What Will Be | Chapter 68

Author's Notes: Thank you all for your continued support. it means the world to me. For those of you not on my Discord, I have been recently dealing with a bout of tonsillitis that, among other things, caused my uvula to swell up so much that I decided to personify her during one of my fever-induced bouts of delirium. Uvu-chan is slowly dying beneath the onslaught of antibiotics I have been taking, and I finally got this chapter ready to post. I should be back to regular schedule next week and I thank you all for your patience.

“When presented with new evidence, wisdom dictates one should reevaluate their conclusions. Unfortunately, people like their conclusions, they grow attached, and so they fight to protect them in spite of wisdom. This trend is especially common in interpersonal relationships. That is to say, making a poor first impression today was not particularly wise. Please take a seat.”
~Unknown

A fucking duck it was. It was difficult to appreciate the sheer scale of the thing from afar, for while I’d been able to discern that the duck was big, my estimates on the matter did not prepare me for the reality. The fields surrounding our house bordered on inadequate as the feathered behemoth began its final descent, trumpeting another rumbling quack to herald its arrival. I wasn’t sure if duck feathers counted as plumage, as I’d only ever heard the word used in reference to the decorative displays worn by more audacious avians, but the pearlescent feathers covering that duck – most easily larger than I was – were definitely worthy of the term; they practically sparkled as their owner dove towards the ground. 

I’d likened Lionel’s landing to that of a helicopter but the comparison was more fitting in the case of the duck. Despite my former, admittedly largely sedentary, lifestyle I was not unfamiliar with ducks. Rather, I thought that had been the case. When I imagined a landing duck my mind conjured images of one gliding into a body of water, not unlike how a plane touched down on a runway. Ripples would follow in the duck’s wake and the resistance of the water would bring them to a gradual stop whereupon they could forage for bread and cigarette butts and whatever else the local population happened to litter that day. 

We did not have a pond. Even if we did, I doubted it would be large enough to accommodate our newest visitor, who I suspected would need a lake or especially wide river. Without other recourse, the duck ended its descent by buffeting its colossal wings to arrest its momentum until it was practically hovering. It was only then that it gradually lowered to the ground, and I swear I felt the earth rumble from the impact. 

Even though the duck had dominated most of my attention, I was still faintly aware of Bella’s family staring mouth-agape at the continuing cascade of unexpected arrivals. I’d not paid them much mind while the earlier conflict escalated – my priorities laid elsewhere – but it was good to see they were, relatively speaking, okay.

Rosita casually approached Vigil and extracted the large needle from his shoulder - notably, the wound it left did not seem to bleed - while Lionel continued tending to Tulos, the latter having retrieved a roll of bandages from somewhere to quickly apply pressure to his friend’s myriad wounds. With the removal of the needle, the last of the tension left Vigil’s form and he relaxed into whatever unconscious state his mind had escaped to when subjected to Rosita’s Skill.

I noticed that stuff happening, but it was all overshadowed, quite literally, by the duck. It was the size of a hill, and I did not mean that as a metaphor. Whale skeletons in museums and documentaries about dinosaurs had not adequately prepared me to be in the presence of a creature so imposing, one that existed in defiance of what science and logic told me should be possible. Despite living in a world governed by a magical System, the daily minutia of it all often made it easy to forget that the truly wondrous was possible. Evidently, that also included giant fucking ducks. 

The dogs in the kennel must be freaking out.

Honestly, I was unsure why they hadn’t already made an appearance. The wall around the kennel was largely for show, and giant semi-aquatic avian aside, Tina’s screams almost certainly reached them. 

As the duck settled into its landing, it turned its head towards us. Such was its size, that I could clearly see the scrutiny in its gaze. I’d always considered duck eyes to be somewhat beady. I did not consider that duck’s eyes beady. There was a quality about them, something beyond description that spoke of an intelligence I couldn’t quite understand. Something tugged at the edge of my perception, as if the gentle caress of an autumn breeze were encouraging me to seize tomorrow. 

With effortless grace, the duck craned its neck over the gathered party. I almost expected the thing to speak. 

It honestly wouldn’t surprise me at this point. Instead, a man, previously hidden somewhere on the duck’s back, came into view. With hands clasped gently behind his back, he strolled along the feathered bridge provided for him. 

White though his hair may have been, it possessed the same pearlescent quality as the duck’s feathers. I watched him dumbly - we all did. Even Rosita maintained a quiet patience. Once above us, the man simply took a step off the neck and fell to the ground. 

No, to say he fell would be inaccurate. He floated, as if gravity’s grasp were merely tenuous. A gentle sway accompanied his fall, yet not a single, combed hair fell out of place. The satchel he wore remained similarly undisturbed. There was a softness to his features, touched by age rather than ravaged by it. The plumpness of his cheeks and slight crook to his nose probably disqualified him from silver fox status, but I’d honestly never actually read the criteria. 

The gentle smile he wore didn’t fade, even as he surveyed the situation. 

“Goodness, I take it there is some dispute here?” He was soft spoken, but not lacking in confidence. There was no indication the scene of recent violence bothered him, not that I could see, at least. 

“An illegal dispute of Crown Conscription,” Rosita said, her voice touched by casual politeness, as if discussing the weather. There had been no formal exchange of greetings which made me all the more curious as to the man’s identity. 

“Unfortunately uncommon,” he said with a gentle shake of his head. “Even so, this seems excessive.” Behind him, the duck had retracted its neck and busied itself preening the feathers on its back with nips and shakes. 

“With all due respect, that is not for you to judge.” She accompanied the rebuttal with her characteristic, dead-eyed smile.  

“In that, you are correct Ms. Silponyana.” If it bothered him, he didn’t show it. 

“One might ponder the peculiarity that you would abstain from insisting we address you by your illustrious title,” Lionel added, addressing Rosita. To her credit, Rosita did not bite at the obvious bait, instead opting for silence.  

“Let us not be reduced to squabbling children,” the older man gently reprimanded Lionel before once again turning to Rosita. “I do have a bias here, given that little Tina was a student of mine. I would appreciate it if you were more gentle in your dealings with her in the future.” 

Rosita’s mouth formed a tight line, but she nodded. 

“I will do this as a favor to you, Master Aylesbury.” 

“Then it is appreciated. Now, as to why I am here - I have a delivery for you,” the man, Aylesbury, said. Hearing the name aloud tickled my memory, but I couldn’t remember why. 

“... I see.” It was a heavy statement, so devoid of inflection as to send a shiver down my spine.  

“First, however, I must collect my payment. A condition of my taking this job personally was the opportunity to reunite with one of my more spirited pupils. Should she remain incapacitated or should the man she wed die of blood loss I suspect I will be unable to collect. You will pardon the brief delay while I rectify the situation.” He did not wait for an answer and instead made his way over to Lionel and Tulos. 

“Thank you sir, I-” Tulos tried to be polite between a wince but was cut off by Aylesbury. 

“I am aware,” was all he said. “Best not to make her worry. Now, sit still.” Seeing him next to Tulos, I became suddenly cognizant of how short Aylesbury was. Granted, Tulos could dwarf most people, but the effect was particularly pronounced in the case of Aylesbury. I held my hand out for Fudge, who had taken the opportunity to wander back over during the conversation. He kept looking warily back at the duck. 

Aylesbury flipped open his satchel and was quick to retrieve a small, wooden box. 

“You are lucky I carry at least one of these on my person for emergencies,” he chided before opening the container. Even though it was daytime, the orange glow emanating from the contents was noticeable. Without much fanfare, Aylesbury reached in and retrieved a feather that seemed to shift in the light it produced, as if it were a living flame. 

Lionel let out an impressed whistle. 

“You do not see one of those every day,” he said, momentarily slipping out of his usually verbose persona. 

“I would surely hope not, either,” Aylesbury was quick to reply. “Now then, Tina’s husband, count to three.” 

“One-” With a blur of movement, Aylesbury plunged the feather into one of Tulos’ wounds, prompting a scream that bordered on a roar from him. “What did you-” He cut off again as his words transitioned into a grunt of pain. The glow from the feather was emanating from the shallow cut it was shoved into, and I watched wide-eyed as that glow quickly spread through Tulos’ body, illuminating his veins with a flash. Smoke began to drift away from the wounds and they closed over the span of moments. All throughout, Tulos writhed as the living fire coursed through his insides.    

Well, fuck. I’d been swearing a lot that day, but it felt warranted all things considered. 

“Before anyone feels inclined to ask,” Lionel said, “inquiring as to the value of such an item will only induce dread. Suffice to say, thank you for your generosity.” The last part was addressed to Aylesbury who just waved it off. 

“I value my time even higher,” was all he said by way of explanation before walking over to Tina. As he walked, he retrieved what looked to be a metal flask from the satchel. He held it to his ear, gave it a shake, popped it open and gave it a sniff. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded before easily easing Tina into an upright position so as to pour some into her mouth. 

“What are you giving her,” I asked. Aylesebury seemed to like Tina well enough that I felt safe in doing so. 

“We call it ‘The Drink,’” Aylesbury said. “It is for longer flights and journeys. I had to check if I grabbed the spare flask and not my personal one.” I could only guess as to why. 

A pale-faced Tulos struggled to pull himself into an upright position on shaky limbs, keeping his eyes locked on Tina while the mystery contents of the flask were poured into her mouth. When he tried to stand, Lionel placed a firm hand on his shoulder and it was enough to hold him in place.  

Tina’s eyes shot open. Panic seized her. She thrashed, but Aylesbury’s grip was iron. 

“Hush now. It is okay. All is well.” Tina’s wild eyes abruptly returned to focus as she took in the sight of her former teacher. They darted over to Tulos, to Lionel, to Vigil, and finally to me. I couldn’t decipher the rapid morphing of emotions that crossed her face at that moment, but she wordlessly reached out to me and tried to climb to her feet.  

I ran to her before she could, not wanting her to strain herself. Aylesbury did not interrupt when she placed her hands on my cheeks and looked me over. 

“Are you okay, my Will?” The worry in her voice was like a lance to the heart. Despite everything, her first thoughts were of me. 

“I am okay, mom,” I whispered, knowing she would hear. It was as if the question of my wellbeing was the only thing keeping whatever psychological whiplash she’d experienced at bay. She pulled me in close and I felt her body start to shake with barely contained sobs. 

Hatred is an ugly emotion. It twists and convulses with thorned tendrils that burrow into some unseen part of yourself where they burn with rot and fester, slowly denying warmth from everything else. I’d always strived to keep the emotion at bay. Rosita had challenged my conviction that day. Every callous act, every dismissive word, had torn at my resolve. Seeing my mother reduced to tears filled me with a fire that burned away the last of my reservation as I allowed a seed of hatred to take root.  

My head was resting on Tina’s shoulder, and I turned to glare at Rosita while I swelled with anger destined to remain impotent that day. It writhed in my stomach like some living, eldritch thing. My body was practically trembling with emotion that desperately needed to be vented, even through something as simple as a small act of defiance. 

Rosita was already looking in our direction - at me specifically. She saw the pain she’d so casually inflicted. She saw the tableau of a tormented mother and her child. I saw her head tilt ever so slightly as she took in my expression, as if savoring the taste. The bitch smiled. It reached her eyes.