An Explosion At First Light - Chapter 4

While Lake Clanstine was not one of Eridania’s largest lakes, it was big. It would take you a substantial amount of time to traverse around it. The reason why it had become a tourist spot though, with tourists like the Montclarian Gentleman visiting it, was because the lake and the area surrounding it were unusually Maya-dense. There were places like this, these Foci of Maya, all over the world. It was a fascinating phenomenon, whose reason was now lost to time.

And so the flora and fauna at these foci changed as they absorbed the maya, presumably for millennia. The Koi in Lake Clanstine were the same. Seeing their size, that could dwarf a human adult at their largest, and how their fins glowed fascinatingly, matching the hue of their scales, they were named Maya-Koi.

Genevieve smiled leaning back on her bench, as she watched them. This park bench that had almost become hers and hers alone over the years. She watched the two of the Maya-Koi swirling around each other, one’s fins glowing a deep scarlet and the other’s a bright violet. She lost herself in the display, her thoughts drifting.

As her eyes glazed over, she remembered her mother. Bringing her to this park each evening. Teaching her about these fish. About Sherzing Pa, who’d discovered this stretch of land. Who’d named it Gallar-Heart, which now had become Gallahart. Her mother used to tell her about how Pa had named this lake and he had named these fish. About how she wanted her to leave this city and see the world.

‘The world is huge, Gen!’ she used to tell her, as Genevieve sat on her lap, watching the Koi. ‘There is so much to see, dear. Leave this city and go on an adventure around the world!’

She used to nuzzle her nape, tickling her and Genevieve, giggling, would jump down from her lap and run to Sherzing’s Tree to the right of the bench, hiding behind it.

Genevieve turned her head, driven by the memories, to look at it. This banyan tree that was older than the city’s oldest brick. The banyan tree that would part its hanging roots when someone came close enough, to let them pass.

‘Why did it all go so wrong? Why did you have to go away, mother?’ her eyes almost welled up, perhaps owing to all that had happened over the course of a day.

The tears were starting to cloud her vision, and that’s when the roots of Sherzing’s Tree parted to reveal a figure. Through her blurred vision, she saw him dressed in white – looking like an apparition.

Her heart skipped a beat, whether in shock or fear she couldn’t tell. She was about to recoil, when she noticed something in the figure’s hand. Something pink. A cane.

Realising who it was, she turned back to the lake and quickly took out her handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes. Ridding them of the tears.

The Montclarian Gentleman approached as she was putting away the handkerchief. “’Tis a dusty evening, mademoiselle.”

Genevieve didn’t know whether to be relieved or embarrassed. “It is, monsieur,” she smiled a little, her eyes fixed at the two Maya-Koi dispersing.

“May I?” he gestured to the space beside her.

She only nodded.

He sat down, resting his hands on his cane.

“I was actually looking for you,” he smiled, and she looked at him once again. “I wanted,” he began, shoving his hands inside his tailcoat and rummaging around, “to give your horses a little gift!”

Then he produced, like the magicians who performed at the theatres occasionally, a paper bag.

“Grains, mademoiselle!” he presented them to her, like a hard won prize.

She only stared at him and the bag, not sure what to make of whatever was going on.

“Uh...” she was at a loss for words. “I... There’s no need for that... and I’m not sure why... you’re giving me this... ” she smiled a little weakly.

“Oh, nonsense, mademoiselle! I am hardy! And in colliding with me, your horses must surely have injured themselves! It is only right I make it up to them. So, please, mademoiselle. I insist.”

He thrust it towards her. She stared at it and his hand did not retract in the slightest. She realised the only way to refuse it would be to get up and leave.

So she took it, holding it by the top. Then she set the bag down on her lap. And as soon as it neared her thighs, even through the layers of her dress and the bag’s parchment, she felt it. The undeniable presence of Maya inside the bag.

Curious, she opened it to take a look and what she saw left her stunned. Grains infused with Maya. It was impossible to get them unless it was migration season. The buildings at the entrance only sold them during that time. It was meant for the birds that visited and it cost a fortune. She had tried many a time to convince the park manager otherwise. It was far more difficult to procure it otherwise, especially in large quantities. Even to just occasionally feed her horses.

“Where did you get this?!” she almost shouted.

“Oh, at the... what do you call them... concession building! Yes. At the concession building near the entrance.”

“How could that be? It’s not season yet!”

“Oh mademoiselle, money opens all doors. I’m sure you know of that.”

“No. No no. I have been trying for years! They never sell it out of season! I can only feed these to my horses during migration season! And the manager said they store it in some warehouse in the east off season. So, how could they possibly sell it to you?”

The man laughed. “He lied to you, mademoiselle! So he didn’t have to deny you time after time. But they store it right here in the park. In the... back. Room,” he looked at her for approval of his diction.

“Backroom or stockroom. Yes,” she quickly nodded before returning to the more important issue, “But that still doesn’t explain why they sold it to you!”

“You must simply know to... grease the correct palms. I think that’s the expression.”

Her eyes widened with alarm, and she leaned in close, hissing, “You bribed them?!”

“Oh, mademoiselle!” he quickly leaned back, “You wound me! I simply bought them! It may have taken something extra. But it was only because it is off-season. And bribery is such a foul word, mademoiselle.”

She somehow regained her composure, sitting properly once more. “Still,” she began, eyeing him suspiciously, “I cannot accept this. Even if it wasn’t... bribery... it’s simply far too generous.”

She was loath to part with it. She loved her horses. The grains would be an absolute treat for them. Still, the grains were the fruits of bribery. And it truly was too generous. She knew what they cost and there were almost two kilos’ worth of it in the bag.

“Then it’s good I’m not giving them to you,” the man replied, his eyes twinkling, “they are for your horses.”

“No–” she started to protest, but the man interrupted her.

“Please, mademoiselle.” he pleaded earnestly, all the theatre in him vanishing, “Please.”

Genevieve sighed, “I... suppose I can accept it. Thank you, monsieur. But I still do insist it is far too generous.” she bowed a little.

“Nonsense!” he boomed, the sudden change almost scaring her, “You do not need to thank me mademoiselle! It is between me and your horses!”

She laughed, turning back to the lake. The man was ridiculous.

They sat there for a few moments, before the man spoke up, “If I may, mademoiselle?”

“You may.” she allowed, smiling.

“You are Genevieve Franko, are you not? The one who holds the title of The Eridanian Nightshade?”

Genevieve’s smile faltered as ice filled her veins and her joy was poisoned. She steeled herself for the questions. For the pity.

“I am.” she answered, her hands clenching together. She gazed out over the lake, not turning to face him.

Seeing the change in her demeanour, the man asked, “Have I caused offence, mademoiselle?”

“You have not. Any other questions?”

“Yes!” the man replied cheerfully, “You are the current bond of the Great Clanstine Basilisk?”

At that, she turned. She looked at him, her brows wrinkled, “That I am, yes. Why?”

“I was wondering if the Basilisk chose you or if it was ritually bonded? I understand completely if you do not wish to answer.”

Genevieve sighed, “It’s... it’s alright. I was bonded. Shade, that’s her name... she... she did not choose me.”

“Please, mademoiselle, you say that like it is some great sin to not be chosen!”

“Isn’t it?” she asked, smiling bitterly.

He turned and sat at an angle facing her, gesticulating wildly, “Do you have any idea, mademoiselle, of the number of people in this whole wide world who have the privilege to be bonded to a Mythical Beast? You are the only other person in this city, in fact. People would kill to have a bond. People have killed. And they still could not beget a bond. Beasts they may be, but they are not mindless. They are intelligent, mademoiselle. Just as intelligent as us. They have likes. They have dislikes. They have feelings, mademoiselle! When a beast does not choose you, it rarely means you are weak. It just means they did not want to bond with you. And the ritual does not force them. The Gods would never do that. If the beast truly wanted nothing to do with you, you would not have a bond – come what may.”

Genevieve eyed him, with both suspicion at his knowledge, and amusement at his animation. She leaned back on the bench, taking a deep breath. Her hands unclenched and she looked at him.

“You seem to know an awful lot, monsieur. You wouldn’t happen to have a bond, would you?”

“Hah! I can only dream of it, mademoiselle.” he straightened himself.

Genevieve sighed once more. “There is truth to your words. But the world rarely cares for truth.”

The man’s eyes twinkled once again as he looked at her and smiled, “The world or certain minuscule parts of it?”

She stared at him, unable to form a reply to his question. And seeing that, the man stomped his cane on the ground and began anew.

“Well! Best not to dwell on such sombre matters, mademoiselle! So let me ask you about Shade. You should bring her here sometime. She would enjoy this place, no? Her home?”

The man saw her face fall again as she turned away from him and towards the lake, “If only I could, monsieur. She’s been... very erratic for several months now. She barely listens to me.”

“Oh?” the man looked intrigued, “Can you still feel the bond?”

“I can but... it’s very faint. Very faint. Sometimes I almost feel like it’s not there anymore.”

The man was silent for several moments, not giving her a reply so she turned back to him. His eyes were unfocused, as if staring through her. Past her. He looked deep in thought.

“Monsieur?” she called.

He jolted as if waking from a trance, “Ah! I apologise, mademoiselle. I have a bad habit of drowning in my own thoughts. But what you describe... it sounds very much like she has found a new prospect for the beast-bond. Might you have a brother or sister who was just born? Or a distant cousin, perhaps?”

She shook her head, “No no. And that’s why it’s so confusing. Her behaviour makes no sense.”

“Hmm. When did it start?”

“Well... ” her brows knitted as she stared at the ground, “I think it was about... a little more than a year ago. But... to be honest, the bond had already started to grow weak before that.”

“And when was that?”

She looked at him and smiled, full of loathing, “When my father came back from that voyage. That godforsaken voyage.”

Then her voice grew weary and pained, “It’s that damn voyage. Everything... everything started to go wrong from there. Everything.”

“They strayed from the way, they did,” the man began reciting, “and I may not know why. But return to the way they always will, even if they have to die.”

Genevieve looked at him, wide-eyed with recognition. The words ringing in her ears. The same words her mother used to recite. Words she had never heard anyone else recite. Words this absurd man sitting beside her just recited.

“The Way... ” she stared at him, her lips parting.

“Oh? You know of it?” the man sounded very surprised, “I’ll be honest I never expected you, or anyone of your stature, to know of it.”

Genevieve, dazed, replied “My mother, she used to recite it to me. She used to tell me to never stray... ”

“Indeed. Irene Flamma. What an extraordinary person. A truly singular woman.”

All she could do was nod, for her eyes threatened to betray her.

The man stomped his cane once more and got up. “Well! I will take no more of your time, mademoiselle. And if I may be so bold, have faith in the Mother. She will restore the Way.”

The stomp startled her and it occurred to her she didn’t even know his name “Monsieur, your name? I apologise for being so late–”

The man, as he was walking away, interjected, “If She wills it, Miss Franko, we will meet again. And when we do, I will tell you my name. Farewell.”

The wind was starting to pick up. And a gust ruffled his locks, revealing his ears, that had been hidden under his hair all along.

‘A Montclarian Elf?’ thought Genevieve, puzzled.