Fiction: Border Crossing Part III

                                                                III

The Manticore’s eyes burned with mad ferocity, His all-too-human face was empty of any expression apart from raw, vacant hunger. The monster’s gaping maw hung slack and slathering revealing rows of sharklike teeth within. Ribs protruded from his gaunt lion body. The beast’s ragged panting echoed across the barren rocks and gnawed bones of his lair. His breath was fetid and foul smelling. From the hair of his matted threadbare mane to the poison dripping tip of his scorpion tail, the manticore was a creature of anger hunger and want. He was quite possibly the most terrifying thing Connor had ever seen

Alba’s hand drifted carefully towards her blade’s hilt. With infinite care she drew the sword from its scabbard.  To Connor’s shock, she deliberately set the weapon down beside her. She began to croon softly to the ravening beast in Russian. Connor didn’t understand the words but the tone was unmistakably gentle and even affectionate, as if coaxing a frightened child. The manticore rocked uncertainly for a moment on its haunches, the chitinous, segmented tail cocking like a squirrel’s. He lurched to his feet and began padding towards them.

“What the hell are you doing?” hissed Connor in panic “Don’t call it!”
                “Shut up and let me concentrate,” she rebuked without changing tone or looking away “watch!”

At first Connor thought he must be hallucinating. The Manticore appeared to be walking forward without moving. Then he realized that it was shrinking as it came nearer.

“How are you doing that?” He gasped

Alba scratched the ears of the rust colored cat that stood in the manticore’s place.

“It wasn’t me,” she told him “the enchantment is the Light Queen’s”

The cat purred appreciatively at Connor’s caress. Connor laughed with relief.

“It was a harmless cat all along?” he chuckled, incredulous.

“It would be more accurate to say he’s still a manticore” sniffed Alba. Connor hastily withdrew his hand. The cat butted his leg affectionately.  

“Wait, What? How?” Connor demanded

Alba sighed wearily.

“It’s all about perception”, she explained as she absentmindedly stroked the animal. “If we had fled, he would have chased and devoured us. Had we fought, we would have been faced with an invincible foe.  He reacts to the way he is treated. The Queen loves enchantments like this. It’s her style”

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The tiny tailor cast an appraising eye over his handiwork. His push-broom mustache twitched.

“That will do nicely” He concluded

“I’m not wearing this, I look like a clown!” groused Connor.

“You must dress not to draw attention to yourself on the Other Side, Sir”, the tailor chided. He reminded Connor of his neighbor’s geriatric terrier. “this way you will not draw attention to yourself”.

Connor gazed at his own reflection. He couldn’t imagine any situation where this outfit wouldn’t stand out

“I want to see!” Alba’ voice demanded. The dressing room door burst open. Connor had never seen anyone actually fall over laughing before.

“No! Absolutely not!” She wheezed with mirth.

“All the Bards of the realm dress in this fashion, Lady”. The tailor’s watery eyes were full of reproach.

“No they do not” she fired back, still giggling. “How do you expect him to walk all the way to the Queen’s court in those stupid curly toed shoes? Get him a decent pair of boots, for heaven’s sake! While you’re back there, put that quilt he’s wearing back on your bed and get a travelling cloak that isn’t made of patchwork. Brown or gray would be best.”

The spindly tailor drew himself up with dignity.

“As the Lady wishes, but how will people know the gentleman is a bard?”

“He’s not a bard, he’s just a musician” Alba corrected “If it comes to that he can tell them. Now go get a more practical cloak and boots. I need to change.”

“Wait a minute, what about the hat?” Connor demanded pointing at the gigantic black floppy creation with it’s yard long maroon feather.

“That, we’re keeping” Alba grinned wickedly and disappeared into the next stall. The tailor bowed formally before vanishing into the back room in a cloud of unhappy muttering. 

“If anyone asks, we’re on our way to a costume party right?” she reminded him from the other side of the wall.

“Won’t that sword in your garment bag be a problem?” he asked

“It was made in the Realm. Most people on our side can’t see it. Also, unlike most metal it can be carried over the border. You remembered not to bring anything metal right?”

“Just my mandolin strings. You said that was okay. Will I need a weapon?”

“You don’t know how to use one, so no”, her accurate diagnosis was muffled by a rustle of fabric Instrument strings are fine as long as they aren’t iron”

“Why do I need the mandolin in the first place?” The tailor re emerged and began to make the changes to Connor’s costume.

“It’s custom to bring a gift to court. The Queen likes music. You’ll play for her.”  Alba’s voice explained.  Connor glanced back into the mirror. He had to admit the new boots and cloak were an improvement.  The door swung open again.

“How do I look?” Alba twirled in front of him. She looked as though she had just stepped off of a decorative beer stein and was about to start yodeling. Connor had never seen anyone looking less like a warrior.

“Fine” he told her gruffly. The tailor obviously didn’t feel this was sufficient.

“Your Ladyship looks very fetching. If I may advise, though, the fashion is to wear one’s hair loose these days.”

Alba patted her tight French braids

“It’s out of the way like this.” she decided after a second of inspecting her reflection. The tailor produced two carved wooden lockets from his vest pocket. She placed one around her own neck before putting one on Connor.

“What’s this?” he asked

“Soil from here. It’ll keep you grounded”

“Seriously?”

Alba nodded. 

“Time moves differently across the border. You never know if you’ll come back five minutes after you left, or a hundred years. If you carry a bit of earth from your side with you, it keeps the connection stronger. You won’t lose more than a year with this on. Now let’s get moving. We have a long way to go.

As they left Alba pressed a few large golden coins into the tailor’s palm. He made one more valiant attempt to place the hat on Connor’s head.

“I’m not wearing that! She was joking!” Connor protested, ducking out the door.