He walked with bounding steps, trying to match the golden footprints strewn about on the pavement. The man who had left those golden prints behind was a much taller man than he, so the relatively shorter boy had to launch himself with a leap to catch each proceeding footprint. As he hopped from footstep to footstep, the large, oddly curved case on his back bounced uncomfortably with him; the object inside was safely ensconced upon padded walls, so he was not concerned about it rattling or breaking. However, he probably should have been more careful with the delicate equipment than he was.
The man with the case found his steps falling silent at the end of the golden trail. The yellow brick path led him to the town center, where a large ornate fountain displayed a beautiful show of cascading liquid gold. He rummaged through his pockets for some loose coin and pulled out a single copper piece. The man flamboyantly span a full circle on his heel ending with a dramatic flair, and, with a snap of his thumb, flicked the coin into the fountain. He clapped his hands twice, stretched his arms to either side, palms facing the blazing day star, and shouted at the top of his lungs with every ounce of strength he could muster. "I wish for wealth!"
His verbose actions drew the attention of many passersby, but he ignored their judging gazes. He closed his eyes and waited for some kind of gift to befall him. Perhaps a unicorn''s horn would rain from the sky; supposedly, those could bring back life, but also, supposedly and more importantly, they were worth a pretty penny, a penny so pretty like platinum aplenty. The man thought that was a far superior boon than resurrection; what use would there be in returning what was already lost? Didn''t it choose to be lost anyway? The horn did not rain down, though.
If he couldn''t have his wish for great wealth granted, perhaps he could at least have his wish for a pork skewer granted. The town center was thankfully littered with many stalls and shops, one of which conveniently catered with his chosen craving. Better yet, the quality of this shop was guaranteed by the golden footsteps that led to its front and the cart''s single golden post. He couldn''t help but salivate, so enticed by the delicious odour of the pork skewer wafting over. The street snack was practically criminal, being so succulent and soft, taunting him with that bubbling fat that drizzled off the meat and sizzled against the scorching barbeque. What a magical sound. All for the unbearably reasonable price of a single copper coin. He wiped the drool from his chin and eagerly shoved his hand into his pocket, rummaging for a pretty penny.
…oh, that''s right, he tossed it.
<hr>
He found himself in front of two monumental doors, the size of which he found to be simply preposterous. The golden footsteps invited him into this building as well. He hesitated again and shoved his hand into his pocket, but upon grasping nothing, he entered the building. The golden door handle was cold to the touch, but it wasn''t as cold as the inside of the building itself.
The place was rather barren today, with the only other person present being a bored woman slouched behind a counter at the far end of the room, her head resting against folded arms, eyes nearly shut. Between him and her, the insurmountable expanse of the main showroom was all but empty save for a large cork bulletin board mounted upon the western wall and pinned with a few sheets of paper.
The loud thud of the ludicrously large entrance door shutting drew the attention of the bored woman, who glanced up from her dozing to see what had disturbed her. When she saw him, she dismissively returned to resting her head on the counter. He made the long walk over to the counter. Each of his steps echoed loudly through the chilling room until he finally arrived before the woman.
He stopped before her and received no response. After awkwardly idling for a bit, he cleared his throat and received no response. Pushing past the uncomfortable atmosphere, he finally spoke, "Do you ha-"
"Check the bulletin." she monotonously interrupted without even averting her eyes from the dirty wall.
He released an exasperated sigh and asked her again with a slight pleading added to his voice. "Can''t you just tell me?"
Her eyes glazed over to see his familiar face; annoyance contorted her smooth visage as she responded. "Do you have a guild badge?"
"You know I only do freelance."
"I''m sorry, sir, I''m only following procedure." Her expression was blank as she repeated her memorized script like a machine. He found himself in disbelief, though not entirely disbelieving. His shoulders slumped as the extent of this tiring dance of words unfolded before him. "Come on, Inamorata, please. Just give me an assignment, and I''ll get out of your way."
Inamorata glared at the vile man, stabbing him with those heavy, judging eyes. He had never lost a battle of wills, however, and she eventually relented, taking out some parchment from under the counter and writing something.
The man''s eyes lit up as he hungrily followed the sway of Inamorata''s pen. "Thank you, Inamorata, really."
Inamorata pulled out another piece of parchment from under the desk and handed him both pieces of paper. "Get out."
He wanted to reply; he wanted to apologize, say something at least, but he could not bring himself to any words. It seemed she wouldn''t spare him any more time anyway, so he just grabbed the papers and left the guild hall. He read the paper held in his hands. It was a solo assignment, obviously; he probably wouldn''t be given another group assignment for a long time, if ever again, definitely not from Inamorata.
The assignment was a request for mokoi subjugation. He could not recognize the creature type, but if this assignment was like any of the others from recent history, then it would probably be a dangerous and annoying creature that no other adventurers dared tackle. His assignments were always those unwanted and lost to time, the assignments that had been fully relinquished in the minds of its creators to never be completed. This often meant they were assignments that wouldn''t pay so well; after all, if they paid well, someone would have completed the assignment by now. But the assignment only needed to pay a single copper, and it would all be worth it to have that deliciously succulent pork skewer.
He followed the directions on one of the papers he received, which led him out of town, across the forest, up a jagged mountain, through a mucky quagmire, and under a hollowed knoll, finally bringing him to the beach that faced the edge of the world. A massive sand front littered with the countless beached corpses of fish. Far out in the distance, one could see the heavy rushing waves of the ocean. For today''s quest, he was not required to visit the actual ocean; thank goodness, he could never stand the wretched stench of those thousands of decomposing corpses littering the beach. The stench wasn''t even the problem with the beach, or at least not the worst problem; the true trapping was how, despite being an open beach, it was nearly impossible to navigate. Someone could see precisely where they wanted to go and still not manage to make their way there.
No, his quest today led him to a small cave at the intersection of the forest and beach. Smooth round stone spiralled an abyssal pit into the ground, its steep angle easier to slide down than walk. The dark and damp maw amplified and echoed the low breathing hum of a large mokoi hiding within.
The man with the case grimaced at the state of the cave; bones and flesh littered its entrance, and the stench exuding was atrocious; he almost wished he had been sent to the edge of the world. The man cupped his hands to the side of his mouth and shouted into the cave. "Hey… um, I''m a freelance adventurer. I''ve been given a request to kill you, but I''d really rather not enter your home at the moment. So, could you come out instead?"
There was a brief lapse of silence before a deep, powerful voice boomed out of the cave. "Oh wow, I didn''t really think about it much since I rarely get any guests. I hadn''t realized how much of a dump this place has turned into."
"No worries, man."
The apologetic voice of the mokoi was accented with the clanging and shuffling of many objects within the cave. "No, no, you shouldn''t have to deal with this; give me a second. I''ll clean this place up."
The man was beginning to feel a little guilty at this point, he did not mean to force the mokoi to reorganize its entire house. "You don''t have to go so far out of your way for me, especially since I''m just going to kill you. It would be a waste to put so much effort into your home the day you don''t get to live in it. You can just come out instead."
"Nonsense, what sort of host would I be if I didn''t even let my guest into the house. It won''t take very long."
The man shrugged, relenting; if the mokoi insisted, then who was he, as its killer, to deny it? "Alright, sorry for the inconvenience."
The mokoi gave a small chuckle, which, combined with its deep voice and the echo of the cave, came out as more of a maniacal growl. "It''s not an inconvenience at all; my spring cleaning has been a long time coming. Just wait out there for a moment while I get this done."
"Okay." The man with the case on his back found a large rock jutting out of the grass and sat himself on it; he stared out across the beach to the horizon, watching dusk settle. The star that once lit the day was slowly dissipating over the horizon, causing a deep purple to blanket the world and forming overlong shadows that loomed from the thousands of rotting carcasses littering the beach.
The man took the case off his back and placed the strangely shaped container on his lap. He unbuckled two large latches that kept the piece closed and opened it. A beautiful wooden device shaped like a curved hourglass with a long handle took up most of the space. It was made of an immaculate varnished mahogany adorned with a few precisely cut shapely holes. From end to end, long, thin strings were tightly wound around protruding pegs, allowing only the slightest amount of give. The whole contraption was kept comfortably in place by soft velvet padding. Next to the main display, and much smaller, was a thin, curved piece of wood with a single string connecting either of its ends together.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
The man took the hourglass-shaped device by the handle and placed the widest end of the thing against his shoulder, holding it in place with his chin. With his other hand, he grabbed the bowstring and played with a small nob at its end, adjusting the string''s tightness to his liking. He did the same with all the nobs on the main hourglass device, occasionally thrumming one of the strings to test the sound they made.
Once finally satisfied with his tuning, the man placed one hand on the device''s handle and situated the bowstring across the main frame, touching string to perpendicular string. With slow, precise movements, he dragged the bowstring across the chords of the device, and it hummed a soft, trembling whisper. It whispered smoothly yet sharply, its voice dancing with the rustling of forest leaves and the distant crashing of ocean waves. Its voice, warm and caressing, flickered about clarity and intangible sensibility. It was alive; like the space between words, it remained devoid of distinct meaning while regaling of hidden truths. An aural disgorging of emotion, the bright and dark, excited and sombre.
He was playing music.
Dusk concluded while night arrived, and finally another sound echoed from within the cave. "Sorry about that. It took a little longer than I expected, but you can come in now."
The man repacked his device into his case and threw it over his shoulder and onto his back. With careful steps, he butt-scooched his way down the slippery cave and was happy to find that the vile odour and swathes of blood stains were no longer present. As he lowered himself foot by foot, he noticed that the cave''s echo seemed a little sharper and clearer.
The entrance incline slowly shallowed until ending with a small wooden door. As he approached the door, it slowly creaked open, revealing a small, cozy abode warmly lit with lavender-scented candles. The home was well maintained with soft, clean carpets and tidied leather furniture. A bookshelf in the corner was filled with sci-fi romance books, bookmarked, not dog-eared. A modest kitchenette contained a basic wooden stove that prepared a hot pot of tea. Lastly, there was the thing that stood by the door entrance, an immense hulking beast with a twisted spine and patchy bristled fur. The beast had a long, upwards-pointing snout with two beady eyes stacked vertically on the left side of its face. The beast opened its magnificent maw, revealing an uncountable plethora of razor-sharp teeth, and it spoke. "It is nice to put a face to the voice. My name is Rue, and yours?"
The man barked a laugh. "How auspicious. My name is Rue."
The mokoi Rue smiled at its human counterpart, " It must be fate then. Come in, come in, make yourself at home. The tea should be ready soon."
The human Rue couldn''t help but comment, "Your house is so charming." It was clear that this home was tenderly cared for by its owner, and the effort and love were obvious in every folded cloth and precisely placed furniture. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the individual flair of the carpentry, the attention to each cut, and the detailed carvings etched across every plank.
Seeing its guest in such awe at its home filled Rue with pride. It puffed out its chest and chippered in an elated tune, "It is always important to love your own home."
The human ran his fingers across the nearby wall, feeling the bumps of a particular set of pictorial carvings that depicted New Heirisson''s conquest from the mokoi''s perspective. It showed a terrifying villain leading a group of barbaric hellions cleverly infiltrating undetected through some hidden mokoi tunnels that should have been unknown to the humans. Another carving follows along with the monsters emerging from the hind ranks and slaughtering the leaders of the bout. It was endlessly fascinating to see how history was written from the other side. More fascinating was the quality with which the carvings were made. "Did you carve all of these drawings on the wood yourself?"
"I have a lot of free time, as you could imagine; it has become a sort of hobby of mine. Just don''t look at the bookshelf; I''ve come a long way in improving my skills." A sharp whistle came from the kitchenette, and the behemoth creature suddenly jolted upright. "Oh dear, the tea! I''ll be right back." With surprising speed for a creature of its size, the beast sprinted to the kitchenette.
The man wandered over to the living room, where a cushiony leather couch and lounger sat before a round coffee table. A deep imprint sinking into the lounging seat announced the host''s preferred spot, and so he seated himself on the couch, placing his case down next to it. The couch was soft and pliable; it was the type of couch whose cushions swallowed you as you sank between its cracks, the type that invited a book and a blanket and the temptation to never rise again. It was a great couch.
On the round coffee table, there was a small framed drawing depicting the beast next to a beautiful woman with long, flowing blonde hair; one could almost mistake this woman for a human if it were not for her long, pink scaled tail that ended in a sharp barbed spike. "Did you draw this image as well?"
"The one on the coffee table?"
"Yes, of you and a woman."
"No, I didn''t. It was drawn by a splendid mokoi artist back home." The mokoi paused apprehensively, waiting for the man to interrupt, but when he did nothing but intently listen, the creature continued, "I had the wonderful opportunity to meet Arete, and I just had to have him preserve the moment with a drawing. This was, of course, back when she was a Colonel. Before her betrayal forming the mokoi surrogate revolutionary army. I still keep the piece out, though. Perhaps my bias is coloured by our wonderful encounter, but I feel like there was a reason for her decision. Her moral strength was so pure when I met her; I just can''t imagine it all having been a ruse. Oh, look at me talking politics, mokoi politics at that, to a human no less. Let''s change the subject, shall we."
The beast returned from the kitchenette and placed a tray with tea and strange biscuits on the table. The beast slotted into the lounger, its oversized form fitting perfectly in the existing divot. Ferocious claws gingerly lifted the kettle, poured a deep red drink into two cups of tea, and handed the sweet-scenting drink to its guest.
Once the enticing aroma kissed his nose, he realized that he was quite famished from his long trek over, and he graciously accepted. "Thank you for the tea."
The beast gave a brimming smile. "I try to be a good host. My training as a proper noble is not lost in the solitude of the human territories."
It was a familiar tea, one he''d had many times before; though this tasted fresher, He imagined the mokoi farmed the leaves itself. Tea had never really been his preferred drink, but he had to admit it was the perfect refreshment after his long day. Tasting the local brew with its pedestrian flavour invigorated the man to test himself against the strange purple biscuits. Human and mokoi palettes rarely aligned, but if they both enjoyed the same drink, why not the same meals.
As soon as he bit down, he was caught with great surprise at its wonderfully soft, fluffy texture and powerfully sweet taste. "These cookies are delicious! What are they?"
"An old mokoi recipe. These thew wafers were always my favorite as a child."
"I can see why. They''re amazing! You have to share the recipe with me."
The night continued on, and the two drank tea, shared stories, and joked around. At some point in the night, the tea was replaced with alcohol, and then they really shared stories, really joked around, and even played some games. They played a few classic human games, but even some mokoi games as well.
The party of two went on long and hard, but the momentum was dying, and the alcohol dried. The great mokoi beast lay sprawled across the couch and stared at the framed image on the coffee table when it spoke. "My etiquette teacher." Rue reached for a drink but found only an empty cup. " made sure to really ingrain into me the importance of thanks." The mokoi glanced at its guest to make sure he was paying attention. "I mean real thanks. It''s so habitual for so many that it has lost all meaning, like a greeting. Good morning. How are you. Thank you. Said because it is what is to be said but rarely actually meant." Its eyes fell back to that portrait. "My teacher told me that it was the duty of nobles to mean as they say and say as they mean. Our subjects rely on us to guide them true; they need to trust in our sincerity, and they need respect."
Rue wiped a tear from their eye.
"That''s why. When you say thank you, you should speak not from the tongue but the heart and truly mean it."
"When the mokoi surrogate revolutionary army stormed our estate and slaughtered our kin, my mother snuck me out the garderobes and to the Sanctuary of Ingress and put my baby sister in my arms, swaddled and crying." The mokoi swallowed a lump in its throat, "She had to stay, sacrificed herself so that we could continue living, as vagabonds, eternal fugitives, but living." Rue the mokoi stared straight into Rue the human''s eyes, "When she saved my life, turned her back and drew her sword to hold back whoever dared follow. I didn''t say thank you."
A silence settled, and Rue''s gaze returned to that precious portrait, "When I was cleaning my home, I heard you playing some lovely music outside. Could you play some for me?"
"Of course, friend." The man received his instrument from the case and began to play a light and sweet song; the music was beautiful and soft to the ears. The mighty mokoi listened with great glee to the music. For an hour, it just lay in silence, allowing the piece to flow into its thin, round ears. By the end of the whole hour, Rue the mokoi found its eyes sliding shut and just barely managed to slur out "Thank you." before falling asleep.
The human Rue continued to play until he had fully confirmed the beast was unconscious. He packed his device and closed the case. Flipping the case onto its back, he unlatched a small secret compartment and, pulled loose a dagger and drove its sharp blade across the mokoi''s neck.
Rue grabbed the corpse by its shoulders and pulled its upper body off the couch, allowing all its blood to leak out the gaping wound, staining the rich handwoven carpet. It took Rue a few more hours to completely dismantle the mokoi and extract all usable components, including the severed head, as confirmation of the subjugation.
Once he collected all the parts of worth and stuffed them in a stolen bag, he kicked over a candle and made sure it passed the torch onto the carpet. The man then turned and returned to town.
By the time he had arrived at the guild hall, it was a new day, and thankfully, Inamorata was no longer on shift. He handed his monster contract and parts to the clerk and, in exchange, received his pay. There was no time to spare now; he quickly made his way to the food stand so he could finally taste that delicious pork skewer.
"Sorry, sir, we sold out just last night."
The man found himself at the center of town, each of his feet planted on large golden footprints. He stared at a single shining copper coin at the bottom of the fountain. He rustled through his pocket in search of another, but before he could find it, the golden water in the fountain suddenly rippled away as the sound of a bell chimed. Right in front of Rue, there was what seemed to be a small pink rhombus, or it was a rhombus, but its body would reject any stable state. It would shift and transform, shrink and grow, continuously morphing into other forms. The pink shape finally locked into a form resembling that of a featureless human with only one limb. The arm was outstretched toward Rue, holding a glowing parchment: it read.
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<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="width: 100%; text-align: center">You have been invited to</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 100%; text-align: center">The Tournament</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 100%; text-align: center">You are The Song</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>