The First Storyteller

by Varun Gwalani

  Back to this lovely narrative. So now I sat on a tree which had- oh, does it bloody matter? It was a goddamned tree, that’s all that I need to say. There’s no need for ostentatious descriptions in internal monologues all the damn time.

  By the time my mind was done with its jabbering, my hand had already reached out and plucked some berries that grew close. Now, these were different.

  They were yellow, close-growing, and slightly bruised. They did not look very edible, yet I couldn’t resist a nibble. It was not really a smart move, when you consider that I had been travelling in a dangerous Forest for quite some time now, and still I had not enough willpower to resist consuming berries I found repulsive. What can I say? I was bored.

  When I bit into the berry, a yellow juice flowed out. No sooner had it touched my tongue that I flinched back in surprise at the bitterness. The yellow juice continued to flow, and after a moment, the bitterness faded and a pleasurable aftertaste remained. So I drank some more of that juice, and the feeling magnified until the berry ran dry. I continued drinking from the others, until I was on my knees surrounded by berry husks, searching the surrounding bushes for more. There were no more.

  I stood, and found myself staggering and falling to the ground once more. Dizziness and confusion set in, but instead of overpowering me, it provided a headiness that was oddly pleasant. A wave of sleepiness then washed over my liquid-filled body, and I fell asleep.

  I slept a sound, dreamless sleep from which I woke up quite peacefully, aside from the dull throb at the back of my head, which quickly faded away. However, the desire for more of that wondrous liquid did not fade, and I did not cease looking around for it all next sleep-cycle. My legs began to ache, and when I lay down to rest, sleep was elusive, and then fitful. I continued, driven by an urge I did not understand.

  Every berry subsequently consumed was first drained completely of juice. It reduced the pleasure of eating, but it was worth the sacrifice when I finally bit upon a purple berry, from which sprang a transparent liquid that stung my throat but caused a warmth to spread through my insides, making me gasp out loud. I checked the skin of the berry. Bruised.

  In my excitement, I grabbed another bruised purple berry greedily and drank its juice. This time the taste transported me back to my home, to when a little child snuck and drunk something that was supposed to be left alone, something that had made the adults ostracise those that drank it. Another drink and it was a long time later, when a traveller had come back, raving and ranting about visions, her breath stinking, her pack full of bruised berries.

  I stopped short. That wasn’t going to be me, of course. I was stronger. I had more control. As I drank another, a gong-like sound emanated from somewhere in the Forest, though the idea was of course ludicrous.

  I started collecting more and more of the liquid, finding that differently coloured berries yielded liquids of different potencies, tastes and colours. The ones that were stronger, didn’t often last long, and if they did, they were rarer to find. The weaker ones were aplenty. I also carved several makeshift containers for them, after which I found that storing certain kinds for longer actually made them better.

  All this was ancillary, however, to the drinking. I drank copious amounts, and yet I was never satisfied. I went to sleep with its taste in my mouth, and woke up with a pain that only it could cure. There was a pool of that glorious elixir collecting in my soul, and it soon formed a fountain that constantly renewed itself, spurring me on to feed it. That fluid rejuvenated my blood and soul, rivalling and distorting the fluid of Time itself.

  The world itself seemed to shift around me, and I was its master. I crafted an instrument of strings and played magical tunes, causing a whole host of animals to crowd around to partake of the beauty of my hands. The rush of power made me complete, finally a whole human being. Sleeping and waking had no meaning, everything was interconnected, and everything was one.

  I didn’t know just where I was going, or if I was even going anywhere. The beautiful thing was that I didn’t care anymore. I had all I could drink, and all the bananas I could eat. I was going around in circles, circles that grew wider and wider. I was surrounded by water, sailing towards dawn. I was in a wide plain, walking endlessly towards an eternal nothing. I was in a room full of men and women, naked, clawing at me. I was in the sky, with tall metallic creatures made of glass below me, and suddenly they were all on fire, crashing to the ground with me in them, falling onto a mound of dead bodies where I became one of the dead with the memories of all of them.

  Scream, scream. The air was rent with a screaming that came from a mouth that was not my own. The poison was in my blood, the poison was my blood, it was fading, agony, ecstasy as it flowed down my throat. Dried up, there was no more of it around. Panic arose; the fountain was dangerously high now, spurting strong enough to knock my heart into my throat.

  Running, searching, screaming, crying, begging. The fountain rose higher with every step. Salvation was here. Two on a branch. No plucking, hands and knees brought me close, chewed on berry till the juice flew out. Hateful bliss. That had killed me.

  These final drops completed the fountain, and it rose in a torrent up my throat and through my mouth, spewing my blood, that holy liquid, all over the ground. It flowed and flowed until all my insides were on the ground. The shards of the cracked fountain stung me all over, leaving me a bruised berry on the ground, liquid already poured out and ready for someone to suck up for their sustenance.

  I could’ve died. Maybe I did. But I remember waking up later, bleary-eyed and weeping softly, throwing away all the food I had collected, then limping away from the scene, as fast as I could.

  It was only later, when I had sufficiently recovered, that it occurred to me that either those berries must have had some magical powers, or everything I had seen actually arose from somewhere in my mind.

  10

  On the Other Side.

  -pushed through the last of brambles, finally reaching the other side. Hands on knees, I ignored the cuts all over my body and panted hard. That had been suffocating.

  I was in the middle of a large clearing. The air was fresher here and I breathed in deeply. I felt much better here, though I had strangely forgotten exactly what I was running from. It was probably for the best.

  The sun was high in the sky, and I decided it was time for some rest. I made a pillow out of clumps of grass and lay my head down, gazing up at the sky. I was used to sleeping in complete daylight by now. I turned to the side and jumped as my arm stung harshly. I checked and found a nasty gash; the skin had been torn by the brambles. I bandaged it the best I could and turned and lay down painfully on the other side, the wound still stinging.

  I had always known that my journey would be hard, but it was becoming too much. There had been so much heartache and pain recently; pain I could never have anticipated. Life was supposed to be better here, at least marginally. Instead, all I had done was to replace one kind of pain for another.

  I blinked. The grass in front of me seemed almost... grey, as if it had aged in the span of a few seconds. A breeze rustled past in the stale air, making me sneeze. I sniffed, closed my eyes and fell asleep.

  As I walked onwards, I noticed something strange about the grass. I bent down, pulled out a blade of grass and examined it closely. It was greener than before, an abnormally bright shade of green. I inspected the surrounding grass and found that it was everywhere, and had even started growing higher than ever before. The sun had also edged itself higher in the sky. Too tired to figure it out, I shrugged and continued.

  That cycle was better than the last, the breeze was not too strong, it carried with it certain freshness; the trees were not too thick to navigate. However, it was not without its faults. My wound was healing slowly, paining terribly. Meanwhile, I found myself with fresh cuts courtesy of several thorn-bushes. I went to sleep stinging all over.

  After, it was hard not to notice that the grass had changed colour, mainly becaus
e it had shot up to the height of my waist. It looked like the colour green had vomited out its insides; then painted badly over to cover it up. I shuddered and tried to avoid it. The sun had risen even higher. The breeze practically caressed my face as it flew past, and it had a restorative quality to it, one that started to heal my wound faster. The only problem was that I was so fascinated with the wind that I stumbled into several thorn-bushes that were being hidden, and (I assume) safeguarded by the grass. I went to sleep with dozens of cuts all over my body.

  Now, the grass was higher than ever, growing over my head as what was happening was going over my head. It was a sickly-green colour now, as if the colour green had vomited its insides out and now died in that vomit. The breeze blew harder now with a controlled ferocity. It healed all my wounds as soon as it touched them, which ultimately did not matter much because while trying to push through the absurdly tall grass I fell right into thorns, brambles and often even headfirst into trees, and before I could black out or even have the slightest headache, I was instantly alert again. Overprotection became tedium, and the inability for me to fall into thorny danger was leading to the inability to make any progress at all. After a long time and little progress, I decided to call it a sleep-cycle and went to sleep sweaty and frustrated under the blazing sun that had edged itself higher.

  Then there was no grass. There was no sun. The ground looked as if it had been cleared of vegetation. Confused, I searched the surrounding area until I found tracks that made my blood chill. These were human tracks.

  I ran wildly forward until I found more tracks, tree stumps and soon, farmland. Horrified, I raced further to find familiar slopes, farms and even the same coils of smoke I had seen all my life. I was home. I could see the edges of dawn. I had fallen too far.

  I ran in the other direction, as hard and as fast as I could. I re-entered the Forest soon, but I just kept running. I could not see the sky; I did not have any light, my hope confused and lost. Every time I blinked, images flashed, images of bridges, of berries and fairies. My distress rose with every image. Suddenly, there were brambles all around me, which I tried to fight off, tearing my clothes and cutting my skin in the process. The brambles grew thicker and thicker as I ran faster and wilder. I saw a light ahead and- I stopped. How long had I been running in this circle? How many times, over and over, had I traversed it? It felt like there was a word for what was happening to me, which was probably related to the strange and sudden urge I had to add “-ception” to every word and consider it extremely clever. I shook off the urge, edged myself into a bramble-free corner and sat with my back to the tree.

  I could not engage in that deception any longer. Dreaming of things that could be should not impede the progress of dreams that are. I closed my eyes and accepted where I was, accepting my grass as it was, and not hoping for anything greener

  11

  Fix Thyself

  Gninnips. Unste Pick myself up from the floor ady Fall again

  Rest

  Against

  Trunk

  e r g

  Vision distor speech slurng wounds t a in

  Fade

  Heaven voice of angel speaks “Let it be”

  “I want to break free” I whisper

  “Not in your time of dying. Awake!”

  A warm hand somewhere on me. Eyes open weakly. Angel above me, a halo around his head. Glowing hand extends, liquid dips into throat. Body warms.

  Slowly, my vision restored, the pain in my body lessened, and my internal monologue reset to its normal cadence. I looked upon my saviour and saw him leaning over me, his body blocking the sun, bathed in an unearthly glow. I tried to lift my hand weakly to cover the glare, but it would not move. He sensed this and dropped to his haunches, smiling at me.

  “You had a close shave there,” He said, with a voice that dripped of kindness and honey.

  I nodded weakly. “What did you give me?”

  He sat down next to me. My vision blurred further as I moved my head, but I could make out that he had handsome features. Dark complexion, aquiline nose, small ears, curved mouth which was shaped into a generous smile.

  “Medicine. My own concoction. It should give you some temporary relief while I judge exactly what is wrong with you.”

  I nodded once more, leaned back and closed my eyes because I could feel my strength ebbing away again.

  “Ah, ah,” he chided, tapping me awake gently and pouring some more medicine down my throat. “Don’t give in. Look at me, as unappealing a sight as I may be.”

  “You’re beautiful,” I whispered weakly.

  He chuckled, but it seemed off. It could’ve been that I was imagining it, considering most of my analytical functions were off at that point. “That’s just the illness talking. Tell me your name,” he said.

  I did so, while he looked me over, examining my various wounds, wincing at some, shaking his head at others.

  “That’s a pretty name,” he commented.

  “I don’t use it much. Or at all.”

  “That’s a pity,” he said, straightening. “It seems that one of your wounds has become infected.” He started conducting a check-up of my forehead, tongue, and throat and went on downwards.

  “And it also seems that you’ve were intoxicated for a long time, which has further deteriorated your system.”

  “You sound very smart,” I giggled. An incredible headiness was overcoming me. It seemed familiar and panic and joy arose simultaneously within me.

  He saw this, rustled quickly around in his pack, and fed me something bitter. I wanted to spit it out, but he made me chew. Finally, I swallowed and was immediately asleep.

  When I awoke, I felt much better. He was still there, stitching up my arm. “Hello, there.” He said, smiling. His voice was different, or maybe it had always been this way. It was a deep voice with a brisk, businesslike tone. “Your infection is healing, but it will take some time to build your immunity.”

  A question occurred to me, which I really should have asked long ago.

  “Are you an angel?”

  He paused to look at me incredulously and then burst into hysterical laughter, making sure even then that his hand did not slip. “I am very much not an angel. You are still alive, and I am merely the base human ensuring that you remain that way.”

  “Then, who are you?”

  There was a pause as he continued stitching. A discomfited look passed across his face which he brought under control. He finished stitching and said, “I walk the Forest, tending to sick creatures, and fixing them. Sometimes, I happen upon travellers like you, and help them if they need.”

  “Wow,” I exclaimed, sitting up straighter, sending spasms of pain throughout my body. “You’re a traveller too? And a true one, at that? I never thought I’d meet one here!”

  He gave me a thin smile, and said, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “But...but why? I-”

  “This next one is going to pain quite a bit,” he said, cutting me off. “Open your mouth.”

  Before I could protest his hand was on my jaw, gently but firmly opening it and forcing down more bitter medicine that knocked me out.

  When I awoke most of my wounds were stitched or bandaged and he was standing over me. “You’re leaving?” I asked weakly.

  He looked toward me and nodded. “Yes, I’ve done all I could here. I must be moving on. Some rest and you’ll be fine to continue.”

  “But,” I protested weakly, “I’m really not well yet. My body still has these strange cravings, my head is still swimming and I have aches all over.”

  He frowned. “You probably haven’t coped very well with withdrawal.”

  I nodded, grabbing on that thread. “Yes. That’s it. Can you please stay till I get better?”

  He hesitated for a split second, and then he nodded curtly and sat down once more. He handed me some medicine and I began to chew enthusiastically, ignoring the horrible taste.

  “Funny, how what makes you
better always tastes horrible, no?”

  He nodded. “Yes, medicinal properties are often found in the bitterest of roots.”

  “Nature is quite beautiful that way, isn’t it?” I asked eagerly, trying to warm him to the conversation. “Everything has value, even if it’s not to everyone’s taste.”

  He looked away and nodded again.

  “It seems like you’ve been studying medicine for a long time.”

  He looked toward me and said, “Yes. While all the other children were busy playing and injuring themselves, I was sneaking off to study what medicines fixed those injuries. I made myself quite sick in the process, I should say.”

  I laughed louder than was warranted and winced inwardly. “I’m guessing the elders didn’t like that at all.”

  He smiled too (it made my heart soar; finally a real smile!) and said, “Oh, they despised me. I learned the trade despite their interference and they forbade me from apprenticing because I discovered some unconventional methods, which is worse than death for them, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Yes, I do know. They hated my stories. I was left to peddling pedantic pleasantries that helped no one. I had to leave.”

  “I had to leave as well, because my talents were going to waste, talents which could actually help someone. I could fix so much but was not allowed to.”

  I did not comment on the obvious inflection. Wordlessly, he handed me a brown squished-up root, I ate it, and fell asleep watching him settle in to sleep opposite me.

  I awoke to find him eating. He saw me wake and moved to give me some food. I had never seen anything like it before but it tasted delicious.

  “I can’t have everything to your taste, but I can have some,” and though his back was turned to me, I could swear he was smiling.

  He turned and sat down next to me, his face reverted to its regular blank features. “You obviously didn’t learn that on the Coast,” I commented.