Library Of Laughter Ch 02

Disclaimer: This goblin is not a historian, an expert on Irish lore or culture, or archeological best practices. This story should not be taken too seriously along those lines.

Also, this story is written with an ace audience in mind. There'll be lots of mind control and teasing, but not so much sex. Fair warning!

~ ~ ~ ~

"No, they definitely weren't around me when I went to sleep. I chose a patch clear of ferns."

"Strange. Do ye suppose they grew up while ye slept?"

Rufus grimaced. "Well... nothing so unscientific as that. Ferns don't grow that quickly. Maybe it just..." He wracked his brains for the explanation. Nothing came to mind, and his shoulders slumped. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe I

did

misremember."

He bit his lip, not liking the uncertainty of that answer. Brielle seemed midlly interested at best, however. She shrugged. "There's all sorts of folklore about these ferns. Maybe there's no rational explanation for it." She paused, looking around them. "So, what do you think so far?"

"Mostly, I think 'I really wish we brought more tracing paper'." Rufus sighed, looking around them.

Brielle had brought them to another old ruin. A winding ruin of crumbling walls, many of which were absolutely covered in old script. At first, Rufus had been excited. Then the magnitude of his task had begun to set in. He didn't have enough rubbing paper. Not even nearly. This was going to be a problem.

The walls formed an almost mazelike structure, though many had crumbled enough to leap over, or even step over. Rufus hadn't the faintest idea of what they'd used to be. Not a library, he was certain. Almost definitely important. But the passages were thin enough to make it a real hassle to navigate.

"It's somethin', ain't it?" She grinned at him. "I thought it'd pick up your fancy."

"Yes, yes, it's very nice." He idly kicked a stone. "But we'll need to make a whole other trip back for supplies. And just using up the rubbing paper we have will take an hour or so, I'll bet."

Discovering that the camera had broken during the trek had been one of the worst blows so far. It hadn't been catastrophic, though—they could always take rubbings and detailed sketches for now, and bring his phone back alter, fully-charged, for photos. But this changed the dynamic a little. There was simply

too much

.

"The way back'll be shorter, since we haven't got any detours." Brielle chewed her upper lip, clearly thinking hard. "I reckon best is for you to stay here, an' keep making rubbings, and for me to go back and buy the paper an' get your phone. Saves time, all things considered."

"Why don't I go?" Rufus rubbed his bare shoulder uneasily. "This place... I don't like the idea of staying here alone."

"Ye aren't scared, are ye?" Brielle teased. "Worried about... the ghost?"

"The... ghost?" Rufus blinked.

"Oh, aye." She grinned. "They say the last researcher to come by here mysteriously vanished. Sometimes ye can still here him at night, frettin' about his logistics."

"Ha, ha. I'm not

scared

." Rufus folded his arms. "Just... uneasy. But that's not the same thing."

"Agh, sure, sure." She snorted. "If ye really want to make the trip back, should be easy enough. Or we could just go together, and spare each other the hassle." She jokingly hugged herself, as if nervous. "Maybe you're a fearless archeologist, Rufus, but

some

of us don't like bein' left alone out here."

Rufus snorted. "Just follow after as soon as the paper's used up. You'll probably make better time than me, too. We can make the return trip together."

"Until then, Rufus." Brielle watched him as he sifted through the wheelbarrow, retrieving some snacks for the way. "Oh, um, by the way..."

He looked up. "What?"

She seemed to hesitate. "Ne'ermind. It aughtn't be importat."

He considered her curiously, then turned and started back.

He hoped to make it back before noon. He did not want to have to spend the night in town.

Though perhaps it was safer than spending the night out here with killer ferns. He gave a short laugh, leaping over one of the ferns in question. It rustled in the wind.

~ ~ ~ ~

Rufus made very good time, and it was only a couple hours later that Rufus was drawing near the strange old town.

As the houses came into view, Rufus began to hear a series of notes drifting through the air. It sounded like music—but like no music he'd heard in a long time. It had a wispy, airy quality, sort of reminiscent of old trance music his one of his dormmates had listened to. Most of it was vocal, as near as he could tell. He certainly didn't hear any fiddles or panpipes.

He recognized the source as he entered town. A curious crowd of about twenty people had gathered in the center square.

They were mostly women, he noted subconsciously, as he made his way to the store. No,

all

women, it seemed. They were gathered around a tall wooden pole, assembling colorful bundles of shimmering ribbons. The ribbons were mostly green and blue, giving it all a bright turquoise sheen. In the early noon light, their faces were positively radiant. There had to be at least twenty gathered there.

Strange that they were all around the same age. Part of the tradition, perhaps? A rite of passage? Rufus supposed he should be making more of an effort to understand this town's traditions, unsettling as the place could be. After all, as his professor had often said, a place's past informed its present—and therefore, a place's present informed its past.

He entered the crafts store, giving a sparing smile to the older woman at the register. She returned the smile. Her smile was a steely red, her face heavily freckled, her frame small and a little hunched. Beside her stood a younger woman—perhaps in her early teens, with her red hair falling down in a long braid. The woman's daughter, maybe.

The old woman said something he didn't understand.

"What?" Rufus bit his lip. "Um, sorry, I—"

He was scrambling in his mind for the Polish words for 'Do you speak Polish?' when the young girl chirped, "Oh, you don't speak Irish?"

"Um... no." Relief sparked in him. "But you speak some English?"

"Yes! A little." The girl pinched her fingers together, wrinkling her nose.

It occurred to Rufus that he hadn't seen many children around the village since his arrival—mostly folk close to his age, with a few elders. He thought about asking about that, but decided it would come across decidedly the wrong way. Perhaps it was just practice to keep the children indoors, especially when strangers were around. "Well, good morning!" he said, feeling a little awkward as he approached the counter. "How are you doing today?"

"Augh, we're well." She shrugged. "It's a sunny mornin', isn't it?"

"Sure. Yeah." He nodded, then made a show of looking around—the older store owner's stare was very intense. "So, um, Brielle probably came by the other day..."

"Brielle?" She blinked.

"Oh!" He felt his cheeks heating up a little. "Sorry, I shouldn't assume you all know—"

"Agh, no, I know Brielle." She turned around to the shelves, her ill-fitting clothes making her trip slightly as she scrambled over to one laden with different kinds of paper "I jes wanted to know which Brielle ye meant. I know two."

"Oh. And they both came in recently?"

"Agh, sure. Mum gets lots of visitors." She gave a slightly annoyed laugh. "Lots of call for our colored feathers, this time of year."

"... right. So, anyways, she would have bought some paper..."

"Aye, the, um, thin paper!" The storeowner's daughter (or was that the storeowner? Rufus realized he had no real idea how this town's economy worked) milled about, back and forth, as if unable to recall where she'd left the stuff. Understandably—this store was a mess. It appeared to sell a mishmash of arts and crafts materials, as well as all sorts of miscellaneous stuff like plaster and plant pots.

At last, she settled on a large roll of parchment paper—like what one might buy at a grocery store, but, well, bigger. "This'll do?"

He nodded uncertainly. "That's what she bought?"

She must have cut it into squares herself. Thouhtful, Brielle. Maybe that's what she wanted to tell me—that I'd have to bring some scissors if I wanted it cut tidily.

"I'll get a pair of scissors, too."

"As long as ye don't run with 'em!" The girl grabbed a pair of scissors and added it to the strip of parchment paper she was busily unrolling and folding up for him. "Will that be all?"

"Yes. Uh—I mean—" Rufus swallowed, glancing back outside. "Can I ask what's going on out there? It seems like some sort of celebration. I don't want to interrupt, but it seems interesting."

"Oh, they don't mind people joining in!" She stumbled back to the counter, still trying to fold her mess of paper around the scissors. She at last gave up and just dumped it all on the table for him to sort through. "I would, only I'm not yet old enough. No one too young or too old gets to dance."

"What are they doing?"

And why is there an age limit?

Rufus wanted to add, but he didn't want it to be obvious he was essentially interrogating this kid. Her mother was starting to look impatient.

"It's a monthly rite."

"But you're not allowed to join in?"

"Agh..." She made a sound like a small explosion. "It can be difficult to keep up—an' fallin' down is part of the fun, but if too many folk aren't fast enough, it makes a mess of the cuailleribín."

"Why is it all girls?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Rufus found he had no answer for that. Well, he had three, but one was inane and the other two would probably make the girl annoyed with him.

Instead, he politely paid the sum—luckily, she was willing to accept pounds, though she had to banter back and forth with her mother for a while, and the prices were suspiciously a

little

higher than they probably should have been—and headed out. Brielle wouldn't be back for a while yet. Time enough to get a meal—she'd given him a spare house key—and see how his phone was charging.

And on the way out... perhaps he'd take a look and see what the women were up to. It couldn't hurt, after all.

~ ~ ~ ~

Rufus wasn't an angry person by nature. In fact, he often felt he was very easy-going—more likely to have an anxiety attack than lash out at anyone, certainly.

But he felt like throwing his phone out the window right now.

It hadn't been plugged in.

Why hadn't it been plugged in?

Had he forgotten? Had Brielle? Had he used it, then forgotten to return it to the outlet?

Rufus munched on Brielle's apple crisp angrily. He wanted someone to blame. The trouble was, it had been a day and a half at this point. He couldn't remember the details. He glared at the dark-screened phone balefully.

You had one job, phone.

He tapped his foot irritably. Now what was he supposed to do? He wouldn't be able to take any photos unless they waited all day for the phone to charge again. They

could

do that, he supposed. It just seemed like an awful hassle.

Sighing, Rufus leaned over the kitchen sink and opened the window, receiving a gust of cool air. It calmed him slightly.

And through the open window, he caught the wispy notes of a song traveling from the center of town.

Curiosity ate at him. Shoving the rest of the slice of apple crisp into his mouth, he grabbed his cup of milk and his bag, made sure to set the phone down (the last thing he needed was to drop the damn thing) and ran for the door.

At least he could learn something useful while in town. He hoped it would be useful, anyways. Interesting, surely. Maypoles were

not

an old Irish tradition, as far as he knew. More British, or Germanic, maybe. Not his area of expertise.

Perhaps he would learn something of use here, though he wasn't exactly sure what to expect.

~ ~ ~ ~

Rufus hadn't been sure what to expect when he'd approached the town square, but it hadn't been this. Not... exactly, anyways.

The young woman had changed clothes, and now wore flowing green robes and elaborate masks. And by 'masks', Rufus didn't mean cute masquerade masks, or cardstock masks with rubber-band straps to hold them on. The masks were enormous—some incorporating animal skulls, others made from what was probably papier-mâché —and depicted horrible creatures, animals, monsters, grimacing ogres and screaming banshees. Many of them were covered in colorful feathers, as well.

The twenty of them had begun dancing around the maypole, each clutching a long, shimmering thin silk ribbon. The dance wasn't terribly elaborate, but the speed they were going at... it was exhilarating to watch. Rufus definitely had no intention of trying to join in.

There were no spectators. The music was coming from the women themselves, singing from within their masks. Rufus bit his lip, staring at the scene in perplexed wonder, then leaned against a wall to watch.

Gradually, Rufus realized that the dance was deceptively simple. Every now and then, exactly half of the dancers would stop, allowing the other half to pass them by before resuming. Each time, the ribbons would tangle in an ugly way, and Rufus would feel sure that it was going to become too tangled to swing around—only for it to all somehow come together and continue to wrap around the maypole.

It was a bit mesmerizing to watch, actually. Rufus was surprised more people weren't observing it. The dance was lovely in its start-stop rhythm, and the singing was awfully pretty—rather than muffle their voices, the masks seemed to give the voices a resonant, almost otherworldly quality. Rufus wasn't exactly tapping his foot, but it was pretty. It was soothing.

His eyelids drooped. The song droned on, light and airy as dandelion seeds. The green-robed women continued to dance, as lithe and graceful as grass rustling in the wind. The ribbons continued to wind and spin.

Rufus blinked, and shook himself slightly. His night hadn't been restful, and if he weren't standing straight up, he'd have sworn he'd just nodded off. The women had just done the half-stop routine again, jarring him a little.

Was he really learning anything? Maybe not. But it was nice to watch. Plus, he mused to himself, maybe taking an interest in their traditions would make folk friendlier to him. The younger generation—Talla aside, and she wasn't even from this town—was probably a lot easier to get information from than the town elders. More worldly, less suspicious towards outsiders, and more likely to speak English.

Plus, embarrassing as it might be, it was just a bit easier to talk to people his own age.

He blinked, realizing he'd nodded off a little again. God, was he really this tired? He hadn't felt so tired on the way here. Then again, it had been a long walk, and he wasn't exactly fit.

Plus, his dreams... hadn't exactly been restful.

He swallowed. Now was not the time to be thinking about the dream. He rubbed his bare arms uncomfortably.

The spinning ribbons soon resolved his unease. It was difficult to feel uneasy, staring at that spinning maypole. The music lilted and spun around him like honeybees seeking flowers, buzzing, close-up and yet faraway. He found himself smiling. It was so simple to just watch the dance and calm himself a little. Let his mind wander. Let himself drift.

A soft hand took his. He blinked, and found himself staring into two bright green eyes behind a deer skull. Those eyes shone with delight as their owner tugged him towards the dance. She was speaking, but he couldn't quite hear her over the song—which was a little odd, considering the song wasn't loud at all. Everything just felt fuzzy right now. Everything just felt easy to drift into right now.

He found himself following along, almost docile, as his 'captor' led him up to the dance and handed him a long, red strand of ribbon. He marveled at it a moment, his mind as soft and ethereal as a drifting jellyfish.

Then his brain kicked back in with a jolt as the dancers started to pass him.

He quickly took off. He wasn't

quite

just outright running, but... well, the dancers were hard to keep up with. He leaped with as much grace as he could muster, struggling to keep pace, to keep some semblance of rhythm.

It was easier than it looked, to his relief. In fact, Rufus found it was quite easy to just sort of sink into the rhythm of the song. He hummed along, as much to focus himself as for fun. Easy. Easy to sink.

Rufus hummed along and lost himself to the rhythm, and it was almost easy to keep sideways-leaping, staying just ahead of the next girl. The ribbons slowly tightened, and he realized just how intricate this dance was—the girls ahead of him and behind him had both stopped, and it was time for him to dance ahead of them. He did so, and momentarily, his ribbon tangled with theirs, and then...

... something released. He didn't quite understand it, and if asked later, he was sure he'd be lost to find an explanation without actually asking one of the dancers. But the ribbon slacked, and he found himself now spinning outward, moving away from the flagpole.

He was laughing. It was

fun

. He hadn't expected it to be so much fun, but it was so, so easy to lose himself to the thrill of the dance, to spiral endlessly around the pole, lost in the melody, the song immersing him.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing but the dance.

And then he realized

he

was supposed to stop.

And he didn't.

The music hadn't stopped, and he kept dancing, kept mindlessly humming, even as the woman behind Rufus moved past him. He found his red ribbon getting tangled up in green and blue ribbons, found himself moving closer and closer to the pole even as everyone else started to move further out.

He was confused. The song was still going, and he didn't know what to do—if he stopped now, he'd just made things worse. So he kept going.

Rufus's head was spinning. He felt like he'd spun around for an hour and abruptly started spinning in the other direction—and with a buzzing throb, he realized he had.

Or the others had started spinning in the other direction. Either way, he was now dancing against the current. He hummed mindlessly, even as his mind was struggling to make sense of the geometry, as ribbons started winding around his—and then around him.

He was getting tangled up completely, virtually bound fast. He couldn't stop. Couldn't think.

Everything was spinning. The song rang in his ears endlessly, comforting him, soothing him, even as ribbons tangled around his arms, his neck, his torso. Everything was spinning. Everything was drifting. He was drowning in ribbons.

And then a ribbon somehow wound around his legs, and he tripped and landed facefirst in the grass.

The music paused.

For a moment, there was silence. Rufus stared at the grass beneath him, willing the world to swallow him whole now, while there was still time. He knew he'd messed up. It wasn't even fear of jeopardizing his project right now—these were just the familiar pains of social anxiety he was feeling.

The world did not swallow him up. The music resumed, but softer now, slower—and he felt hands grasping him, rolling him onto his back.

Most of the girls were still dancing, he realized, seeing ribbons spiraling overhead. Five of them had stopped to check on him, though. Momentary terror sparked in him as he saw a deer skull, a horse skull, a cluster of bird skulls and two horrid screaming monsters staring down at him, before he recognized bright green eyes behind each.

Those green eyes were very, very amused. Rufus felt his cheeks growing hotter and hotter as he realized he was almost completely tied and trussed in colorful ribbons, binding his arms to his sides, his feet bound fast.

He felt a little bit like a fly in a web.

"Oh, now,

look

at this," sang one of the masked women, giving a little giggle. He squirmed as her hands ran under one of the ribbons, grazing his side. "It seems we went a little too quick for this one!"