BLUEMANTLE by Karen Langston (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📕

The three Troubadours looked to each other, a common recognition forming between them.

The notion of departure had been raised before, but only ever as a flight of fancy. They had never regarded it a viable option because they had each believed it inconceivable. Now, with the luxury of choice removed, the idea took form, became solid, turned into necessity. Their minds rallied in new and different directions, connected by a single thread that drew them to the same conclusion.

It was Pale Dexter who spoke first. “Would we leave together?”

“That would be my preference,” said Bend Sinister. “Our differences aside, we have shared our lives for two hundred years. You are my family. Our Scene is my home. Those fundamentals are noncontingent upon place. However, it is for each of you to decide. You are free to make your own way in the world, just as we did in the centuries before we found Wydeye and each other.”

Chief and Pale Dexter remained silent, gently handling the option, feeling its weight, the shape of its contours.

Chief turned to Bend Sinister and said, “I am with you.”

Bend Sinister bowed gracefully towards Chief. They both turned to Pale Dexter.

Pale Dexter nodded gravely. “As am I.”

They stepped forward and placed their hands on each other’s shoulders in spontaneous ceremony, forming a union. They held the moment, each struggling to conceive what had, for so long, felt beyond hope. Elsewhere.

Eventually, they broke away.

“With that decision made,” said Bend Sinister, “I suggest we formulate a plan for our departure.”

“Let us summon our players,” said Pale Dexter. “Between us all, we can explore our options and agree upon the detail.”

Bend Sinister smiled. “A good idea. Let us call them forth.” He hesitated, then added, “However, before we do, there is something I must share with you.”

“Please do,” said Pale Dexter, intrigued.

Chief stood beside him, her cobalt eyes bright in the half-light.

“Last night, in the moment before the Authority’s arrival, I saw a man in my cave. He emerged from one of our escape runs, dressed in military uniform. I thought then that we had been raided, but I was wrong. He stood there, watching me, listening. The instant I saw his face, I knew.” He paused, looking at his expectant comrades. “It was our lost drummer.”

“It can’t have been,” said Chief.

“You must have been mistaken. A trick of the light,” offered Pale Dexter.

“I swear on the lives of every one of my players, I was not deceived. I know with all certainty that it was he. Twenty-six years it has been since he was taken from us. Whilst I held out hope for many years, I have long since feared him gone. My players and I have never stopped grieving his passing. And now, in such strange circumstances and in such alarming attire, he has returned.”

“Did he know you saw him?” asked Chief.

“I believe so. But the moment was so very brief. An instant later, the Authority came crashing into the cave. There was no time to call out to him, to take him with us.”

“Do your players know?” asked Pale Dexter.

“Not yet. I felt obliged to inform you both first. I appreciate the apparent risk. I need to know that you trust my certainty before I tell them. But tell them I must. He is their brother, after all. Do I have your blessing?”

Chief pulled at one of her silver dreads, absorbing the revelation.

Pale Dexter stepped in to fill her hesitation. “No matter the circumstance, if he were one of my players, I would know it. There would be no doubt.” He bowed his head. “You have my blessing.”

Chief studied Pale Dexter’s face and slowly nodded. “Yes, you are right. As would I. I have absolute faith that I would.” She turned to Bend Sinister. “Forgive my hesitation. I, too, grant you my blessing. This is wonderful news.”

Bend Sinister’s face lit up in a rare expression of joy. “Yes, it is wonderful indeed.” Then the light dimmed. “Although, I don’t know where that leaves us. Without knowing where he is and with no means to contact him, there is little I can do.”

“He knows where you are,” said Pale Dexter. “He will come back to find you.”

“Yes. He will. You are right. I just hope he does so soon. With our decision to leave now firmly made, and the threat of the Authority returning to hunt us down, time is against us. I will not ask you to wait for him and put the lives of your own players at risk.” His eyes turned dark, his voice strained. “After all this time, he returns to me. Yet he remains out of reach. Twenty-six years gone. And all he has left is a matter of days, or even hours, to make it home.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dent Lore ran the Nanso Trail, as he had done every day for as long as he could remember. Reaching the track’s summit, a limestone plateau at the foot of the Nanso Heights, he stopped to catch his breath. Ordinarily he would marvel at the view; Wydeye appeared so peaceful and welcoming from this very distant, distorted perspective. This time, however, his eyes were trained on the ground beneath his feet, his thoughts lost in what lay hidden below.

Had a part of me known? he thought, wondering if there had been another lure that had drawn him, daily, to the Heights. Can I feel it now?

He sat on a rock and closed his eyes, a warm breeze touching the cheek that bore the mark of old. Bewildered, he felt dislocated, his true self trapped in the body of a doppelganger. Unanswered questions tormented him, triggering ever more in their wake. All he knew for certain was that he had known the man and the music. Bend Sinister. Not mere association, or some past acquaintance. This was something much stronger: a bond reawakened the moment he saw him. This is who I really am, he thought,