T Minus Five Days
Betrayal. I give the punching bag a punch for the thought. How…. how could he?
Left straight. I mean, there are things you can reveal about a person. Blablabla, Johanna that shaves her eyebrows, Mikael that hits the gym because he wants to look good naked. But you don’t reveal secrets like mine. You just don’t.
Right straight. I think of Alexandra. Ironically, with the reveal of the necromancer’s identity, I am not that worried about her, not anymore. My logic is simple; Helena won’t hurt Alexandra. When the the identity of the necromancer was unknown, I had all these thoughts of who it could be, and what he would do to Alexandra. But Helena, the grey-eyed girl that sometimes visited our villa, she wouldn’t hurt Alexandra.
Left uppercut, and the motion isn’t entirely good. I repeat it. Or… she would she hurt Alexandra? She killed her parents and brought them back like. I mean, geez. That’s not the action of a particularly sane person.
I jab the bag. Out of all the punches Hermann has taught me, the jab is my favorite. It’s short. Compact. Simple. If I didn’t have this supernatural metabolism that requires me eat my weight in grease, I’d do jabs all day and all night long.
I- the phone vibrates. I glance downwards.
Pontus; Come to my place. Me and Kai and some others are grabbing a movie. You want to come?
The thing that stands out in Pontus text is ‘some others’. People I don’t know. Strangers. Ugh. What kind of excuse would suffice? I need something serious, but not too serious, something that Pontus and Kai will believe, while not sounding too outrageous.
The Social Studies assignment on different sorts of feudalism! With Hermann as the substitute-teacher, I couldn’t well fail that one, could I… yes, that will be an excellent excuse.
Nevena lies on her bed, staring at the television in her room, and thinking about the waifish ideal of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl.
The ideal of a zany, quirky, girl, that breaks social rules, whose spontaineity is supposed to bring excitment to the male main character.She flips a channel. Yea, right, in real life people like that just lack personality, and they cover it up with that non-existent personality.
She looks through the messages on her phone, and in particular, those five missed calls from a young man named Rune Fallowfell.
That was stupid of me. Why don’t I just I call him and say that I like, no almost love him? There; the L-word is out.
But she knows that she won’t call him. Won’t make herself that vulnerable.
And so the distance between the two grows. Small at first, but bigger every second they don’t talk. An ocean that could be crossed if only of them reached out.
Hermann accepts the glass of wine with relish.
“I really needed this”, he comments, before raising a toast to the others.
Gomagog grumbles something about women’s drinks, but he still accepts a glass. Merith raises a cup of tea in salutation, while Richard sips from a soda and Perenelle drinks nothing.
Runt whines on the floor, and so Hermann picks him up and places the little demondog in his lap. The reaction to the placement is varied; Gomagog reaches out to pat Runt, only to get bitten; Perenelle is allowed to scratch him; Richard is caught in a staring contest; and Merith says something in a ancient language that makes Runt nod.
“So now that you’ve all been accquainted with Runt, and he with you, let me tell you what I have found.” He puts his phone on the table of the living room they’re currently in, a phone with the picture of a vast footprint.
Four sets of eyes, Hermann’s included, swing to Gomagog.
“It’s not me. I haven’t been walking about….” Gomagog closes his eyes”… since that painter, Bauer I think was his name, drew that children’s book.”
“If it isn’t you, then I have a theory. I have tried to come up with a magical solution for how the barrowman seems to appear without any of us”, Hermann make a gesture to encompass the people at the table,” while neglecting the more mundane ways.”
He points at the picture of the massive footprint. “I think that the barrowman can grow in size. And if he can grow in size, he can grow smaller too.”
Hermann’s words falls like the droplets of rain outside.
“It would explain why I have had problems smelling him”, Richard notes. “Can’t very well smell something the size of ant or a grain of rice.”
“I can’t track something that small”, Gomagog complains. “The earth will not keep of track anything smaller than that dog.”
Perenelle shrugs. “I don’t have a way of finding him at all.”
“And my way of finding things requires souls, or pieces of them, and I have not a piece of the barrowman’s soul”, Merith summarizes.
Their conversation spiral out in ways how to catch something so small it cannot be seen, a futile conversation.
Helena Gravsten sews the hindquarters of a deer to that of a man, all the while thinking about Cordelia. Cordelia who is acting more and more eratically.
I might just have to replace her, she thinks. But, not before the Bonfire Ball, she hopes. A great deal of her plan hinges on Cordelia’s portals, a structural weakness that she has been unable to fix. If only she could have seen as I see, she laments. I wouldn’t have had to kill her.
Their current hiding local is one of those root-cellars that seem to be everwhere in the vicinity of Fallowfell. Helena torched the old summer-house they used to stay in, not wanting anyone or anything to be able to find her with any regularity.
She walks out of the root-cellar, on top of it, and surveys the nearby area.
The soil has a odd look to it; neatly divided squares have been marked out, and in those squares, the ground show traces of having been recently dug.
She counts the squares.
Twenty-five. And this is just one such place she has prepared.