Chapter 10 - Fury

The next day felt like a Dream to Willam. That was not to mean it was a comfort to him. It was not a time of relaxation. The next day was nightmarish when he looked back on it. It was a time he wished he could forget himself. But it was also a time he made sure never to forget.

It started the morning after duty at the Librarium. Once again, he woke up late. This time he missed breakfast and tea. He did not linger in the dining hall, pyjamas hidden under his trousers and loose-fitting tunic. He huffed to himself, wiped his eyes and walked back to his room.

He was scheduled to tutor some of the younger wards on herbalism and Castorian Folklore. One of the Winter tutors failed to make the trek back across the Wastes, and Willam found himself the most qualified senior ward to teach. He’d accepted it as recognition after some encouragement from Julia. After the initial shock of nerves and late nights going over course requirements, he’d found the sessions soothing if not gratifying.

Today he was not in the mood.

He was late to the study room. Ten children sat around the large boardroom table at the centre of the room. Each accepted a sheet of paper handed to them from the on-duty Carer. A few were staring out of the windows to the courtyard below, one girl sat up when Willam entered smiling, he just kept his head down and walked to the chalk board at the back of the room.

The Carer, clutching the notepad over her chest, walked up to Willam. He did not look up, arranging a series of notes on the table. “You’re late.” She whispered in his ear. Willam just nodded. He rearranged the notes, and some tomes, then again, and again… He wasn’t prepared.

Herbalism, Folklore, flora and fauna, come on Willam you know this stuff. He tried to reaffirm his thoughts, up until he looked up at the class.

Sitting ready to listen was the young girl that for the life of him he could not remember her name. She sent him a smile. His mind went blank.

“Ah…” The Carer stared at his pause. “Just a moment, please. I, um… I just need to find…”

Willam hated his emotions. They had a habit of cropping up at the worst times. The times where a hero would be steely eyed. The times when Julia would stand up and talk Evelyn down for him. The times when Willam was useless. His chest deflated, and he dropped his notes.

“Okay, today class we’re going to…”

_____

“It’s okay, you did fine lad. I talked to them and they said it was fine.” Georgy sat next to Willam in the courtyard. He held a napkin in his balled-up fist. It had been horrible, Willam just knew it. He had not done right by them and worst of all he had been so ready for this session. By the Mother, he’d even made a dealing with a beast from Castorian folklore and he’d waffled on about pointless plants for-

“’Ay lad. Over ‘ere.” Georgy nudged him on the shoulder. He looked over; eyes tinged red but, in the sunshine, he’d hope no one would notice. Georgy gestured and across the yard was the young girl.

“So?”

“Come on,” Georgy rose, “Come on, lad.”

Begrudgingly Willam followed him. He’d given his lecture, and it was probably fine but the entire time he saw something shift. The smiling girl lost her smile. And for some reason the feeling of watching something so pure and innocent fade due to his bad temperament; it tinted the world in a grey gloom.

“’Ay there young mis’. Beautiful day ain’t it?” Georgy for all his size and the excess of that, he approached tenderly. He did not glide across the ground but neither did he thud. For all his burly grisly exterior he was soft at heart. Willam focused on him unable to look at the girl.

He did not need to see more disappointment.

“You are, um, are meant to say; beautiful day isn’t it. Not ain’t it.” She spoke firmly. She faced the ground with something cupped in her hands.

“Bwahaha, right you are. So, do you have something there for me? I’ve been watching you wait so patiently.”

“No.”

“Oh? What is it then?”

She looked up as Willam tried to peek at her hands. She pointed. “It’s for him.”

“Me?”

Georgy pulled Willam forward. Willam got on his knee to be closer to the girl’s height. Being tall was both a fascination and intimidation to children.

“May I see.” She nodded.

Opening her hands, she held a deep-sea-blue flower. It was called a Blue-Dropper, it grew between the bark of old trees and dropped off if the bark was pulled back.

“This is for you.” Willam accepted the flower. He rubbed the petals feeling the softness. He saw no traces of bark on its stem, having been cleaned. “I remembered from the last class, Master Willam. It’s a gift to be happy because even when they fall, we pick them up because they are so pretty.” Willam barely remembered covering weeds from the woods and lake, it had been a class from weeks ago.

“I know you might be sad, so I just wanted to say thank you. I enjoy your classes. I know Todd and Tyke can be wild and disrupt, but I always enjoy your teaching. Much more than the old tutor; so, don’t be sad…Okay?”

Willam was dumbfounded.

“Thank you, um…” “Lila, lad.” Georgy reminded him.

“Thank you, Lila. I enjoy teaching you too.”

With that the girl beamed at him. He sent her a weak smile in return. He placed the flower in the pocket stitched over the left of his chest, it displayed prominently on his demure attire. The girl nodded to herself and then ran off. Willam hoped she’d find her friends, and tried to remember to find a florist manual to flowers if it wasn’t already on his desk.

“Well ain’t that the sweetest, eh lad?”

“Isn’t that, Georgy, isn’t that sweet.”

Georgy chuckled. Willam smiled and then offered a weak excuse before leaving him in the courtyard.

He returned to his room with a mug of water. He placed the flower in it and left it on his desk. He’d enjoy it for the day and night before it drooped and withered away.

Willam wanted to think that was when the seed of an idea had sprouted in his mind but it wasn’t. He had bad habits, bad emotions. The kindness of Lila was not what made these days memorable to Willam; but it was sweet to remind himself others did not see the world so grey.

“The Blue-Dropper grows on old trees, falling off with displaced bark and into the hands of florists all over Castoria. It was shared between people as a sign to say, ‘I’ll catch you’.” Willam’s mind cleared for a moment. He recalled what he had said about the flower. But it was what he hadn’t said that stood out in his mind.

Blue-Droppers are also named Mother’s Tears, as it was those being sent off to war or across the continent that received them. It was a goodbye of the soul, but also an acceptance that they may never share tears together again; and so they are shared as a reminder.

A reminder.

The plant in a mug sat next to a dead cactus. They shared the desk of a young man unable to let go. It sat there as a reminder.

Willam was getting tired of reminders.

________

Willam barely made it to dinner. The morning had left him drained. The fatigue angered him but it wasn’t physical fatigue that he was dealing with. He slept in bed for hours, waking up with a groggy mind to go scavenge food for his whining stomach.

He saw Melia departing the dining hall as he entered. Georgy was escorting her. He tried to flash him a smile but the look of concern on his face undercut it. Meila’s face was red, but it wasn’t sadness. No, she was much better than Willam. She had gotten angry.

Melia noticed him and rushed him. She grabbed his shirt and pulled down. Georgy stood back and watched the entryway, giving Melia privacy.

“You teach those fay-cursed fiends, right?”

“Who?”

“Toe-head Todd and Tyrannical Tyke. Those fools.” Willam was taken aback by Melia’s colourful language. But he didn’t reprimand her. He was, in truth, quite impressed.

“Yes I teach those two. What happ-”

“What happened was they keep talking shit about Lain, and I can’t take it anymore!” Georgy looked over his shoulder but didn’t say anything.

“Please, Willam. Make it stop.” The anger faded. She let go of his shirt and pushed him aside. She took Georgy’s hand and walked with him back to her dorm.

“Make it stop…”

The words echoed throughout Willam’s skull. It was as if Melia had struck a bell in him. Her anger transferred into his. The wet blanket of numbness, the mental fatigue was exchanged for a burning sensation. Willam growled, and that growled echoed in his mind; it was like there were two of him linked by this primordial urge to protect. To make it stop.

Willam stormed into the dining hall. No one seemed to particularly care when he entered. He saw Delilah at the serving bench. She waved. He did not. He scanned the hall, looking left and right, up and down between faces and rows. Where were the little punks?

He felt light headed. It was stupid, he shouldn’t take it out on those boys. But the growling had not ceased. Instead, it continued to rage in the back of his mind. It egged him on, it called him coward, it reminded him of what he had lost; what else did he have to lose?

He saw the punks sitting at the table at the end of the serving benches. He walked, faster and faster, his face flushed red. It was primal what he felt, it wasn’t him; but by the Family whole it was a thrill.

“Hullo, Willam?” Delilah called out to him. He moved on past. He noticed there was someone standing near the end of the line. He slowed a moment before moving ahead. He shouldn’t do this, but he had to do this. The growling became a howl, he felt his lips curl into a snarl. It would feel so wonderful to-

“Stop.” He was a few metres from the table. The two young boys he had been moving towards stopped and stared at Willam.

“Stop this madness now, Willam Strange. I know what happened, it has been dealt with. Gods boy breathe.” Irene held his arm in a vice grip. Willam’s chest heaved as he began to breathe.

The howl became a growl until in subsided for now. It felt like a beast returning to a light slumber, still wary of finding its next prey.

“Breathe boy, I have you.” Willam let his head drop. The fatigue began to wrap itself back over his mind.

“I don’t know what you were thinking but I think you need a talk. Come.” She led Willam out of the hall through the kitchen and out to the courtyard. Dusk had fallen and the moon was a sliver in the sky.

“So, Master Willam what were you thinking of doing back there.”

What was I thinking of doing?

He found a stone and sat down. He couldn’t meet Irene’s eye. By the Wastes, he didn’t feel he could meet his own eyes if given a mirror.

What had I been doing? Where did that come from?

He did not hear Irene leave. But he did hear Delilah emerge from inside. She stood over him, hands on her hips. Willam listened to her own laboured breathing; the fierce exhales told him what he needed to know. He was in for it now.

“What are you doing, lad?”

He did not respond.

“Okay, then say nothing then. It’s not my place to care.” Delilah turned to walk away.

“Stop.” Willam was thankful that she did. “I-I-I…” She turned to him. No smile or frown, her face perfectly blank. Only her heavy breathing betrayed her emotions.

“You lost friends nights ago, I get it. Those children though, they should mean nothing with what they say. You lost people. But. From what I heard it was bound to happen anyway this Blossom. Unprecedented ceremony or not they’re gone.”

Willam looked down. “Yeah…”

“So, what are you gonna do about it?”

Willam sat with his head in his hands.

“What? You’ve got nothing? You a child? Gone mute?!” Willam mouthed something but no words passed his lips. “Okay, lad wallow away; that’s your right.”

“I can’t do anything.” He’d heard it all before from Julia: “You are something, you should be happy, lah lah lah”. It just wasn’t true. He was a bookworm. A loner. An orphan from- smack

Delilah struck him across the face. He recoiled but before he could stumble away, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him to his feet. She clutched him close, fury in her eyes.

“Kid, are you nothing?”

“…”

“Oi! Think stonehead, I’ve heard your meant to be good at that.” She flicked him in the forehead. “Do you exist to get tread on. What are you just a sucker whose gonna take his licks and accept it? Do you exist to take your anger out on kids you teach, because a little girl told you to tell them off? Look at me!” Willam straightened up and met her eyes. He saw her fury and tried to match that with loathing. He had nothing to prove right? The searing anger in his belly told him otherwise.

Delilah glared. She glared until his loathing turned to anger, until his hands became fists once more. But this time it wasn’t a beastly anger, it wasn’t hot in his mind. It was cold.

“Back home I got laughed at, kid. Yeah, you’re a kid, a dreamer, they’d call me; evidently that’s all you are to it seems. A pathetic kid. Yet, I was called it for wanted to leave my hellhole city of birth. I got called it while working my hands’ til they bled; called it as I worked my whole life trying to afford enough to pay off the guards to let me sneak out of that forsaken city without paying the Guilds. I defied that name my whole adult life. You though, kid, what have you done?”

He opened his mouth but Delilah wasn’t finished.

“You’ve brushed off Georgy, countless times these past few days; ungrateful aye? He offered hugs, condolences, comforts but you’ve refused like a shitty petulant child until he forced your hand. No, you don’t need comforts and condolences, love and affection. No, what you need right now I say... I say you need to grow a bloody pair!” Delilah jabbed her finger into his chest. “What do you know to suffer?”

Willam built up his suffering in his head, he felt ready to scream his pain to the world! But he didn’t, because Delilah still wasn’t finished.

“Can you say you’ve walked a day in the wastes scared shitless? Every moment under that blasphemous sun you’re scared that the adventurers who employed you might nick your shit before you find what they want? Do you have fears of being beaten by your Carers? Do you have true fear that you won’t have food on your dining table? You experienced sitting huddled alone at night, waiting for the pests so you might have some meat for once in a long month? Huh?!

“I reckon you could reel off all the different ways the world has done you dirty. I’m certain you could. But your lily-white hands are the real damning proof, aren’t they? No callouses, not scars, the hands of a child. Hear me, kid!?” She released her hold of him and stood back.

Willam felt his body vibrate from his heartbeat. Heat filled his lungs, as he forgot to breath. He almost bit his tongue to feel physical pain and not the pain he felt in his gut and mind. But he didn’t.

He whispered. “I hear you.”

“Wow the boy speaks! If you hear me then what are you?”

“I’m a-”

“No. What are you?”

“I’m Will-”

“What are you?”

“I’M FURIOUS, OKAY!” It all came out from there. The cold nights in the dark. When he was alone with his thoughts, his self-deconstructions on lonely nights. The candle that lit his way for so many years. That which brought him back from the edge time and time again, guiding him to be better. The twins that made him laugh and their story. The loss of his first crush several seasons ago. The heartache when he’d heard she’d perished when the Pass collapsed, a Blossom avalanche. He confessed his sins and vices. He told her of the plague that besotted him wherever he went. His emotions were a whirlpool that dragged him down; he was unable to escape.

Willam raged and cried and Delilah stood witness. She did not comfort him. She did not apologise for a world she cannot control. She listened, and that was enough.

Panting from his emotional tirade Willam sat wearily on the cold stone. She saw he was done and waited. Eventually he looked back up at her.

“I’m not perfect, neither are you, so by the Mother, Father, Child and Fay up the forsaken road; get angry kid. Least that way you might get something done.” Delilah grinned like the Devil itself.

She did not hug him, but gave him a pat on the shoulder. Then, she left.

She had done her duty.

Willam waited before he returned to his room that night. It was a cool night, reflective of the cold fire that burned him from the inside. He has let it all out, said it all, made all the excuses; he was done with it. All of the lying and denying himself the chance to fight.

That night when the moon hung at its zenith in the dark night sky, Willam wrote. He wrote and he tore and he read and he laughed like a maniac into the night. This was the night he remembered. This was the night it all became real. No one was coming to help. No one cared for a quitter, a loser who would not even play the game. He pulled apart the multi-coloured pamphlet and he decided it was all or nothing.

Nothing held him back now, it was up to him to make a dream reality.