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Posted on January 5, 2018 at 03:12:02 AM by sperantia
Sperantia
Nobody noticed another semi-wild cat in the Alhambra, even one which could talk. Sperantia had passed half a dozen on of them on her way to the Nasrid Palaces, lounging in the sun or prowling round the gardens. Even if someone did hear her talk, it didn’t matter. An adult would shake it off, a child’s imagination would soar, and neither would be believed by the world at large. Sperantia wasn’t sure what kind of response she expected to hear from the Warbird; there had been no thought at all to her outburst. It was the equivalent of screaming into a pillow. She felt better, certainly – calmer than she’d been in months – but releasing the built-up pressure came with a few unexpected side-effects, not least a grim sense of shame. Not, Sperantia told herself, because she gave a damn about offloading anything into Croe, but rather because outbursts of rage were so distant from the character she prided herself on having. Sperantia was calm, measured, efficient. She was the order to Mallos’ chaos; the one who reined in his passionate, hyperactive absurdity, not the one who succumbed to it. At the time, Sperantia had no expectations; later, she would be able to what she would have expected, and contemplate them with further shame. If she clung rigidly to her dastardly model of Croe the Warbird, she might have expected laughter or perhaps an evil smirk. A kinder version of her mental image of Croe might have ignored her, brushed her off or snapped at her for being ridiculous. At best, she would have offered some empty there, there. What Sperantia would never have expected was for her to get down onto her level and provide real, meaningful comfort. She stirred, unfolding her tail and pricking her ears in spite of herself to listen better. Nothing Croe said was hollow or could really be argued against; her assessment of Mallos’ character was kinder than Sperantia’s, but not inaccurate. It had taken Sperantia years to build up that level of understanding of him. It occurred to the cat for the first time that, perhaps, having a romantic partner who understood him wasn’t the worst thing in the world for her fairy. Before she had any opportunity to consider a response, the supervisors were calling for the tourists with their timeslot. Sperantia unfurled herself and stood silently, shelving the conversation until later when she’d have a chance to process it properly. For now, they had a job to do. She let Croe go in ahead, waiting until the mass of people was larger, and slipped inside when the guards were looking the other way. In here, they largely stuck together. Croe searched the walls, doors, ceilings, looking for any sign of Gwythr’s presence, while Sperantia roamed the floor. If Mallos were under here she should be able to feel him, unless… a terrible thought struck. What if he’s deep underground? So deep that I couldn’t feel him from the surface? She had to cast the thought away. It was unlikely and, in any case, there was nothing she could do about it if it were true. They moved through the different parts of the Mexuar and the Comares Palace, unhindered by gaping tourists who were two busy listening to their audiotapes and taking photographs on their phones to pay any attention to a spy and a cat on a mission. As they left Comares Tower and came out into the Court of the Myrtles, Sperantia’s anxiety started to climb again. What if he wasn’t here, and they had to keep looking forever? What if he was here and they were looking forever and never found him because they’d passed him by? What if he never got out of this prison of endless blackness? She stopped in her tracks, heart hammering. Where had that come from? Swallowing, trying to rein in her feelings, Sperantia sat down and dissected them. All of them were logical, if unhelpfully amplified: despair, desperation, fear. She closed her eyes, delving deeper. Despair for her loss and the fruitlessness of their search so far, desperation as each second ticks by with no lead, fear that she’d never be found, and have to spend another thousand years in this pit of hell… Got you. He was faint, but he was there. He may have been there earlier, mirroring or driving her own feelings. Sperantia opened her eyes and spun around, trying to get a sense of where the feelings were getting stronger. Did her anxiety increase if she pointed in a different direction, or stepped a little over there? She paced up and down a couple of times, breaking it down, identifying where the negativity was most acute. That way. Wordlessly, Sperantia caught Croe’s eye and communicated everything with a look. She turned away from the Comares Tower and strode past the pond, pausing at the end of it to pace around again, searching for where the signal was strongest. Progress was still frustratingly slow, but at least they finally had a solid clue. A tiny flame of hope lit in Sperantia’s chest, helping to distinguish her own feelings from Mallos’. By the time they left the palacio de nazaires and entered the Partal Gardens, increased confidence had leant speed to her step. Without needing to stop and pace, Sperantia turned to the direction of the goldfish pond, past the Torre de las Damas.Just beyond the latter, a smaller, less imposing building which may have once served as a gazebo sat, its comparative simplicity causing the tourists’ eyes to pass over it. Sperantia paused at the door, ears pricked forward. A voice, tense, pained and blissfully familiar, sounded in the back of her mind. ‘Sperantia?’ ‘We’re coming for you.’ She projected the thought with more assertiveness, more hope than she’d felt in days. ‘We’re coming.’ | |
Replies:
- may the bridges I’ve burned light my way [m] - By Nepenthe // Croe January 7, 2018 at 05:08:21 AM
- the dark side of the sun. - By mallos January 7, 2018 at 10:07:18 PM
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