room was void of Freyr. Typical when you really wanted to show someone something they were gone. The red swirls were probably all spiralled away by now. Strange happenings only ever stuck around for seconds or if you were lucky a couple of minutes.

As he closed Freyr’s door awful thoughts hit him. Freyr was not in bed where he ought to be. Lanzo and Sasha came round to their church in search of secret labyrinths and dark magic. Those red swirls were far from normal. What if Freyr was in some sort of trouble? Trouble definitely followed him about. Knowing he would be unable to sleep until his master was found, he went downstairs and looked in all the usual spots for him. He wasn’t taking supper in the kitchen nor was he out in the public sector counting coins or napping on a pew.

Out of options to continue looking inside the church, he leant against the counting shrine, trying to work out wherever or not he should take his search into the graveyard. He knew he ought to however Freyr could simply be in town. At this hour? Highly unlikely. In town or not he would feel better having a quick scout round in the graveyard. If there was no sign of Freyr in the graveyard then he would go to bed and wait until morning. Hopefully Freyr would have turned up by then, if not then into town he would venture and ask around...well write round. Yeah, grab some parchment and ink from one of Freyr’s bundles and write a missing persons note onto it.

To the graveyard then. He set off, and only got half way across the church floor, then turned round and sprinted to the back rooms. If he was going into the graveyard this late then it would be wise to take some form of protection. His knife would do. As soon as he was in the back rooms, he stumbled to a stop, on seeing the rug all flipped over on itself. Had he done this when bounding downstairs in search of Freyr? Probably. He crouched down to push the rug back in place and on doing so bent over noticing there was an alteration in the pattern, of the stone slabs, making up the floor. His fingers ran along where the slabs joined together. The grooves were smoother than every other groove and there was quite a gap in between the slabs too. Curiously he edged his fingers into the groove, managing to claw them round the edges of the slabs. Giving a pull the slab came forward or more like three slabs came forward, they were all stuck together. They were on a board. This board turned out to be a secret door. Fully open there was a gaping great hole in the ground. Cautiously he slipped a leg into the hole and found a thick step.

Was this the entrance to a secret labyrinth? There was only one way to find out. Too excited to fetch his knife he placed both feet on the top step, stood up and descended into darkness. The steps were uneven in depth, so he kept a palm flat against the wall and tread slowly, scared a step might be missing and he would fall to his death. Who knew how far down this possible labyrinth went. Not too far, he counted fifty five steps, when finally reaching the bottom and gaining some light. Someone had lit torches in brackets on the walls. Who was the question. Freyr maybe? It seemed the most plausible answer seen as Freyr was missing from his bed. Although it was also possible Sasha was still snooping around. It would be a lot easier to digest if Sasha was the one down here.

Taking a deep breath he gathered his wits and walked a few paces, before his heart fluttered in fear and oh wow it was only a statue. Such a lifelike obstruction was enough to send anyone into stock stillness. A statue could do no harm. He went over to the scary looking fellow and reached out to touch some curled horns sticking out the side of its head. Those hands wandered over its face, lightly touching the squashed nose, then traced the thin lined mouth, and bunched up folds which if he squinted looked like this thing’s cheeks. Demon maybe? He took a step back to admire the handy work that had gone into constructing this statue. The possible demon was crouching on all fours, forked tail curled round his front trotters.

“Keerrrhurrrrh,” came some sort of wail, ending in a purr, snapping him away from admiring the statue.

Most people would bolt on up those stairs and barricade the secret door. Not him. He bolted in the opposite direction, straight to where the wailing was coming from, scared in case his master was getting ravaged by real demons or some other barbaric creature. He swerved round statues which were stood in a mishmash along the underground corridor until he saw an upward stream of red swirls, breaking through the earth above. A figure was in the centre of the swirly whirlwind. He clutched round a statue as the figure howled and called out words he’d no understanding of. What an awful noise for his ears to witness. The last of the swirls fluttered away to reveal his master fall to the ground then crouch over on his knees, clutching at the heart. Despite wanting to shrink away behind the stone demon his foot jolted forward, followed by his other foot then he was running and fell to his knees beside Freyr and instinctively rubbed his shoulder. Laboured gasps haggard through Freyr’s mouth. Had Freyr performed dark magic?

“Wha’ doing down-‘ere?” rasped Freyr and tried to push him away and for once failed miserably. “You s’pposed be bed this hour.”

A waxed face, paler than the moons’ stared at him, all annoyed at a secret being discovered. Instinct told him to shove Freyr to one side and run far away without looking back. Instead he shook off gut instinct, forced a smile, and kept up rubbing at Freyr’s trembling shoulder. With his free hand he touched his heart then joined up his forefinger and thumb to make an O shape which meant: It is okay. Which was a downright lie, everything was extremely wrong.

“Get out! Upstairs!”

Freyr attempted to claw his hands round his shirt and pull him in close and no doubt send him flying. Thankfully for him the energy was not there. Hands shook away, while gasps consumed this underground lair.

“Drat you!”

His hand rubbed Freyr’s back, trying to soothe him, hating to hear him struggling to breathe. What to do? They were going to have to sit in bleakness until Freyr’s breathing settled. What if his breaths never got better and he gasped to death? Delving into dark magic was unspeakable; those who dared to delve probably deserved to die. Phew Freyr’s breaths did seem to be calming down. Best they got from under the graveyard into the church. Under the graveyard, he shivered.

Anger at his master for coming down here to do wickedness knew what grew as Freyr refused to get up when he tugged at his shoulder and attempted to hold round his waist to aid him in walking. All he got for trying to help was a snarl. This was no time to be shy as Sasha would put it. He pointed towards the exit then shoved at Freyr’s back. Another snort and Freyr’s hand clutched tighter at his heart. This was ridiculous. He straightened himself up and held out a hand, figuring this situation might call for a gentler approach seen as someone was having awful difficulty moving about. Breaths hissed through Freyr’s teeth, then result his hand was clasped, and he pulled Freyr to his feet.

Acting as a leaning post he helped Freyr stagger along through the demon statues over to uneven steps. Getting up them took longer than coming down with Freyr gasping at every step up they took. As they neared the top of those stairs, he became aware of how tall he was getting, and must have some muscle to be able to take the brunt of a grown man’s weight.

Once up out of all the dreariness he kept on going, if they stopped Freyr may refuse to go any further and end up sleeping on cold flags for the remainder of the night. They went all the way to Freyr’s bedroom where he deposited him on the bed, gave his it’s okay sign, then left the room to close the secret door and cover it up with the rug.

His work was not yet done. Where was that tea set? He found it in the kitchen so boiled some water. A few minutes later he returned to Freyr’s room, where he put the tea tray down, on the bedside table, with a soft thump.

With heavy eyes Freyr looked at him. He stood with his arms folded over his chest. A scowl shielded his concern.

“Forget what you’ve seen tonight.”

He shook his head. How could he forget when dark magic was still plaguing them in Freyr’s ghostly face? Tea might bring some colour into his cheeks. He poured some water into the cups, dropped in a tea leaf, and a hint of milk, then held the cup out to Freyr.

“Drat you, Eagle.” The cup was taken in trembling hands. “What have I ever done to make you kind?”

Taking an empty teacup he put the china to his lips and took some fake sips. What was wrong with being kind?

Freyr’s hands grasped round his teacup as though they were trying to absorb all the heat away from the water, threatening to shatter the cup into shards. Something was very wrong; there were never chinks in the armour. Freyr was showing a side he never saw before in all their many years together. What was this new emotion and how to progress with it? His kindness produced this hidden side to his master so kindness could possibly keep it coming. No time, Freyr sent his teacup flying right by his head, splashing boiling tea onto his ear lobe. Smash the cup hit the wall, shattered into shards.

Enough. Freyr’s shenanigans were rapidly stretching to the limit of his capability to put up with. On top of the guilt there were many complaints stuck inside his mind. His hand curled into a fist wanting to punch Freyr; instead he turned and punched the door open, and went up the rung ladder to his attic.

Let Freyr play around with dark magic, he would never be part of it. Hurriedly but also quietly he started placing his few possessions into a pack. His master was a madman. Thanks to Sasha taking the time to treat him with some respect made him realise this was no life to keep on leading. Staying here would swamp him down until he was also a madman. Maybe he already was one.

Without bothering to wave goodbye he went by Freyr’s bedroom into the public sector of the church. He knelt beside the pew where the painting book lay hidden and pulled it out. Time to leave despite a small nagging doubt, tugging through all the guilt and complaints. He hugged the painting book against his chest for some courage and went outside. On passing by the cherry blossom tree he stopped and held the book even closer. His and Freyr’s picnic flashed before his eyes. There were good days, days they both took pleasure from. He shook his head; Freyr was using dark magic. Someone was bound to find out. Lanzo and Sasha sure had been on the scent. Could he really leave Freyr over a smashed teacup? It was much more than a teacup. It was the reasoning behind the throwing. He could not picture Sasha ever throwing a strop and a teacup. Well they couldn’t all be like Sasha.

Even still he must go, he must.

All knotted up he sunk down the trunk of the cherry blossom tree until he was sat down. He placed the book on his lap and opened it up at a random page. In the moonlight the vampyre stared back at him.

What was he doing sat round debating with himself wherever to leave or not? His courage was fading away. Before this dimming courage vanished completely, he forced himself to his feet, ran out the graveyard, onto the dirt trail which led through the woods towards the Violet Mountains.