Renhala (17 page)

I think of the sorts of people or creatures I may meet in Meadow’s Edge and a question comes to my mind. I turn to Gunthreon. “Hey, do they speak English here, too?” I say. “Is there any place in Renhala where I won’t know the language? People from other countries travel, too, don’t they?”

“A universal language is spoken in Renhala, and it
’s the same for any written text,” says Gunthreon. “Neda thought communication was of the utmost importance. No matter what language you speak in your realm, everyone understands each other here, and anything written here is easily read by any Abscondian. When a native Renhalan travels to Abscondia for the first time, there is a brief disconnect if they speak to a non-traveler, but a traveler would understand them. It’s another reason for Renhalans to stay in Renhala.”

“Like soulspeak?” I question
.

Gunthreon stops and asks, “How do you know about soulspeak?”

“Oh, I met this guy. His name is Conner,” I reply with a smile on my face. Philip suddenly looks at me and clenches his jaw a bit before turning around, not saying a word.

“What?” I say, as my smile disappears. Then I realize the emotion which Philip exhibited in his stare: jealousy. It heightens my belief that Philip shouldn
’t be walking around in a seven-year-old’s body.

Gunthreon disregards our interaction and says, “I know Conner, too. I met him through Russell. Nice gentleman. I wasn
’t aware you two met.” He hesitates. “But anyway, soulspeak is an entirely different matter. He speaks from his soul to another soul, and it is truth spoken no matter where he stands. No lies exist in soulspeak. But language here can be anything, so be wary of words spoken, for words in Renhala hold ancient magic, and not always pleasant.”

Chapter 23

Drunk

The rocks finally end, and the world suddenly opens up to green, and green of every shade imaginable. Interspersed are shouts of cheery reds, sunny yellows, and popping pinks. Sunlight spills from overhead, and the grass reaches skyward as flowers spread their petals, welcoming the warmth of life. Happiness floats on the breeze, and the world here is good. 

Soft white fuzzies float in the air and tickle my nose. In the distance are cottages made of moss and logs, sheltered by trees resembling weeping willows, swooping down low, lovingly caressing the cottages and gardens comprised of every flower imaginable. It’s definitely heaven.

“Ah—beautif
ul, wondrous Meadow’s Edge,” sings Gunthreon, breaking the spell. “Let’s see if we can find Lupa. She must be around somewhere, tending her rhubarb plants.” In watching him go, it seems as though he’s actually skipping to his destination.

Philip grabs my hand, and we follow far bac
k behind him. “Kailey, it may seem perfect here, but, something bad is indeed going on in both our realms, and I need to stop ignoring it. This is why I’m here,” he says, “not simply because your mom suggested we take a vacation. Keep your eyes and ears open, please. Take these trips seriously. We are here to speak to a few contacts.”

“I pinky-swear.” I intertwine my finger with his and he frowns, but seems satisfied enough.

Then he rubs his gurgling stomach. “Time to find some grub. I’m starving,” he grunts. “How does homemade sweet cream biscuits and cinnamon rhubarb jelly sound to you?”

“Not bad.
Not bad at all.”

“L
et’s find that old fart.”

“You callin
’ the kettle black?” I tease. He laughs whole-heartedly as we walk hand-in-hand.

We find Gunthreon lovingly embracing a short, stout woman, her
gray hair up in a large bun. Her face is round, and the crow’s feet around her eyes only seem to enhance the freshness she exudes. She is a beautiful woman, with a curvy figure, who has most likely only grown more beautiful with age and experience. She welcomes us with hellos and a smile as big as her face is wide. It is only when she hugs me that I feel the slightest bit of tension in her embrace, and in her energy. A strange resonance surrounds her. I don’t know if Gunthreon and Philip notice, but I recognize her as a woman with a lot of weight on her shoulders.

She leads us to a kitchen I can see is truly used every day. The biscuits I was promised are laid out before us, and I cannot hold back the food lover in me. I gobble up three of them, wondering how many pounds heavier I
’ll be tomorrow.

Lupa, Gunthreon and Philip talk about the old days:
gallivanting, travels, fights, and much more as they promise me that this evening will be the best night I’ve ever had.

After we
’re done, Lupa cleans up the table and sits with us. “Ladimer, I cannot get used to you in this body,” she comments. “I keep wanting to ask if you have to use the outhouse.” 

“I had to make some adjustments since I was here last. I may make a few more before this trip is up.” Philip smiles at me, and I smile back, all the while thinking of just one more biscuit. “After all, what seven year old drinks mead?”

Lupa smiles as she refills his teacup. “I will be sure to tell Hamm we’ll be stopping at The Wicked Whale tonight.”

Philip says toward me, “Oh, you
’re gonna
love
The Wicked Whale. Hamm has a special ability of his own. You’ll see.” He smiles as I raise an eyebrow at him.

As Kioto hangs with Lupa in her cottage, the next hour is spent meeting all sorts of people throughout the town and eating whatever they have in their kitchens. I end up with five different varieties of flowers in my hair, too, and a beautiful silver-and-gold pendant around my neck that is always cool to the touch. The latter is a
gift from a timidly strange metalsmith to whom I take a liking because of his ability to sneeze and forge at the same time.

The day seems to end too fast, but from the look of the town and its townspeople at sunset, nighttime seems really to liven up the place. Music is everywhere, and songs of love and lovemaking drift to my ears. I see musical instruments I’ve never seen, and soon discover that women and men each play their own sorts; women play instruments requiring handwork, while the men play those requiring mouthwork. Throughout the town, I see what is meant by the separateness of masculinity and femininity, but not in a chauvinistic sense. There
’s an air of refreshing chivalry. At one point I attempt to open a door for myself and a gentleman runs across the sidewalk, grabbing the door from me. Everyone’s got their appropriate job here; women are cooks and bakers, dealing with delicate intricacies; men are laborers, dealing with all physically exertive tasks. Each couple seems to work together, perfectly.

While walking through one particularly narrow alley on our journey to The Wicked Whale, Lupa holds us all up and huddles us into a corner. “Before we head in, I must tell you something,” she says quietly. She is nervous, and I sense the urgency in her voice, and the strange resonance
around her vibrates faster than when I first noticed it. Whatever she is going to tell us really has an effect on her. “Something is going on in Meadow’s Edge—something that makes me afraid of the shadows. I don’t tell you this to frighten you, but to make you aware of the changes. A murder has occurred, here,” Both Philip and Gunthreon inhale simultaneously. “And Greer is awake.”

I notice Philip hold his breath for a moment, which he then lets go ever so slowly. Gu
nthreon looks up to the dark sky.

“Who’s Greer?” I ask.

“Let’s just say he’s been asleep for a few years, and he breathes fire.” Philip stares upwards.

Gunthreon walks to Lupa and puts his arm around her. “I was hoping it hadn’t reached here, but I guess no place is safe now.
Let’s just find the serenity in the simple comfort of each other’s company and enjoy the night.” 

Serenity. Spa de Serenite
. I feel an overwhelming draw to give my recently discovered information about Devoten to Gunthreon, despite what my mother asked. Conversations with Gunthreon begin replaying in my mind as I try recalling him perhaps suggesting something of the like.  “Gunthreon, I have to talk to you about something that happened to me recently,” I say. He turns to me and nods, but the look on his face says that now is not the best time to talk. 

We enter the merriment of T
he Wicked Whale with saddened faces. Fortunately, they don’t last long, for the music, food, and mugs being delivered to numerous tables lighten our moods. There are many people in The Wicked Whale, but it never seems truly crowded, as if the place itself expands with each warm body that enters.

Hamm
greets us at the door and hugs each one of us, tightly. He’s a large man, with a big, bushy brown beard and a contagious laugh. Unfortunately, as soon as Gunthreon pulls him aside to talk privately, his laughter abruptly ends and a seriousness consumes his cheerful expression as he speaks to Gunthreon who frowns, then pats Hamm on the back and points to me as they exchange a few words.

Gunthreon wanders back and leads us to a table. He whispers in Philip
’s ear and Philip exhibits the same frown as Gunthreon’s. Hamm then walks over and brings me my first cup of mead. As it’s plopped down on the table, they each stare at me.

“What?” I ask
.

“Take a few big gulps,” urge
s Philip.

“Okay
...” I then gulp half of the deliciously sweet ale mixture. Then, it hits me, within seconds: the usual alcohol-induced giddiness I once felt, long ago, after drinking. Apparently Hamm’s gift is one for making alcohol that delivers results on Renhalan travelers. “Ooh. Wow!” I yelp as I hiccup. Philip smiles and walks away as I turn to the fellow patrons, smiling.

I am invited to dance by
several males in the house, first by Gunthreon—as Lupa discreetly watches his hands—and others anxiously await their turn with a smile on their face. They clap to the rhythm of the music and I feel many a hand exploring a few of my curves, but nothing violating. Roasted turkey legs, small starchy vegetables and garlic keep the tummy full, and I become so engrossed with the fun that I lose track of my friends. I want to live here forever and swallow up the laughter until I burst. Finally, a pleasurable night, with absolutely no hesitation on any actions of my own.

I find Gunthreon and Lupa engrossed in each other and inquire about Philip, for it seems he has disappeared, and he hasn
’t had his dance with me.

“You
mean you haven’t seen him?” replies Gunthreon. “You must find the prettiest girl—besides yourself and Lupa here—and you will find your man. Search for the commonality.” With that, he turns back to Lupa and whispers something surely devilish in her ear, her cheeks blushing cherry red.

My eyes, meanwhile
, scan each smiling, happy-with-life face, carefully. The mead has made my vision a bit on the fuzzy side, but I keep at my goal, finally landing on those seated and standing along the large main bar. It is then that I notice a particularly curvaceous, porcelain-skinned bombshell with long blond hair, holding the arm of a man who is close to her in beauty, but with one small scar below his eye. His hair is also blond, but cut short, and his eyes still an intense brown. He carries an air of authority despite his youthful appearance. He’s tall and lean, and moves gracefully. In time, he turns to me, and his eyes meet mine. His smile loosens and after escaping the fair beauty’s clutch, he makes his way toward me. He is gorgeous, and I blush like Lupa at his attention, for he takes my breath away.

“May I have my dance now?” He holds out his hand to me and I take it. His movements are calculating, but smooth, and I feel light as air as he spins me, then pulls me close. His eyes are glossy from mead, and he stares at me in a way that arouses feelings that I never knew existed. The music then changes to a slower, sexy beat and before I can lay my head on his shoulder, he is yanked away from me by a gorgeous and tantalizing brunette. Ladimer
’s eyes meet mine and apologize as another set of hands take his place. I follow the hands to the arms, and then to the chest, and then to the face. He’s a rugged farmhand-looking fellow, mighty strong and very attractive. We dance to a song of hardships that luck and love overcome, and we sway in time to the flute and the crackle of the fireplace. Several more mugs of mead touch my lips, and I get to a point I’ve longed for with every vodka brought to my lips: drunk. My partner’s hands explore more than the other men’s, but as I glance at Ladimer dancing with yet another woman, I feel a sudden need for someone’s attention, no matter what kind it may be. Conner suddenly enters my thoughts and I think of the possibility of dancing and drinking with him, here.

Things become foggy
as the night grows. I barely remember being led out the back door to the alley; the foul stench of stale alcohol wafting on the breeze.  As I continue my jig to the music, I trip over my own feet several times, allowing my new farmhand friend to pick me quickly. But when we reach a rather dark and foreboding barn, reeking of animal manure and riddled with pitchforks and nameless rusty tools, my drunkenness is soon overpowered by a sudden anxiety.

I freeze, and before I can say no, or perform the slightest sensible reaction, he whisks me in and covers my mouth with his suddenly rough hands.
Evil intentions.
The negative energy pouring from this man is enough to choke a horse, and I immediately regret my heavy intake of mead.
How could I have let myself ignore the warnings?
How could I have been so stupid?
My monk’s spade flares up, but he is so strong I cannot move. I hear the ripping of clothes and try to bite him as hard as I can, but he seems to enjoy the pain, for a smile appears on his face as I draw blood. I try kicking him in the groin, but he’s got his weight against my legs. A hand crawls under my bra and I try to scream.

Just as I hear the fear-provoking clinking of an unfastened belt, he freezes mid-movement. His eyes open as wide as they possibly can, and his mouth twists in gruesome fashion. His weight drops heavily onto me, and I see that someone is standing behind him, a hand on his back. I do my best to wiggle out from beneath the man.

A musky voice rises above my whimpers. “You really shouldn’t be doing that, you know. How does it feel to have each of your internal organs slowly pulled away from your insides?”

“Ladimer, stop, please!
” I yell. He appears wickedly beautiful in the dark, but I know I have to stop him. “If you kill him, I fear something equally bad may happen to you.” He’s motionless. “Do you hear me?!” I yell.

He takes his hand away, and my attacker falls to the ground. Pain convulsions pulse through him as he breathes sporadically and mumbles some nasty words, evidently still alive.

Ladimer stands above him, lowering his own face to within inches of his prey’s ear. “You’re lucky I only got to your spleen, asshole.” With the last word, his foot meets the guy’s ass, forcing an “oomph” from the man’s lungs.

I try standing before Ladimer, but practically take him to the ground with me. Despite the burst of adrenaline, the mead still has the better of me. I begin crying as I sit on the ground. I can barely speak without slurring, but I manage to get out, “How could I let this happen, again? What have I done to deserve this?” My tears run down my face as I stare at Ladimer, longing for a reason for my suffering.