Just before Reynaer headed upstairs to have his altercation with Desiderius, he was bidding a pleasant night to Mirlín after a few too many ales in the inn's tavern.
"I'm gonna hit the sack. Good night now, check on the niblet before you crash, all right?"
"Sure, I'll just finish my beer and then fetch my better clothes from the stables."
With that, Reynaer stood up. "Well... ‘til tomorrow." Then he headed upstairs.
Mirlín sat alone, lost deep in her thoughts. She still felt a little awkward about the evening but worrying over it wasn't going to make things any easier. She tried not to think about Reynaer screwing some low-life whore as, for some reason, the notion felt repulsive to her. Perhaps one refused to see such vulgar sides in people they were considering friends. Then Mirlín remembered she was a low-life whore too and pondered about ordering another beer.
Suddenly she heard a crash behind her. As she turned around, she saw a tankard rolling happily in a pool of spilled ale and a very intoxicated Fyen stumbling towards her on shaky feet but still carrying a fresh pint. Mirlín's mouth fell open.
"Whatchuwhichaa..." Fyen held her hand against her forehead, as if in deep concentration. Then she tried again. "What are you doing wearing all that fancy dress-type stuff anyway?" Mirlín looked at Fyen from head to toe as the girl was stumbling with more words. "Not that... I mean, you look really, really beautiful and I like you so much!" Then she sat on Mirlín's lap and smooched her on the cheek. The woman sighed and pushed Fyen onto the next stool.
"The bloody last time I leave you alone, no matter what you say," she muttered.
"No, but you really are very beautiful—" she hiccupped, " —and seductive," she finished with the clumsiest wink Mirlín had ever had the assumed pleasure of witnessing.
"You’re not very good at flirting, I’ll tell you that."
Fyen's head rolled slightly as she leaned on the counter. "Well, a girl's gotta try, right?" she said with a drunken grin.
"You realize we're sharing a room tonight anyway?" Mirlín asked dryly.
Fyen frowned as if straining to remember something. And then her face lit up. "Oh yeah! That's right! Since we're sharing a room, why not share a bed too?"
Mirlín leaned on her elbow, a slight smile on her lips. "You've had enough ale for one night."
Alarmed, Fyen wrapped her arms protectively around her tankard. "Naaawww..."
Mirlín shook her head, staring into her own pint. "What happened to having a good night's sleep?"
“I move in mysterious ways,” Fyen grinned and blew off a lock of hair hanging in front of her eyes. "Anyway, I was supposed to go to sleep but I kept hearing the screams every time I closed my eyes so I took a bath not only because of that but I smelled really, really bad. Then I did some magick and things got a bit heavy so I went out and there were these hideous guys and... er, came down here."
Mirlín lifted her eyes as uneasiness flitted across her face. "What guys?"
The raven girl hocked up a good portion of saliva and phlegm and proceeded to spit it on her own shoulder. Mirlín wondered whether she was trying to imitate something Reynaer was in the habit of doing.
"They were fucking perverts, that's what they were! Fucking Son fucking fucks!" She told Mirlín about her encounter with the Sun collectors, recalling several extremely gory details. "And now every time I—" she hiccupped, "—remember them, I think of the poor woman they tortured to death." The girl's lower lip was quivering. “And my mum, if they’re doing those things to…”
Mirlín's eyebrows were knitted together. I wonder if we had let her travel alone... would she have done these things, would she have met Sons, would she have learned the f-word? The woman almost felt like laughing but she figured it was just the ale which often seemed to help her take bad news with a smile rather than a grimace. Then she remembered about the magick.
"Uh, you said you did magick?"
Fyen waved her hand dismissively, her eyes already closed. "It was no big deal. I just sent a curse to the fucks of the Sun." Then she spat, this time over her shoulder, and continued. "But then it got really cold and this really ugly face appeared in a corner so I left. It was difficult to close the door after. Like someone was tugging it from the other side. But I managed to close the fucking thing in the end and left." The girl let out a heavy sigh. "I just wish for a moment's peace. Just for a few snatches of oblivion, you know?"
As Mirlín looked at the girl, her lips had become a tight line and her forehead creased. The girl was sounding more and more delirious so it was probably best to demand a sober account of the night’s events in the morning.
"Short oblivions tend to become longer and longer. Honestly, Fyen, you're in dangerous waters here and that face you summoned... " She frowned. "I don't think it's gonna go away that easy."
I don't trust magick. What it did to my parents, well, magick must be the reason they were persecuted and now... gone. And Fyen's mom... yet the girl keeps meddling with it... I wonder if I thought too much about myself, how I could handle someone like her? A born troublemaker, that's what she seems to be now that she's been set loose. And here I thought I'd be dealing with a timid, little girl. I have to give her a shake. I’ll do it in the morning. Rattle her hung-over brain. That should teach her.
The narrow, green eyes opened slightly. "It was only a glimpse and it was probably all in my head because I was staring into this dark corner, trying to see a void and thinking about the man I killed."
As Fyen said the last words her face became expressionless. The change in the girl's demeanor didn't go unnoticed by Mirlín. How much magickal power can a human wield before the magick starts wielding them? First it's all in their heads, nothing concrete, but slowly the thoughts start taking form and, little by little, the person doing the magick fades into the nether world.
Mirlín glanced at Fyen, who was lost in her tankard from which she took a swig every now and then. And the little waif has obviously adopted some of Reynaer's traits. We'll be hearing more fucks in the future, I'm sure. It made her laugh again but she swallowed the chuckles, not wanting to risk embarrassing the girl in her delicate state.
Suddenly Fyen looked up. "I gave my sword a bath!"
Mirlín rolled her eyes and decided to have a talk with Reynaer the next morning. "I'm glad you did. Hm, maybe we should go and get some sleep now, what do you think?"
Fyen tried looking at Mirlín but her eyes wavered. "I guess you can't run away from the… the… the… the fucking moon forever."
"At the moment we're pretty much running away from daybreak. Why do these nights always go like this..." Mirlín muttered and emptied her pint. "Come on, I'll get you to bed and then I'll go check on Midwin before crashing myself." She offered the girl her arm.
Fyen took it but shook her head. "I want to come with you. I want to see Nightmare!" It seemed as if she wasn't quite sure what she had just said.
"Very well..."
Mirlín walked her to the stalls. The girl went to hug Nightmare and started crying quietly.
“You're such a good horse. You're the best horse in the world and we'll always be together," she whispered, sobbing.
The mare tolerated the girl's attentions patiently but seemed a little confused. Mirlín took her saddlebag from Midwin's stall and patted the gelding before leaving. He showed no signs of restlessness he had displayed earlier in the woods.
"Are you ready to go?" the woman asked.
Fyen wiped her eyes on her sleeves and nodded. "Yeah, let's go." They walked hand in hand back to the inn and met Desiderius on the stairs.
The boy looked startled and yelped. "Is everybody else drunk tonight but me?"
Fyen hung on Mirlín's arm, swaying dangerously. "I'm not drunk, I'm just infornicated!" Mirlín gave Desiderius an apologizing smile and helped the girl into their room. She tried to tuck her in but Fyen threw a weepy tantrum and flat out refused to sleep in her own bed tonight, insisting on sleeping next to Mirlín.
"I promise I'll keep my clothes on, honest!" the girl pleaded.
"Fine, go on then..." Mirlín replied.
Fyen stood up and staggered over to the woman's bed, swayed a little, and then sat on it, dozing. Mirlín walked over to her, tucked her in, this time successfully, and laid down next to her. In a second or two Fyen's breathing changed into the steady breath of deep sleep. Mirlín glanced at her, then slipped out from under the blanket, and tiptoed to the other bed.
It was like someone dripping water over your face. The intensely sad feeling persisted even after waking up but Fyen tried her best to ignore the dream of her mother. She bit her teeth together as hard as she could, squeezed her hands into fists, forcing her nails to dig into her palms but nothing helped. The tears still rolled out of her hazy eyes and felt cold by the time they crossed the bridge of her nose and ran down her right temple.
Still lying on her side, Fyen cursed her body as it refused to stop crying. Images of Ayleth still filled her head: Ayleth smiling, baking a cake, being killed, her blood smeared all over the kitchen floor, her limbs hacked off, lying dead in pieces… I’m going to lose it, I’ll lose it if I stay like this. Despair clutched at her chest, further hindering her already laborious breath. Finally the girl sat up, reeled as alcohol still surged through her veins, and allowed the few compulsory sobs to pass. Then she looked up and saw that Mirlín was lying in the other bed. But she… A faint smile spread on her thin lips. Sneaky.
Fyen noticed she was still wearing her hose and tunic but that her boots were on the floor. She tiptoed to the woman and just stood there for a moment, looking at her slumbering figure. She was lying on her stomach and had kicked her blanket so that it was partly on the floor. Mirlín was wearing only a pair of white, knee-length braies. For the first time the woman looked somehow vulnerable to Fyen. For some reason focusing on her eased the sadness the girl had felt after her nightmare.
Carefully Fyen got on the bed and lay down next to the woman. She hoisted the blanket up with her foot, grabbed it, and pulled it up higher, covering herself and Mirlín. The woman’s shoulders were still bare and Fyen spent a moment admiring her fair hair and skin. The moon appeared through the thick clouds and cast its light through the window. What the change of light revealed made Fyen’s eyes widen. What the… There were white welts crisscrossing all over Mirlín’s shoulders. The girl gently pulled back the blanket and saw that the welts went all the way down to the waistband of her braies, and probably continued down from there. Are those marks from a… whip? But… who would do something like that to a woman?
Her mind dug up the memory of the Sun Collectors she had met earlier and now the notion of someone whipping a good-looking woman didn’t seem quite so far-fetched. She also recalled the beautiful wench being fucked by the old, far nobleman and a thought occurred to her: men are treating less-privileged women like shit. Just because they are poor, men will take advantage of their plight for their sick pleasures. I bet if I didn’t have any money and had gone without food and shelter for a few days I’d… do something too. What if I’m robbed? What if… Suddenly she felt guilty for lamenting her life. So my mum was taken away and I was left by myself. I still have money to last me for a few weeks and I have Reyn and Mirlín looking after me. She also felt guilty about causing them worry and grief by acting up.
Gods damn it! I’m such a fucking baby! She brushed away the fresh tears angrily and sniffed, her eyes locked on the woman’s scarred back. Suddenly Fyen felt very protective of her and pulled the blanket over Mirlín and wrapped an arm over the woman’s shoulders. The smell of Mirlín’s hair brought back memories of childhood: how Fyen had slept with her mother when she had been younger, how they had spent several evenings with Ayleth’s friends, talking and laughing… A sense of comfort and safety fell on the girl and in a moment her tears had dried. Soon the only sounds in the room were two calm, even breaths.
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