While this doll resembled her sister's, it looked as though it was years older and had been through miles of life. The porcelain face, on one side, was the perfect reflection of what an angel must look like; however, the smooth and ivory white features faded into a slightly drooping and blackened facade and complexion, as if that very same angel had broken its wings and fallen helplessly to earth. On the unharmed side, the eye was a brilliant blue, the same as her younger sister's, but its companion looked as though it had been charred and burnt leaving just an empty socket. She slowly crawled to the edge of her bed and picket up the doll to examine more of the similarities. The clothing although torn and tattered with several singe marks, was the same as on her sister's doll. The purple makeshift gown must have been made from the very same fabric. But how could that be? Dominia's doll donned a purple cloth gown that was not part of the original clothing the doll had worn at the time of purchase. Their mother made it for her out of an old set of kitchen drapes because purple was Dominia's favorite color. Out of fear, Athlorial looked very apprehensively at the arm of the doll. She pulled up the sleeve of the gown, slowly, and fearful of what she was beginning to know she would find. And there, behind the burnt clothing of the sleeve, she saw the inked word "Lori". And it all came rushing back.
This was not a doll that looked like her sister's, it was her sister's! No other doll would have that name written on its arm because no other person called Athlorial by that name. She remembered it so clearly, the night she inscribed it. "There, now I will always be with you no matter what happens." It comforted her sister, even if that comfort ran only as deep as the ink could dye the doll's fabricated skin during a time in their lives when the pain ran much deeper and stained fathoms further below.
Fire and fighting! The memory of last night's horrific events caused her to bound out of bed, paying no attention to the thin night gown she was wearing, and rush toward the door. As she opened it, she came face to face with a short woman wearing her hair short and black as they do in the south. Athlorial was momentarily stunned, but soon regained her intent and tried to rush past the woman. Gripped in a tight hug before she could traverse the threshold between bed chamber and hallway, she struggled to get free. But she could not break the grasp of this woman.
"There, there. It is ok. It is ok," was all the woman would say while holding her. When the struggle had left Athlorial, and there was nowhere left to run or seek or turn, she submitted to the comfort from this stranger and cried into her grasp. Great, heaping sobs and tears, heavy in their emotions of sadness, grief, and regret, all combined with the guilt of her sister's death at the hands of a fire she had helped cause, poured themselves relentlessly into her heart searing upon it a pain burned deeper than her sister's doll had been, deeper than her sister's body had been. She would have tumbled to her knees and found herself prone on the ground had it not been for the strength and determination of this short woman.
But when the woman could hold her up no longer, she sank against the wall and slowly allowed both of them to rest against their combined sadness and breaking hearts. The woman felt for a child who would carry a burden beyond anything one of that age should carry, and the girl for her dead sister and realization that it had all been her fault. As they both released themselves to the pain they shared, they instantly formed a familiarity and bond not explainable in the hours, or minutes, or seconds they shared. For such bonds as these transcend the boundaries of time. Such things can happen only when the heart is opened to all the possibilities of connection through a forced crumbling of any walls we hold to protect ourselves. And it is in these times, when shattered we have become, that we can stand nakedly in front of another, aware of the pain in each of us and find commonality and continuity and connection. These two women, having only just met out of necessity, and worlds apart, would share a connection and dedication to each other piercing any and all events. For just as Athlorial needed this short woman to share in her grief in this moment, so too did the woman need Athlorial to stem the flow of her own deep sadness; a sadness she carried for far too many years. A sadness that was finally beginning to be released with each tear they shared.
The shared tears did not end on that evening. Over the years of their connection, they discussed many things. One of which was the unborn child the woman had lost while she was in her youth. After the still born child past into the world and they saw the horrific blueish coloring of her skin, the problems between her and her husband began and quickly mounted into an insurmountable obstacle to the continuation of their union. As the crescendo of their dysfunction played, she stumbled upon him sharing their bed with another woman when she came home early from the tavern they owned and operated together. A stunned silence had come over her in that moment, but no rage or anger. It was as if seeing in life what she had known in her conscious awareness had set her free from all the grief consuming emotions she felt while they were still existing, yet not living.
In that moment, while the fear of guilt and its subsequent reaction riddled her husband's face and that of his current partner, she stopped, closed her eyes for a moment and spoke, "So that is it then. I will have the tavern and you can have the house." She turned and vacated what most women would have described as a horrible scene, yet she felt no dread or horror at having witnessed it. With the calm demeanor one would assume when completing a business deal, that while ending a partnership was necessary and fully realized as tantamount to each partner's continued growth, she both accepted her new reality and was content with it. In a moment of utter clarity revealing the hidden purpose to her life, she smiled for the first time in many, many months as she left her former home, never to enter the physical walls or the emotional bonds that once chained her. It was over, and she was done. She was never one to regret anything and knew their separate paths lead them apart, yet seeing it in its raw and unplanned reality set her free.
Soon after that, she had met Athlorial through her father who frequented her establishment. She knew life at home had been at least rough for the girl during her young years, but had never imagined just how horrible it was until they met on the fateful night of the house fire. Though content with her life and the direction it had taken, she still felt an emptiness, a hollowness betraying her projected demeanor of completeness. It lingered there, against her soul, just enough to entrap her attention in the dark hours of the night where she would often times be found lying sleeplessly in bed, wondering where her life would have gone had her daughter been blessed with the life giving breath of creation. She took time to visualize the games they would play when she was yet an infant. She dwelled upon the lessons of life she would teach her as she grew into toddlerhood and beyond. She extended her mind and constructed a proposed visual picture of what her daughter would have looked like as an adolescent and young adult, even so far as to picture what she would look like wearing the old wedding dress she would give to her on her eventual wedding day. And then she would realize that those dreams were just that. Dreams, smoke, mist not able to be grasped by her loving and strong hands. Evading them as a fog evades the sun and hides behind its cruel rays of light and truth, her longing and fulfilling dreams evaded her reality with the same cruel intent. Until she held the young girl in the arms of her conscious strength and allowed it to begin the long and arduous task of filling the void, she believed some dreams were only meant to be dreams.
So when she held Athlorial in her arms, it was a natural transition to progress beyond saving the young woman from the burning house to saving her from a future of uncertainty and poverty by offering her employment within her tavern as well as providing her a bed for her slumber. Over the the years of their business relationship, it had naturally and quickly progressed into one between mother and daughter. Though the bond they shared was not fueled by a common bloodline, it was every bit as strong. She knew working in a tavern would be a difficult means of employment for a woman of her young age, especially one of Athlorial's natural beauty, so s
he devoted herself to protecting her from the many, many unsavory men who would undoubtedly notice her for both her stunning physical appearance, and her equally stunning innocence. In short order, all of the male patrons were well acquainted with Athlorial as not only their favorite serving girl, but one who was under the protection of Nadalize and her large and competent "Peace Keepers". On one particular evening, one of the Captains of the Guard had become too friendly and overstepped his welcome with her. Within seconds, he found himself not only out on the street, but physically beaten and humbled.
And if her physical and personal beauty was not enough to carry her growing renown far beyond the understanding of such a young woman, her voice was. On one quiet night, quiet only because of the rarity of her almost empty tavern resulting from the fierce storm pounding outside, Athlorial started to sing as she was cleaning. A moment later, when she turned around, she saw the three patrons, the peace keeper, and even Nadalize staring in wonderment, all apparently stunned by her vocals.
"Did you not know you could sing?" Nadalize asked.
"I never thought of singing before because I did not think I ever had a reason to," was the only reply the young woman answered with.
"Well, you should sing more often, Athlorial. It truly is beautiful," said Nadalize to agreeing nods from those still in the tavern.
Soon after, Nadalize hired a lute player to accompany Athlorial's vocal talents, and her business exploded. Patrons came from all corners of the city, often times bypassing some of the closer taverns, to hear and see Athlorial. Her legend soon progressed beyond the borders of her home province and extended to some of the other provinces. On one night, a minor land owning lord came to see Athlorial and invited her to sing for him at his castle. After he followed her into the bath house late at night, one of Nadalize's peace keepers burst through the doors and carried the young lord over his shoulder like a sack of purchased potatoes and discarded him on his rear at the end of the street. The young lord, quite expectantly, threated with cursing the peace keeper and promising reparations; however, because Nadalize was so well known and respected within the city, she was able to squash any and all trouble.
Nadalize never feared for the security of Athlorial because, quite frankly, she paid her peace keepers well, and as word spread of their wages, she was able to recruit the best mercenaries from all corners of The Silver Empire to protect Athlorial first, and business second. However, her primary directive to all of her hired mercenaries resulted in the creation of an environment contradicting her intended goal of protecting Athlorial. Because she was so fiercely protected, the rumors of her beauty spread quite rapidly amongst the unsavory companions of those who crossed the threshold of proper behavior. This resulted in a great amount of curiosity among the general members of the populous as well as inspiring many suitors to come calling for her affections. And while Nadalize was greatly appreciative of the increased business Athlorial generated for her tavern, she was very remorseful for the unwanted attention she inadvertently created for the young woman. And judging by the near throng of men already drinking, this was going to be a very active night for her peace keepers.
And then she saw him walk thought the entrance. She had seen him over the years, but he had not been in to drink in her tavern in many, many months. There were rumors that he was engaged in the Orc Wars, leading the Goblin hordes against the Ogre encampments stationed just outside of the Goblin borders. But that conflict was resolved by all accounts before he was forced to unsheathe is legendary blade and display is legendary skills.
Apparently the unleashed throng of Ogres poised to conquer the Goblin Lands and claim it for Ogressin was greatly overstated, meaning instead of a throng of bloodthirsty, battle-bent Ogres, it was a gathering of religious intent and not at all bent upon any form of aggression. It was simply the yearly religious pilgrimage from the Ogre capital of Hindonek to their religious center of Ogrecinor. This would normally not have been cause for either alarm or misinterpretation; however, because of the recent and quite uncharacteristic deluge of rain, they were unable to take the customary Pass of Prophesy through the Broken Spires because the boundaries of the River Nrocdon had been breached resulting in its flooding. As the Pass of Prophesy was now entirely submerged in the flood waters, and not being particularly fond of water in any quantity or form, the Ogres were forced to take the only available detour around the mountains, one that brought them within leagues of the Goblin boarders. Again, the other races of Avendia would not have interpreted this as a sign of eminent attack as they would have seen and understood the lack of evidence suggesting a gathered and disguised horde of destruction. However, the Goblins were always quick to guard against the possibility of having their treasures and worth pillaged. They always erred on the side of the belief that all the races, even their loose allies, would steel their treasures if even the slightest opportunity presented.
As often times happened, Eriboth found himself at the helm of a battle having been entrusted, through a great fee for his services, to protect or advance the interests of his benefactor. And this time, his skills had been enlisted by the Goblins. He did what he always did and walked across the battlefield, unarmed and under the white flag of truce to parlay with the leaders of the opposing force. But when he was greeted by a clearly religious gathering, he did what he had never done. He apologized on behalf of his current employer, turned back around, and returned to speak with the Goblin King directly. After many heated words, the King ended up hugging Eriboth and payed him the full amount of his promised wages. At least, that is how the story was being perpetuated by the bards of the lands. However much the stories surrounding his legend were based on and contained the truth, she was certain there had to be more than a decent amount of embellishment and exaggeration to them.
Because every single one of the stories involving Eriboth contained several fantastic and often times unbelievable accounts, he always projected an enigmatic aura while he was interacting with his fellow drinking companions in her tavern. He seemed to float effortlessly between her guests spending just enough time with each of them to convey his intent of valuing each one for who they were, but not so much as to suggest the current group or person occupying his attention had earned a more prominent position of friendship over any other. Clearly he was accepted into each and every group he encountered from their perspective; although she could tell, based upon his brief moments of observing the whole, that he considered himself a member of none.
He liked ale, and women, and in that order. And women liked him, so did the ale, and in that order. She could understand why too. He was charming, but not with any amount of boyish innocence, except when he was obviously refuting whatever insinuation she was making through a broad, teeth bearing smile. He was charming in the way a dark storm was charming as it showed the briefest flashes of the brightest light amidst the darkest clouds. He did all things through a fathomless depth revealed by a gaze trapping stare he would evoke at the most opportune and perfect moment. She watched him transition from an all-inclusive persona where everyone was partaking in his energy, to a singularly focused entity who’s entire existence was built upon the substance of the woman he was currently engaged with. And she saw them melt upon his words and attention each and every time. He was the one person she feared within her establishment because she knew that both Athlorial and her peace keepers would be powerless to stop his intent should it ever fall upon her. But as the Gods arranged it, Eriboth and Athlorial were never at the tavern together. That is, never until tonight. And as she saw Athlorial traverse the boundary leading from the safety of the past to the danger of the present, she felt a resignation begin to set in her bones giving her a spirit of urgency.
"Athlorial, do you not feel tired from this week's work? Especially since you were here so late last night cleaning up?" Nadalize asked with the hopeful intent of convincing Athlorial to return to her home.
With a partially amused chuckle, Athlorial responded, "
Why is that? Do I look tired Nada? I have worked longer and harder hours than this for you. Do I appear to be weary from the weight of the countless tasks you assign to me?" she said as she continued wiping the table her guests had just vacated.
Yet again trying to subtly convince the young woman, now eighteen years of age, to take the evening off to relax at home, "I was just wondering if you would not want at least one day to rest before next week begins," she said casually.
"Nada, you know I would never be able to do that. I would feel guilty for leaving you without your favorite 'serving girl' for even one night," she said as she picked up the empty tankards and walked them into the back area of the kitchen.
"We should not be that busy. I am sure that Lorenia and Julzin can handle serving the guests tonight," said Nadalize as she followed the young woman.
After setting the glasses down on the rack, Athlorial turned toward her employer and said, "Nada! You know this is one of the nights I sing! And you know we will be very busy. Not to mention, I am sure you would not want to upset all of your guests who came in to hear me."
It was becoming clear that if she pressed the issue much more, Athlorial would both continue to deconstruct her arguments for sending her home and begin to suspect an altogether ulterior motive for the apparently innocent suggestion. So instead of testing Athlorial's intuition, she conceded, "You are right, My Eklirin. I was merely looking out for the health of my favorite serving girl".
Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1) Page 17
