Love and Other Pyrrhic Victories

Love and other Pyrrhic Victories

A collection of flash fiction and short stories

By Aurora Rain Llydell

Love and Other Pyrrhic Victories

Aurora Rain Llydell

© 2024 Aurora Rain Llydell

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or buy any means electronic, photocopying, recording , or otherwise without the prior permission of the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act of 1988 or under the terms of the license permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

Published by:

Bryson Publishing

Kansas City, MO

Cover Design : Nathaniel Kreeger

ISBN: 978-1-959665-37-3

To Carmen, who helped curb my insanity with movie marathons.

Love

Old Souls

Horns

Heartless

Rage

Dreams of Dragons

Five Tails

Welcoming

Old Gods

Hope and Longing

Pyrrhic Victories

Odette

Sirens

The Martyr

The Wheel of Fortune

The Moon and Her Night

Memory

Child of Salt

Death

Love

Old Souls

The All-Saints Inn was just starting to fill with late risers and tourists when those black coats arrived. The double doors swung open with hardly a sound, but it might as well have been a cannon clap for all the fear it caused. Three men entered, two lingering by the doorway as the third made his way to the counter. The soft, dull thud of his limp on the old wood floors was the only noise. The nimble man leaned an elbow on the bar, his sharp eyes offsetting the lopsided grin on his face.

Bartholomew, mate! He said in an easy tone How’s it going for you? Business is good? The stocky bartender winced as his name was called, and subtly motioned for his wife to retreat to the back.

It’s been slow, but business is business, Oz. He replied, forcing a smile. Oz raked a gloved hand through his short black hair, looking around the Inn.

Don’t I know it, He returned his gaze to Bartholomew, But you’re late on your payment, mate. Gotta say the old man is getting impatient. He leaned further over the counter, locking eyes with the bartender. Not sure I’ll be able to satisfy him with just a few fingers this time. Bartholomew tensed, thinking of his mutilated son.

N-no! Listen, listen, I have the whole payment, plus interest, alright? Just leave my family out of this. Ozwald made a lazy shooing motion with one hand. Get on it, then. What are you standing around chatting for? As the man hurried away Oz turned his attention to the hushed patrons. Showing off his lopsided smile again he announced Sorry ‘bout this here, folks. You’ll be able to go back to your meals in just a moment. No one met his eyes. Bartholomew returned with a bulging coin purse. Oz motioned one of his lackeys forward and handed the purse off to be counted.

It’s as he said. The man rumbled, handing the money back to Oz. He looked to the bartender, who was wringing his apron between his hands. He clapped his shoulder, making Bartholomew jump and spoke. There we go, mate. That wasn’t so hard, was it? He straightened and headed back towards the door, stashing the purse in the pocket of his black trench coat. He stopped just before the exit and looked over his shoulder with a devilish smile. Good luck, Barty! Your good business is our good business. Right? With that, the doors swung shut. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, Oz saw both of his black-clad men following ten paces behind. Satisfied, he set his eyes back to scanning the road.

Shadows were beginning to slither out from the cramped alleyways, though it was barely noon. Despite the cold and looming weather, the slums of Avr’rye were still annoyingly crowded. Gambling dens and pleasure houses had hordes of people milling around outside, waiting to be admitted. The breath of streetside vendors began to cloud the air as much as their voices, but nonetheless they hollered themselves hoarse. Once colorful banners now covered in grime and paint assaulted the eyes from all angles, dirtied by the endless streams of soot that poured from every slanted chimney.

Quickly! Away from the street, child. The locals corralled their young inside moving out of the trio’s way when they spotted the ebony trench coats.

Beware those men if you want your head to stay put... Whispers swirled through the dull clamor of voices, trailing on his heels as closely as the stares pinned to his back.

The Ravens are out.

Pushing his way through the thinning crowd, Oz buried his nose into the thin, green scarf wound around his neck, wishing he could do the same to warm his numbing ears. The tourists eyed him with interest, but his men made sure no one got any ideas. Finally, he had made his way to the rich purple door of the Psychic’s place. Entering with the bell’s soft tinkle, he sighed heavily at the heat that flowed into his bones. It was much darker inside than it was outdoors, but as his visits became more frequent Oz had found it more of a comforting darkness.

The windows were covered with thick curtains and the mosaiced oil lamps that swung from the ceiling sent rainbow fragments scattering across the room. A round table draped in glittering patterned silks claimed the room’s center. A crystal ball, a hand painted globe, and a deck of tarot cards sat atop it. A deep, cushy chair was positioned on either end. Beaded pillows scattered light across the room like fallen stars. Shelves bedecked one wall, full of shining crystal vials, incense, worn leather tomes and charms. Charts decorated the other three---palm reading, astronomy, tarot meanings and even a city map. The large stone fireplace built into the far wall roared, executing any lingering chill the customers may have brought in.

Coming farther into the space, Oz leaned on the hearth, putting his hands out to the fire. He turned his head at the soft clinking of the beaded curtain being pulled aside.

Oh, Che, it’s jus’ you. said a relieved voice. The woman who’d entered pulled off the headdress and veil that hid her face, long copper curls spilling out over her freckled shoulders.

His lips curled into a smile, What, I don’t get the whole performance? She shot him a venomous look, as she braided her hair, taking a seat. Ozwald laughed, this woman was the only one in the whole of the slums--the whole of Avr’rye, even--who would dare look at him that way. He took his usual seat, just across the table in a plush chair that smelled faintly of whisky. The flickering light revealed dark circles under the teller’s eyes, and her fair skin was paler than usual, her freckles stood out more. And maybe it was just his imagination, but it almost looked like her tunic was a little loose.

Her olive eyes seemed to know he was about to ask, because her lithe hands were already shuffling the tarot cards. Birds o’ a feather may flock t’gether, but a gatherin’ of crows is called murder. she said, the slightly sharp tone in her alluring voice wiping the query from his mind. They’d made a silent agreement the night of his first appointment: Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. No names exchanged, no personal queries. Better for business, both ways.

What brings such darkness to my door? Mesmerized by her rhythmic shuffling, Oz didn’t look up as he said,

Just part of the schedule, love. Her hands froze, and his obsidian eyes rose to meet hers. A thin copper brow had risen in disbelief, her painted lips forming a frown. We both know that’s not true, Che. Tector doesn’t ever see Crow’s near here this time o’ the month. He winced, then stiffened, feeling something slide through his feet. Outed by the damned snake.

A python appeared, slithering up the chair and wringing itself around its mistress’s shoulders.

Its eerie, slitted eyes fixed Oz with a predator's stare and he looked away. Once again, he wondered why she chose a snake, of all things. Didn’t black cats typically give off the ‘spellcaster’ feeling? Wouldn’t it be easier to sell her act with a small, harmless cat instead of a bloody man-eating reptile?

There was a shadow moon last night, he replied. I wanted to see what you thought.

Don’t you have a seer closer to ya? The shuffle resumed.

Don’t pretend like you're not the best, love. It doesn’t suit you. He met her gaze once again and she returned a cocky smile to his lopsided one. There were a few other reasons he preferred her practice--chief among them was the selfish notion of comfort he took that the woman was also a foreigner. In Ri’shii’s capital city, the skin tone ranged from caramel to shadow black. Even light skinned tourists were rare. Though Oz was not from the Greene Isle like the seer, the fact that she, too, was out of place made him feel a little less like an oddity.

Handing the deck over, Ozwald himself shuffled and cut it. Sliding the right half to the side, he settled back down.

Aye, I suppose you’re right, Che. In a single, smooth motion, the cards were fanned out before his hands, and she said, Let’s see what the cards have to say about this omen.

Picking three cards--one from the left, right and center of the semicircle. Their fingers brushed as the seer moved forward to flip them face up. Oz felt lightning dance across his skin but hid his pounding heart behind a half-smirk. The grin was wiped off his face the second he saw her expression shift.

The Moon, Justice, and The Devil, all upright.

The Moon, She began to explain the card of fear, illusion, and intuition. Justice: cause and effect, law, and truth. And The Devil, restriction, attachment, and a shadow self.

So... what does all that mean? In not- psychic speech, please, love. He asked.

Secret enemies will have justice, and the one who is wrongly controlled by darkness will be set free. Her olive eyes looked into his, and for a moment he saw something dark cloud her gaze. But it was gone in an instant, and Oz stood up. He had to get back to the boss and double security. Pausing when his hand was on the doorknob, he turned back to call thanks, but found she’d shadowed him. Looking down at the woman, Ozwald took her rough hand, gently, and kissed her knuckles. When he lifted her hand to his lips, a drooping sleeve receded to her elbow, and he caught a glimpse of the small star tattoos that littered her skin, much akin to freckles. Thank you so much, love, I know this taxes you. Indeed, she looked notably more drawn than before.

Bah, She waved him off with a jeweled hand, rings winking and bracelets chiming. Think nothing of it, Che. Just tip me well at the next appointment.

Halfway out the door, he said, My darling seer, you’re an angel. With an indignant scoff, she replied, Where I come from, those are called Faeries.

Now farther down the street, he turned, grinning, and called back, Then you’re the Queen of the Faeries! Oz thought he spied a blush bloom on her pale cheeks and continued his walk back with a little spring in his step, despite the grim warning.

He made a note to ask her about the tattoos next time.

* * *

She closed the shop for the day, sliding the heavy deadbolt into place and sighing. Resting her forehead against the cool wood, the teller began to gather her remaining strength. Oz’s hands were so soft. His soul was so new--so young and, despite his shadowy enterprises, not totally corrupt. Though she chided herself, just because his soul was familiar doesn't mean he should get special treatment. She shouldn’t even be calling him Che; references to past lives were strictly forbidden. But since no one else could hear, she couldn't help herself. Her own hands were heavily creased, lines laying atop one another like half-erased sketches. The seer’s soul was very old, and heavy with purpose.

It’s time, she murmured to herself, pushing off the door and going towards the back room. Coiled neatly in her now vacant nest chair, Tector’s slitted gaze bore into her. I know, I know. She said, flipping the long braid over her shoulder. Sleep first. Satisfied, the python slid from the chair and settled close to the fire, forked tongue flicking happily as his body lapped up the warmth. Now in her quarters, the teller shucked off her jewelry, barely collapsing into the hammock before she was stolen away by sleep. Tonight, the real work began.

* * *

A slim silhouette flickered across the moon. Her strides were easy, loping along the slanted slate rooftops with no resistance. Not breaking pace, she leapt nimbly from the edge of one roof to another, unfazed