Chapter Text
The smile that trembles deep behind your tears
Is the promise of the world since the beginning of time
The tired whistle of the train – wheezing and laboured as it tended to be at the end of the day – had Jon startling in his seat, bumping a book with his elbow. It hit the floor with a dull thud, a puff of dust rising up at the impact.
He looked at it with contempt before picking it up with a groan.
Ex Altiora , it read.
It was a battered old thing, pages yellowed with time and with recurring undefined stains. He had read it – he’d probably read most of the books he stored, thirsty for that thrill of newness as he was. This one wasn’t quite what he’d generally like for himself – a fantastic tale of a town preparing for conflict as an unknown, enormous creature approache d .
It was a tragedy, he recalled, as in the end the villagers were drawn mad by fear, to the point wher e they threw themselves to the rocks underneath their citadel.
Interesting read, of course, but nothing particularly catching about it. The most uncanny thing was probably the weird sense of vertigo that came when he stared at it too intently, something that he could easily avoid.
All in all, he wouldn’t have minded getting rid of it, just as he wouldn’t have minded keeping it in a shelf, to gather dust until the end times. It was a book, simple as that.
Some other tomes, he would have preferred to cut off his own hand rather than parting from.
Others still, he would be amenable to throw at people’s heads just to get them out of his library.
“Knock knock!” A cheerful voice called out, distracting him from his musings.
Sasha was leaning against the door-frame, smiling from behind a cup of tea. He noticed she was out of her usual work clothes, and with a quick glance to the clock on the wall realised it was much later than he’d thought.
“Really, Jon, you’d spend the whole night in here if I didn’t check up on you every now and then.” She rolled her eyes with far too much fondness for her words to hit, and he smiled back with a weary quirk of his lips.
“You know me, Sasha.”
“Yeah, well. Have you eaten at all today?”
He lowered his eyes and shrugged. He had eaten breakfast and he was sure he had gone out for lunch- though maybe that had been the day before?
Sasha didn’t seem surprised. “Come on then, we’re getting something to eat before the parade starts – neither of us want to get stuck in all that traffic.”
He quickly gathered his things, glimpsing at his desk before turning the light off. It was- messy, to say the least. Book and pens and papers laid there in disarray as he postponed tidying it up, his notes all over the place. He was almost positive he’d left a pair of keys in there.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered to himself.
Closing up the bookshop, he turned to Sasha and listened as she told him all about her plans for the weekend, about visiting her parents and possibly seeing her latest beau – a young man who worked for a radio station and wore his shirt almost completely unbuttoned.
“I mean, he’s quite nice – it won’t last, with the whole disgraced pirate aesthetic he’s got going on – but that will get my mother off my back for a while at least. Maybe being ‘heartbroken’ will stop her from trying to find me a husband.”
He hummed in response, smoothing out the fabric of his tweed jacket. Old and soft, it was ideal for those early spring days, when the mornings and evenings were just chilly enough to make him shiver in his usual attire but not enough to require a coat.
It had been a gift from his grandmother, before he’d left for the city.
“- and I wish I could just tell her that I don’t care about marriage, I don’t care about falling in loooove-”
They made their way through the gathering crowd, streets filling as everyone waited for the parade to start.
“What are you in the mood for? I’m paying.”
“S-Sasha, that’s really not necessary-” A single look cut him off, and his shoulders sagged. “Fine. How about Rosie’s?”
Rosie’s was a quaint tavern they both liked, near the shop but rather hidden from the main boulevards. The innkeeper was a kind old woman who was convinced Jon needed to put on weight and who didn’t ask questions or give looks when he showed up in his dresses – which were all waiting for the weather to warm up to emerge from the back of his wardrobe.
It was nice, and the dishes were all rather good, so they had become usual clients. Sasha nodded, and took his arm, leading him away from the streets and towards the alleys. It was much faster this way, she would tell him every time, even though there were spiders and the occasional drunkard.
He liked Sasha. He liked her matter-of-fact approach and he liked that she didn’t mind his silence. She talked and let him nod or hum without expecting a reply every time.
She was very focused at work, and didn’t care much about social norms.
They were friends, although the fact had taken him by surprise when she’d told him. He recalled asking her something along the lines of “are you sure?”
She would still tease him about it.
“Anyways, I would gladly tell her that I would rather not, but you know how she gets- what about grandchildren? As if I cared- I have a fish, have that as your grandchild.”
Finally they reached the old beech door where a rusty sign dangled from a nail, where Rosie’s was barely legible. Sasha pushed it open and a warm rush of air hit them, taking away some of the chill that had set in their bones. They hanged their overcoats in the cloakroom and entered the tavern.
“Here they are, my little librarians!” Rosie’s voice boomed as she waved from behind the counter. She was a tall, comely woman with wide hips and a soft exterior, her tawny skin flushed as it usually did when she worked long hours in the kitchen. Her greying hair was pulled into a tight bun on top of her head, and even from a distance Jon could see the way her dark eyes twinkled in genuine delight at seeing them.
He found himself blushing against his better judgement, and Sasha waved back, pulling him to the worktop by his elbow.
“Good day to you, Rosie!” She bubbled, making herself comfortable on one of the tall stools. “Are you still open for long? We’d like to get something to eat but we wouldn’t want to make you late for the parade-”
“Oh don’t worry, you silly girl, the soldiers will manage to walk around looking like scarecrows even without my guidance- And you would do well with some warm food. What can I get you?”
“I shall have some of those awesome beer and butter vegetables you cooked the other day, and some bread to go with.” Sasha swayed on her seat.
“I- I think the stew will be fine. No pork, right?”
“Ah, you live in a nice world if you think there’s any pork left for small business like this. No, boy, the king decided that in order to win the war, he must feed on the finest meat every day. Useless ass.” Rosie whispered the last part, though she probably needn’t to. Most people shared her opinion, as one was bound to do when living outside of the castle’s golden bubble, but one could never know when the wrong monarchist was listening, or the occasional drunken guard would decide to start a fight.
“Yeah well- one would almost hope he’d actually dirty his hands for once instead of sending our sons and daughters to die for him.” Abelard grumbled from his place near the window.
He was Rosie’s father – old as the kingdom itself, some would say – and even as he had grown more weary with age he had refused to leave his daughter to work alone. He would help, do some odd jobs every now and then, but he was a n integral part of the tavern.
Jon vaguely recalled a story about his two other children dying in the first war – a tale he didn’t want to hear again, as the sight of the proud man crying woke a part of him that only wanted to take the king and show him exactly what his petty wars entailed.
“I’m afraid we’re all out of stew,” Rosie redirected his attention gently, and his focus shifted on her. “But we do have some of the pot pie you like!”
He wetted his lips and nodded. “That seems wonderful, thank you Rosie.”
Soon enough him and Sasha were stuffing their faces full of warm, delicious food, barely taking breaks to breathe between one bite and the other. There was something about this place, Jon mused, something that always made everything taste incredibly good, even the simplest of dishes. If he had been a romantic, he would have pinned it on the loving atmosphere of the tavern – but alas, he was not.
Sasha looked at the hostess, and decided to entertain in her favourite activity: chattering.
“So, Rosie,” she said between a mouthful of bread and a sip of beer. “Any hot new goss you want to share?”
Rosie’s eyes lit up. “Oh well, now that you ask- my cousin who lives up in North Town heard her seamstress talking about a woman she knows who apparently saw Keay’s devilish castle approaching the wasteland. So close to the city, can you believe it?”
“Keay?” Jon asked, raising an eyebrow. “Gerard Keay, the wizard?”
“The heart-eater, you mean!” Sasha snorted. “Don’t you know he has eaten the hearts of many a maiden, and bound their very souls to a book made out of human skin?”
“Don’t you joke about this, child!” Rosie fretted. “He has stolen so many young people to obtain mysterious powers- did you know that Natasha’s old friend had a sister whose fiancè was taken by that wizard.”
“Right,” Sasha mumbled. She had always been very sceptical of the tales surrounding Gerard Keay, but unlike Jon, she wasn’t fascinated by him either. In her opinion, he was probably an old loon that had somehow managed to become the talk of the town. No magic behind it, she believed, just a senile fool wandering The Waste.
“I’ve always thought it couldn’t hurt to talk to him,” Jon added, hiding into a forkful of pie as Rosie shot him a look. “I mean, I’ve heard so much about his library. They say he collects all types of cursed books, I wouldn’t mind giving him some of mine.”
As Sasha suffocated a snort, he grimaced. “Not like that you idiot.”
Rosie tutted disapprovingly. “Be careful, children. He is a dangerous mage, and you better hope you never cross paths with him.”
Once their plates were cleared and their drinks finished, they bid their goodbyes and retrieved their coats. The sun was still shining, but the temperature was definitely lower now. Jon stuffed his hands into his pockets, burrowing his face into a scarf.
They walked out of the back alley, and soon enough they found himself near the main street. People were now crowding every nook and corner in the hopes of greeting the soldiers on their way to war, and making it impossible for them to move through the swarm.
With herculean effort, they managed to stumble their way to the crossroad where they would have to separate and go their own way.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Sasha asked, rubbing her hands together.
“Of course. Be careful getting back home.”
“You too, Jon.”
After watching her take a couple of steps, he turned on his feet and began walking. The idea of getting back into the mass of people made his skin crawl. While he didn’t dislike human contact most times, he had yet to find a person who enjoyed being pressed and pushed around as the multitude moved.
He stepped into an alley, and began walking, keeping his pace brisk.
His mind inevitably went back to one of the books he was meant to bind as its old cover had fallen off, time and misuse wearing it down. It was called Key of Solomon, but aside from the title there was nothing interesting about it – a tale of demons and devils, clearly meant for an easily impressed public. The binding had been proven to be tricky though, the pages refusing to stay put.
Jon had been doing this long enough to know how to deal with stubborn tomes.
He was startled by a hand on his shoulder, the contact sudden and unexpected. He turned and found himself face to face with two guards, clearly drunk and obviously looking for trouble.
Sasha will kill me.
“Hey there, sweetheart.” One of them – blond and tall and with a very unsettling smile – purred. “It’s getting late, you shouldn’t be walking all by yourself.”
He scoffed. “Thank you, but I’m perfectly fine. Now if you could-”
The hand on his shoulder tightened his grip.
“C’mon, don’t be like that. Let us take you home, make sure you’re fine-”
“I said thank you, but I really need to leave. Bother each other, if you must.” He was equally scared and annoyed. This was the reason why he hated taking back streets, and not for the first time he found himself wishing his parents would have at least graced him with height, if not muscles.
Then again, brains over brawn.
The other guard ruffled his moustache. “That really isn’t polite of you to say, hun-”
“Oh, dear, here you are!” A voice called from the opposite side of the alley. Jon didn’t want to risk getting jumped, and didn’t turn. “I’ve been looking for you all over the place!”
A man walked up behind him, and put a hand on his arm, keeping the touch light and mostly performative.
“I apologise, officers, but we really must leave, the parade is starting soon and we wouldn’t want to miss it. Now go, on your way.”
Jon saw a ringed finger make a turning gesture, and suddenly the two men were walking away from them, sputtering in surprise and moving like little wooden soldiers . He finally turned to face whoever – a wizard, that was magic! - had helped him.
He stared up at a pale man, towering about a head over him.
He seemed to be covered in eyes, one on his throat, others peeking out from the collar of his shirt, even more resting on his hands and knuckles, partially covered by the silver rings. He had silver on his face and ears too, a bar of it passing his left eyebrow, then a ring around his lower lip and another one on his nose, with more earrings barely showing when his black hair was moved by the wind. He certainly did not look the part of the wizards he’d always heard about – his long black robes differing from the colourful cloaks he’d believed mages to wear, and instead of a hoary beard he found himself staring at a young man, possibly a few years older than him. Strong jawed and broad-shouldered, he was surprisingly underwhelming.
He’d always thought his first encounter with a wizard would be more… intense. Not just a random guy sending two guards away.
“Thanks, but I could have handled that.” He scoffed.
“Yes, I saw that. Still, at least I had some fun, tormenting guards is one of my favourite hobbies when I’m in town.”
M h. Maybe Jon could grow to tolerate this man.
“Well, allow me to escort you back home? Or wherever you need to be. As an apology for stealing your chance of fighting those men.”
Jon crossed his arms and stared at him. “And why exactly should I trust you?”
The man smiled. “Because the guards are coming back, and they’ve brought friends.”
A quick glance behind his shoulder gave him all the information he needed to make his decision.
“Fair enough,” he declared. “Lead the way.”
“Name’s Gerry, by the way. I thought I should introduce myself-” The man – Gerry – stretched out a hand, calm and collected even as a handful of guards began making their way to the pair of them, their usual boisterous manners exacerbated by a dangerous mix of anger and shame. Jon didn’t feel like tempting fate, and decided to cut off Gerry’s chattering.
“Yes, nice to meet you, I’m Jon and there are eight guards running towards us so maybe we can talk about it later- ah!”
Gerry seemed to agree with his statement, and promptly grabbed his elbow to pull him into a small street, the soldiers behind them picking up the pace and growing louder. As he glanced behind his shoulder, Jon couldn’t help but feel something was… uncanny about them. There were more than before, he was sure, and some of them moved eerily, as if they had never done so before: some had their limbs sinking in the ground like jelly, while others were stiff and rigid, making him wince every time they rested their weight so heavily on the ground. He found he couldn’t read their faces, expressions and details escaping him as soon as he looked away. Jon tried to keep up, brain still trying to comprehend what he was doing as his legs moved of their own accord.
“I really apologise for my manners, but I need you to do as I say.” Gerry turned back to face him, leading him into what seemed like a dead end. There was a wall ahead of them, and he could hear the approaching footsteps.
“What else could I-”
“Jump!”
Jon didn’t question it, and followed Gerry up, getting ready for the moment he’d fall back on the ground to deal with a troop of hot-headed guards.
The moment never came, and he found himself going up up up and upper still, leaving no trace behind as he flew over heads and roofs, the city growing smaller before his eyes. Instinctively, he drew his knees up, curling into himself, until Gerry gently reprimanded him and instructed him to walk.
“Just like you would do on the ground- yes, just like that. You’re doing great Jon.”
Jon would have liked to tell him he didn’t care for his approval, but he was far too busy enjoying the feeling of being so incredibly light and free, air shaping itself beneath his feet as he made a step, pushing him up with ease and then down again, skipping like a child would over rocks near the stream.
It felt like dancing – as far as he could remember at least, for he’d hardly danced in his life – and he told Gerry so.
“You’re a natural,” he praised as they hopped onto a belfry. “that’s exactly it. Dancing mid-air.”
He had an arm around Jon’s waist, the other gripping his hand tight. There was something about him – other than the obvious, which was magic – and he wondered if every wizard had that otherworldly beauty to them. As if they’d just stepped out of the night sky, eyes twinkling as if starlight was hiding just behind the surface. He could lose himself in the darkness of his hair, and the contrast between their skin where it came in contact was dizzying.
“What are those things?” Jon asked, sure that he would end up fainting if he didn’t focus his attention elsewhere. Could he have been bewitched, somehow?
“Mannequins,” Gerry replied, turning slightly to the left. “and wax figures. They work for the Watcher.”
The Watcher – a man who had forgotten more names than Jon could ever hope to learn – was a renowned wizard whose skills and curses were feared in all of Ingary. He was rumoured to have the supernatural ability of Seeing all he put his mind to, and some said he could make other see what he pleased. Beyond that, no one was sure what his powers entailed, legend and reality so intertwined one could never be sure where one began and the other ended.
“Why were they following me?”
“I’m afraid that was me. I saw you in that street and tried to help, but I didn’t realise they would catch up so quickly. I apologise, I now fear they will come after you.”
“I can take care of myself,” Jon tried to say, sounding more out of breath than he would have liked. He hadn’t expected his day to be anything like this, and he couldn’t hide the thrill of fear that ran down his back at Gerry’s words.
“I know. But I know that the Watcher will not look kindly on your involvement, and I cannot hide you from him.” The wizard seemed to be genuinely regretful as they reached a balcony, gently helping Jon down. “He will surely come after you. Whatever he does- Jon, listen, whatever he does, you must come find me. Look for me in the Waste.”
That made him furrow his brow. “But- only Gerard Keay lives in that wasteland.”
Gerry rose an eyebrow.
Oh.
“Oh.”
“Oh indeed. I hope I don’t disappoint.”
Jon looked him up and down, not bothering to hide his frown. “Honestly, I expected you to be… older.”
Gerry gasped, affronted.
“But I suppose you’ll have to do. Is there really nothing you can do to avoid my approaching death?”
“He won’t kill you.”
Jon couldn’t keep himself from scoffing. That was a giant assumption, and it wasn’t like it was Gerry risking his life. Then again, he didn’t have any other options.
“Jon, he won’t. I swear. But- His goons have seen you now, and if I try to put any protective spells on you he will Know.”
H e looked around, the street below them crawling with people. He supposed part of Gerry’s magic had made them invisible.
“Will it- I promise I will come find you, but will it hurt?” He felt the question slip out before he could think twice about it, and cursed himself for his childishness. This man here was probably taking a big risk, showing himself in the open, and he was scared of a little pain?
“I don’t know,” Gerry replied honestly. “But I will help. And whatever happens- the Waste, Jon. Remember.”
“I will.”