In the Wood

If walls could talk the walls of the Brackerly’s Brews and Bones tavern would be salivating with the sinfully sordid secrets, schemes, and shifty transgressions of its slimy yet steadfast patronage of scoundrels, swindlers, and snakes. A scrumptious meal nor truly satisfying drink could not be offered here, but rest for the restless, discretion for the discretion-less, and wickedness for wickedness' sake could all be found within the walls of the Brackerly’s Brews and Bones tavern. Walls that were all too eager - to listen, to watch, to devour. There was nary a whisper the walls couldn’t catch and pocket. Every word - every action that took place before them - seeped into its cracks like sweet, vile rot that poisoned its foundation but left an endless craving for more. These walls held so much.

Lest it would never be enough, so when the rain began to pelt the roof that fateful night a sense of giddiness sent a shiver through the walls shaking the tavern. It was on nights like these that the varying vermin of the Lost Isle would skitter in seeking shelter from the elements. Thieves, pirates, ruffians, and rogues all converging on one tiny, worn establishment far from the prying eyes of civility. Fodder for a most entertaining night, indeed.

They trickled in like the rain against the smudged window panes. Soon, the bellowed singing and yelling of dazed drunkards bounced off the walls, leaving behind slight remnants of their intoxication. The walls were heady with drink and delight as the ruckus of the night was sure to take its turn into something truly delectable. A brawl, perhaps. Or something far more titillating like the clashing of swords between rival pirates or a truly devastating curse that leaves no one unscathed. They wished for something to sink their teeth into, slurp out all the life it is worth, and leave it for dead. And what was the universe if not a most enthusiastic provider to the ravenously hungry?

She came through the door - a pearl amongst a sea of trash. Draped in a deep blue velvet cloak and coiled in a sweet scent of perfume, the walls creaked as they tried to close in on each other to get a closer look. Dangerous, evaluating gazes fell on her as she waded through the throng of sweaty bodies and tables strewn about the tavern. There was grace in her gait but tenseness in her frame. From the features of her face to the air she carried, there was only one word that encapsulated her completely - delicate. What a dangerous thing to be - how wonderful.

Her path led to the corner of the bar where a man sat in the heaviness of his solitude. He was a rogue known to the walls as Trove. A name, no doubt, earned by his infamous reputation. The walls had heard plenty of whispers about Trove’s unbeatable ability for procuring precious treasures. What great fun, the walls had thought and they held a bated breath for the day he’d show himself here. He strode in on a night much like this one. The walls could not be more thrilled when a lowly pick-pocket with a gruff beard and a habit of being dragged off the tavern floor nightly, elbowed his friend harshly sloshing his beer over the rim of his glass. “Oy, you know who that is?”, he said, pointing his chin to the man who had just entered. His friend grunted in response, wiping at the spilled beer as it soaked through the sleeve of his jacket. “That there is Trove. The one who got Magus his lost loot after the Remor sank. Made a killing, he did. And got Magus’ favor - that there might be worth more.” Giddy with anticipation for what could happen in the presence of such a well-connected, master of adventure the walls turned their attention solely to the man himself. They would have clasped their hands together tightly, directed their ear closer, and gnawed on their bottom lip if they could. Any second now a great spectacle would unfold - a story so spectacular all the poets and authors alike would spend the rest of their lives trying to capture it in words. They waited - and waited and waited.

Each passing minute deflated their hopes and the ragged, wooden boards sagged in disappointment. He sat in a corner to himself, draining mugs of beers one after another. He never swayed or slurred his words or showed any signs of the amusements of intoxication. In fact, his face remained entirely stoic and distant - and boring. When someone approached, he’d send them on their way with just a look or a grunt. A woman had slinked over with a coy smile and flirtatious countenance. He was gruff and firm in his disinterest leaving her to trail away with the stinging red tinge of embarrassment painted on her cheeks. In the coming days, it would be much the same. When someone would come with the beginning of an intriguing business proposal, he would cut them off right at the precipice of something captivating and usher them out of the establishment to continue discussions elsewhere leaving the walls wholly unsatisfied. He was irritatingly obstinate to the charms of bad decision-making and because of it, deprived the walls of the thrill of any legendary lore. Over time, he became a mere ghost. His presence was felt but not acknowledged. If he could not provide them with sustenance then they would find it in the frivolity of others.

Resentment filled the walls like mold, realizing that Trove was once again going to douse the flames of what could’ve been a genuinely scorching marvel of fate’s design with his annoyingly apathetic nature. So rare for a pearl to make its way into a den of iniquity. What an absolute waste. She stopped beside him, facing him fully. He did not even deem to acknowledge her presence. Instead, he remained facing forward, leaning on an elbow against the bar and peeking over the rim of his glass as he sipped its contents. She cleared her throat, requesting attention. “Excuse me, Sir. I require your services.” The bravado in her voice was shaky at best. It countered the soft lilt her voice was so obviously accustomed to most unnaturally.

“Not interested,” he replied. The finality found in his words was what the walls had come to expect and despise. The pearl, however, was not accustomed to it. Or moreover, perhaps it was denial, in general, she lacked experience in. She raised her chin and scrunched her brows.

“I must implore you to, at the very least, listen to my proposal.” His eyes finally found hers - and then her cloak, her silky hair, and the pristine condition of her boots.

“I must implore you to find your way back to your own kind before there’s nothing left to return. You’ve made a dangerous and useless miscalculation by coming here.”

“ I needn’t you to concern yourself with my safety,” she scoffed,” Merely to complete a job. A well paying one, might I add.” The walls' interest couldn’t help but be piqued, though they tried to hold out on hoping as Trove was always quick to dash them.

“Like I said, not interested.” He rose from the stool, dropped a few gold coins on the bar, and turned to leave. The pearl latched onto his arm, stopping him in his tracks. He glared at her but she didn’t loosen her grip. A thrill of surprise reverberated through the walls as they watched the delicate creature counter her nature.

“Does the treasure of Mobadi the Giant not interest you, then?” The tavern shook, swaying from side to side. The patrons would blame it on the storm. Mention of Mobadi left the walls feeling giddy. It seemed to have struck Trove as well. His usually carefully composed demeanor was rattled. He hid the shock from his face and peered to the side, wary of eavesdroppers.

“There is no proof of its existence.”

“I would have thought an experienced treasure hunter like yourself would have a little more faith,” she smirked. “ I assure you, it is real.” He evaluated her with new eyes, scrutinizing every detail.

“Who are you?”

She released her hold on his arm. It was clear to the walls that she was considering her words carefully. “Someone desperate, which considering your line of work is a desirable customer. I am willing to give you quite a generous cut, indeed.”

“Not a star negotiator, are we?”

“I have neither the patience nor the time for negotiations. Are you interested or must I find a hunter with more of a desire to fill their pockets beyond measure?” She quirked one of her brows and crossed her arms. She was challenging him, the walls thought humorously. It was a bluff, to be sure. There wasn’t a single hunter more component than Trove and with a treasure like this one that had mystified its seekers for centuries, he was the one you must have by your side if there was any hope in finding it. Still, the walls had to wonder if they had misjudged the pearl and the fragility of her being.

Trove appeared torn, warring inside himself between the innate nature of those born to be treasure hunters and his carefully constructed habit of avoiding bad decisions. Finally, he sighed.

“We speak of it no more here. Follow me.” Elation filled the walls as they made their way to the door to continue on to what will most definitely prove to be a most trying adventure. Though Trove had again denied them the crescendo of what's undoubtedly a riveting conversation, they took comfort in knowing with certainty that they would return. The walls, for now, would hold onto the elation that comes with knowing more than they should have.

Months went by without an appearance from the pearl or the rogue. Still the walls sat with an unusual amount of patience. They mulled over the brief moment ever so often and rationed it like a beggar did bread. One day they would return and the walls of the Brackerly’s Brews and Bones Tavern would embrace them. It was a particularly slow night. A man dozed in the corner, mumbling every so often about gold and women. The bartender wiped down the bar sheerly out of a lack of other tasks. The walls pleaded desperately to the universe for repast - anything that would fill the empty tavern with even just the smallest of vivacity. And again, the universe could not help but be an eager supplier.

The door of the tavern burst open in a fury of commotion. A man was slumped over the shoulders of a woman wearing a dark cloak and leathers and a man in a dirt-covered shirt. They dragged him forward, bringing him further into the light. Crimson seeped through his vest where it hung in tatters. “Help! We need help!”, the woman screamed, her voice filled with gravel. The two hauled his body to a long table and clumsily laid him against it on his back. The dozing man was now alert - albeit disoriented - and the bartender rushed around the bar. “We need towels, alcohol, thread, and a needle now!” The woman turned to the bartender, her eyes frantic. It was only at this moment that the walls recognized her. It was the pearl, except now she was sharp edges, dirty fingernails, disarrayed hair, and on the edge of distress. How glorious. And it only became more so when it became clear the man on the table, feeble and dying, was Trove.

“You can’t do this here. You need to leave,” the bartender said. The pearl grabbed onto the woman’s arm, twisted it behind her back, and pushed a knife against the skin of her neck.

“Get us what we need or, I swear to God, today will be your last.” There was a wildness that inhabited her that was nowhere to be found in the months prior. It electrified the walls. What happened to you while you were away?

“I’d listen to her,” the man who had accompanied them said. He held pressure against Trove’s wound. The pearl pushed the knife slightly deeper drawing out a single bead of blood.

“Okay! I’ll do what you want!” She released her roughly. The woman scampered off to the back room. The pearl returned to Trove’s side, placing an ear against his chest. “ I don’t hear a heartbeat.” Her voice quivered with panic.

“It is just faint. He is still with us,” he assured her, “He passed out from the pain and blood loss.” The walls watched as she brushed the hair from his face and gently took his hand. They took note of the tear tracks on her face and the careful way she examined him. It was clear now. Somewhere among the lost months, something had shifted. Maybe it started with accidental touches, begrudging trust, and the accidental way people tend to fall into understanding one another. However love chose to blossom and endure, it was there. What an intriguing twist. The walls didn’t know what to hope for - a raw deal of fate tearing apart two lovers or a rare glimmer of mercy granted by destiny for two lovers to defy the odds of cruelty in an unforgiving world. The bartender returned with the supplies. Their companion attended to the wound - cleaning it, stitching it, and bandaging it - while the pearl stayed dutifully by Trove’s side. At some point, she dozed off, head resting against the table and her hand still in his as they waited for him to wake.

Finally, he did. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light. He took stock of the room, no doubt getting his bearings in case of danger. He let them fall to the small frame still bent over the table, sleeping. He brought his hand gently to her face, brushing his thumb against her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered open. “You’re awake!” she said, relief bringing back some of the color to her face. “ Jordy he’s awake!” Their companion, Jordy, looked up from the leather-bound book he was musing over. A smile lit up his face as he rushed over to the table.

“Well look who’s back from the dead,” he said. Trove let out a small laugh that turned into a cough. The pearl and Jordy each grabbed an arm helping him to sit up. She threw her arms around him, pulling him into a desperate hug. His arms snaked around her back. Fresh tears brimmed at the edge of her eyes. She pulled back, resting her forehead against his.

“What are the odds you never do that again?’, She asked. He smiled, shrugging.

“Occupational hazard.” She smiled.

“I thought you’d say that.” She cradled his face in her hands and brought her lips to his. It was a tender kiss, almost too fragile to lay eyes upon. They pulled apart and Trove turned to Jordy.

“What have you learned?” Jordy opened the leather book he was holding.

“Mobadi was careful about revealing its whereabouts, even in his diary.” The walls’ ears perked at this. They were still embroiled in their quest. The walls were elated. “All he specifies is that he hid it in the place where the dead live on and it lies along the path home.”

“That would be the path between Mordal Island and here, on the Lost Isle,” Trove stated.

“ But surely we would have heard of such a place. It’s not as if the dead living could go unnoticed,” The pearl responded, confusion wrinkling the space between her brows.

“We’re missing something,” Trove mused. The pearl glanced at Trove, taking in his pale face and injured torso. She took his hand once more, drawing his attention to her.

“Maybe this is where we end our journey. The Machiators must be well on their way to finding us and we barely made it out the last time.”

“ No. Your freedom is on the line,” Trove said firmly.

“My freedom,” The pearl pleaded, “means nothing if we are dead.” Trove cups her face with one hand.

“We have come too far to turn back now. We have the diary, which means we have the advantage. We will succeed.” Her face softened under his determined gaze. She nodded.

“ Are you able to stand?” Jordy asked.

“Yes, let’s move.” Trove rose from the table. The group gathered their packs and left the tavern with a restored sense of determination. What a delightfully unexpected treat on a dreadfully boring day, the walls thought. Their appetite was sated for now and they would return to the patient but assured waiting of their next return. There was humor that bubbled underneath the wood of the tavern - one that resembled a child’s eagerness to divulge a secret.

The wait was not nearly as long as the first one. This time, inexplicably, the walls could sense their approach before they entered. The walls hummed. “Welcome home,” they hissed through creaks and groans in the wood. Trove pushed open the door. It was another slow night. The walls wondered if this was again fate offering a hand. No one occupied the tavern tonight. Even the barmaid had abandoned her usual station to sneak away with her lover. It was a slow night, after all.

The pearl trailed behind Trove. Jordy was nowhere to be found. It felt as if they were walking in for the first time. Their gazes wandered hungrily over every inch of the tavern. It was a gaze the walls knew all too well. “We know you’re listening,” the pearl said, her voice echoing through the emptiness and bouncing off the walls.

“ All this time,” Trove spoke under his breath. The pearl moved to one side of the tavern trailing her fingers against the worn wood. It sent a tingling through the walls.

“When we realized Mobadi’s words weren’t literal, we went to the archives. People live forever in history, you see.” The pearl removed her hand from the walls and inspected the dust n her fingertips. “It was jordi’s idea, smart boy,” she whispered, a sad ache in her tone. “The last thing he ever did was put this book in my hand.” She held a small book stained with blood. The printed title read “The Tale of Remembrance Wood.” The pearl looked back to the walls of the tavern. “It all leads back here.” The walls groaned and swayed and cracked. Once mighty, soaring trees - trusted historians to the wood nymphs - now the battered, wooden planks of the Brackerly’s Brews and Bones Tavern. Every secret, every scheme, every story filled the walls like rot. Trove raised an axe to the wood at the tavern's center and struck. The walls creaked in agony and delight. It ate every story - every memory. He pulled back, whacking at it again. It hungered for more and more. Whack. It would never be enough. Whack. The appetite was eternal. Whack. Thud. The axe was met with resistance. Beyond the flying dust and haggard hole in the wood, sat a gilded treasure chest. Elation filled the walls. For they were more than the keeper of history and secrets - they were their own secret. These walls held so much.