Chapter 116: Squirt's Song
Squirt opened the door to the quartermasters, only to stop, stunned, at the scene before her.
There was the pest, in his element, handsome as could be, dancing while strumming on some small instrument in his hands he must have conjured. A faint, shimmering purple stretched over the doorframe, the barrier preventing even the smallest of sounds from leaking out. The very air around him was brighter with some kind of illusion that glittered and swirled as he danced, creating fantastic scenes of the far-flung Wylds with abstract, minimal imagery.
All around the room were most, if not all, of the resident greenlings that just a week ago had looked hopeless and lost, only now they smiled brightly, clapping along with whatever rhythm he had.
Despite the spectacle of it.
Despite the noise of it.
This was his usual theatrics. His usual flair that he’d do around the fire in the Hunter’s Clearing. And yet he had somehow cajoled the lot of them into it, including, miraculously, Quint herself, clearly bobbing her head along behind the counter to the tune.
None of them had seen the door open. It was after the working hours were done, the short period of time before half-light began, meaning the quartermaster was closed. It was as safe a time as any for this kind of revelry, even with the door unlocked.
As distracting as the pest and his performance were, it wasn’t enough for Squirt to miss one key detail.
Every single greenling was dressed as her. Short hair. Dark guard leathers. A silvery mark on their foreheads. And yet, they were smiling. Laughing. It had to be the biggest celebration she’d ever seen them have, and definitely the loudest.
Her feet moved before her mind caught up, stepping into the space and letting the door close behind her. The cacophony of sound hit her ears, but while she winced at the sudden influx of noise, it wasn’t actually that loud. A midpoint between a typical bardic performance and a quiet greenling one.
—lass ran as the Huntress led
Battling beasts in mindless form
Her bravery and skill saved them all
And thus a mighty hero born—
He came to a sudden stop, the music stopping with him and leaving the greenlings somewhat confused until they saw who his eyes had landed on.
And then every single eye was on her.
If anything, he looked… bashful. Like a child caught sneaking an extra bowl of stew. He clearly debated dropping the act to bow—as his head did lean forward before he stopped himself—and performatively bringing her into the space—as his hand shifted to extend only to stop himself. The result left him at a loss for what to do.
Hapless. Helpless. Utterly pathetic.
She bit back a smile despite herself. Then cleared her throat, gesturing for him to continue, “Don’t stop on my account.”
One of the nameless greenlings—one too young for a name—called out, “Did you really face off a whole army of feybeasts?”
Constantly in the spring and early summer, but so did everyone. “Yes.”
“While saving a princess?”
Right. Why had she never made the connection that his niece was a princess? Regardless, it wasn’t that impressive when she had mostly rescued herself. Squirt just showed her the way. “I did.”
“And carrying a fey twice your size?”
She shot the pest a questioning glance, noting his awkwardness, the slight plead in his eyes. Why he was trying to hide his own involvement from this particular event, she didn’t know. But it cost her nothing to play along.
“Not twice my size. About the size of him,” she gestured to the pest vaguely.
A chorus of appraisal came from the other greenlings as they muttered over her answers, weighing the merit of her honesty.
The pest straightened, hands on his hips, saying clearly but not loudly, “It is what makes me a good stand in for this heroic tale, non?”
The joke had a few titters carry through the audience, turning appraisal into approval.
One of the other kids called out, “Did you really save a princess from a dragon?”
“I thought she saved a dragon from a princess?”
Squirt, confused by their entire tangent, waited silently and stiffly for someone to explain. Her eyes flickered to the pest.
He cleared his throat. “Ah, non, non. She saved a princess who was also a dragon.”
A chorus of oh’s traveled through the crowd, followed by good-humored chuckles and teasing.
Squirt didn’t smile, per se, but she did soften as she cast her gaze around at them all. The laughter and clear joy on their faces eased the sting that seeing them forced into her own haphazard style.
And then her eyes landed on Puds.
Puds.
Sweet Puds.
Her beautiful long hair shorn short, the frilly dress that had given her so much joy earlier that day replaced by the darkened color of linen and leather. Holding a pair of scissors in her hand, she was halfway through cutting the hair of a greenling kneeling on the ground in front of her.
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Squirt swallowed the lump in her throat at the fierce glimmer in Puds’ eyes. The stubborn tilt to the woman’s chin that dared Squirt to speak out.
Squirt didn’t dare.
But neither did she move.
Fixated on the change in her friend, the sudden loss of something that had been so familiar mere hours ago, Squirt remained rooted to the spot, who she used to be warring with who she was now.
A couple of the kids called out for the continuation of the song, and the pest cleared his throat into his fist, stalling, taking several large, sideways steps to approach her. The move broke Squirt out of her fixation, and she turned with a frown towards him.
Though he faced the crowd, he leaned towards her and murmured, “Would you dance with me?”
Though Squirt didn’t speak, the abject confusion was obvious enough on her face.
He glanced her way out of the corner of his eye, holding up his hands placatingly to the quiet crowd. “Ah, not as…” He frowned, biting his lip before turning to her fully, losing any pretense of being a performer. “I want to invite you.” He grinned, his hands lacing behind his head, “But only if you would find it fun.”
Fun?
Fun?
Her face pinched, looking at him like a worm beneath her feet that dared to cross her path.
He shrugged in response. “I wanted to make the offer known. If you wish to dance, just step forward and hold out your hand.”
Before her hackles could rise further, he spun on his heel and waved a hand at everyone, trotting over to the kids and away from Squirt, effectively drawing their attention away from her.
Taking the opportunity presented, Squirt stepped back, closer to the shadows of the entrance, her eyes reflexively scanning the space.
No one was looking her way. Even Puds focused on the performance as it began again, though she glanced back worriedly in Squirt’s direction.
Relieved from the pressure of their expectant gazes, Squirt leaned against the wall in the shadows. After a beat, the darkness stretched and the hard wall turned into the regal fluff of Pakos.
Wrapped up in the cloak of the moon, Squirt found her attention drifting away from the ache in her chest and towards the pest’s performance.
He spoke in quiet, but not hushed, tones to the kids, close and in front of the group of them. Shifting into position, he strummed, a dash of his magic adding brightly colored wisps of shapes. It was simple. Effective. Something a much lesser fey could pull off. Yet still clear enough to evoke the exact images he intended. Moss weasels. Moon wings. Umberwolves. Breezebirds.
It was genius. They were admiring the images, but Squirt instead admired the flow of his magic. The sheer effortless control he demonstrated, the mastery over the multiple layers of woven elements for color, shape, and even rhythmic movement was poetry in motion. This wasn’t a spell he had created and cast that he was dancing along to, some set coordination that would happen exactly as prescribed. No.
He was creating these images naturally, organically, through fine control and sheer, awe-inspiring talent as he performed. Dustings of green across the ground that skittered and shifted to indicate movement. Ghosts of shapes of the different feybeasts. And a shadow of green facing off against them that matched her silhouette.
Leaning further into Pakos, she sighed, the hint of a smile on her face despite herself. Her chest still ached. She was still conscious of Puds glancing in her direction between cuts. He hadn’t hypnotized or charmed anyone here with anything but his charisma. The metaphoric charm instead of magical.
Pakos?
Yes, mother?
Why do you refer to him as father?
Pakos pressed against her, his tails hugging her back as she leaned into him. You needed me sooner than expected.
He was in a different country.
The amusement was palpable from the hound. Countries and borders have little bearing on the gods, mother dearest.
Squirt hesitated before asking her next question. Why does the Hunt trust him?
That is not a question I can answer.
Typical.
Here I have so many helpful qualities, and yet you want what I don’t have. I’m wounded, mother.
She exhaled out her nose in a sound too tired to be a laugh, and too soft to be a huff. I’m surprised Zhadin isn’t wrapping me up.
For once, I am present and they are not.
They aren’t?
That is what I said, yes.
Sassy hound.
The song reached the part of finding the princess, how they dug out the sleeping prince together. The chorus repeated, and then he had a verse describing how they began to run when the charging feybeasts appeared on the other side.
Pulled out of focusing on the way he had architected his magic and into the story once more, details began to stand out to her. The order of the beasts that hit. The attacks she used. Even the blows she took.
An epiphany hit.
He’d said before, the first time that he snapped at her, that he’d been drugged. Awake. Aware. He really had been aware of the whole thing. Though it was not a one-to-one reenactment, it was close enough to line up with her own memories of events.
He had invited her to dance with him.
Why?
Why craft this song? This performance? Was he just breezily having fun the only way he knew how, not a care in the world?
But that invitation.
Her eyes scanned over the greenlings once more. The way they smiled and clapped quietly along. The way he had cajoled some of them into dancing with him, patiently taking them through simple, quiet steps. Encouraging them to laugh and enjoy.
For once, it made the world seem just a touch brighter.
Their choice had been made already, Puds included.
That one, hm?
Puds?
Her choice was made first. She apparently devised of this plan. His voice became entirely smug. I happen to be a fan of any plan that dedicates so many to wearing the Hunt’s mark.
Squirt watched and listened to another verse and chorus before answering. It does sound like Puds.
Wearing the Hunt’s mark?
Dressing like me.
Copying Squirt’s braid was just one instance of many. She knew why. Puds had always wanted to be more like Squirt, just as much as Squirt had always wanted to be more like Puds.
Squirt continued to lean against her hound, wrapped up in his tails, watching the performance and letting her thoughts drift. There was no conflict warring in her when seeking comfort from the hound. Not when he was a part of her soul already.
By the time the performance ended, they finished the last of the haircuts and it was time for half-light. Most of the others shifted from their spots, murmuring quietly and giving Quint thankful bows on their way out for her hospitality, cleaning up any sign of their presence as they went.
Quint, for her part, nodded with a satisfied upturn to her lips, and said, “Anytime,” in response.
This was the same woman who smacked Jul with bamboo for perceived infractions the first day they met. It was practically a roar of applause from her.
The pest led them through some back way, and she realized he had somehow, someway, conjured a tunnel through the ground behind the counter.
So he had been listening to them planning the greenling space in the office, even if he’d lost the thread repeatedly. He was utilizing the same idea of tunnels for greenlings now, for who would ever think a pixie would be underground?
Shaking the thought from herself, she let him lead her people back, waiting for the majority to trickle out and leaving only the five who lived in the rooms here.
Squirt stepped out of the shadows to turn back to the den when Puds caught her eye.
Pausing, Squirt stared back at her friend. At the complicated, tangled weave of emotions that made up her face.
Slowly reaching a hand up, Squirt touched her own hair, a slight smirk on one side of her lips, said, “Copycat.”
Quiet as the room was, Puds heard her just fine. The complicated emotions all faded, wiped from her face and leaving only one.
Relief.
Shall I go with you, mother?
Squirt shook her head. No. Go back with them.
Don’t trust the pest?
It’ll be easier to send me a message if something goes wrong.
What could possibly go wrong when you have a divine beast and a demigod watching over a hundred people?
How many times have I been kidnapped?
Amused though he was at her response, he leaned into her slightly, his version of a hug, before trotting off to the tunnel the pest had left behind. Moments later, she watched the bricks shift themselves back into place as if nothing had happened, the mortar unbroken and surface unblemished.
Squirt turned and left into the hallway, the slight upturn of her lips remaining until she reached the den door.