Tristan's Tale Pt. 04

I chuckled. "Can do."

He looked at his wrist. "Well, would you look at the time." He burst out laughing, then looked a few feet to my left, expectantly. "Nobody ever gets why that's funny," he muttered, and then walked to the back of the wyvern. He slid the cane into a huge claw, and then, to my disbelief, hopped up, grabbing the ridge of its lower spine and hoisting himself up. He scooted forward to the neck, and still the wyvern slept.

"Real quick," I called out, "How did you know Jed?"

He looked down in my direction. "Jed was my apprentice," he replied. "Though in all honesty I must say he taught me more than I could have taught him. He's the reason I have Leyla," he said, tapping the wyvern, "And the reason why I can't see, and walk with a cane."

He scratched the neck before him, and the wyvern, its eyes still closed, uncoiled itself - I had to leap back as the wings spread out, they were huge - and stood up. Nowhere near the height of the stone giant, but it was a nonetheless a massive creature, and beautiful in that strange, reptilian sense. The dusty scales complimented Dante in his bathrobe, somehow. They both looked as if they were freshly escaped from half a century ago.

"But there's plenty of time for stories tonight. Meet me here ten minutes after the last class."

"I'll be here. Promise."

"Good. Promises are good."

I noticed that despite having moved, Leyla's eyes were still closed. "Is she blind too?" I asked.

"What? No, how could she fly if she were blind?" he asked. "No, she just likes to sleep, so I do the flying for her."

"How the fuck-"

They took off. Leyla's bulging muscles rippled beneath the scales as she leapt into the air, and her wings flapped down, sending a huge gust of wind toward me that nearly knocked me off my feet. Ever been next to a helicopter start up? It takes a lot of energy to lift something that heavy.

"And she's sleeping the whole time," I muttered. Crazy. The Art was crazy, this place was crazy, and I was fucking insane.

Why?

Because I was loving every minute of it.

~~~

The man beneath the rags pushed away a low hanging branch with the black staff. He could feel it practically snarling in his hands.

He looked like a new man. At least fifteen years had fallen from his face - though he was still old, gone were the deeper creases in his skin, the cracks and grooves of travel. The dust, the mud, the hardened exterior every experienced traveler knows how to shape around themselves - it was all gone.

His gray hair was parted handsomely down the side, his white beard was trimmed, his eyes no longer bore the tamed wildness of one who has traveled off the beaten path through Wastelands, and lived. He wore an extravagant long robe made up of many different patches. Had the patches been ordinarily sewn and colored, it would have looked like clothing fit for none but the lowest of beggars.

But this robe was positively vibrant, a miasma of color. No patch was the same as any other, and yet there did not appear to be any repetition in their colors. The buttons which kept it closed, clasped together diagonally across his chest, were made of polished silver. On any other man, it would have appeared as if a royal jester's costume. But the man beneath the rags was no ordinary man, and did not carry himself as such. Anyone looking at him as he walked down the jungle path would have known him to be a prince, surely, if not the king of a nearby land, albeit with a rather extravagant taste in clothing.

As such, there was nobody in the jungle - he knew that for a fact. But he also knew that she was always watching, that he was never alone, and so he carried himself with the elegance she expected of him.

At last, he came to a small clearing, in which was a large building woven of brown vines - the sides were square, and the roof a dome with the occasional gap between the vines to let the light in.

He ignored the closest side of the building, circling across the clearing to the other side, where he approached the wall of vines. He knocked politely - not too loudly, but firm enough to be heard - and waited, one hand not daring to let go of the staff, the other loose by his side.

The vines parted.

"Thank you," he said with all the dignity of an ambassador, and stepped into the building.

It was as he remembered it - an atrium filled with more plants than he could count, and all of them foreign. Strange, gnarled fruits dangled from trees which bled sap into puddles on the ground. There was a row of purple flowers hanging from the dome above which coughed occasionally, sending a small cloud of pollen into the air.

Most of the leaves of the plants were razor sharp - thankfully, she'd left a path for him to walk to the center, where there was a small circular table, and two wicker chairs. He smiled faintly upon seeing them. How many years had it been since he'd asked for those chairs? Too long. Far too long.

He walked to the table and pulled out one chair for himself, and the other for her. He sat down, keeping his posture perfect and his mismatched eyes pointed forward, and placed the staff on his lap, clutching it more tightly than the appearance of his hand would let on.

He'd felt her since before even entering the jungle. But now, he was almost suffocating in her presence.

Slowly, the butterflies fluttered to the table from different parts of the atrium. They stayed floating in the air above the chair opposite him, changing colors softly.

More and more arrived, and they began to rest on each other, and weave themselves in that impossible way at once like fabric and like skin, melding seamlessly at the edges. It was beautiful. It was horrifying.

The more she took form, the more he felt himself drowning in her. The yearn for her kiss rose deep within him, and it was no coincidence that first she formed those lips, those dreadful, perfect lips that brought everlasting bliss and the most terribly desirable pain he had ever felt.

He stayed still, as collected as someone waiting in the lobby of a dentist's office.

"You've grown rather boring in your old age, Rinzai." The lips moved on their own, though the body had not been fully constructed yet.

"Apologies, my lady," he said gracefully.

"Apologies accepted," said the lips with a smirk. "I like the costume. Well chosen. I'm glad you remembered to dress for our meeting." The face began to form around the lips as the butterflies coalesced into the too-beautiful form he recognized.

The ghost of a smile appeared on Rinzai's face. "This tunic belonged to the High Jassan of the Eastern Kingdoms. I stole it from him."

"Off his body?"

Rinzai's eyes glinted with the memory of past mischief. "Maybe."

"You rogue," accused the lips. "Though, in all fairness, that very trait is why I keep you around."

And then, there she was. The creature that he called Shae, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Every stitch of her was perfection perfected, fluid in the stillness of her form as she rested, sprawled across the chair, her legs crossed at the knees, her very presence a tart cherry blossom, razor sharp and brilliant.

"You have been gone quite a while," she remarked idly. Her lips changed between shades of pale red as she spoke, the butterflies fluttering their wings to form the movements. "I sense you are keen on getting down to business. But aren't there more... interesting activities with which I could tempt you?" She uncrossed her legs - he kept his gaze fixed on her eyes - and licked her lips persuasively with a blood-red tongue. "Is it not lonely on the road?"

"My lady, I believe it to be in your best interests that I share with you what I have learned while abroad." His reply was collected and even. He hadn't moved a muscle since sitting down, though the veins in his head had begun to bulge beneath the skin with exertion.

Her eyes flared for a moment, the butterflies there turning a deadly shade of black. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His body trembled slightly. But Rinzai did not move.

Shae pursed her lips, crossing her legs once more. She flicked her eyes, now a pale blue, to the staff across his legs.

"Is this it?" she asked.

"No, not exactly. But it is the best you will find - at least, in this world." He hefted it onto the table - it writhed beneath his hand, almost hissing. The knots in the wood were angry. "The only thing that could stop you." His words were chosen carefully.

Her eyes shone. "You've done very well," she said. "You'll have to tell me all about your travels. How did you earn your latest scar?" She gestured to the line which cut through his gray eye and down his face.

"One of the princes of the East was not as keen to go to war as the rest of the Court."

Shae tittered with disapproval. "With all that I've taught you, you still don't make use of it. A

pity."

"I have given you your war. Does it matter how it came about?"

"No. But you know as well as I that I'll need more than a war for my return. And my return is far from the end of my ambition." A thin smile played on her face and she stretched a long, sensual leg up into the air. "But before we talk of such matters, there's someone I want to show you."

She waved a hand over the surface of the table, and the invitation pinged against his mind. He analysed it carefully, with the steady deliberation of one who has been tricked many times before.

She sighed, irritated. "Must you always be so paranoid?"

"Yes." He stayed with the presence in his mind for a while, looking at it from every angle - a simple link, nothing more. Satisfied, he accepted the connection, and the surface of the table transformed into a screen of sorts as he became linked to a portion of Shae's vision.

It depicted a young, lanky man with messy black hair. He was walking in the courtyard, laughing to himself - behind him, Dante was flying back to his alcove above the Arch. Rinzai smiled - he'd almost forgotten about his old friend.

"What are you showing me?" he asked, looking once again at the boy.

"I found another one," said Shae, her eyes grinning.

Rinzai's eyes widened. "You can't be serious."

She nodded eagerly. "I'm positive. I've been watching him for a few days now, and there is no doubt."

Rinzai groaned. "I cannot go through that again. You know that."

Shae stood up, her face a contorted, blotchy red fury. She slammed a fist down onto the table and it shattered into a hundred pieces. "You can, and you will," she ordered. She walked directly in front of him through the dust of the collapsed table, her hands on her persuasive hips, the front of her sex in full view. A small slip of fluttering pink was visible at the beginning of her sex before disappearing between her legs.

"Do not mistake me for a tyrant," she said softly. "I will give you your precious time to yourself before I ask any more of you than I already have. But be ever ready, my little Rinzai. You will have yourself yet another apprentice, and this time, we will do it properly."

Rinzai sighed, rubbing his knees. "Yes, my lady."

"Good." Shae settled back into her chair, allowing herself a smug smile.

Everything was going exactly according to plan.

~~~

Thanks for reading -- I hope you enjoyed part four. I'd love to hear what you thought of the story.