Afeallan

"Chapter" Five

“Is it true?” asked Rýnelic with the gasp that follows after swallowing.

 

“Yeah,” said Léas lowering his head just enough to move the shadow of his chin on his neck.

 

“How long ago was this written?”

 

“Over the course of about a year. About four years ago.” Rýnelic puzzled at the casualness of how he said it. Then he remembered that Léas had been living with this information for years. He looked at the glimmering silver hung above the bed and looked back at Léas.

 

“It took me a long time to make,” Léas said apologetically.

 

Rýnelic clenched his fist, lowered his shoulder as his head followed, and walked out of the room. He clutched the bottle of wine. It was almost empty. He wobbled at the bottom of the stairs. He was at a loss for action. Léas came behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He directed Rýnelic to the table and brought him something to eat. Rýnelic realized he hadn’t eaten since the day before and ate hungrily. He tasted nothing.

 

“All true?” Rýnelic asked, more for reassurance than anything, and didn’t know why. The effects of the wine were counteracted by the sobering knowledge that had been recently introduced.

 

“Yes, it’s all true,” Léas said quietly, almost reassuringly.

 

Rýnelic’s back felt like it was on fire. He realized he must have dosed away at the table. His spine felt brittle. At some point in the night, he had dropped the bottle and its contents had spilt all over the floor. Léas had wiped it up. Rýnelic looked around. No one was around. He threw his legs up on the table in front of him and leaned back in the chair. He groped blindly behind him hoping that his satchel was where he left it. It was, and he pulled it toward him with fingertips. He recovered his pipe and began to smoke. He stared at the ceiling for awhile until he felt useless and sat up. He fell to his feet with the illusion of ambition and decided to go to the Tavern. Before he left, he grabbed his belongings and laid some money down on the table for Léas’ hospitality. He knew he wouldn’t be returning.

 

He saw Byldan before she saw him. She was busy with the morning crowd. He sat down and waited for her to notice him. She approached him, happy and surprised.

 

“Two,” he said, before she arrived. His head hurt. She brought them to him and, as he began to speak, she held up another finger as she rushed to the other side of the bar to attend to another customer. He swallowed the first drink and ignored the second. He looked around. No one recognized him. No one seemed to be paying attention to much of anything. Byldan returned and he turned around.

 

“I promised to say goodbye before I left.” He said as she leaned in to talk in her momentary lapse between patrons.

 

“You don’t have to go,” she said. The conversation fell dead temporarily as she had to walk away, and Rýnelic felt as if he should leave now. When she removed herself, Rýnelic saw behind her a girl he didn’t recognize. A girl with fiery hair. He thought of something.

 

“Does Clǽne still work here?” he called after her, almost joking. “I used to know her.” He knew her well.