Chapter 3
-Edreimlecheth
I had a familiar sinking feeling in my chest, salted with just a hint of burgeoning rage. I was alone now. Sareash and the rest had all left me here alone in this place. It stunk of tree needles.
“Happy holiday.” I said to myself, loud enough to get a side-eye from the overripe prune of a bartender. “Another drink.” I said, proffering my bumper. He shrugged and took it. Now I was alone without a drink, without even a prune bartender to call my own.
The room fell into a greater darkness. I gazed at the window. The snow was still pouring out like puss from a scab. Clouds had to be covering the clouds that were covering the sun. Everything in nature needed sunlight to sustain life, that included me, but the mountains were cruel and didn’t care about preserving life.
So I will drink in darkness. Where is that barkeeper? Why is he taking so long with my drink? He probably saw that I was elvish and decided to spit or piss in it. That would serve me right for traveling amongst humans.
Gods, what are you doing here, Ed? How have you ended up here, isolated in a scat-dump of a tavern surrounded by mortals and people who don’t understand you?
Sareash, the mortal princess. It’s her fault I’m here, in this wretched state, in this wretched place. She pulled me in, with no concern for my laws or my calling, to be an enemy of mankind and that which he has built.
No, I have to own this. My own choice brought me here, my own emotionalist, sentimental choices. My own folly.
The barkeeper came back. I tried to read his hideous expression, but I didn’t get much from it. It was too tangled in my own blasted thoughts and feelings to read the face of another. In the end, I couldn’t know whether or not he spat in my drink, so I sat and stared into the swill like it was a divining mirror.
Whatever torture those three fools are concocting, its a torture I’ve brought upon myself. A holiday, a feast, as though there is anything in this corrupt world worth celebrating. Nature suffers under the yoke of the sentient races. Nature repays slavery with sickness and poison. The oppressed continue to be oppressed and the wicked swell with bounty and fatness. The state of things, this world, it’s all a hideous miscarriage. Why should I celebrate? Why should anyone with any awareness celebrate?
I took a deep breath and then finally gave up and sipped my drink, hoping against all hope that the man had not spit in it.
This is the path you’ve chosen, Ed. You decided that you wanted to try to understand her. You’ve barely been at it a month. Try a little harder.
These were the kinds of thoughts I had. Blessed holiday ruminations.
A little while later, Sareash reappeared. She was dressed nicely, in a flowery tunic that bared her shoulders. Her hair was neatly brushed and combed. She was smiling. Despite my irritation, seeing her raised my spirits just a bit. I tried not to show it.
“Drinking all by yourself, stranger?” She said.
I took another sip before answering, trying not to think about the spit, then I answered with a nod.
She walked slowly over to me, feigning shyness. “I was wondering if you wanted to go on a walk with me.”
I was inclined to refuse. I had to assume this was somehow part of their holiday trap, and it was also an impossible request with the mountain winds raging outside.
She saw that I was hesitant, so she spoke up, “We can walk around the halls upstairs. Come on, I’m feeling kind of cramped and I need some exercise.”
She smelled like red-petals and fruit. A new perfume. This woman was ridiculous. How did she make room for so many beauty items, clothes and boots and scents, while we fought for our lives in the Rot Lord’s wilderness?
She bent in closer, almost touching her forehead to mine. Clearly she was determined, and I guess a princess gets what a princess wants. I said, “Very well.”
—
“You know, the Feast of Lights means a lot to me.”
Our first turn around the hall was utterly silent, but she proffered this on the second round. At first she had taken my hand. We walked that way for a little while, but she took it back to scratch and itch and didn’t return it. We were walking side by side at a hair’s breadth with no contact.
“I understand that.” I said without emotion in intonation, “It’s how you were raised. It’s what you were taught.”
“It’s more than that, really. It ties me to my faith as well, to my family and my people. Tradition, culture, social structure.”
All corrupted things. All imperfect, unworthy of celebration. Was what I thought.
“I want to understand. I really do.” was what I said.
She nodded, and there was a hint of sadness on her brown cheek.
“Hydrein Gauntstem of the Tryferian Sages has a quote in his text Teachings and Admonishments, ‘There is no singular cause of death, but a thousand. Every morsel that does not feed both soul and body brings death closer. Every feast which harms the health is a drop of poison. We wound ourselves one day at a time, in a thousand different ways, until we finally release all our blood.’”
“That’s a bit morbid.” Sareash said, frowning.
“All of his works are. He famously took his own life, but that’s not the point. The point is
that I haven’t left my faith, left my path behind, but I am crossing lines. I’m trying to learn what lines I can safely cross and still maintain my spiritual health. I want to do what I believe is right.”
Sareash didn’t lift her head. We did another turn around the hall in silence, “That’s hard to hear, but I am trying to hear it.” she said, “The man you once were was my enemy. I wish I could think of you as a new man.”
“I suppose we are all prisoners of our past.” I said, and the irony was not lost on her.
“You and the others are offering me a gift, but it’s a gift I have no need of. I’ve never been one to receive gifts, or to give them. We all have our own burdens to bear.”
“The distance between us is a large one, but I’m trying to learn to trust you.” she said. She smiled, a forced smile, “I think I’m getting better; a little bit each day.” she extended her hand, “Maybe you could learn to trust me too.”
If she can do that, why can’t I? What’s stopping me? Why can’t I receive her gift? Why do my bones stiffen against the notion? Why does my blood freeze in my veins?
I hesitated, then took her hand. She smiled, and it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.
Then, a voice from downstairs called out, “We’re ready!”
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