Page 8
They both stood over the body in the main hall. The cheery morning peeking through the dusty windows and fighting its way through gauze-like curtains made it seem a happy event. But it was very much NOT.
Within moments, Atlas was on their knees rifling through the pockets, elbow deep in some and turning others inside out.
Harlow was only slightly panicking, the pinpricks of her feet going numb had gone away but the nausea was joined by a rise of her own blood pressure.
“Atlas… what are you doing? You’re not supposed to touch the body…”
“That’s ridiculous. How would I find anything out without touching the body? It’s not like it can feel anything...”
Atlas poked a slender finger with much vigor against the man’s chest. “See? It’s fine.”
She could help search the body, yes, but not laying a finger on anything was likely the best course of action.
She’d leave no evidence on him to tie herself in any way.
It was preservation time.
The game was still afoot, and sometimes to win the game, you need to skip your turn, and this was one of those moments.
She busied her hands with picking out any dirt that would be hiding there.
It may have come off as nervous energy and she really hoped it did.
There was a body here of course, and as far as her record and Atlas knew, she’d never really seen a body before.
Then Atlas pulled their hand out of a deep pocket to retrieve a handful of small objects: a charged power crystal, a few feathers (likely for enchanted pockets, which made Harlow question if she was the only thief not using such pockets before her wizard training), and a gold coin.
She knew what it was as she had an identical one rolling around in one of her own pockets.
A Thieves’ Guild coin.
Various guild member coins from provided different things.
In general, they were used as proof of membership and being in good standing.
Other uses were that if anybody with a coin was found, one could call a guild to retrieve the body so that it could be processed in the way the individual had registered. If there were any bounties, whomever brought the body and the coin could retrieve any funds that way. With her guild, you could also bring the coin to the guild and declare compensation for whatever tomfoolery the holder was in the middle of. (One could also use it to declare familial nemesis status, but that was few and far between even for the Thieves’ Guild).
Atlas flipped the coin back and forth and a tsk escaped their lips, but they said nothing so Harlow pursued: “A guild coin?”
“It would seem so… Thieves’ Guild.”
“Is this something we should expect often?”
“As long as there are humans, there will be wanting.”
Ah, so they’re just assuming thievery but not upfront murder. Which she would agree. If you wanted to take out a Spellsaven, Thieves’ Guild or not, it’d likely be carried out by another Spellsaven.
“So, no one is going to come kill us in our sleep?”
Atlas laughed. Actually laughed when there was a dead body of a Thieves’ Guild member right there. Clearly there was some kind of access as they got this far. The idea wasn’t that farfetched! But still they laughed!
“…I don’t think it’s all that farfetched…”
Harlow crossed her arms across her chest.
Atlas stood, pocketed the items quickly and placed them on their narrow hips. “Oh, pushed a nerve, have I?”
Atlas winked flirtatiously at Harlow.
Without meaning to, a flush crossed her cheeks. “Well, they’re here, aren’t they? It’s not so strange to think that a rogue might be able to break into a home, even a Spellsaven’s home,”
she huffed.
“Oh, is it now?”
Atlas took a few steps toward her and leaned in close enough to see into the depths of her irises but not before their eyes looked over her with a quirky smirk. “And if it happens again, will you save me?”
Usually when so close to someone she’d been attracted to, her heart would speed up and she’d flush brightly. But with Atlas this near and them gazing towards her, she found her body took in deep breaths, drawing in the scent of tea spices they ground every morning and of campfire smoke that usually came from their spellcasting. Atlas had given her their undivided attention and Harlow was getting drunk off it. How long could they stay like this together? How long would Harlow lean closer as if pulled by an orbiting star wanting to taste someone as bright and burning like Atlas?
The pause was long enough unanswered that Atlas clicked their tongue and smirked before turning back to the body. Their hands were back on their hips and only then did Harlow realize her missed opportunity. Would she try to save them? Yes, definitely. Regardless of attraction, you could still save someone AND steal from them. Actually, she highly recommended it. Should she say it now? No, the moment had passed.
Instead, she leaned to the side to peer at the body from around Atlas’ shoulders.
“I’ve never seen him before, I’m sure of it. Do you recognize him from anywhere, by chance?”
Atlas seemed puzzled as they moved their mouth from side to side.
Harlow stepped around them to get a better look at Copperkelly. She was just beside Atlas, close enough to where her body basically screamed at her, YOU ARE INTO THIS PERSON, LIKE A LOT, and here she was now, ready to lie to them about something incredibly important. Perhaps this was karma for all the lies in her past that came with her profession.
“No,”
She was going to continue but then remembered the fewer words the better, as unless you could lie by telling the truth, every extra word was another way for someone to examine your misstep.
As Atlas nodded in response, the floor beneath her began to rumble and Harlow quickly pressed her back against the hallway wall. Atlas stood where they were but glared down at the floorboards.
The boards were not only rumbling but they were buckling up and down and moving from side to side in waves. The whole hallway had enough motion that chairs, side tables and the like began to surf down.
Clinging to a sconce on the wall, Harlow shouted, “What’s happening?!”
“It’s upset!”
Atlas shouted.
“What the hell do you mean, it’s upset?!”
A house throwing a tantrum surely was a new one.
The floorboards yawned beneath the body and Copperkelly slipped into the void beneath the hardwood.
“What the fuck?!”
Harlow screamed.
“Calm down!”
Atlas shouted but was not at all looking at her. Instead, they held their palms out as they struggled against the floor in motion.
“HOW CAN I CALM DOWN?”
She was offended. No one liked to be told to calm down and surely not during a crisis where a house was falling down or rearranging or whatever the hell it was doing around them.
“Not you, Harlow, the house.”
They weren’t dismissive but Atlas’ attention was clearly elsewhere by the way they were frantically looking across hallways, upstairs, and down between the shifting floorboards.
“AND TELLING THE HOUSE TO CALM DOWN IS SUPPOSED TO WORK?”
Normally not one to shout, Harlow was surely exercising the breadth of her lungs now.
“It usually does…”
Atlas’ face reeked of confusion: a brow uplifted, mouth slightly open and the “what-the-fuckery”
loud and clear.
As she argued, Harlow almost didn’t notice the sconce getting sucked into the damask wallpaper and she quickly retrieved her hand and held it instinctually against her chest.
“WHAT THE HELL? WHAT DO WE DO?”
Harlow was becoming one with the screaming. This was her life now. If she were to survive this, she believed her voice would be stuck this way.
“Find out what pissed it off and go from there…”
Atlas, still calm, spoke it like they were referring to people in general, not renegade mansions.
Could the house have known she lied? That she knew the intruder, and this was why it was acting this way? Absolutely not, that just had to be horrible timing.
“I have no idea…”
As she spoke the words, the floorboards heaved high and low, flinging her off the wall and into Atlas. Atlas wrapped one arm around her to hold her close and the other cradled her head as the House threw them down the hall and towards the back stairs – which were now a ramp, no stairs, and they tumbled outside, off the back covered patio and onto the dirt patch that was the backyard. As if to accentuate its point, the house threw open all its doors and windows and slammed them closed. The ramp was disassembled, and no stairs reformed.
Still in Atlas’s arms, Harlow peeked out. “Is it safe now?”
Atlas leaned them both up and gently removed her hands from covering her face. They peeked around her, checking for injuries. “More or less.”
They brushed the hair that had fallen out of her braid behind her ears and with a corner of their shirt, they brushed off a smudge of dirt. “Are you OK?”
Harlow, unsure of what to make of it all, did a check-in with herself and didn’t feel anything. This was a concern in and of itself but she wasn’t about to say anything to the Spellsaven. Sometimes there was a point when shit hit the fan where you sort of turned off.
Atlas bounded up the ledge of the porch and crossed the patio to attempt to open the door. It didn’t move.
“Come on, open up, it’s me,”
they cooed.
The house stood still.
“Ah, the silent treatment, hmm?”
Atlas chuckled, playing off the seriousness.
All the lights within the house were extinguished and there was a tremor in the porch, a warning.
“Alright, alright. Fine.”
Atlas’s hands were up and held out to the house. They slowly backed up, not turning their back on House, and with each step back, they tested the ground behind them with a few rapid toe taps.
Atlas returned to Harlow, helping her up, and as she noticed still held her hand after she stood.
“What do we do?”
Harlow’s lips were forming the question but her mind was only thinking one thing: Is this why all of the Daggerroot apprentices fled, died, or straight up disappeared? She gulped.
“Unless we can find out what happened to make House so upset and apologize…”
Atlas shrugged.
Harlow thought for a moment, she couldn’t risk it. How the house would have known she knew the thief was beyond her. Besides, the house was very much alive in its own way. If she admitted she knew them and where from, she’d have to say goodbye to finding the vault, let alone getting out of the house with it. Harlow shook her head.
“Then we have to get something from the garden.”
As Atlas spoke these words, their lip turned up and their eyes narrowed out further into the yard. “Come now.”
Atlas squeezed her hands before letting go and head back further into the property closer to the forest line.
Harlow followed. “So this has happened before?”
“Only once. We had gotten into an argument.”
Atlas dropped her hand to count on their fingers.
“…What did you argue about?”
The depth of just what or who Daggerroot Manor was, was growing more impressive to her.
“I wanted to keep the place a little cleaner and House was a bit unsure but I cast a large cleaning spell anyway. House tossed me out, and rightfully so. I had gone against its trust and didn’t allow it to process, so I earned that.”
Atlas spoke sheepishly.
“And you apologized, and it let you back in?”
The end of her question picked up in tone with hope.
“No, not right away. I apologized, yes, but House needed time to process. And then it let me back in… two weeks later.”
Atlas said this so matter-of-factly.
Harlow stopped in her tracks. Two weeks? What was she going to do for two weeks if the house even did let her back in? She shook her head.
“So what’s in the garden?”
She glanced quickly around the garden for answers.
“A special doorknob that I think House will like,”
Atlas whispered like it was a little secret between the two of them.
“And if we present it to House, it’ll let us back in?”
she asked.
“Oh, probably not?”
Atlas’ statement actually ended with implication of a question and Harlow rolled her eyes.
Harlow already felt more exhausted. “Then why are we doing it?”
“Because I should have given it to House earlier. Giving gifts as an apology is just manipulation. Giving a gift after reflection, now that might mean something. But we’ll have to be sincere and allow House its space. And then we’ll open some dialogue. The doorknob…”
Atlas hardly took a breath while speaking.
Atlas stopped while they were walking and turned to Harlow with their head tilted as they tried to explain, “The doorknob is a physical example to show we’re ready to listen when it’s ready to talk.”
Atlas began to nod to themself as they spoke. “We’ll put it on the porch and still leave the house alone.”
They continued to walk.
“An olive branch, if you will…”
Harlow was catching on.
“Yes, yes, a branch of a fruiting tree… but… without all that plant nonsense.”
Atlas spoke over their shoulder.
“So, the knob is in the garden…”
“The greenhouse,”
Atlas corrected.
“And by the looks of it, you really don’t wanna go there.”
She winced, not wanting to acknowledge it but with the levity of them approaching it, Harlow knew firsthand that partners in a situation need to be clean with each other. Or someone could get hurt, left behind, and so forth.
“I certainly do not.”
Atlas’s face soured.
“But why is that?”
“Because it’s my worst nightmare,”
Atlas replied, shuddering.
They followed the dirt path which gradually led to grass and then she noticed a stone wall with an iron gate. From over the top of the wall, vines cascaded down and stretched up and over. Tall plants with large leaves peered over the top.
As they approached the gate, there was a hardy lock, and Harlow’s eyes went wide… she begged inside for Atlas to allow her to open it. But Atlas produced a key, unlocked it quickly and pulled the chain out, flinging it off to the side behind them.
Atlas was quiet and their breaths began deep and full. She recognized the breathing technique. They were truly uncomfortable with setting foot in this area. It wasn’t a ruse or a funny quirk. Atlas truly did not like plants. Harlow’s instinct was to tell them to stay back and let her get the doorknob, but she didn’t know the layout or where the greenhouse even was. Getting a doorknob, that was something she could do. Something she was perfectly capable of. Some might even say perfectly in her wheelhouse… greenhouse. She could work in the “shadows”
and also protect Atlas. But would that show her hand?
They finished their breathing exercise and went to her side, reached down and cupped both her hands. “You should stay here. I’ll be back… when I can.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m coming with you.”
Atlas narrowed their eyes and held her hands tightly. “In there, it can be a lot. Things are not so cut and dry.”
“I’m good on my feet and I’m a quick thinker, I think I can manage. I’m not staying back here.”
In any other case this discussion would be something to laugh at, but even in the amount of time she spent with Atlas, the moments they were as serious as this were nonexistent. There was no reason not to believe them, a Spellsaven, that the area ahead was of a difficult nature.
“Fine. But take this.”
Atlas fished in their pocket and revealed a blonde cookie. It was stamped with a bird silhouette.
Harlow could cast a detect magic spell upon it, but she needed to save her reagents. “A biscuit?”
“Yes. But, break it and say where you want to go, it’ll port you there.”
Atlas spoke as if everyone had an arsenal of sweet biscuits that when broken ported you around the place. Harlow got lost in the thought of where she could go if she did in fact have an arsenal of sweets.
“I don’t need this.”
She didn’t. But she did want it.
Atlas sighed, “Just take it. If you don’t need it, fine. But there’s no way I’m allowing you in any further without some protection.”
“Protection? Well. I have you.”
Harlow smirked.
There was a drop in the tension in Atlas’ shoulder and their gaze became soft. “Yes, yes you do.”
Harlow wanted to look away to hide the heat in her cheeks but to break away meant she’d have to stop memorizing that look on their face. And to forget that would be a greater travesty than being embarrassed as a thirty-two-year-old woman about being found wanting.
Atlas cleared their throat and smiled. “Shall we?”
They turned and pushed open the creaking gate, revealing clear lines of an overgrown path bursting from its sides with lush, flowering greenery.
In the middle of the garden was a large stone fountain filled with water now green with visible forms of life floating and swimming throughout. Whatever the stone figure was atop the fountain, it was no longer visible as vines and other creeping plants overtook it.
They stood side by side facing the seemingly peaceful garden. Atlas went to take a step and hesitated.
“OK, if things get intense… which they’ll probably get intense, I need you to get to the greenhouse and find the doorknob. I’ll deal with any distractions.”
Atlas gestured to the rear of the property and towards the left in an attempt to lead her in the right direction.
From her vantage point, she could see the very top of a black iron steeple, which must mean that it was either the greenhouse or close enough to use as an orienting spot. The height of the steeple meant this must be a very large greenhouse.
“I’ll say this first, you need to be careful where you step. I’m going to say it again, not because I think you are not paying attention or don’t understand. I’m saying it again because maybe if I say it from my own lips, I’ll find some sort of bravery from it. Be careful where you step. Things are not what they seem, and you cannot trust what you see.”
Atlas’ shoulders were tense and they were staring deep into the greenery as if taking their eyes off it would be sudden death.
“Atlas, this is still just a garden.”
Harlow spoke lightly, careful not to instill a mocking or unbelieving tone.
“No, it isn’t just anything. No more than you are just a person. You are splendorous. This garden is also splendorous. Splendorous terror, yes, but splendorous nonetheless.”
Their voice held a tone as if they were trying to convince themselves of something but Harlow wasn’t sure what of.
“OK. What do I do if I do miss something and the garden… gets me?”
She was finding herself matching tonality with Atlas, the serious becoming real.
“Find a god and pray. Hope that whatever finds you gives you insatiable fire.”
Atlas shivered.
Harlow patted down her clothing doing quick checks of her reagents. She might have enough for a few fire spells, but fire was something you had to fill an incident report and file after every use. And if you were found filing too many, you got fined for it. Fire was its own beast and spellcasters who messed around found out. An angry sorcerer threw a firespell and a town was engulfed a moment later. Fire was taught as a higher-tier skill set with water usage being tier one just because of how wildly out of control a fireball on a breezy day could be.
Fire being a last resort really was an eye-opener to Atlas’ terror. The garden, so far as she could see, was still very much walled in. But they could be in the middle of it when everything caught. Or didn’t catch and just pissed everything off. Even if the fire itself burned itself out at the walls, that didn’t mean they and their surroundings would be safe. All it took was an ember.
Together they entered the garden. Harlow reached out to offer Atlas a quick squeeze of their hands and Atlas trailed their thumb over her fingers.
As they entered, birds were singing, plants rustled in the breeze, and insects buzzed; general garden ruckus. They only spread out as far as Atlas’ reach and moved slowly. With the notion of untrustworthy plants, Harlow’s hardened gaze swept back and forth over planter boxes, tree lines, and potted foliage.
They managed around the first few bends of the overgrown path, taking toe-to-heel steps and breathing slowly. Figuring out where to step was easy enough for Harlow. She had practiced being light-footed often, but when she saw one of Atlas’s jeweled shoes atop a vine that snaked itself over the path, she sucked in her breath. Now distracted, Atlas looked quickly at her and without checking and before she could say a word, Atlas stepped on the vine.
Atlas’s eyes went wide and their hands went to her shoulders, pushing her backwards, away from the vine that now slithered up their leg and wrenched them into the sky.
“ATLAS!”
Harlow’s voice cracked.
Atlas began to yell and they shut their eyes tightly as they were flung back and forth like a whip.
“Hold on, I’m going to get you down!”
Harlow’s hands shot into her pockets to find the reagents for a quick withering spell.
They had finally opened their eyes and were waving their available limbs about. “No! Don’t worry, go get the doorknob!”
Harlow winced, balancing the competing urge to help them with the urge to follow directions. Looking down the longer path, she could see the base of the greenhouse and there at the bottom, foliage was bunching and pulling itself off the path. It looked like it was creating a barricade between her and the greenhouse.
There was a sizzle in the air and Harlow felt her loose hair begin to float up into the air before Atlas managed a crackling lighting spell that struck the vine. It snapped and from two stories up, Atlas fell only to be caught by another vine shooting from the other end of the barbed bush.
Hesitating no longer, Harlow launched towards the barricade. With a quick twist of readied ingredients, Harlow cast a hardened skin spell that shimmered over her. She covered her face with her arms and barreled through. Halfway through the brush, the branches changed from gentle thwaps to sharp thorns that closed on her like prey. Thanks to her quick spellcasting, her skin was not snagged but parts of her clothing that didn’t get enveloped in the spell caught anyway. She heard small ripping sounds as they struggled against each other. While pressing through, Harlow could hear shouts and more crackles of lightning from behind her.
She reached the other side only to slam against the greenhouse glass door. It was closed and she lowered a hand to reach out blindly and pull the handle. She found it quickly enough but after a hearty pull, it didn’t move. Her fingers traced down and she found a reinforced iron padlock dangling from it. Normally she would be completely ecstatic to find a padlock, but with barbed branches encircling her and trying to get a grip on her she cursed to herself instead.
Harlow would need both hands to pick a lock like this and although she had hardened skin, that wouldn’t keep plants like this from attempting to blind or maim her in other ways. She’d have to learn into her experimentation with arcane lockpicking. Thankfully with Atlas… busy… she could manage without them seeing. (Fewer questions later.) She dropped her grip on the handle and fished through her pockets for a feather. The pocket was almost completely filled with dust and she reflexively grimaced at the texture of it. She crushed it and quickly switched pockets to pull out the kraken-blood-smeared bundle.
The call to arms, AKA the assignment to be Spellsaven Daggerroot’s apprentice, was sudden enough that she hadn’t prepared any more than this one bundle. And sourcing kraken blood was a pain. Harlow prepared the reagents rather clumsily around the padlock and took a few panicked breaths. So far, she wasn’t able to work out a way to not have a verbal component for casting the spell. She’d have to open her mouth to say the line. With one crooked elbow blocking plant advancement, it could barely keep much away as she was overwhelmed. Leaves brushed against her cheeks, chin, and forehead.
Harlow crammed as much of her face as she could into her elbow to speak.
A steady lock holds no breath,
Let go or suffer death.
The phrase finished but it left an opening, literally, for the plant to burst a pod of pollen against her lips. On reflex she breathed in and the itchy powder coated her mouth. She coughed roughly, trying to force it back out. But that did little and instead, she felt a gentle swaying as she began to feel lightheaded. Not sure what the plant had exposed her to, Harlow reached for the lock and it pulled open. She tossed it down on the ground and pushed the greenhouse door open before falling forward into it. She noticed the crunch of pea-gravel under her and the air seemed lighter as the plants pulled back from her before she passed out.
Her mouth was dry and her eyes itched, which was what Harlow believed to have initially pulled her into waking up on the ground of the greenhouse. It couldn’t have been for long because through the thick, grimy glass she could still hear Atlas yelling at the greenery. That was good, meant they were still up and active. She turned quickly to look at the door, which no plants crossed. All along the doorway were thick amber salt crystals encased in glass. It made sense to her. Of course they couldn’t cross that way or even from underground. Since greenhouses were utilized for growing within, gardeners would install and request these enchanted salt rods to keep any outside plant life out. This helped keep any outside pests (looking at you, spider mites) and other invading foliage from getting seedlings in and other fragile plants from being exposed to threats.
Harlow rolled onto her back to catch her breath. She needed to find the doorknob, sure, but also a plan out. Although the plants were very aggressive, Harlow did not want to cause them damage. Perhaps it was Bethal’s intentional instruction of not using magic on her plant that she was even debating it within herself. That and the oh-so-slight fear that House wouldn’t like the garden to be decimated. House. She had failed to recognize its awareness. The chilled hallways, the moving staircases, all of it made sense. Was she just so stubborn that she refused to see what was right there? When had she become so obsessed with such a singular goal that she had lost sight of all else? The sense of adventure, of seeking more. She used to be so much more. Was growing older forgetting your past self or embracing it?
Harlow walked slowly to a row of very empty potting benches with various crates and boxes. She shifted mindlessly through the boxes. They contained various (expired) fertilizers, soft ties for tying up stems, metal cages to protect seedlings outside, and even labeled pickets to distinguish different plants from each other. Someone once loved this garden. Someone before her, before Atlas. Only after a few boxes did she find a few household items, including an iron doorknob plated in an iridescent metal that was carved with various ivy leaves. She held it in both hands and sighed lightly.
She had been so stubborn. So focused on the council seat that she was making deals just to gain favor. Deals that she even stopped asking questions about. Why was it that she spent her youth chasing knowledge, experiences, relationships, just to ignore it now? She thought about the younger her and the ways she struggled. The way that hope and curiosity drove her so much. That gaining all that and meeting people to make differences meant she wouldn’t be forgotten. That’s what this was all about in the end, wasn’t it? To not be forgotten, just like how she’d already forgotten what her parents’ faces looked like. Or the sound of their voices. She remembered more of the space they left than the space they had filled.
Was she like this garden? Forgotten but filled with so much potential if there was just someone to help guide them along they could be something glorious? She turned the doorknob and its plate around in her hands before using an edge of her robes to rub the dust from the crevices. Would the younger her see the garden as a nuisance or a challenge, a mystery? Didn’t the younger her just want someone to listen to her? To listen to that craving deep inside to let this wondrous world inspire her? To hold her and tell her it’d be okay in the end? She could do that. This Harlow. She could do that for her. Look at where she was. In the middle of a semi-sentient house as a Spellsaven’s assistant. A freakin’ Spellsaven! And she had grown to be a respectable rogue, a top-notch thief. And now she was here with a house with so much personality and endless opportunities. And a companion that made magic feel fun and beautiful again.
Harlow whisked the doorknob away in her pocket and wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed. “It’s going to be okay, you know?”
she whispered to herself and took a deep, trembling breath. “I’m sorry in my obsession of not being forgotten, I forgot you. I’m here. We’re here.”
She gave herself a gentle pat, taking a breath to keep from crying. Crying would be terribly inconvenient now.
As she examined the plant barricade from a safe distance inside, she could see in the distance Atlas flailing in the air, flashes of evident spellwork sparking even from there.
“Back to work then.”
Harlow went back to the potting bench. Atlas was casting spellwork, harming the plant for their own safety. But since the plant hadn’t given them up, that meant in whatever sentience this garden had, it wasn’t afraid of Atlas and it wasn’t afraid of magic. Using fear was cowardly. Atlas was afraid of the plants themselves so it stood to reason that they’d lash out instinctually. But Harlow… Harlow wasn’t afraid of a damn plant. If anything, she liked their familiar stubbornness.
Perhaps the garden was trying to communicate, and no one was listening. There were bags and bags of fertilizer, bottles of nutrient supplements, unused dusty shears throughout. Going to one of the greenhouse walls, she balled up the hem of her wizard robes and scrubbed at the glass to clear anything to see through. It only half helped as the surface outside desperately needed attention. But even through the grime, she could see the soil. It was dry and cracked. It needed more than just rain. The walls kept the garden safe, sure, but it also kept it from gathering nutrients from anywhere else. Likely the plants kept populating and had to fight for what they could. Atlas may not like it, but something had to be done.
With the doorknob a heavy reminder of honesty in her pocket, Harlow grabbed a sack of nutrient-rich soil and tore off the string. She hauled it to the salt line and brought her shirt over her nose just in case the flowers tried to throw pollen at her again. She heaved it over the line and let it fall on the plants. They moved out of the way and engulfed it once it fell to the path. She couldn’t see through the brush but there was a lot of activity as vines moved from the path and at one moment, she saw the bag being pulled around the corner.
“I’d like to speak to all of you. I have a proposition.”
She spoke clearly and confidently. But inside she was cringing. Would plants be able to speak this same language? It was outside the translation spell from the larger port city, and she didn’t notice if Atlas had cast anything around the mansion. Yet another thing she missed.
Some plants pulled back off the path while others joined, including a stem that must have burst from under the dirt pathway. She watched it grow taller than the barricade but not by much. The leaves unfurled and they looked darker and larger than whatever species was keeping her in the greenhouse. And then a bud, deeply purple, sprouted and uncurled. It tilted towards her and waited.
Harlow stretched her neck before continuing, “I do not promise to not cut you all. I actually promise the opposite. I will cut you. I will prune you. I will harvest and I will relocate when needed. I am still learning but I already know you need help. And I will give that to you. All in time, but you will get it nonetheless. But you have to stop this.”
She waved to the threatening bushes and even gestured towards Atlas in the background.
She quickly walked back over and grabbed the bag of fertilizer, being more careful not to spill when she tore off the string as she dragged it across the ground.
“You’ll get me one day a week until I can find more help. Do we have a deal?”
Harlow put her hands on her hips and used her knee to keep the bag from tipping over.
There was some commotion as the purple bloom pulled down into the bush. There was even chirping coming from around her – chirping that she thought earlier was from birds or insects, but it was coming from the foliage around them. Atlas was right; it was splendorous. Minutes later, the sounds quieted down and the bloom reemerged. It tilted back to her and stared.
“Well?”
Harlow frustratedly motioned to the barricade.
The bloom curled back into itself, and it descended into the bush before the barricade began to pull back and arrange itself back on the sides of the pathway. Testing the situation, Harlow leaned her head out of the greenhouse first. The bushes looked straighter and taller than before. Perhaps they were giving her a show.
Lifting the bag over the salt line, she stepped back out and looked up into the distance. Atlas screamed and fired off something towards the ground. A chill spell, from the look of it.
“That means them too,”
she scolded.
The large, overpowering vine paused, and she saw an upside-down Atlas cock their head to the side, confused but having stopped midway in casting something else. It released Atlas, who fell quickly down out of her sightline. She could hear Atlas holler as they fell. Atlas was the target of whatever this was that the Guild Master was a part of, but they were also the person who took care of her when she was portal sick. Who tucked her in so delicately, who didn’t abandon her in a strange town so they themself could stay in their own bed. And now this person was plummeting to the ground.
“Atlas!”
She went to sprint towards them and if she did, would have tripped over the sack of fertilizer. She stopped and bit down on her lip. She crinkled her nose, cast a dispersal spell as she stepped to the side of the bag, and broke into a sprint. The bag shot across the yard and hit the trunk of a nearby blooming tree. It didn’t seem to mind as it didn’t react but leaves and plant life on the ground shimmied to and fro.
Rounding the fountain, she could see no evidence of impossibly large, thick-as-a-carriage vines that were so effortlessly tossing the Spellsaven around beforehand. Other than Atlas, covered in bruises and cuts laying on the ground. Their eyes were wide, and their limbs spread wide as if a starfish caught out of water. As she approached, she could see the rise and fall of their chest. For a moment, they seemed not to notice her approach and then tried to sit up but grimaced and gripped their head.
Harlow held her hands out to them as if they could survey the damage and not her eyes. She looked them over; their heavily patterned robe was torn so much that below their arms, the rest was just missing, their flowing white shirt and silken pants stained with dirt, plant material, and blood from thorns that found their mark. Atlas was even missing a whole shoe. They seemed to be more-or-less in one piece. It was the lack of damage that surprised Harlow. The garden could have easily killed Atlas and it didn’t. It could have easily killed them both, even. She could have lost them. Gone would be the cozy mornings bumping into each other in the kitchen, gone would be the shy glances, the quirk of the corner of their mouth, gone would be the very best person Harlow had ever met in this world. The very thought cast a dimness around her which Atlas seemed to dismiss as quickly as it came when their hand reached out to her.
She brought her arm around Atlas’s shoulders so she could sit them up before sliding behind them. Atlas leaned back with a sigh against her chest.
“You’re okay, Hedgewater?”
they peeped.
“Got a bit of a dry throat…”
Harlow smirked, finding a bit of silliness in comparing something so trivial to someone who must have countless aches and pains at the moment.
“Well, we can’t have that. I’ll give you a few minutes to catch your breath and we’ll get you sorted. Can’t have my apprentice falling apart now.”
Atlas closed their eyes, taking that rest for themselves.
“Guess I can manage a few minutes.”
Harlow fidgeted, fingers finding the cuts and judging their severeness quickly. She was used to things like this. This she understood immensely.
She reached into one of the pockets inside her robe and smashed a mint leaf (dried and prepared from the shop in town, that’s where she remembered the name!) and combined it with a chicken’s claw. This opened the pocket’s hideaway where she kept healing salve. Harlow had her talents but one thing she really sucked at was healing spells. So, she banked healing salves and dressing and kept stock at all times. They could only treat superficial wounds, which was more difficult than she realized. Injuries as a thief were expected but the frequency of getting hurt learning to cast magic depleted her stocks weekly.
Atlas kept quiet as she applied the salve… well, mostly. They winced at particularly large cuts which made Harlow jump unexpectedly because the salve shouldn’t sting. After the third apology she told them to just deal with it, which made Atlas chortle. She had managed to coat needed spots on both of their arms by pinning one at a time over their head like some odd wrestling move. Now, she moved onto their chest, using a clean… well, it was clean cloth to wipe the blood away first. There were a few larger ones here as Atlas kept their shirt unbuttoned and loose at most times so there was little to no fabric to stop any damage. She smoothed more salve almost mindlessly before they found one of two matching scars on Atlas’s chest. She had been so in the moment that she almost touched them, her fingertip hovering over them.
Atlas was relaxed and still. “Salve’s not going to cut it for those.”
They chuckled and nodded their head to give her permission.
Her finger grazed lightly over the raised skin. Magical healing was accessible to everyone and scars were not a common thing.
Atlas shifted their feet, drawing one leg up. “I didn’t want to part with them. I earned them, they’re mine.”
There was pride in their voice.
“Of course they are and they’re lovely.”
Harlow’s voice was warm.
“They persist and so do I,”
they announced firmly.
“Yes, you do.”
Harlow spoke quietly into their ear.
Atlas leaned forward just enough to twist in place, and Harlow’s hand fell from its spot on their chest. Atlas reached their hand up and back to her, tilting her chin down to them. “And I’d like to persist a little more…”
Harlow looked down to them, their left hands intertwined as Harlow threaded her fingers through theirs. “And I would want you to...”
She wasn’t making sense, getting drunk on the adrenaline from their earlier tussle and from the way Atlas’s eyes bored into her.
They pressed their forehead against hers and closed their eyes, which Harlow followed; although their lips were not yet touching, the air between their mouths ached with tension.
“Oh, only would want to...”
Atlas was whispering against her skin.
Harlow bit her bottom lip, releasing it as she struggled to have any composure in the moment, “Do want to… do want you to…”
She could hear the click of Atlas’s mouth as they clicked their tongue before they pressed their lips against hers.
Atlas’s lips were warm and cupped hers so gently it was as if they were afraid that she might break or dissolve into a dream right there. Harlow shifted from around them, hardheaded enough to do so without breaking the kiss. Atlas shifted along with her, drawing themself up enough that the hand that guided her to them left her chin and glided along her jawline towards the back of her neck.
Harlow broke the kiss to lean back and look wantonly at them. There was dirt on their face and salve glistening across it and they looked so damn breathtaking that Harlow had trouble believing this was happening at all.
Atlas smirked, watching her. There was an eagerness she could see from behind their eyes and she desperately wanted to feed into it. This time, Harlow came to them, releasing their hand to cup the side of their face. That smile had her before she knew it. The Spellsaven released a deep breath that seemed to have been stored for so long that their shoulders were tight from it, and pressed their lips against each other.
As she shifted again, the doorknob and plate swung from one of her unenchanted pockets and wedged itself between them. Atlas leaned back, still smiling, and looked down, puzzled.
Harlow laughed nervously, and fished it out of the fabric’s clutches, presenting it to Atlas.
“Ah, so you did find it.”
Atlas looked at it fondly.
“Of course, I can find anything.”
She looked back towards the entrance of the garden. “I bet House will love it.”
“I hope so, or things will get really tense.”
Atlas grimaced.
They laughed and looked sheepishly at each other and the way they were entwined on the cobbled path.
“Shall we?”