AppleSyrcus Week

You thought Azem had overstated the beauty of the place, but upon your arrival, you realized how wrong you had been. Green spread as far as the eye could see, undulating like the waves of some terrestrial ocean and broken only by darker patches that marked copses of trees. Clouds glided lazily by, beneath which groups of herbivores grazed and snored upon blades of grass. Somewhere ahead, some sort of avian creature cried as it dove then climbed back up with a mole in its claws. Hermes watched it fly into the distance, where the hills melted into the sweeping heavens. A stolen glance at the man beside you was enough confirmation that this was the perfect decision. Hermes couldn’t take his eyes off his surroundings. Who could, though? Even you were briefly rendered speechless. 

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” you said in his silence. 

“Simply,” he replied. 

Now you peek through the kitchen windows at the orchard behind the cottage. You spot Hermes still picking apples there, reaching for the lower branches and then inspecting every specimen as though his life depends on it. He’s looking for the best of the best. Azem has given you the go-ahead to harvest the entire orchard—which you would rather avoid, to be perfectly honest. Prior to your departure, you had clearly articulated to Hermes that he needed more nourishment than a mere apple can provide, despite how easy it is to obtain and consume or how his own orchard yields plentiful harvest every moon. Yes, you know about his secret picnic spot behind the Cthonic Horns. Whatever he says, it is not a replacement for a proper meal and rest. Weariness lines his face and his shoulders have begun to stoop. If he only lets you, you would take half his burden into your own hands, but you know as well as anyone else that your partner has a tendency to drive himself to exhaustion. That he cannot see it himself frustrates you sometimes, but is that not why you are here? 

The enamel clock rings on the counter. You shake out of your reverie, return to the oven, then open the lid. Sweetness pours out in waves of enticing scents. Wearing your mitts, you take the tray out and set it next to the stove. The surface has hardened to a charming golden brown. You’re tempted to taste it but decide against it, instead placing it on a shelf to cool. 

That is the last of it. You’ve laid out the rest of your lunch on the table: stir fried vegetables, grilled salmon, lamb skewers, green salad with sliced apples and smoked chicken, and a pot of light potato and mushroom soup. A crystal decanter of fresh apple juice sits neatly at the center of the table between two identical mugs adorned with gold-painted leaves. Now all you need to do is collect Hermes. 

You exit the cottage through the back door, then climb the slope up to the orchard at the top of the hill. He’s already set a mat on the slope, where a basket is sitting, already filled to the brim. Upon your approach, he pauses mid-apple picking, a natural smile blooming across his handsome features. 

“Ah, you’re here.” He breaks the apple stem from its branch. “Good timing. Here, try this. I think this is the best one yet.” Wiping the apple on his robe, Hermes then pivots it right to your lips, and you unbiddenly take a bite. Cool sweetness fills your mouth with each crunch of the apple flesh between your teeth. You blink in surprise. It is much sweeter than any you’ve tasted at the Horns. The best of the best, as he says and Azem claims. “Delicious, isn’t it?” His smile is too bright for a piece of apple now in your hand. 

As he walks back to the orchard seeking more of the prime specimens, your gaze inadvertently follows him. Dappled sunlight dances along his dark countenance, his black robe stark against the warm colors of the trees. He has taken off his mask, his face a picture of quiet jubilance as he moves from one tree to the next—checking, inspecting, examining, all with that scrutiny that marks every researcher of Amaurot. And when he finds another sample he’s taken with, his jade-colored eyes will crinkle, and he’ll pick the apple off at the stem and offer it to you again. 

Part of you wonders if this has all been Azem’s ruse as no one in their right mind would have any need for such an extensive orchard, let alone one exclusively for apples. But then again, Azem is quite the eccentric amongst Amaurotians. You cannot guess his mind. And does it truly matter? This was the reason why you helped Hermes harvest his first batch and made a pie and juice from it. Now he has a second batch and on the way to filling his third. A wry smile tugs your lips. You finish the apple in your hand and then join him at his side. 

“Look at this,” he says, “have you ever feasted your eyes upon a specimen so perfect, so marvelous in every aspect? The rich red color, the plumpness of its flesh, the way it glints gold under the sun.” Hermes swivels and brings the fruit to the dappled light. Indeed, however he turns it, the apple seems to be layered in gilt. “I must ask Azem how he achieves such magnificent results.”

There it is: the beam that always pulls at your heartstrings—a soft quirk of his lips that instantly erases any signs of fatigue from his face. The way his features contorted into pure rapture the moment the two of you arrived, how the jade of his eyes gleamed as he took in the grazing animals and bountiful trees; extracting him from duty is worth it if it allows you to see his unbridled joy. 

A gentle breeze ruffles Hermes’s hair. You reach up and tuck a stray strand behind his ear. He glances at you and you meet his gaze with a smile. “Lunch is ready. I’ve got lamb skewers, grilled salmon, potato soup. The apple juice from the apples you picked tastes divine, and of course, your apple pie is waiting too—cooling, still, but ready.” That piques his interest and you can’t help but laugh at his childish excitement. 

You mean to let go of his face, but in one swift movement, he has tossed the last apple into his basket and captured your hand.

“Hermes—?” 

His name dies in your throat when a soft sensation presses against the center of your palm.

Time stops. 

You blink once, then twice. Heat rushes to your neck when Hermes looks at you with half-lidded eyes. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. He holds your hand against his cheek and leans against it. 

“What for?”

“For this.” His gaze sweeps over the trees and the firmament and the little cottage with the puffing chimney where his lunch awaits. “For everything. If not for your adamance, I might not have agreed to come on this vacation, averse as I am to leave my work unfinished. But I see you are right. The trip has been worthwhile to replenish the soul.”

One would think the chief overseer of Elpis was a workaholic, and he is, but his ethics come from an earnest love for his creations and the desire to see them thrive. You cannot blame him for his passion, though it would be a tremendous boost if he could only see the pallor of his face or the dark circles under his eyes. For now, it is the only thing you can do to prevent his body from utterly crumbling. The perfect reward: bringing him to the most beautiful place known in Etheirys, recommended by the Traveler himself, where creatures of all shapes and sizes can be seen frolicking in the sea of grass and the high heavens above.

You tug at his hand. “Come, let us get some color back into those cheeks.” 

Halcyon.

Hermes had come across the name in an ancient crystal tucked in the deepest corners of Anamnesis Anyder: a one-of-a-kind creation whose origins eluded even the scholar who had recorded her sightings. It was said that the avian creature had taken to create a nest on a small island out in the western seas. The crystal noted how her breath had the ability to calm the wind, assuring safe passage for sailors that crossed its realm—although as far as he knew of recent recounts, across the past several centuries the bird was more inclined to tear ships asunder. Seeing the bird dipping her long neck down for Leirion to stroke, Hermes wondered if she had not only been protecting herself. Leirion’s previous task might have been related to the change in the bird’s demeanor—if the rumors were to be believed. 

“Have you bonded with her?” Hermes asked as he continued to marvel at the legendary creation. Each golden plume glinted under the light. Her elegant tail flowed in beautiful tendrils of feathers, like a river cascading down from her back. Her sturdy legs supported her enormous body, each ending in thick, sharp claws that seemed ready to tear the world apart. Yet her amber eyes were gentle and soft as she purred into the hand of her apparent master. 

Leirion, on her part, did not act as though she were a master. She glanced at Hermes with a surprised look on her face. “Oh no, she only let me ride her as a show of her gratitude for helping solve the conundrum with the fishing village.”

Hermes would bet the bird would not have let just about anyone to ride her, even if they had solved a centuries-long problem between her and the people. 

Leirion held out a hand. “Would you like to pet her?”

“What—”

“You’ll let him pet you, yes?” she asked the bird, who seemed to nod. Then she grabbed his wrist.

“Wait—Leirion—”

Unheeding his protests, she pulled him to her side and held his hand out to the bird, palm-up. “Let her come to you,” Leirion whispered before stepping back to give him room. 

His wide-eyed stare whirled toward her, but his friend, the Traveler and holder of the fourteenth seat at the Convocation of Fourteen, only nodded encouragingly. Hermes’s heart thundered within its cage. He gazed at the bird, whose flaming eyes bore into him in scrutiny, as though it were assessing his worth. 

Hermes racked his brain for any scant information he had gleaned from the crystal all those years ago, but he could not remember the scholar denoting any sort of temperament. In fact, if he recalled correctly, the scholar had only been able to gaze at it from afar. Mayhap they hadn’t dared move closer, or the bird might not have allowed him to. Regardless, Hermes could imagine two scenarios playing out in the next several seconds: either the bird would tear him from his innards with those sharp claws and burn him into cinders—or she would allow him to touch her. He hoped for the latter, but whichever it goes, he would not tear his eyes away from her. 

She looked so beautiful, so majestic… 

When Halcyon leaned her head down, Hermes’s breath was caught in his throat. 

A heartbeat later, the bird had closed her eyes and pressed the crown of her gilded head against his palm. 

Exhilaration spread from his breast all the way to the tips of his fingers in shivers of contained jubilance. He did not move; neither did the bird. Then his hold shifted, just a fraction. Her feathers whispered softly against his skin. 

A heartbeat later, the bird moved away, the softness of her touch lingering on his hand. 

“I was hoping you could help me assess her,” Leirion began. “Whether it would be possible to allow for easier air travel outside the city. You know teleportations aren’t always safe.”

Hermes blinked then. Slowly, he regarded his friend who had come to stand beside him. 

“You want to make a concept like her?” he asked. 

Leirion nodded with no trace of doubt or apprehension marking her features. 

“Leirion, she’s a legend, almost a myth. Not even the archives know who made her!”

“That’s why I’m asking you.”

He was shaking his head. “It would take years. I don’t have the skills—”

“Says the expert in avian creations?” 

He looked at her, and saw, from the earnest glint in her sky-blue eyes, that she was serious. Hermes swallowed past his nervousness. 

He would not lie and say the logical, researcher part of him was not intrigued by the proposition. Who wouldn’t? To achieve such greats and recreate a legendary creation not even catalogued in the archives… While he cared not for the acclaim that might offer, he could imagine the pride and satisfaction it would bring, at the knowledge that he had contributed something worth noting to history. 

Yet another part of him quivered in fear. To undertake such a venture would mean countless trials and errors and failed experiments. Could they not just let the bird be—to let it be known as the only one of its kind, its existence shrouded in mystery; for her beauty to remain, untarnished by poor imitations of her regal presence?

But Leirion was still looking at him imploringly. Hermes had to close his eyes and sighed. 

“I will… try to evaluate her specifications, but I do not promise it will be the same creation. You ask for air travel, and air travel you shall have.”

Such was how Hermes began toiling on a secret project unknown to the other staff members of Elpis. True to his word, he didn’t quite copy Halcyon’s exact specifications into this new concept. It would still be a bird, with similar golden plumage, but it would be smaller—much smaller—allowing for easier, and safer, rides. It had shocked him when he measured the precise length and breadth of Halcyon. To think the entire span of her wings was almost half as tall as Ktisis Hyperboreia, the tallest tower in Elpis. How Leirion had managed to ride the bird was a mystery to him. She would be but a small speck in the midst of that field of golden feathers, and the vast wingspan would have allowed the bird to travel swiftly with nothing short of her plumes to hold on—but perhaps, being buried between Halcyon’s massive shoulder blades was enough to secure her safety.

Hermes’s research took several decades. He designed the new concept so meticulously that it bordered on insane perfectionism. But such was how it should be. Why should he deem a research complete if it would only yield subpar results? And when it failed to meet his demands, he should bring it to Lethe for its aether to be unbound?

He scoffed. Such travesty.

While a researcher would be allowed to modify designs on a case-by-case basis, ultimately, when a creation was deemed unsuitable for life, they would be unmade, and the researcher would start anew. 

And so, he would not fail. No, he could not! 

When Hermes was finally ready to release his concept, he went to Noetophoreon in the early morning before anyone woke up. In his hand was an intricate golden whistle, one end of it forming the head of the firebird it would summon. Bringing the whistle to his lips, he blew, and a shrill, high-pitched sound pierced the dark skies. 

He waited with bated breath, heart thundering in his chest. His design was flawless. The bird would come, and it would fly. 

He waited for another heartbeat before the golden whistle began glowing strikingly bright. In front of him manifested a swirling sphere of similar luminosity. The light expanded, the ball unraveled. Then, with a keening screech that seemed to split the very heavens, a bird with fiery golden feathers broke from its cage of light, expanding its wings and ruffling its plumages in a show of brilliant, unbridled life. 

A tear escaped Hermes’s eye as the bird landed on the ground. It cocked its head, scanning its surroundings. Like a chick, Hermes thought, who had just broken from its eggshells. 

Hermes marvelled at the sight. Nothing seemed to be amiss at first glance. The bird’s wings seemed to work. The sturdy legs supported its body. Its glorious tail trailed from its back in three beautiful tendrils of golden feathers. Its thinner torso might allow for swifter travel, and the beats of its great wings would be enough to send unwanted parties off its premises. Hermes had even added protective scales around its chest as well as on its head, forming an elaborate armor of sorts. Its size might be miniscule compared to the real Halcyon, but it still towered over him by over twenty fulms. A much smaller, safer ride. 

All it needed now was a harness and then Leirion was safe to use it. 

These thoughts and options were running through Hermes’s mind that he hadn’t quite noticed when the firebird’s gaze fell on him. He jerked to a stop when he sensed hostility. He looked at the bird then, and found its blazing amber eyes—a twin of Halcyon’s—boring into him, scrutinizing him in every which way and wondering if he was friend or foe. 

Once again, Hermes found himself imagining two scenarios: would the bird burn him into cinders with the fire in its eyes, or would it leave him intact, deeming him worthy to live? He had done a last-minute tweak on the bird’s aggression level last night. He needed it to have the judgment to protect its master, and so had increased its hostility rate—though not so high that it would deem all creations to be a danger to itself. He should have had Leirion present. Had the bird turned out to be too hostile, she would have been able to subdue it with her beastmastery. But who was he to demand for Azem’s attendance?

He tried to recall everything Leirion often did. The woman used to work in Elpis and had been his partner on more occasions than he could count. He held out his hand, palm-up, the way Leirion had gestured him the first time he met Halcyon. He looked into the firebird’s eyes and quelled any fear that lingered in his heart. 

They could sense it, Leirion once told him, your fear. For especially dangerous beasts, it might make you easy prey. But for others, it would tell them you’re not worthy of their attention—which might be the safest option on most occasions, but for a beastmaster, that’s not something you’d want. 

So Hermes did as she’d once told him. He met the firebird’s gaze unflinchingly. He was a friend. He meant no harm. 

A lifetime seemed to pass in which man and bird were locked in this stalemate, until, at last, the firebird…cooed. A low rumbling sound originated from its throat. Curiously, it cocked its head at Hermes, then slowly leaned down. When it pressed its armored head against his palm, he released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d held like a deflating balloon. 

“Firebird.” He breathed, elatedly. 

It might be only his imagination, but he thought he noticed the bird’s eye twinkle in joy. 

He called upon Azem the next time he heard she was back in the city. Leirion joined him in Noetophoreon, dressed in their black robe instead of her traveling gear this time. Now that she was not a researcher of Elpis, her mask hung around her neck, revealing the beauty that always took his breath away. 

“You’ve finished it?” she asked. 

“Quite.” he took her to the other side of the lone tree, away from any potential prying eyes. When he grabbed the whistle from his pocket, her eyes shone bright. He smiled inwardly. 

Hermes put the whistle to his lips and blew. The whistle glowed, then the sphere appeared. Not a moment later, Firebird broke from its luminous cage and spread its wings with the same keening screech as when he first released it. 

It hovered in midair for a few more moments, each great beat of its wings enough to send their robes flapping about them. Leirion’s hair tore from its half-bun and whipped behind her, but the woman only laughed at the intensity of the wind. 

Firebird landed on the ground, ruffled its feathers, and gave an endearing caw. It leaned its head down and nudged Hermes’s cheek. He nodded at the other presence, and Firebird shifted its fiery gaze on Leirion. A moment of scrutiny was all it took before the bird let her pet it. 

“It’s magnificent.” Leirion was breathless, her rapture visible on the quiet grin on her face and gleam in her eyes. 

“It may not be an exact copy of Halcyon, but I hope you like it.”

“It’s perfect, Hermes,” she exclaimed. “What’s it called?” 

“Firebird, for now, but you are free to rename it as you see fit.”

“Me?” And again, her eyes grew wide like saucers as she looked at him in bewilderment. 

Hermes nodded. “‘Tis a gift.”

“A gift?” Leirion tilted her head. “Hermes, are you not submitting the concept to the Bureau of Architect?”

A wry smile tugged the corners of Hermes’s lips. “I have a… slightly different creation for that. A slight tweak here and there. Still meant for air travel, as you wished, but yours will be one of its kind. There will be no imitations of it.”

“Hermes…”

Ignoring the warmth spreading in his chest, Hermes stepped closer to her. He placed the whistle on her hand. “Just blow on this, and it will come to you. Though I suggest you bond with it first, so it recognizes you as its master.” 

Bonding with a beast was a skill specialized for beastmasters. During her stay in Elpis, Leirion had often used it while dealing with especially unruly beasts. It allowed her to attune to a creature, speak with it mind to mind, and understand the complexities of its thoughts and feelings. Having her here had been a boon to the facility, significantly reducing the amount of researchers giving up and unmaking their failed creations. Yet now a couple centuries had passed since she went on to take the mantle of the Traveler, and Elpis had slowly returned to how it once was, as though her mark had never been here. None of the beastmasters they had employed since her departure held her level of dedication. Should an attunement fail, they would deem the creature unsalvageable. Unless the rare occasions arose in which the related researcher would ask to be allowed to modify their concept, the creature would be brought to Lethe and be undone. 

Seeing Leirion now whisper the ancient words he could never speak and touch Firebird between its eyes, Hermes realized just how much he missed her. He missed the sight of her beautiful smile, the sound of her joyful laughter, the whiff of her scent that always smelled like citrus and pine. 

Like home. 

Now all he could hope for was a brief glimpse of her every time he went down to Amaurot, or her short visits to Elpis every other decade. What he would do to beg her to stay, to return to his side and accompany him in these long, dreary days. But he knew she took great pride in her work. He would not take that away from her, not even if he were thrown into the seventh hell. 

“Done.” Her beam shone like the radiant sun. “Firebird.” She tasted the word in her tongue. “I’ll call you Firebird, then. Will you let me test ride you, Firebird?”

The bird nodded reverently, then bent its knees. Leirion climbed to its back and settled herself between its shoulder blades. Magical harnesses manifested around her.

“You even made harnesses,” she said giddily. Leirion tested them, then found them secure. Then she looked at him, grin still in place, as she held out a hand toward him. “Come.”

Hermes blinked. “What?”

“Let’s fly,” she said again. “I doubt even through all the testing you’ve subjected it to, you haven’t actually flown on it.” 

She wasn’t wrong, and his heart constricted at how she knew him so well. 

When Hermes still hesitated, Leirion rolled her eyes. “You are not afraid of flying; I know that.”

It was Firebird who implored him next, looking at him with those doe-eyed amber pupils.

“See? Firebird wants you to ride it too. Come; just one ride around the facility?”

Hermes was never immune to her pleas. Not when she asked him to create a flying vehicle. Not when she asked him to ride with her. 

With an inward sigh, Hermes grabbed Leirion’s outstretched hand and climbed astride Firebird. He did not miss her giggle as he settled behind her. 

“Hang on tight.”