A Brave New World Ch 05

Thank you all for the feedback on the previous chapters. I've tried to incorporate the meaningful comments into the subsequent chapters. Hope you enjoy it!

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The sun had begun peeking over the mounting by the time Istvan opened his eyes. Bella laid by his side, the rhythmic rise and fall of her sleeping chest capturing his attention with a smile. The beauty blinked her eyes open, still tired from the evening escapades.

"Good morn," Istvan spoke softly as he brushed a stray lock from her face. It was obvious: he adored her.

"Mmmm good morn indeed," she replied with a satisfied smile, though, the tone was not what Istvan had been expecting. Rather than gentle exchange of lovers, Bella's tone was friendly and dismissive, as if she were greeting him on the street and was politely saying hello. "Hmmm. It is later than I expected," she commented, finding her dress and sliding it over her perfect form. "Much to do."

"W-wait... you are leaving?" Istvan called out as she stood to leave. The hurt in his voice was unmistakable.

"Of course," she answered as though she found the question to be an odd one. "Oh don't you worry, my dear. Your little indiscretion is quite safe with me. My lips are sealed."

"Have a nice day," she said in her standard silky tone as she sauntered away into the woods. It wasn't sort of saunter that demanded he follow after. Rather, it was the sort to imply his services were no longer required and she was to be left in peace.

For the moment, Istvan just sat there. He was too stunned to move and felt utterly rejected. Had he not been a sufficient lover? There was no doubt that Bella was far more experienced than he, but she had come countless times; did that not mean she found him at least enjoyable?

After a few moments, he simply frowned and shook his head to dismiss these negative feelings. This was supposed to be paradise but so far, he was finding himself more miserable than not. After he had gathered and re-donned his garments, Istvan realized that he didn't fully know where he was. He knew that Maddy's cabin

should

be nearby, and as luck would have it, he began to over-hear a conversation between her and John that lead him from the woods. He paused as he neared, realizing that neither strange person knew he was present.

"What are you doin', lass?" John asked her, his accent the utter embodiment of the fey tongue. He was tugging a button up shirt on over his bare chest, both it and his trousers looking far more normal by the standards of the rest of the villagers. Maddy, on the other hand, was now clothed in something utterly foreign and more in line with what John had been wearing the previous day.

In place of her beautiful noble gown, Madeline now wore a short (by Istvan's standards) skirt, a tight fitting blouse, and a heavy, blue canvas jacket. Her legs were partially covered by skin-tight leggings and her shoes were the strangest contraptions Istvan had ever seen. She wore the garments with comfort and ease, indicating their familiarity to her.

"I'm weeding the garden," she answered John in a mildly cross tone.

"What on earth for?" He asked, flabbergasted. "Yer supposed to be find'n out whatever information ya can, not pull'n grass from a cabbage patch for Christ's sake."

"All of the books were empty," she informed cooly, though calmly.

"And? And there ain't nooth'n else ya can be work'n on?" He returned, his voice starting to rise.

"Yeah. Weeding. What do you want me to do? They decided not to kill us. Great. You don't think that means they'll be all gung-ho about trading with us, do you?" She asked the question as if she thought John were an idiot. "Hell, that assumes they aren't some sort of barter system but I have no idea how economics would even work in a place like this. Did you see any money anywhere?"

John looked taken aback for a moment. "No, actually I didn't," he remarked curiously.

"Yeah, me neither," she answered, returning to her garden. "So either there's some bank or something in town, which we obviously have no access to, ergo no money, or we just woke up in Barter-ville, where everyone hates us and will probably not trade with us. Given that we only have about 6 months worth of food between the three of us, no trading in any form means no food. So, if we're going to eat, then, yeah. I'm weeding the fucking garden. Unless, of course, you'd like your second death to be starvation."

John reached down and grabbed Maddy's arm, yanking her to her feet as she let out a surprised yelp. "Listen, lass," he said in a patient enough sounding voice. "We ain't gonna starve to death, do you understand me? They'll either come to their senses or I'll make them. It don' matter which to me, but I do know a doctor has no business play'n house. You got better things to put that mind to, so it's more important that you go down to that library and play nice with the old fart and that weird fella to get all the information ya can, you understand? We gotta get outa here and you on your knees in the garden, pull'n out bits of grass sure as hell ain't gonna make that happen any faster."

Madeline's lips tightened as she tugged at from his grip. Istvan couldn't quite make out her expression from his vantage point, but if it was anything like the one she had offered him for a similar gesture the night before, John should have been recoil in intimidation right about now. Interestingly, he wasn't.

"Do you have any idea what you are saying?" She finally replied in a gravely serious voice. "I mean, you

did

see God yesterday, right?"

"What the fook does that gotta do with anything?" He barked in return, shaking her arm slightly to get a tighter grip.

Madeline's face contorted in disgusted disbelief. "Only that God himself said we died and that he put us here intentionally, you moron," she countered in a brazen and fearless reply. Istvan winced on her behalf. It didn't take a genius to see where this was headed and he suddenly felt that Madeline was a fool for not backing down to John. "Even assuming I

could

build you some space ship, which I can't, what makes you think escape is even possible, given that it God who put us here in the first place?"

John's scowl was painful to watch and Istvan winced for a second time, thinking he should probably intervene at some point. John pulled Madeline in closer, clearly exasperating the woman's obvious need for a sizable distance between her and anyone else. Madeline's face blushed red with anger as she doubled her efforts to escape, fruitlessly. "Oh yeah?" He answered, his voice teetering on a dangerous calm before the storm. "I also watched them freak try ta kill us for reading the bible," he countered. "Ya think Gad intended on that? And all that talk about multiple gads... it's fook'n herasy, Madeline, and it don't take a genius like you to see that this ain't the paradise we was promised, which means it's all some alien fook'n trick. I'll bet we ain't even dead. I'll bet we're in some prison with our brains hooked up to some machine, pump'n all these thoughts inta our heads like some fook'n extended LSD trip from hell."

"If that's true then nothing I do can wake us up," Madeline replied, the former bite to her tone now gone, as if she had recognized the error in her approach too late.

John shrugged, offering her a little more space, but not releasing her arm. "An' what if they dropped us on some alien planet or something. It was you who pointed out the stars ain't where they ought be," he added, much to Istvan's surprise. Albus had mentioned that it would take an observant and keen mind to discern that they were on another planet. If John's reply were to be taken seriously, Madeline had done so within a few hours of arriving here. "Maybe it's some Alien trick ta give us hope. Ya can't have misery without hope and those fookers love misery," he concluded in what Istvan took as likely the most insightful thing the hot head had every considered.

John tossed Maddy's arm back, causing her to stumble away slightly with far less grace than she had thus far demonstrated. "I don' much care about the why's," he said with finality. "All I care about is getting outa here and back home so we can give those alien fookers a taste of what the Irish Bomber can do when he ain't all beaten and bruise. The only one here who can do that is you and if you insist on need'n help, well, then go train those two fookers at the library ta help ya. I'll warn ya, lass. I ain't gonna tolerate this foolery outa ya fer much longer, ya understand?"

Madeline scowled at him in return.

"I asked if ya understand, lass," He repeated in a serious tone.

"Yeah, I understand," she finally answered, none-too-happy about where this all had lead.

"Good. Now get yer ass down there and get ta work. No more shitt'n around in the garden."

Madeline continued to give him a scowl as she non-committally stepped away and toward what Istvan assumed must have been the road. For his part, John moved in the opposite direction.

Istvan frowned as he took in the interaction as a whole. He did not care for the way John treated his companion. He had seen the type before and sooner or later it would escalated to physical violence. In any case, he would not interfere, not unless asked. They were both so strange to him, that he didn't want to risk furthering the misunderstanding that had transpired between the Three and the rest of them.

Giving the hothead time to distract himself, Istvan took a circular route back to the village, intersecting Madeline's path halfway there. Along the way, his mood soured considerably, largely owing to how John had treated Madeline and the impotence Istvan felt in the matter. The physical delight with Bella only lasted so long. It barely endured past her matter of fact dismissal of him.

Madeline apparently had grabbed one of the books she had the night before and had tucked it under her arm on her hour long trek down to the village again. She paused and gave Istvan an eye of caution as he gradually entered the path. Her gaze drifted around, like a person in thought, and she only awkwardly offered him a soft, "Good morning," an uncomfortable time later.

Madeline lacked a certain social awareness at times, and a powerful insight at others. This was not a moment of insight and she very obviously did not fully know what to do. Idly conversation was a definitive weakness for her.

"Good morning. I did not expect many to be awake at this hour," he returned, smiling cordially, conveniently mis-directing her to believe that their meeting on the path had been coincidental.

Noting the book, he gestured absently, "Planning to write some today? If you are going to the library, I can help you with the finer techniques of quill and ink... if you wish."

Madeline looked skeptical, but simply offered him a non-committal shrug. "I... I guess," she replied with the same level of apathy. "Aren't you worried they'll gut you for talking to me? I could be casting an evil spell on you or something, after all," she added, placing heavy sarcasm on the comment about evil casting.

Istvan snorted, rolling his eyes dramatically at the words. He considered the woman for a moment before answering.

"I imagine tongues are already wagging that I am walking with you. Luckily, you are not evil or perhaps I would be more concerned about these spells of yours."

"Good to know," she answered, again in a non-respondent and apathetic way. "At least one of you has an open enough mind to come to that obvious realization."

Istvan smirked slightly. "Honestly, I do not know what to make of you and your companions. The priest seems humble enough and of a good heart. Your John is somewhat of a hothead and talks in the tone of the Fey, which makes many overly curious. I believe the problem is in your choices of languages. A holy book written in the language of the Nine Hells? Naturally it arouses suspicion and your Priest's arguments were not likely to be sufficient for most to come to understanding, " he replied at length, stopping to regard her closely, watching her eyes.

"Tell me, Madeline, should I be wary?"

Madeline smirked slightly through Istvan's long and drawn out speech. "So first you conclude that I'm not evil so you're safe, but then you ask me to verify that determination?" She gave him a critical tone in her response. "Sounds like I was a little hasty in my assessment," she mumbled to herself through a long sigh.

"Should you be wary? Hell if I know," she answered finally. "Yeah, Father Antonio is a very humble and very good man. I'd say you hit the nail on the head with that one. And bonus points for John being a loose canon. Unfortunately, I have no idea what you mean by Fey to confirm or refute that observation. If by

Fey

you mean

Irish

, then yeah. That's true. He's Irish. I don't know what that has to do with anything though." Madeline seemed fairly bored with this course of dialogue.

"There's only one Hell, not nine," she corrected him flatly. "And I have no idea what language, if any, they speak down there. You should talk to Antonio about that business."

Istvan frowned. Apparently his sour mood was contagious because Madeline was growing more and more difficult with each passing moment. "Perhaps I shall," he answered casually. "In any case, I have the ability to read any language if I choose. If you do not mind, I would like to read one of your holy books. In that way I can attest that your God's teachings are not.....infernal," he added neutrally, his tone daring yet genuine.

"Any language you choose, eh?" Madeline remarked to herself, clearly finding Istvan to be arrogant, but she didn't comment on it past that.

She continued to walk as she paused in her response. "Let's hypothetically say that you can read Latin," she finally said in the sort of way that scholars often did when they were engaging in some sort of intellectual argument (though not one that was charged by emotions). "Because, I mean, I can barely read it, but let's say that you can read it pretty well. No one else here seems to be able to, except for Anthony, and maybe Simon, or else they'd have read the Bible last night to confirm what the three of us were saying about it. So, I have to wonder what your intentions are. If this is a trick, you'll screw me over and tell everyone that's it's super evil or something. If you're sincerely curious, well, what makes you think anyone will believe what you have to say? All the people here seem to believe in magic. What's to stop them from thinking I cast some sort of spell on you or something to make you say that my religion is about love and forgiveness? I mean, it's not like anyone else can verify what it says, right? And it's easier to think that I did something nefarious than it is to accept that I'm not some monster in disguise. Especially after everything that's happened...."

Istvan attempted to offer a casual shrug, but it translated into something awkward. "... Why do you find it odd that we should believe in magic?" He inquired, largely thinking out loud. "I would have expected an educated woman such as yourself to be well versed in Arcane Knowledge..."

Madeline stopped and looked at him critically, obviously confused by his genuine curiosity. "... are you... are you serious?" She replied in a gentler voice than he was expecting. "Magic isn't real, Istvan. Magic is something that people invented to compensate for their own lack of understanding of science."

The statement was obviously absurd, but Istvan frowned in confusion, meeting her eyes straight on. Her dismissal of magic, albeit ridiculous in nature, was offered gently and with concern for his response, as if she knew it would change his world to hear these words and so she offered them with care and respect. "But it

is

real," Istvan replied, equally bewildered. "It is measurable and quantifiable. In fact, I would argue that it is more studied than science... are you... are you a scientist?" He was hesitant but excited at the same time. As an Artificer, his field was a marriage between Arcana and Science, the latter of which was a small and quickly developing field that intrigued him greatly.

Madeline seemed even more confused. "Well... wait, if I say yes are you going to try and burn me at the stake?" She offered in a guarded tone. She shook her head slightly. "Look, that doesn't matter. How can you genuinely look me in the eye and honestly tell me that magic is quantifiable? That's... I mean... What? Magic's not real, Istvan. How can you quantify something that doesn't exist, beyond zero, I mean?"

Istvan frowned harder as they continued, turning to look at he ground. He was now extremely confused as Madeline seemed genuine in her dismissal of magic. They stopped when Madeline paused to examine a tree which she seemed to recognize and which had just put out a few new shoots. She shifted the book in her arms and reached into her pocket, pulling out metal ring that held a variety of contraptions on it. She sifted through the items until she pulled a pink one out and then, much to Istvan's surprise, pulled a small blade from it and began to cut off small twig like branches on the aspen, tucking the branches into her pockets as she did.

Istvan forgot all of his confusion as his eyes latched onto the strange tool she had just used so mundanely. His hand reached out almost of its own accord.

"That knife. How...who created such a work?" he asked softly, his tone clearly one of professional interest and perhaps reverence.

Maddy eyed him carefully, taking the knife off of the equally impressive carabeener and closing the blade before handing it to the clearly curious Istvan. She did this without even looking at it, as if it was practically second nature to her. "Surely you have knives, where ever you're from?" She asked, rather curious about Istvan's reaction. This only served to reinforce that the miraculously crafted knife was a forgettable mundane contraption to the woman.

"This is a pocket knife and not a very good one," she explained. Smiling faintly, she pocketed the rest of the key chain.

Istvan glanced into her eyes, gratitude clear as he accepted the curious tool. His fingers quickly explored, plucking open each tool and examining it with a critical eye.

"Knives? Yes, of course; but the workmanship of this is amazing. Such detail and so small. And they all connect together. This is absolutely inspiring. I don't think even Gnomes and Dwarves could create something like this, let alone the Elf metalsmiths," he ventured, his tone hushed and intrigued.

It was with some reluctance that he closed the tool back to how he received it and held it out to Maddy.

Madeline's critical look shifted into a bit of a frown. "Gnomes. Right," she said as she accepted the knife.

Madeline did not say anything else as she turned to cut a few more of the new shoots from the aspen and then finally pulled out the key chain to return the knife to it's home with the other dangles. She started walking again toward the town.

"I'll uh... I'll draw a design sketch of it if you want," she offered hesitantly. "It's not really all that hard to make."

Maddy's pace hadn't really changed, though she did seem to be examining the aspens as they walked.

The silence gave Istvan's mind a chance to revist Maddy's insistence that magic wasn't real. "What if... what if I were to prove to you that Magic does indeed exist?" He approached carefully.

Madeline cocked a skeptical, but academic eyebrow. "Oh?" She replied, obviously humoring him.

"I believe that there is a communication barrier between the Three and the rest of us," he speculated while nodding at her. "In that vein, I suspect that you know full well the meaning of magic, but that perhaps it uses another name in your land. Perhaps the word magic implies foolishness to you, where I mean something other than what you infer?"