Banished

I woke with crust in my eye. Or maybe it wasn’t, I don’t really remember. But my eyelids were stuck together, and peeling them open was like pulling dead skin after a considerable sunburn. The next thing I noticed was the light. It was too bright, and too hot. It was insistent, trying to show me something I had maybe missed out on. It was a foolish errand; I was more than comfortable with my seat by the Great Gap. I wanted for very little. Just wine.

And women.

I felt sand against my palms and I frowned. I sat up, probably a little too quickly, and my head exploded in a sharp pain, followed by a round of nausea I was not accustomed to. I let something rise up in my chest but caught myself before it left my mouth. It tasted horrid, not like the grapes and meats and wines made from even more grapes that I was used to. I spat, but the taste remained. I felt the sand shift under my hands, and I looked around. My vision was very slowly beginning to soften. My head snapped to somewhere else. I could feel my eyes narrowing, against the heat, sure, but mostly in confusion.

‘What the fuck,’ I muttered. Or tried to. My throat felt like it hadn’t been lubricated in quite some time.

I pushed myself upright and wobbled. It wasn’t from weakness — that would have been ridiculous — But it was something close to it, and that immediately pissed me off. Gravity sucked at my feet. I’d never felt so heavy. Or so skinny. I looked down at myself. My skin was somewhere between orange and tan-brown, but my arms and legs were frail. All semblance of muscle? Completely eradicated. My Greek-like physique, reduced to twigs. But I steadied myself. Let my balance come. The ground stopped shifting underneath my feet, probably because I had stopped moving. I brought a hand to my eyes and shielded them from the sun.

Rolling dunes of burning white sand stretched for miles in every direction. Far beyond them, mountains rose in vague, shimmering shapes.

‘I must be in Rovelia,’ I murmured.

If that were true, then I was in the desert fields to the East of the village. If I kept walking I’d see a shrine to Carsiverus. I couldn’t stop the sneer pulling my lips. That arrogant, flatulently spoken, self important shit. I hated his stupid, cocky grin, and the way his tousled hair blew just right across his face at all times. Maybe it would be best to avoid the city, on second thought. At the very least, to avoid drawing attention to myself. It wouldn’t be the first time I had woken up after some ridiculous escapade on the edges of the city. Not any in particular. This happened more times than I cared to admit.

I needed to eat. To drink. The trip back to the Great Gap required some sustenance, and I was running on empty.

The sun hung over me like an awning. I groaned. West, then.

The walk was fine, as far as walks through the desert go. My lips were cracked against the heat, so I tried to take smaller breaths to not aggravate any blisters. The dunes refused to cradle me for any margin of length. I lost my footing a few times on the slopes downward, and ended up with a mouthful of sand. My robe, or what was left of it, was covered in it too. It cut into a deep V that exposed my chest and the start of my abdomen. I tore strips from the bottom of the robe to cover my exposed arms, and tied it with string from the lining of my pants. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing in the heat.

After some time, I crested over the last of the dunes to the sound of a brook. There was a long river that split the land in half. It wasn’t very wide, large enough for a healthy swim to the other side. There were a few islands in the middle of the water, with growing trees. They were so tall. My neck hurt as I craned up to look at them. A sense of smallness washed over me and I did my best to ignore it. In any other circumstance, the trees would have been reaching for me. That felt better. More appropriate.

I let my feet take me to the edge of the stream and my legs finally gave out from under me. The soles of my feet were burning, and I could already feel the welts beginning to form. No matter.

I cupped water from the river and poured it over my feet. Then again, but into my mouth. Once more down my back. I sighed. I couldn’t help it. It never mattered all the things I had seen, tasted or traded barbs with, water had a way of settling over me that made my skin crawl. Not to be philosophical in any stretch, but it always amazed me how something so mundane and singularly indifferent always felt so expansively individual. Whatever that fuckin’ means.

Once I was used to the water, I disrobed and lowered myself into the stream. It flowed gently around my body. The sores on my feet dulled and my skin absorbed as much of the water as it could. I ducked my head under until it filled my nostrils before lifting it out from the stream.

The sun was drying my hair already. I ran my hands through the thicket atop my cranium and separated the clumps that knotted together. I waded through the water and clambered up to the nearest island. The tree threw great shade that covered most of it, so I picked a spot by a nook in the tree and lay down. I considered dreaming, but I had nothing to dream about. Well, nothing of important, relevance or, really, interest to be honest. But still, I lay there as the sun began to lower itself towards the horizon. I didn’t even lift my head.

I lay under that tree for an age. I watched as white dots began to paint the sky, one by one at first. Then, as the light broke to darkness, they came in clumps, spattered with streaks of milky veins alongside them. I smiled.

I finally rose, the grass marked with a perfect indent of my body around the roots of the tree, and swam back to the opposite side. I pulled on my clothes, ignoring the saturated linens, and made my way down the grass bank. The lights of Rovelia began to burn about forty minutes later, suffusing the sky with an amber hue. Some distance later, I heard the soft sounds of music and laughter. I was beginning to become too tired make the journey back, even without food, so a nights rest in the company of mellow, simple folk had a nice ring to it.

The river began to slope, and the ground with it, as it rushed back towards the ocean some too-many-miles-to-count away. The bank on the other side opened up to a plateau with wide views of most of Benwirfh. Those like me — though that comparison was startlingly minuscule — did not get jealous, but I always had been whatever the closest sensation to that is about Carsiverus. The adoration the Rovelian’s threw at his feet, that he lapped up as if he was unworthy but all-together sure that he deserved it at the same time.

His statue greeted me at the arched bridge that connected the two banks. It was carved beautifully, with artistry that I appreciated even beyond the exactness of his likeness. It had been built by a Gnome by the name of Thurlow, though he had long since passed. All of the Old Gods had their likeness built by him.

I had been unlucky in that regard.

I crossed the bridge and made my way to the tavern I had frequented too many times before. It was one of Benwirfh’s best. Cozy. Warm. The roof hung over the banks and slanted down towards the river. The building was made of coffee coloured stone, with a beautiful double wooden door that marked the entrance. Tall windows lined the perimeter. If you were lucky enough to get a seat by the window, one could get brilliant views of storms passing through the village. Not that I cared that much. The view from the Great Gap was supreme in almost every conceivable way.

I was offered a few neighbourly nods as I stepped into the tavern. The space was lit by a wood fire in the intricately carved stone mantle place. It was private, not too busy. Secluded. Good for travellers. And God’s, I supposed.

I made my way up the bar, where an older man greeted me with a kind smile. His hair was white but full, and his eyes were a soft shade of emerald that would have been calming for the simple folk. I returned the smile in kind as I sat.

“Drink?” he asked knowingly. His voice was croaky.

“Yes,” I said, then paused. “Whatever everyone else has been ordering.”

The man nodded and threw me a wink. “Right you are there, son.” And he went away to pour me a flagon of some kind of mundane mead I’d probably tried before. A thought crossed my mind. He would be expecting payment, no doubt. I hadn’t thought of that. I looked around. A small purse sat behind the bar counter, filled with coins. I raised my eyebrows. What an odd spot for money. I shrugged and reached for it without any real subtlety.

A hand grabbed my arm and I frowned. I turned to look.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

A man I hadn’t seen at the bar next to me had gripped me with the strength of a seasoned farmer. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he observed me.

“You can start by putting down the coin purse,” the man said. “And then it might be best you leave before you lose your wandering hands.”

I couldn’t stop the confusion that ran across my face. “Excuse me? What business do you have?”

“Mine, and mine alone,” he replied with severity. “Now, relieve yourself of the purse.”

I shifted towards him, keeping my arm exactly where it was. “Do you know whom you’re talking to?” I asked through a sneer.

“Not the foggiest. But if your intention is to threaten me, you will have to do better than some twig-for-arm.”

“Release me.”

The man considered this. “No,” he said simply.

I was about to strike him with a closed fist when the bartender returned hurriedly. He set the flagon down carefully, though it still spilled some of the mead, and rushed between myself and the other man.

“Heavens, Miha,” the bartender croaked. “What are you doing?”

“I caught this thief red handed trying to steal your coin purse,” the man, Miha, said. “He has been apprehended.”

“What are you, the city guard? Release me.”

“He is fine, Miha,” the bartender said, interjecting before I could speak again. “He has done work for me at the bar.” I frowned and flashed a look at him. The bartender met my eyes. His gaze was strong, and I felt something shift in my chest. Was that… guilt? The bartender continued. “The coin purse is his, and his alone.”

The bartender lifted my arm and closed my hand around the coin purse before putting his hands on Miha’s, who for his part, just stared dumbly back at him.

“Greffin, you cannot be serious.”

Greffin’s eyes softened. “Deathly,” he said.

Miha’s gaze went between me and the bartender with a pace so rapid I was sure he was going to make himself dizzy. He went to open his mouth again to retort, but Greffin tapped his hands lightly and cocked his head at him. The gesture was familiar, but authoritative. Miha closed his mouth and nodded. His eyes flashed back to me with anger. He knew Greffin was lying, but there was nothing he could do about it.

“Do not let me catch you doing that again,” he almost growled.

“Do not let me catch you with your hands on me again,” I replied evenly. “Lest you want to have your extremities removed.”

Miha cursed and let go of my hand. He glowered, picked up his flagon, and walked away to be a nuisance somewhere else. I shook my head as he left.

Greffin was staring at me. I could see it out the corner of my eyes. I sighed and shifted my head towards him. The bartender didn’t speak for a long moment. The silence was uncomfortable. I felt myself wanting to look away, but I resisted bravely.

“Are you a traveller?” Greffin asked eventually.

I didn’t know how to answer that at first. I made a noise as I thought about my response. Greffin waited patiently. I shrugged. “In a sense, I guess,” I replied.

Greffin nodded once. “Do you make a habit of stealing from establishments like mine?”

“No,” I said, very quickly. Though it was the truth. Normally I would bring coin with me. Had I realised I was going on an escapade to Benwirfh, I would have at least made a plan to have coin on my person. I hadn’t done that.

Greffin observed me like I was a tome to study. He searched my eyes, my clothes. Satisfied, he stopped leaning forward and crossed his arms.

“I will take my bag back now if you please,” Greffin said.

I thought about arguing, though I didn’t really have a case to mount and I didn’t especially feel like starting a brawl in this body. I sighed and dropped the purse onto the counter. Greffin smiled.

“Thank you.” He rummaged through the bag. “Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?” He asked, his head down.

“No, I do not.”

“You have come well prepared it seems, traveller. Here,” and he pulled out an assortment of coins and placed them into my hands. “Use these for a room. I will let you drink and eat here uncharged on the proviso that you return here with the intention to repay your debt.”

I snorted. “Debt? I have no debt.”

“Take those coins, my food or drink then you do,” Greffin replied. “And I know you have no coin tonight, so if you leave only to return with stolen funds, I will refuse you.”

I looked at the coins, and then back to the older man. I hadn’t paid enough attention to him before. There was a steeliness in his eyes that grounded him with compassion and strength. Greffin was broad shouldered, and a hulking man for his age, but he carried a fondness for kindness I hadn’t come across before. I looked into his emerald eyes with determination.

“I accept,” I said finally, and I did. I would resolve my debts before my departure, that was certain. I wasn’t sure why I felt the inclination to do so. But Greffin moved me.

“Good man,” Greffin said. “I will expect payment once it has been earned. Until then, eat. Drink. Dance if you like. Sing the songs of the Old Gods. There is no place like Rovelia, and you are most welcome to her fruits.”

I nodded and Greffin smiled. He tapped my hand and asked what I wished to eat. I don’t even remember what it was I ate that night. But it was hearty and filling and delicious. It wasn’t like the meats smoked for me back home, but it was like being given food by one’s grandfather. Not that I knew that feeling.

And for the rest of the night, I sang the old tunes. I danced with women and men alike. I drank good mead. And then, when I was ready, I retired to the Inn where I collapsed into a bed I had paid for with Greffin’s money, smiling as I slowly drifted off to sleep.