Saturday's Storyteller: "He didn't quite catch what was off about the room until he realized that all of the picture frames were turned around."

by Belinda Roddie

He didn't quite catch what was off about the room until he realized that all of the picture frames were turned around. Then again, even if he did turn them around, there'd be no photographs in them at all. Not that the master of the house didn't like to retain memories of his youth - but he didn't like hanging up his past for all to see. So Barkelee was more than curious about why the frames were on the wall to begin with.

"They're quite lovely standing on their own," the master replied placidly, offering the youth a glass of very dark wine. "Excellently carved wood. And they were gifts. It'd be a pity to let them gather dust."

Barkelee was unsure as to how empty, turned around picture frames made any of their givers happen. But given Miss Kor's warnings, he was willing to let it slide.

Sir Ifolde was a staunchly middle-aged, egregiously curt man. He did not smoke, and he offered alcohol even though he himself did not drink. He paced the main hallway more than anywhere else in the house, and when he ate, he ate in a separate room from the rest of the explorer team. Nobody seemed to like him, not even Miss Kor. Well, except Arvey, who made a move to talk to him the most.

So far, Barkelee was still unsure on how to approach the scrawny girl, or even speak to her, since the first night. So far, they had worked separately save for their brief survivalist group sessions and their six o'clock meetings. Even then, it was mostly Miss Kor and Sir Ifolde who did the talking during the meetings, and the group sessions ironically felt more individualistic as slowly but surely they all worked separately on different elements of travel. Barkelee would also be distracted by Quinoni's feverishly drumming fingers as she blatantly itched for a cigarette or cigar - which she could not smoke in front of their two superiors - and find it difficult to concentrate on the grid, which in turn would frustrate Kor and Isolde, which would make Barkelee wish for a bottle so he could drink himself stupid and go to bed.

He spent most of his free time staying in the study, perusing the many books that were in fact not dusty but perfectly pristine and well kept. The pages were so bright and fragile that Barkelee almost worried he would tear them, so he used a pair of tongs to flip the paper rather than stain it with his fingers. Occasionally, Quinoni would sit down beside him, sneaking in a stogie, and they would talk about their days or the upcoming expedition. They were terse, but they kept short sentences flowing, and it relaxed the youth to hear Quinoni's gruff voice taking up the space. He was certain they would get along just fine, whether or not he approved of the nickname "Barkman."

But Arvey was an entirely different specimen. Somehow, Barkelee believed there was more to her than she would ever let anyone in on. Namely, she seemed to pay much attention to her mentor, though the first rank aggressor figured it was because they had a strong student-teacher relationship. Somehow, however, it appeared to be more potent than that. The way they sat at dinner together - hands almost touching at times - reeked of a forbidden romance. But Barkelee would never question or ask for details. He'd have his face beaten in before he had a chance to attack any enemy during their exploration.

So he stayed withdrawn from Arvey, and he said very little to her besides a standard greeting as they filed in and out of their outdoor and indoor sessions. The weeks went by steadily, until it was time for them to leave the estate. Sir Ifolde had given them as many resources as possible to navigate the terrain, even offering them extra tools for excavation and cartography.

Barkelee wasn't exactly thrilled to be leaving - he had grown quite accustomed to the stocky-looking mansion. But he would never quite understand the master's comments about the picture frames.

Even some pictures of flowers or drawings of trees would have sufficed.

***

"Jack's Lair...Spot's Tide...Apple's Glare and Father's Bride. Steady Gait...Bobby Bait...Wrong Step, You Disintegrate..."

He was reciting the strange little rhyme as the team began their trek, the dales and hills meshing together in grays as they sluggishly walked. Miss Kor had insisted on a very slow pace - "to get used to the atmosphere," she claimed. More and more now, Barkelee had begun to understand why she was making them move so gradually. The air, bit by bit, was becoming more difficult to breathe, and the wind sharper and colder with even one minor step.

They stopped an hour into their journey and poked into their rations. Quinoni passed around a bottle of bourbon and everyone, even Arvey, took a drink. The stuff kicked Barkelee's teeth loudly, and he did not like the taste. But by Sivalia, did it warm his intestines and cook an enthusiastic brew in his chest in order to push him forward.

The first day of wandering in a blurred, strange no man's land was very much a day of stopping - every hour, in fact, for one reason or another. Mainly, it was to eat or drink bourbon. A scrap of food would be swallowed. A bottle passed. A diagram scraped into the dirt, or an examination of the darkening, deepening skies. Because they did seem to be deepening, as if they were the same weight and texture of the ocean. Dark, foamy residue threatening to spill from the heavens, and make the cosmos swirl like bits of lost seaweed and coral reef.

Barkelee had been to the shoreline from time to time in Sivalia. He had just never enjoyed it.

They stopped a seventh time, and it would be the last of the day. Quinoni pitched the tent. Miss Kor started the fire. And, as Barkelee set to preparing a meal, he watched as Arvey perched herself on a rock with a piece of paper, drawing on it with what appeared to be a stick of charcoal.

Cute, he thought. She was busy with homework while they were doing the manual labor.

Not that she appeared capable of lifting too much, anyway. Her hair splattered across her back, she hunched over on the stone, knees wobbling beneath her corduroy coat, scribbling away. Her face was pale in the moonless night, and Barkelee wondered if the moon could reach this place at all.

He thought about the picture frames and somehow, that distracted him. He set out opening the tins of cold goods. They would cook, and the four would dine in the frosty air for the first time out of many, many times.

This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.