Tale from the Deepwater

Chapter 66

"If there's someone without a name, and you had to give them one, how would you do it?" Maren asked Nia, and Wyn looked down on them from a higher branch he had mounted and on which he could balance his weight without snapping the whole thing to the ground. He was missing some leaves in trying to pluck the small pink flower a little further from his arm's reach. The fragile leaves swirled down on Nia and Maren who were sitting on a thicker and bigger branch a few branches below Wyn's. Even though the tree wasn't the tallest, it had an expansive spread that hid them well enough and gave them a large, clear vantage point overlooking the village. It was a peaceful, warm day with the sun shining brighter than usual. But sitting under the shade, the little beads of sweat the children had were dried by the occasional breeze passing through the soft leaves that cooled the wind. Maren did not sweat.

Maren had swept the area around them with her eyes and was sure there was no one around, so she had let her hood down. Even though most of her hair was tugged underneath the robe, some strands freed out because of the sheer volume of her hair and swayed soft, dark ropes that they had seen the dancers use and create patterns in the air with while circling or jumping. Nia touched her hair which had grown a little by now wistfully, but it still barely reached her shoulder.

"That's a strange question. I have not given some names to anyone before, except when they deserve to be called a thick-skull, small grain, or a dying bud. But I guess that's not what you are asking,"

"You called Remy a Teacup," Wyn cried from the top immediately.

"But those don't count as real names. Like we all know you are a blockhead, and half the folks call you so, but that isn't your real name, yes?" She looked up, smirking at him.

"Half-haired shortie. And that's what you are," He threw small twigs and a bunch of leaves angrily at her immediately, but half of them flew away with the wind before they reached Nia.

"Ignore him. Is it a girl or a boy you are looking a name for?" Nia asked. Maren looked at her confusedly.

"The baby," Nia said frustratedly after waiting for a while. "The baby you want to name."

"He...he is not a baby," Maren quickly clarified, flustered.

"Where are his parents? Why should you name him if he isn't a baby without parents? How old is he?"

"Very old probably."

"That's funny. I haven't heard of anything like that. An old man without a name," Nia scratched her head, utterly confused.

Maren, who was looking at passers-by in the village, saw an elderly man hobbling with his cart. She realized what kind of picture Nia must be having in her mind, so she rushed to clarify immediately.

"Not old in the way you are thinking. Not physically." Only after she said that she realized how difficult it was to explain, and even more impossible for them to understand.

"It doesn't matter. I just wanted a name," she sighed, defeated.

"Yeah. Yeah. Why not. Keep your secrets like you always do. I don't know what kind of people you have around you, but a name is something of one's own. Unless I know what type of person he is, I can't suggest names for him. At least tell me what he looks like?"

"He is dark and has red eyes. I don't know how to explain it. But he looks different than anyone else. Everyone else." She looked around at the thatched roofs and houses and struggled to think of something as structured, precise, and properly formed around them to explain it better to Nia.

Nia was still now.

"Ren, this is not a real person, right? Surely, it's something you have made up. Dark and red eyes? You are scaring me. Now I won't be able to sleep at night thinking of such a thing lurking behind the door or bed somewhere,"

When Maren didn't say anything, Nia palmed her face in her hands and turned it towards herself.

"That can't be for real. Are you serious? Such a person is there somewhere you come from?"

Maren looked at people going about their work with plows and pots, at dogs barking and cattle grazing on the small patch of grass ahead. Some children drew blocks with sticks in the mud. She wondered if it was real if he was real when she sat now looking at the village.

"Maybe you are right. It's my imagination," she said, with her eyes cast down. Nia released her face.

"You should have said so. I was scared for a while. But what do you mean by maybe? Tell me the truth? Is he real?"

But Maren had gone completely quiet now. She looked in the direction of the hills.

"What's wrong? What are you looking at?" Nia asked, alarmed now.

"There's a fire somewhere,"

"Fire? I can't see any fire," Both of them started to look where she was looking, but saw nothing. It was after a long time that they small plumes of smoke rising, and even longer till they sensed the commotion in the village.

"The Old Forest is burning!" They had already gotten down and started running by the time they heard the first cries coming from the villagers.