Barnaby the Wanderer: Being the astonishing adventures of a widow’s son journeying the Land of Saints, with a magic cat, a dark ghost and the map of a cursed tower; and all that became thereof. by Raymond St. Elmo

Author:Raymond St. Elmo [Elmo, Raymond St.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Elmo Literary Labs
Published: 2023-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 2: In Which Bodkin Vows to Turn Over a New Leaf

Ptolemy, oldest and greatest of the bells atop the Church of Resurrection, tolled slow and solemn as a bronze heart beating. At the sixth strike Val came half awake. Out the corner of one eye she spied someone upon the floor beside her cot. A shimmering, golden glow of a girl, head thrown back in silent song. At the twelfth toll of the bell, Val came fully awake. She sat up. No girl now upon the floor. Only the harp, resting quiet as any inanimate object.

Val threw aside her blanket. Reached for pants, for shirt; last for the harp.

She sat awhile, tracing a finger along the gilded frame. It shimmered in the light of the room’s single candle. The pillar of the harp held the form of a young woman, face tilting upwards, smiling. Small breasts bare, body tapering at the waist into scales and a fishtail that merged into the soundboard.

A mermaid of the southern isles, thought Val. She caressed the strings, savoring how the soft crystal chime seemed a voice, singing soft as surf on a quiet shore.

More than once, when she’d looked at the harp sideways, she’d spied the faint form of the girl. Arms about knees, head thrown back, singing to the sky. And when Val played, she knew the harp itself added to the tune.

Well, any bard could sing of special objects that housed some spirit. Harps and swords, shields and mirrors so wondrously crafted they held life within.

“I know you’re in there,” she whispered to the harp. “Don’t be shy.”

In reply the strings thrummed, just faintly.

“Would you like a name? I can’t just call you ‘harp’.”

Again the faint thrum, hum.

“Good,” said Val. She perused her bardic knowledge. Seeking a name to do with the sea, and with song.

“Thelxipea,” she decided. “She’s a sea maiden, and her name means ‘Charming song’. That please you?”

In reply the strings twanged entirely upon their own. A quick light tumble of happy notes.

“I’ll take that for ‘yes’. Thelxipea, then.”

Val stood, harp in hand, tiptoeing to the door. Pushing aside the bar, stepping into the hall. A lantern upon a table cast weak light, strong shadow. She listened. Beyond the other doors she heard sounds, quiet conversations. Midnight, and all the Benefactors were supposed to be resting. Tomorrow they’d be leaving Persephone, taking the river road north. Beginning the grand adventure.

Val tiptoed down the stairs, through a dark corridor into the common room. A low fire burned in the hearth. Before it sat a figure cross-legged, gazing into the flames. He did not turn at her entrance.

Val took a chair some distance away. Studying Barnaby. Fresh shaven, hair combed, leather armor put aside for simple shirt. No longer the wild man swinging an axe in a graveyard.

There’s the dreamer again, thought Val. The boy from old tales who stares into the embers while the practical world laughs at his foolish soul.

Val took Thelxipea, strummed. The notes sifted softly together,

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