by Barb Hendee
· · · · ·
He sat in his room at the port inn for three days without eating hardly anything. His mind almost refused to function. On the morning of the fourth day, sitting on the narrow bed as he stared at nothing, several realizations began to break through the fog of his thoughts.
He couldn’t go home, go back to that life he’d left as hollow and false. And he couldn’t bear another day and night in this city. But most painful of all was that he didn’t belong among the Departed… their descendants, if that was what these an’Cróan truly were.
As he sat there throughout the day and into a waning afternoon, he came to realize how much he’d built up something in his mind that did not exist. It was all just a story, told by a loving grandmother to an adored child. And from this, he’d created a world, a people, to such a degree that they’d seemed real to him.
But Sorhkafâré’s descendants were not what he’d believed. Perhaps they were wild and brave to have carved out a new life in a new world, but they hated anything different from themselves.
And he was different.
Where did that leave him in a world where he had no place to belong?
Then he remembered a promise he’d made to a kind-faced domin, the only one who’d given him a chance to fulfill his dream.
Across the room, his satchel lay on a stool against the far wall. Within the satchel was his box of game pieces. Twenty-two draughts with their gems for eyes remained.
A child’s game—like a childish dream—had to be left behind. But he still had a promise to keep, to send back written accounts of all that he learned of this land and its ways.
He gathered his belongings, along with the box, and left the inn for the last time, heading for the gem shop he’d already used once. At least there, those sparkling eyes of the draughts might have value in a human world if not in his.
· · · · ·
Loni stepped off a small schooner five days later under a cloud-laced sky over Miiska. The Moon Sliver was long gone from the docks. Still half numb inside, he was uncertain about trusting his choice as he walked into town. But a feeling of calm—thin and fragile—grew with each step.
It wasn’t solace, but it was better than the nothingness of sitting in a room within that white walled city. And it wasn’t long or far before he found the bakery. Out in front of the shop, a familiar solid figure with a flour-dusted apron and thinning hair was serving hot rolls and steaming mugs to patrons at tables.
Karlin looked up while wiping his hands on his apron’s tail. The stout baker smiled and trotted over to greet him.
“Ah, young master elf,” he teased. “I wasn’t sure we’d see you again. Do you need breakfast? The rolls just came out of the oven.”
Loni reached into his satchel and took out a rolled paper. “No, thank you. I came for the key to my…” He trailed off.
Karlin took the paper and opened it, his eyes scanning the contents. Then his smile widened. “No?” he said cheerfully. “Well, I’ll be blessed.” He turned to his patrons, who were all biting down on their warm rolls. “This young man has bought the old inn. He’s going to reopen.”
To Loni’s surprise, nearly every person sitting at the tables in front of the bakery jumped to their feet. Most looked to be workingmen or women, and the number of voices coming at once overwhelmed him.
“If you need the roof checked, you call on me,” a man was saying.
“Those carpets will need cleaning and repair,” a stout woman said. “And I work for a fair price.”
“And the drapes may need to be replaced,” another woman said. “You stop by my shop,” she pointed, “just over there, and I’ll come take measurements.”
Loni knew nothing of running a human business, but he’d learned the language of this land and he’d learned the exact values of their coins.
He would learn to run an inn, a well-respected inn.
The people here wanted him. He could be a part of something, and at the same time, he could still be alone.
“Thank you,” he managed. “Yes, I will be hiring some work for repairs soon.”
Karlin shoved a warm roll into his hand.
Gripping the roll, Loni forced a smile and then turned away along the streets of Miiska. It was a strange little place in the strange human world and so far from anywhere or anything he knew or understood well. But at least it was a choice of his own, along with a task to fulfill given to him by the old domin.
Finally, upon reaching his destination, he paused in the street and looked up.
The shutters of the old building were in disrepair, and even the porch needed new planks. The inside was worse. But it would live again, as he would, in this quiet corner of a too large world. There was something here with which to work, a foundation for something to recover—himself. Even when all the effort was complete, it would not need to become something other than what it was. By any name, it would be a place of his choosing.
It would still be The Velvet Rose.
Other Works
[as of March 2012]
The Noble Dead Saga
by Barb & J.C. Hendee
Series/Phase 1
Dhampir
Thief of Lives
Sister of the Dead
Traitor to the Blood
Rebel Fay
Child of a Dead God
Series/Phase 2
In Shade and Shadow
Through Stone and Sea
Of Truth and Beasts
Series/Phase 3
Between Their Worlds
…and more to come.
The Vampire Memories Series
by Barb Hendee
Blood Memories
Hunting Memories
Memories of Envy
In Memories We Fear
Ghosts of Memories [pending]
