“And to think,” Gabriel muttered, “I could’ve worked for the King.”
The sun beat down on the man’s bare back, burning his already tanned skin. His hoe plowed through the dry dirt and his sweat trickled down from his crown of black hair to feed it a drop at a time. Leaning back on the hoe, he surveyed the rest of his well-maintained field.
“I could be in a palace right now wearing robes worth more than my whole house,” he mused aloud. “I’d never have worked in a field and my grandparents would’ve been proud of me.”
Grinning broadly through his short beard, he wiped the sweat from his brow and got back to work at plowing his field. “But ‘what if’s’ don’t put bread on the table, right? That’s my job.”
Gabriel picked up a glass of water balanced precariously on a fencepost. Clutching it carefully, he shut his eyes and focused his thoughts.
The glass fogged as a thin film of ice formed on the surface of the water within.
Several hours later, Gabriel lounged comfortably in his favorite chair, content that he had used the day to its full potential. I got a whole section of the field prepared today, he thought proudly, and the next batch of potions is looking great. He sipped his mug of spiced cider. Now to relax.
It was then that he became aware of a strange scraping noise outside his front door.
It sounded like someone was dragging something heavy along the dirt road that ran parallel to his porch, followed by heavy footsteps.
Who the hell is all the way out here this late? he thought, irritated at his quiet evening being interrupted. Rising from the plush seat, he snuck over to the front window, making little noise despite his large, muscled frame.
It was hard to make out anything in the moonless night, but he could see the outline of a man dragging himself down the road with all his weight on his staff. Gabriel cautiously eased himself towards the door, slowly turning the knob and peering outside.
“Hey you,” he called, “You alright?”
The man turned to face Gabriel, starlight glinting off of his glasses. He then promptly fainted.
Eravisté’s first thought upon awakening was Oh, the ceiling is back.
He was lying comfortably on his back, naked except for his undergarments, and staring up at a wooden ceiling beneath a warm blanket. The room smelled of cedar and herbs. He then thought to get up, but his anemic body refused to cooperate, so he settled for turning his head into the pillow upon which he rested and letting out a small groan. It smelled faintly of sweat and was made of the same slightly-scratchy material as the sofa he rested on. Both were plush and comfortable despite the texture, and he was grateful for anything welcoming.
“You finally awake, kid?” asked a man in a tattered burnt-sienna-colored robe who had walked into view. He sat himself heavily into a seat that faced Eravisté at the other end of the small room. Eravisté forced his eyes open with some difficulty, and managed a small smile. “Yes, I’m awake,” he tried to say, but so dry was his throat that no sound left his lips. He nodded lightly instead.
The robed man sighed in irritation. “Hold on,” he said in his gruff voice, and walked to a room that was blocked to Eravisté’s vision by the back of the sofa. A minute later, he returned with a cup of warm tea, which he placed on the table in front of the couch upon which Eravisté was resting.
“C’mere.” He put an arm around Eravisté and effortlessly lifted him to a sitting position. Unused to the sudden effort of sitting up, Eravisté fell short of breath and saw spots before his eyes for a few moments before returning to normal. The man then handed him the cup, keeping a hand nearby in case the frail young man next to him was too weak to hold it himself.
Using both hands, Eravisté slowly moved the china to his lips and drank it as greedily as he could manage. His parched throat immediately felt relieved as the tea moistened it. He had to pause for breath every few seconds, but he drained the cup down to the last dreg.
“Thank you,” he said, shakily handing the cup back. “That was quite good.”
“Yeah, no problem,” the man said back. “You got a name? I don’t want to have to keep calling you ‘kid’ in my head.”
Surprised, Eravisté thought about it for a few moments. “I don’t think I know it,” he eventually stated.
The man looked skeptical. “Did you hit your head or something?”
“No, I think my head is just fine. It’s the rest of me that’s not doing so well.” He calmly leaned his head back into the cushion behind him, an amiable smile forming on his lips. “Anyway, what about you? I may not have a name, but perhaps you are luckier than I in that respect.”
This guy’s a whackjob, thought the older man, but at least he’s a harmless whackjob. “Gabriel Dalgard.”
“How nice to finally meet someone new!” Eravisté said, grinning from ear to ear. “I do believe you’re the first person I’ve ever met.”
Gabriel sat in stupefied silence for a moment. “Are you… just…” Words escaped him, and his eyes traced over his features, searching for some sign of deceit, some hint of amusement at his confusion. And yet Eravisté’s expression indicated that he fully believed the words escaping him, and that he was genuinely happy to have finally met someone.
“Care to… explain that for me?” Gabriel finally asked, unsatisfied but unable to sense any deception from his strange houseguest.
“Oh, forgive me, was I not clear?” he asked apologetically. “I mean that I have never met anyone before. Well, except Death, but I’ve known him for as long as I can remember, so I’m not sure if he counts.”
“Alright, enough,” Gabriel said, exasperated. “Look, I’ll go get your robe. Maybe you wrote your name on the collar or… something.” He sat up with a heavy sigh and went to fetch the robe from the wash basin. The cold basin water, filled partway to the top, was tinged pink from the blood on the robe. The gold shawl Eravisté had also been wearing – and was similarly bloodstained – shared the basin. On the floor nearby were his boots, his staff, and a golden medallion that had clasped his shawl shut. Gabriel hadn’t taken a very good look at it yet; he was rather distracted at the time.
But now he picked it up and flipped it over, and his eyes widened at what he saw on the front.
Medallion in hand, he rejoined Eravisté in the living room. He was sitting calmly where Gabriel had left him, hands folded in his lap, and his strange, pale eyes followed him through the room.
“Good news, bad news,” Gabriel said as he sat back down in his chair. “Good news is I know – well, I can figure out what your name is. Bad news is that you’re either the best liar I’ve ever met or you’ve got the worst case of amnesia I’ve ever heard of.”
“Well, I’m not a liar,” Eravisté responded indignantly. “But it’s good that you can figure out my name.”
“We’ll see about that.” Gabriel held up the medallion. “As I was saying, see this? How did you get this?”
Eravisté adjusted his glasses and leaned forward to examine the pendant. “I’ve always had that. It’s mine. It pinned my cloak shut.” He smiled up at Gabriel. “Lovely, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, lovely, sure.” Gabriel’s face was becoming more anger-flushed by the moment. “You know what this is? It’s a sigil. You know what that means? Of course you don’t, you don’t know a fucking thing. A sigil is the symbol of a State-ordained mage. You have to attend a sorcerer academy for fifteen fucking years before you get one of these. Most people who enroll in those academies drop out because they’re not good enough to deserve one of these.” His voice had risen as he had gone on, and he was nearly shouting. “So how in hell does some fuckwit who doesn’t even remember his own name happen across one of these, huh!? Answer me!!”
Eravisté was still not accustomed to the strange emotion of fear, nor the nervous habits it brought with it. He realized both that he was lightly biting his lip and that he was currently unable to summon any will to talk. Many moments passed with their eyes locked and the silence in the room heavy, cut only by Gabriel’s heavy breathing.
“I… it’s mine,” he said weakly, breaking away from Gabriel’s fiery blue eyes. “I know it’s mine. I’ve never not had it.”
Gabriel sat back with an exasperated grunt. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he grumbled. “Who the hell are you? You show up in the middle of nowhere, covered in blood… and now this.”
Eravisté looked at him, puzzled. “Oh, yes. I nearly forgot about that. I wonder if Death made my neck better.”
“Wait, what? You’re not saying that was your blood, are you?” Gabriel tilted his head, eyeing the side of Eravisté’s neck. A thick, sickle-shaped scar ran horizontally across his jugular.
“Oh, of course it was mine. Who else’s would it be? You’re the first person I’ve ever met besides Death, and I don’t think he can bleed,” he replied amiably.
“Again with the ‘death’ thing. One step at a time, alright?” He looked Eravisté over. “I wondered why all that blood I cleaned off of you stopped at that scar. Someone must’ve healed you or something, because there’s no way you’d survive a cut like that. Come to think of it, you shouldn’t even be alive. Do you know how much blood you lost?”
“Well—”
Gabriel talking to himself is fine, but be careful not to make the exposition in it obvious. The "king" line is okay, but his next few sentences don't sound very natural to me. The simple magic and the sweat-feeding-ground thing are good, though.
ReplyDeleteNext part, relaxing...short and pretty good, but the dialogue thing still applies. Maybe be a bit more specific about what he did--and instead of him saying he's lounging already, have him just sitting down as he's thinking it; it seems like the kind of thing to think right when you're sitting down, not a few moments after you're in the chair.
I can tell sienna is a color by the context--other than that, I'd need a dictionary. Specifics are good, but this might be a better place for a more general color. Calling it sienna later would probably be fine.
The rest of this section seems fine! Gabriel's ranting works well as explanation and seems very in character, especially with his being a hedge wizard and getting very angry at that sentence.
Watch it! You have Era comment on the room around him, then state that it took effort to open his eyes.
ReplyDeleteI agree with comment one about the robe's color. Oh, maybe Gabriel should notice the unusual fine-ness of Era's robes. They seem a little out of place to me...
I love the dialogue at the end when Gabriel gets angry. It's great!
~Moi~