Morning’s Flight
Fenst noticed vaguely as his drink, thick and black as tar, receded from his vision.
His dark wooden cup hit against the table with a silent thump; muffled, maybe, but Fenst would not have heard. As his vision faded, his gaze fell upward. His body leaned limply back against the wall. A warmth rushed down his throat. Sensing his neck relaxing, Fenst breathed deeply, feeling the current of air fill up his chest. His stomach sliced itself open. Eyes widening to perfect circles, he coughed, and coughed, and coughed again.
Wit flew back with surprising speed. He exploded up, his chair bouncing off the wall and falling to the floor, his leg smashing against the table’s side. He retched, stumbling sideways, into another table, its side pummeling his stomach. He gasped, his body seizing upon itself. He gagged. His eyes rolled up into his head. Then, he fell, as a tree. As warm air stormed past, his mind released itself. But his head fell upon something soft. He gagged. The stars were beautiful. Into him poured daylight, and thought. He blinked. His vision remained somewhat dark, but ahead were long planks, planks of wood. An earthy smell, muted yet resonant, permeated his senses.
He coughed.
Tensing his neck, he raised his head and- SLAM. He fell back asleep. He awoke. He studied the wood. It lay two and two million inches away. He lifted his hand, intent on knowing that which- THUMP. His eyes widened. He fell back asleep.
Fenst awoke to the sounds of dice rolling and voices babbling. He opened his eyes. The room was filled to the rafters with commoners, performers, and even royals, all bantering and smiling without a care in the world. Nearly everyone except for the commoners had on some outlandish costume. The festival was not for some time yet though. Unbelieving everything, Fenst squeezed his eyes shut.
Sweet music drifted noninvasively from a corner. Fragrances and perfumes stung his nose. The sweet smells of rolls and hams… these summoned him back. No one quite stared at him, but eyes glanced surreptitiously, and unsuccessfully so, at his spot in the same corner of the stuffy, smoky room.
A dice player to his right, realizing his notice, snapped his attention back to a game. Garbed in purple silk with glimmering golden thread, the man interested himself in the very center of the table. Never had Fenst seen a mans eyes and neck lock so quickly. A ragged man to the prince’s left nudged him in the stomach. The prince snapped, glaring at the man, raising his hand, palm open. The ragged man withered. Eyes aflame, the prince shifted his gaze away, back to the table, and swiped the cup, dice rattling irritably within. He tossed them across the table. But as he did, his eyes floated casually back to Fenst, who then, in a moment of pure shock, saw something he’d never seen before.
The prince’s eyes held a fire so immeasurably immense, whether from joy, or passion, or pride, or…. Fenst sat still and silent upon his chair. The man smiled. His eyes, dark holes beside the purest pampered white, simmered softly with pity. His hair, two tufts sticking up humorously at the sides as seemed now the style, shone fiery in the fitful light. His men Recovered the dice and began to jump excitedly to their feet, calling for him to cast their fate.
Slowly he turned away again, his eyes remaining on Fenst until the very last moment, his smile growing to nearly reach his ears. Then his smile broke. He snapped an order for the cup of dice. Settling back comfortably against the chair’s back, and adjusting the rear of his coat more than need be, the prince kicked up his feet onto the table, investing himself once again in his game of chance. The men around him settled back as well, planting chins into hands and rubbing at foreheads and temples. A few pipes appeared from within tearing cloaks.
Fenst, his own forehead throbbing, allowed his focus to drift.
But he jumped slightly in his seat as the sound of a metal whip split his ears.
From the corner of the room, through a forest of dancing and stumbling, one of the musicians stood paralyzed, his gaze down toward his fiddle, the instrument ringing hollowly, a string dangling helplessly from the shaped, polished wood. The room halted. Smoke rose dreamily from pipes and hearth alike. Brows raised, clapping ceased, and dancers froze or tripped, curses amplified in the silence. All heads turned, in confusion or anger. The man, his ridiculous outfit a white-winged bird, shifted his gaze rigidly upwards, hot despair written crazily in his wide eyes. His fellows stood stunned, in costumes of blue and grey. Once gazing back toward the crowd, though, they blinked, and again began to play their harp and trumpet, and old and lesser tune. The crowd considered for a wispy moment. Then, so too, it descended back into its song. Fenst’ vision flickered between drifting figures and the fallen musician. The boy yet stood, the string swinging still. Then he was blocked as a hobbling man propelled himself off tables, finger wagging for another round. Then the musician was kneeling, the fiddle just before his eyes. They flashed anxiously as the young man struggled to find a broken piece. A weak bit. Gradually, though, his expression darkened. He rotated his child gently, his head tilting back and forth, eyes still flashing. Finding nothing, the boy reached for his case, so strangely in manner; so delicately did the case slide toward himself. And then the boy was blocked again. A swaying line of kickers and steppers passed, kicking and stepping all across the room. The case lay abandoned on the raised platform. Fenst’ heart skipped a beat. He sat straight, gaze darting throughout the room.
A pain in his palm. He glimpsed downward. His hands lay upon the table, bony fingers curled hideously; his knuckles were white. Knitting his own brows, Fenst tore his gaze and returned to his search of the stuffy room. People danced both competently and drunkenly. Men laughed suddenly, spilling their pipes or drinks, women hid giggles behind their fingers, serving boys and girls weaved narrowly through the chaos serving milk with rolls and ham and honey, and smoke and smells and music infused it all. A flit of a shadow. Fenst peered, rising slightly off his seat, awkwardly. But the maelstrom raged incessantly before him.
Smacking his hands upon the table, Fenst exploded out of his seat, his chair bouncing off the wall and falling to the floor, his leg glancing off the table’s side. As he strode toward the door closest to the platform, his eyes met eyes. The rich man was staring hatefully at him, a snarl painting his face in the likeness of- Fenst nearly tripped. He peered, gaping, at the man. Dancers shouldered by him. Those eyes. The same had pinned Fenst to the floor in his nightmares, had foiled any escape from the world. Fenst shivered, eyeing the door. A lady snarled at him as she passed. But he had never seen the man before. Even, as the prince suddenly reached anxiously behind him, his other hand reaching with three fingers extended. As was that final closing act of the risky game. Fenst shook his head, waking himself up, denying connection. He strode on purposefully, shouldering past the handsome men and fancy ladies, them all oblivious to his plight.
Finally he reached the door, and in one motion, grabbed, turned, and pushed the handle, his eyes searcing the darkness now beyond. He stalked carefully forward. Before his vision adjusted, his knees slammed into solid wood. Fenst vaulted the meager fence, hurrying on. After but a few steps, he glanced back into the tavern room. Shapes floated past the entrance, golden red light spilling out. Then, between one shape and the next, he witnessed the prince rushing toward him. Now, blocked by a shape, another shape, and now, almost to the door. He stumbled as he whirled about, sprinting into the star-lit night, feet pattering solidly against thawing ground.
As the sun made its grand entrance to the land, he slowed, gulping for cold air. He glanced back. The tavern lay miles away, a fuzzy square, alight with the morning. Between there and here the ground was plain and flat. He turned back and stared blinkless into the emerging circle of gold. Fire streaked his vision like rain past a runner. His lungs worked tiredly. He took a deep breath, basking in it. And then, after a final moment, he continued on, having lost the boy’s trail many miles back.