Chapter 8: Collision

I awake feeling fresh and crisp. The winter air fights the walls of my room and the sheets of my bed giving me the satisfaction of having conquered the elements. It may sound strange, but imagine finding shelter from the rain as the droplets tap against your shelter. The dry warmth of the fire as you listen to the rain falling outside. That is how I feel.

I get up after soaking in the moment before covering myself with simple clothes and my fox cloak ready to start the day. As I walk downstairs, I offer help for Klessilia who serves customers grabbing breakfast from last night. The smell of peppery stew and broth blankets my senses evoking hunger and a longing for home as her cooking holds the same timeless appeal of my mother's mixtures.

The memories inspire me, so I reach her opening my left palm as I say, “Hello my lady. Would you accept my assistance?”

She continues serving as she says like a mother telling her children to play after a rainy day, “Oh don’t worry dear. I’m used tuh doin this work meself. Go on an play.”

I say with a feigned grief, “A lady lost in labor ails my heart. Please reconsider?”

She grins as she looks at me with her eyes sparkling as she says, “Ohhhhh...Alright, but I ain’t gonna pay yeh fur this yuh hear?”

I pace behind the bar with an excited curiosity as I say, “All I ask is for your favor.”

The pine wood’s aroma complements the fire’s smokey scent garnishing the inn with a welcome atmosphere. The worn yet clean tables shine with a fresh polish showing the dedication of Morne and Kless. They awoke before the sun with clear minds full of purpose - giving their customers a noteworthy experience. So I assist their needs with an electrified vitality of a boy with direction.

The help involves molding dough bowls and setting the dishes onto a tray that Kless places into a furnace for heating. Silver or pewter dishes exist only for nobles as the labor involved with washing combined with the expense of soap and polish creates a backbreaking burden that poorer folk avoid.

Instead, common fold use small bowls made of bread and grain. This prolongs the setup process for cooking establishments, but the cleanup's a breeze. Simply let the customer eat his/her bowl, and most people carry spoons with them so they could eat without having to buy one.

As I set the dishes out, I chat with several customers with as light a tone as I'm able. I’ve a need for learning conversation that comforts rather than alienate as my current style of speaking estranges many listeners. Deluge's stlye of speaking will prove a valuable resource as his conversations are concise and succinct unlike mine, but he offers few words for study.

That’s part of his conciseness. The conflicting nature of my goals troubles me for a moment, but I brush off the paradox for now. After assisting Klessilia with breakfast and nabbing some myself, I tread towards the Montave spring and begin my show once more.

After several hours, I’ve made only a few pieces of copper, and noon approaches steadfast. I continue playing however. I am a stickler for following through with plans. Often times the only thing preventing a change in life is the lack of will in the person pushing for the change. So I push.

I charge forward for another five hours before my aspiration wanes. I may be stubborn, but I need rest as any other, so I slug my way back towards the inn with a disappointed hunch. I need a better method for my goals, else I'll sing till my voice grows hoarse.

As I stroll across the city, I discover the location of the children I missed earlier. They scamper through alleyways rather than through the open roads as if hiding from the sight of the town. They never laugh, and despite their youth, they drag their feet with the same apathy of an old, cynical man waiting for his death. Their auras unnerve me.

Why are they so...beat down? My own question generates other questions that bounce in my skull. What caused this? Why do they hide? My own musings offer a sense of dread for their answers, but I contain my nervous tension. Whatever trials these children face, I must ignore it as I confront my own struggles.

Shaking these thoughts from my attention, I reach the inn minutes later finding Klessilia busy serving tables and Morne handling the bar. People crowd the inn stressing them both. Morne pours drops of sweat from his forehead while Klessilia’s voice and hands tremble from exertion. Their frenzy infects me with an unease like watching a fallen bird from a tree, so I path my way reaching Morne where I say,

“Can I assist somehow? You seem stretched beyond composure.”

He snaps with a short tempered bark, “Aye, stop askin me questions an go bother someone else,”

I look him in the eye saying with advice gained from my mother, “Calm down Morne. You've done this countless times before. You can do this. I want to help. Please let me.”

He pauses for a moment frozen by the sudden declaration before saying, “Alright, go in an distract our customers. They be growin mighty impatient.”

I nod my head saying, “I sure thing.”

The crowd evolves from a crowd into a mob as hungry customers stay waiting even an hour after ordering their meals, so I think of a method for calming them before an idea flashes light on the situation. I will perform a time tested method for relaxing the weary and wrathful.

I step upon the stage and play my favorite melody amidst the roar of the crowd. I sing a ballad known across the continent.

“Sing the songs of veery and wren

when time tells sad stories again

feel for your worth with which we lend

give and take till ties rend

there lies the bonds they bear and bend.”

I repeat the melody until the chant becomes a mantra. The song’s dark nature holds a depth that evokes thought in place of feeling. The sound settles the mind by reminding the individual of perspective and priority regardless of the time or place. This particular song sounds as a child's lullaby, yet a child's lullabies often make light of awful circumstances.

This particular lullaby tells of darker times. Of times when war and calamity cursed the land with blight and bane. The song remains an anthem of the Plague of Alta. During those days, many families lost loved ones, and countries warred for scarce resources. The disease left chaos in its wake that tortured the living and rotted the dead. This gives the sweet melody a bitter taste that lasts long after its sugary beginnings.

After multiple renditions of the song, Many of the older listeners join the chant. They remember the lullaby's darkness, and the elderly often give time to remember those who have perished as they themselves stand at death's door. Their solemn atmosphere leaks throughout the room calming the congregation until an old man stands up saying,

“Thank yeh youngster. I’m over hear complainin about gettin food fast, and I forgot about ages past were you couldn’t even git a bite tuh eat.”

I say, “We must never forget the desolate and deserted or shame covers the living.”

He says back, “Aye, we mustn't furget our ancestors.”

I respond building on his declaration with fire in my voice, “It is upon their sacrifices we stand today. Let us relish the joys we have today, not take for granted the gifts they grant us!”

My assertion He lifts his drinking glass as he says, “Aye me boy. I can drink tuh that!”

Morne and Klessilia caught up in orders by working while I had been singing the classic tune and during the old man’s remarks. They gave drinks for all the customers who had ordered while I was the decoy. I raise my fist and shout a mighty roar, “For our ancestors! We drink to their virtue!”

The crowd bellows, “AYYYYYYEEE!”

As they drink, I play an assortment a merry melodies setting the mood. After several songs, a few patrons of the arts join me on stage with drinks in hand. The whole crowd chants songs with us as the new performers butcher dances with our sloppy performances. The alcohol numbs their perceptions allowing even the worst of performances to burgeon enthusiastic applause.

A man at my side says, “Yeh know, yeh be a mighty fine musician me boy.”

I reply as Morne sits on a stool, “Thank you si-” CRACK. “OWWWWW.”

The stool stood on its literal last legs, so when Morne sat down, it shatters under his weight. He busts his ass howling in pain. Everyone bursts with laughter at the display. Morne starts to turn red before I start playing, “The Giggling Girl,” reminding him he should stay in good humor.

The song achieves the desired effect, and he starts laughing at the situation with us before he stands with a dignified flourish gracing his fall with a friendliness unique to those who can laugh at their own mistakes. The horde cheers in response as the man beside me shouts while raising his glass for a toast,

“Tuh Morne and the merry musician!”

At this point, I think everyone yearns for more excuses to drink themselves silly, so I oblige with a tune supporting their desire as everyone celebrates yet another toast.

Several hours later many drinkers go home in happy stupors while I talk with Morne about hanging up a new sign.

I say with a gesture, “What about calling it, The Choice Brew.”

Morne says smirking with the grateful air of a relieved laborer, “Eh...I’ll think on it...Thank yeh fur what yah did earlier. Yeh really helped us out there.”

I grin saying, "No problem. I'm here to help." I lean closer saying, "Hopefully here to stay?"

His smirk grows as he says, "Haha! We'll have tuh see about that."

I help clean up then eat the scraps of dinner in much the same way as yesterday thinking of the simple joys of recognition. Life here offers me many joys. I perform for the inn surrounded by happy people, and Kless and Morne give me shelter and food in return. It’s a good life.

But Deluge smashes my contentment as he growls,

“You waste your time here. Your will for mindless...celebration pales when compared...to consolidation.”

I reiterate, “By gaining a reputation here, I gain opportunities lost. We spoke of this earlier.”

He spits his words, “You could simply gait up to a noble's house...then play for them rather than entertain...A HORDE...OF MINDLESS...TRASH,”

The sudden declaration leaves me speechless.

Deluge continues with conviction flooding from his words “Your kind wastes potential...on a scale immeasurable...Your species spends more time...finding ways to waste your time...then actually enacting change...Worthless.”

After a moment, I howl in outrage at Deluge in my mind, “What do you wish from sheer men and women! Every single person suffers. We all stretch everyday to our circumstance. What have you done? All you’ve been is a weak, powerless parasite riding my shoulders.”

He snaps, “I submit to your will...I learn of your world and language. I struggle against...my very nature pounding against me...every...single...moment. I watch a pathetic creature smash my existence...for NOTHING.”

The last word rings in my mind. Despite Deluge’s strange fascinations, I must admit he saved my life from that dark, empty chasm. All I’ve done for him is oppress his spirit. We share this body, but I believe my actions are greater than his without any rational reason. He must feel like a prisoner watching his guards commit crimes while laughing at him in his cell.

Deluge continues, “If you don’t hasten your plan...I will take drastic action...The only reason you won the last contest of control...is you fought till your body crumbled... If I fought any longer, I may have damaged...your brain killing you...and killing me as well.”

I pause thinking of a plan. I could follow his though the process ignores caution in its entirety. I would rather build a foundation with sturdy walls rather than try forcing my way towards fame. We need tact rather than brute force for such an operation.

I say, “I need time for my plan to ripen Deluge. With my method, we risk nothing. With your method, we risk both our lives. Can you not wait any longer?”

After a moment, he growls his response simmering with anger, “How long must I wait?”

I say, “At most two years. If my plan still fails, I will give you free reign allowing you to act as you wish. I owe you that much.”

Deluge says, “Hmmmmm...then I bide my time willingly.”

I reply, “Thank you deluge...And I apologize for earlier.”

Deluge chuckles, “Hah, hah. I do not.”

What a jackass, but at least his jab makes him seem less...alien. The increasing clarity of his voice and words assists this process, and even though he still unnerves me, I accept his presence with a surprising calm. Ever since my parent's death, I've never felt so alone.

This isn't a shallow darkness either. It's a black so deep, gazing at its depths evokes madness, so a certain part of me rejoices over Deluge's presence despite my other portion howling for escape.

My thoughts continue racing as I ready myself for bed while committing myself. I must hasten my efforts for Deluge’s sake. He is an ominous parasite, but we live in the same body. Deluge doesn't ask for reason. He asks for results, so I just have to succeed. He abstains from warring with my will further, so he deserves some trust, though very little.

Yet my thoughts abate before the power of exhaustion as I wade into slumber with worried steps.