Inheritance

Part 2. Chapter 72: Language

He thought of Pollyanna, kneeling by his side and thumbing away a speck of snow on his cheek. Somehow, that moment had somehow eclipsed and encapsulated every fleeting feeling of happiness he had ever felt.

He still blushed when he thought of it; he still felt electrified by it, despite it being so innocent. He felt like both he and Pollyanna had shared something with each other in that moment—something deep and untouchable within themselves that belonged to nobody but themselves—that nobody else on Yharos had ever experienced before.

And just thinking of this holy thing—this piece of untouchable happiness that nobody else could experience—made Eory smile with no hesitation.

He conceded with a great amount of reticence, "I suppose the scraps of happiness I have experienced are worth the pain."

The two worked diligently without speaking for a time. They were quickly getting through the letters. Juree was essentially a talking translator; he taught Eory translation tips and corrected any mistakes he made with ease.

"You're so knowledgeable," Eory sighed, feeling jealous of the man's talents. "I don't know why you didn't write more translation books than just this Common-to-dwarvish one."

Juree shrugged. "I just lost passion for translating the written word after awhile. I know I don't have much of an excuse for it, considering that I have lived more than enough years and have had more than enough experience when it comes to language to make translation books for every language. I became more interested in other things as I aged, and I simply never rekindled in interest in translation."

Eory made a face, unable to help his hateful thoughts. He has all this talent and he wastes it.

"I tried my hand at other things I was interested in instead." Juree continued. "I tried dancing, drawing, composing music, and I even tried my hand at marriage. I was a failure in all of them. Do you know what the funny thing is? I put more effort into those things I was a failure at than I ever put in for language. I guess I just wasn't meant to be good at those other things."

Eory felt a chill crawl up his spine at the man's sentence. He's lived several lifetimes, trying to perfect his hand at these things, and he's never been able to. It's as if there is something inside of him that prevents him from being good at them!

Discomfort bit into Eory's hopes and dreams and he, in turn, bit into his arm. Again, he was confronted with the idea that perhaps he was simply not meant to be a good person in the same way that Juree was not meant to be good at drawing, dancing, music, or marriage.

The only one worth pleasing is yourself. Pollyanna's firm voice brought him back to reality and redirected his thoughts. I can do it; I can prove to myself that I am good.

Eory drew his thoughts, instead, to a curious thing that Juree had mentioned earlier. "You said there was a species on Yharos that went extinct? One that got you interested in languages in the first place?"

Juree rubbed his temples. Despite the fact that his skin had no apparent wrinkles, he looked old. His brown eyes seemed like they had seen too much and were duller than any other Astral Elf's. "They were an interesting species. They spoke entirely with their hands and didn't use their voices at all. I couldn't understand them at all at first; they would make symbols with their hands at such a fast pace that I couldn't dream of guessing what each symbol meant. I became fascinated by it, however, and I found that I wanted nothing other than to learn their language. I had a natural talent for learning other languages, after all, so I figured I would be good at learning theirs as well. I toiled for a year, trying my best to memorize what each hand signal meant, but I was missing an important component of their language that I could never guess. When they touched my hands for the first time, they transmitted inflection and emotions to their hand signals that made the language make sense. It was beautiful..."

Eory could tell by the man's tone of voice the love and admiration he had for the species. He asked, "What happened to them?"

"They were a species who lived on magic. As the years went by, Yharos began to be drained of magic. They starved to death." Juree lamented, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. "After that, I studied other languages for many years because I was so inspired by their language. Unfortunately, no other languages held the enchantment theirs did." Juree replied.

Eory blinked confusedly. "Magic? Yharos used to have more magic?"

"Oh yes," Juree answered as he scribbled something down on his piece of parchment. "Everything on Yharos used to sizzle with magic. Rocks, trees, water, but it's all being eaten away by a lack of faith, passion, curiosity, and an overabundance of hatred and unrelenting rigidity."

"How can you tell?" Asked Eory. "Are you able to see magic?"

Juree shook his head. "No, but I can feel it. When the world was younger, I felt energized and indestructible. Now, I feel slow and lethargic."

Eory wondered if he might feel happier if there were more magic in the world. I would love to feel happier... Maybe it's the lack of magic in this world that is partly responsible for this merciless unhappiness.

Eory was in awe of this species he would never get to meet and this overabundance of magic he would never get to experience. It was all he could think about while he translated.

Time passed, and eventually, the pair only had two letters left to translate. At that time, Eory realized that it was far past his bedtime, but he refused to retire.

I must finish this translation!

To keep himself awake and alert, he asked Juree, "What was the name of the species?"

Juree didn't answer for a moment; he had a defensive look on his face. It was as if he wanted to hold onto that knowledge—as if he thought Eory wasn't worthy of knowing the name—but eventually, he smiled and whispered, "Aneemanai. They had four arms, red skin, and good hearts. They shared what they had to share and treated everyone they met with respect and dignity."

Eory would never meet them, but even just hearing about them made him want to. His mind drew up a picture of them that he desperately wanted to put to paper, but it would have to wait.

Two hours later, Eory and Juree finished their translation, and together, they combed over their work to make sure it was as accurate as it could possibly be. Each letter that combined a letter from two languages changed the sound it made and the meaning of the word, which took Eory and Juree the most time to unpack.

The word it spelled was enigmatic, and neither knew what to make of it.

Red Moon Knight.

Eory felt devastated—like he had wasted his time chasing a red herring.

Juree was just as baffled as Eory was. Together, they both continued to throw around ideas of what the word could mean.

"Perhaps it's a knight who really existed? Some sort of historical figure?" Eory suggested, scratching his head.

Juree sighed. "I don't think so. I probably would have heard of such a knight unless he was even before my time."

Eory fell deep into thought, and then he smiled. "What if it's an idiom?"

Juree gave it some thought. A smile came to his own face. "Maybe it is, but how do we figure out what it means?"

Eory testily tapped his feet on a dried patch of paint beneath his feet. "I don't know..."