Author's note:
✽ I wonder why I never said this before, but thank you for your honest but simple review!
✽ Sorry to keep you waiting. I needed to make sure it works first before uploading; if there are problems with the chapter I need to reupload it. I'm trying to avoid reuploading the same chapter multiple times, a bad habit.
*changes main character's name and reuploads all chapters*
Oops. Well, this novel is a work in progress... Ahaha, ha.
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10. Colours - Part 2
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One particular bright but cool day, with soft white clouds rolling by the sky…
«What is your favourite flower?» I asked. Indescribable colours and aromas surrounded around us on all sides…
Cadilla just stood there like one of the plants. Maybe that question was a little sudden and… Even I didn't know mine. There were plenty and plenty of flowers and herbs. Finding a true favourite might be a little bit difficult.
«This is hard… very hard to say…»
«Maybe you want to start with your favourite colour? Purple?», I said after some time. She looked like she was lost in her thoughts, with a curled finger to her lips.
«I'm going to have to pick two; I am allowed to do that right?». She picked out a simple-looking five-petal flower and placed it on her palm. «The blue oleander, and the other one…».
«But it's not purple», I noticed.
«I know, but it's simple yet elegant… with a sense of mystery—»
«Like you», I whispered to myself. Wait, did I just…
«I heard that!», the girl snapped cheekily.
«Let's just say you didn't…». I carefully snatched the flower and stuck it into her hair.
«Hey! {giggle}». She shooed my mischievous hands away.
«Okay, okay…», I said, smirking. We were silent for a while. Cadilla leaned against the red brick wall of the large arch that marked one of the entrances of the garden. «So…»
The girl looked at me, tilting her head. «Hm?», she hummed cutely.
«So what's your other favourite flower?»
«Oh!», she said, probably realising that she had forgotten to continue her topic. «Definitely the alpine milkvetch.»
«Hmm, that would probably be my favourite as well». I said, liking the cute look of the plant having bluish-purple-tinted white skirt-like flowers. I imagined an artistic tailor creating a skirt or dress inspired by these flowers. Ooh, I'd love to see Cadilla wearing that skirt…
«By the way, do you find the book you borrowed useful?» asked Cadilla. «Est‑il utile pour toi? |Is it useful for you?|», she continued in Cœunettian in her cute Lelondish accent which seemed to make all of her words dance and bounce merrily.
Two conflicting feelings arose in my chest: One was about the disaster with Cadilla's mother at her house, which Cadilla acted as if it never happened. The other was about my own intense personal study sessions I had alone or with my mom, as I attempted to crack the code bridging the wide gap between the sounds of Cœunettian and their bizarre written form.
«Oui, le livre est très bon… et très détaillé… |Yes, the book is very good…and very detailed…| I'm starting to know how to read the Cœunettian words. It's like a code, you know, except that there are some exceptions here and there.»
«Wow», she said. «That's good.»
«I realised that there is a very systematic way how they write the words and the sounds.»
«There is?», she said and her expression surprised me a little, considering that it was her book.
«Yeah, but anyway let me practice a bit», I said feeling a little shy to practice in front of her even though she was not a native or fluent Cœunettian speaker by any means. I raised my hand and picked up the flower still stuck in her hair. «Une belle fleur |A beautiful flower|». Grinning, I held the pretty little thing in my palm.
Cadilla smiled and pointed at me, «Un garçon bizarre |A weird boy|».
I gave a comical frown, twisted my lips into a pout possibly similar to hers. «Une belle fil bizarre |A beautiful weird [thread]|», I said, pointing back. «Um…fille |girl|», I corrected, stressing the "feey" sound, and resisting the urge to make an "feel" sound.
She placed a finger near her chest, pointing to herself, saying, «Une belle fille bizarre… qui aime les fleurs |A weird beautiful girl who loves flowers|».
I chuckled inwardly. So she admittedly that she was beautiful, eh? «Qui aime les belles fleurs… |Who loves beautiful flowers…|», I added to her sentence.
«Qui aime les belles fleurs… et les plantes qui [p…?] dans [l…?]», she said, with a upward wave of her hand.
«Huh?»
«Tu n'as pas compris… ce que j'ai dit? |You don't understand what I said?|», she said with a smile.
«How did you know so much?», I said, puzzled, and barely catching her last sentence in which she asked me if I understood what she had said. I knew that her pronunciation had a very heavy Lelondish flavour to it, but her pronunciation seemed accurate.
Cadilla didn't answer my question and instead walked away from the big arch made of red bricks. She approached a bunch of flowering plants. The girl knelt down and fixed her eyes in admiration of their natural, earthly beauty.
«Je suis une fille qui aime les plantes… qui [pooss] dans [la terhh]. |I am a girl who loves the plants… which [?] in [the ?].|»
«I still don't get what you mean», I said, feeling a little agitated and inferior.
«Hey, ne t'en fais pas |Hey, don't worry|», said the girl looking rather amused by my reaction.
I kept silent. I blinked my eyes in confusion when I felt her fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling me closer to the ground. My palm met the soil. It felt cool and slightly damp to the touch.
«La terre», said Cadilla.
«The earth?»
«Yes, earth!»
I eventually removed my hand from the ground. There were specks of dark earthly dirt on my palm which I brushed off with my fingers. Because of the dampness of the earth, a brown stain remained on my hands.
«Le terre», I repeated, saying the word slowly.
«No. La terre», she corrected. «It's a feminine word.»
«Oh great, now how are we supposed to remember that it is feminine?», I said, trying hard to think of some memory tricks.
«I think that it has something to do with the spelling of the word… but the method doesn't always work», said Cadilla, raising one of her knees as she changed her kneeling position. Her hand brushed off some of the dirt on her dark brown skirt. The dirt appeared darker than the colour of her skirt, and in fact it was almost black. I remembered Cadilla telling me that the black soil was black in colour due to the dead leaves that had decomposed.
I reached and touched the hem of her long skirt, and dusted away more dirt that she had missed. «Wow, there's so much dirt, your skirt is stained.»
«Oh, it's all right», she said, «C'est pas grave…», she continued and I guessed she meant to say the same thing as her previous sentence in Norse. I thought I heard Mom said that expression before. «Tu sais, c'est pourquoi je mets toujours cette jupe brune|You know, this is why I always put on this [?]|», she said, giving a little laugh.
«Err, what is "jupe brune"?»
Cadilla felt the fabric of her skirt. «Guess.»
«Skirt?»
«Yep», she replied casually. «Brown skirt.»
«Oh», I said, «I thought it was one single word.»
The stains no longer appeared visible on her skirt because the girl had almost completely gotten rid of them. She stood and stretched her arms, and bent down to touch the tips of her purple boots.
«So», I said, wanting to clarify, «"Brown skirt" is…?»
«La jupe brune», she said and repronounced the last word. «Ah, this word is quite hard to say.»
«Aha…», I said, realising something. «La fille. La fleur. La terre. La jupe! |The girl. The flower. The earth. Skirt!|»
«Oh yeah», she said with a laugh. «Yeah, pretty much.»
«Now I know which words are feminine!», I stated proudly.
Cadilla gave me a weird expression. «I'm pretty sure that's not how it works…». The girl walked ahead of me, to a nearby tree.
I followed after her. «But…!», I said protesting, «I have a very good image just associating them all in one group… whatever method that works, am I right?»
She suppressed her amusement.
«Then how do you remember which words are feminine or not?», I asked.
«Uh…», she began unsurely.
Ha. Maybe she doesn't even have a method.
«Sometimes I check the word's spelling while other times I imagine the word itself in different colours», she said, «Like for example if the word is feminine, like "la fleur", I imagine a pink word describing a pink flower. And then I'll write it down on a list. And if a word is masculine, like "le ciel", I imagine it being blue.»
«Blue sky. Makes… sense», I said unsurely.
«But it doesn't always work and sometimes I just can't think of a way to remember its gender. Like "fourmi".»
«Fourmi?»
«Uh, basically it's that tiny six-legged creature that is crawling on your shoulder now», she said pointing at my dark blue tunic.
I hurriedly brushed the black ant off. «This masculine-feminine business is starting to make me wonder if everything is in fact male or female.»
Cadilla giggled while I laughed.
«Anyway, it's time to do some gardening», she said, picking up a shovel.
«Aha. Can you say that in Cœunettian?», I say with a teasing look.
«Um…», she said, standing still for a long time. «C'est temps… no err… Ah! Il est temps de faire… le… du… jardin.|It's time to do… the… of the… garden|». She scratched the side of her head. «I don't think that's right…»
«"Jardin" means "garden", right?», I asked as the girl muttered off some words, debating with herself.
«Yes. But I don't know how to say "gardening"», she replied quickly. «Maybe I'll check the dictionary later.»
My eyes grew wide. «You have a dictionary?»
«Of course silly. How else would I know how to say these Cœunettian words?», she said, her eyes darting around rapidly.
I was beginning to think she was hiding something, but I kept silent. «Okay, anyway, let's do some gardening!», I said, making her smile widely in response.
…
We were resting at the edge of the Little Pond of Eau after a hard day's work at her garden, with our hands feeling cold to the air after being rinsed with pond water… and as for me, with my mind filled with the strange Cœunettian words that Cadilla had taught me in her "demonstrate the word, touch the object" teaching style (she laughed when I told her that).
«I love your mother's cooking», Cadilla said to me.
I could guess that she was still dreaming of Mom's hot-smoked salmon salad from the other day.
«Aha. Do you know how to say that in Cœunettian?», I said, with a teasing finger of mine jabbing the air.
«Oh quit testing me», she said, looking annoyed. «In any case, I think it's "J'adore… la cuisine de ta mère".»
«But I thought "cuisine" means "kitchen"?»
«It also means "cooking".»
«Oh», I said. «Well, my mom loves cooking, so that's why it's so delicious!»
«Yes. I can see that she has passion in it», agreed Cadilla, probably not knowing that I could take what she said and apply it to the girl and her drawings and flowers.
«Yes, but I love your drawings...», I said. «Vous avez une passion… pour drawing. |You have a passion… for [drawing].|»
«Le dessin… |Drawing…|» she said rather quietly.
«Vous avez une passion pour le dessin |You have a passion for drawing|», I said. «Is my sentence correct?». Secretly, I also admired her gorgeously soft, flowing hair. And their mysterious brown-red colour…
The girl shyly smiled away, then fixed an unreadable expression that looked really funny. «What?», she said, sounding annoyed, but her face showed otherwise.
«What?»
«Firstly…», she said. «Why do you keep addressing me as "vous"? It's…»
«Wrong?», I said, confused. I remembered Cadilla using it with Mom so I thought I should use it with her.
«No it's not wrong. It's just weird because we use "vous" when you address someone you respect. So when you talk to me, you should use "tu" instead.»
«But I respect you…!», I said, embarrassed that I had to say it out loud.
The girl looked away, hiding whatever expression she had on her face. «No… I mean… someone higher in the hierarchy than you.»
«But you are higher in the level of hierarchy than me», I said. «I'm just your gardener.»
Cadilla looked downwards at her feet dangling over the edge of the pond. Then she started giggling uncontrollably. I made myself laugh along with her, rather awkwardly.
«I'm not a princess, okay?!», she cried out, this time with an obvious embarrassed, irritated look on her face.
«Okay, okay… Calm down Miss Cadilla.»
«Call me that one more time, and I'll throw you into the pond.»
«Okay…», I said in a gentler voice, «Now let's just take a deep breath…». Taking a deep breath myself, I rested my hand on her shoulder. «And have a relaxing time looking at your amazing and beautiful drawings… shall we?»
She looked at me, her eyes cutely half-closed as if she was getting tired of me. «You never stop teasing me, do you?»
«I'm serious.»
But she sat there not moving an inch, her brown eyes twinkling.
«Please?» I pleaded with my hands clasped together.
She rolled her eyes, but in a playful, embarrassed manner. «Fine», she said before she dashed off into the direction of her house. I uncrossed my legs and turned to face the pond, to dangle my legs over its watery surface. The tip of my shoe started making ripples on the water.
Moments later, Cadilla was already back carrying a little stack of papers.
«Wow, that's quick! Speedier than a rabbit!»
«Don't call me that.»
Ouch. Bad–bad–bad–bad. «Sorry», I said. My eyes looked downwards. Bad comparison. I gave a nervous chuckle. Apparently, calling someone a rabbit or a cat was considered very insulting in Lelondell. No wonder the gangsters would sometimes call me that.
Although most of Cadilla's drawings were all colourless, grey charcoal sketches, they effectively captured the beauty and awe of nature. They ranged from flowers, to scenic views of forests, and to birds.
I watched in admiration as the graceful girl beautifully expressed her heart as she drew…
Vividly stunning drawings of her favourite flowers, paper on the grass, white clouds rolling by above…
All in quiet beauty.
We spent much time chattering away about various drawings. All of them had one thing in common: they were splendid images of beautiful colours all around. But a particular one struck me. It was a surprisingly accurate sketch of a tiny terror. It was a little odd that she drew the very thing that every Viking hated. And she said that she only drew "anything that's beautiful".
«How did you manage to portray this dragon so well?», I said with a little suspicion.
«I, uh, I crept up close to it and captured it with my mind». She said that nonchalantly, as if it was a very normal thing for her to do.
«Wow… Nice!» I exclaimed. My left palm felt the green grass to make sure it was dry then I gently placed the drawing down. How could she draw so well? I didn't understand why Mrs Kettlon said that nobody her age could appreciate her.
I picked up a magnificent sketch of a bird perched on a branch. «Awww… this is sooo cute!» I exclaimed. Underneath the feathery creature was a label: WILLOW WARBLER. Elegant handwriting too… But no name of the author, huh.
I held the drawing in my hands for some time. I glanced at its creator, who was looking intently at me.
«Um…», I said, lowering the paper.
«N‑‑nothing… it's just that I find your mannerisms a little interesting.»
Ah right. A littil interesting. With her cute pronunciation of the word "little" to stress a euphemism. Illy and Nillie would say "funny" to avoid saying something more insulting to me. At least they were polite and indirect, but sometimes I wondered what the girls were really thinking about me.
«What do you mean by that?», I asked.
«You really want to know?»
I nodded.
«Fine… You know, sometimes you act like a girl. Your chuckles sound so girlish, in fact, they are almost like giggles.»
I was shocked by this. «Really?». Then my smile dropped. «Um… so… basically…», I said slowly. «Is it a bad thing?»
She smiled. «No…A little strange, but I don't see anything wrong with it.»
Thank you. I thought inwardly. At least she doesn't ridicule me for being different.
Still with the paper in my hands, I began, «Cadilla, may I ask you something?».
«Of course.»
I was struggling to not hide my face behind the paper. «May I know what is your hai—err forget about that sorry—I mean… You… Do you have anybody else to talk to? I mean, like girls your own age?»
Her smile dropped. «No…». She looked down sadly.
I prepared myself for my next question. «May I ask… why?»
She just sat there without a word, looking a little upset.
Wait, she's now feeling that common "depressed" thing that often tortures me? My heart sank. I placed down the paper slowly and said, «I‑‑I… Sorry… for asking. I'm just curious why you don't seem to talk to others». Somehow, I felt that it did not seem right for her to be only around me all the time.
«There's no need to apologise, Rodêne. It's… me… But it's a secret.»
Desperate to know her more, to know what she's thinking, and to care about her problems, I kept silent for a while and fought my own thoughts for some time. How should I get her to open up? I had an idea, but it was risky.
After a deep breath I began, «I'll tell you my biggest secret first then. Well, other than the way that I laugh with myself a lot.»
The girl tilted her head ever so slightly while not looking straight at me. «Huh? …All right, go on.»
«You know why the other boys hate me?» I said. «Other than the fact that I'm quite a timid person of course, and that I used to be a sickly child dependent on his mother.»
«Not really», she said in her usual soft voice.
«I may not even be a Lelondell at all.»
Cadilla didn't quite get it. Maybe I said that too softly. Curious, she asked for clarification: «Sorry…?»
«A complete foreigner, not a Lelondell at all», I said again. «I mean, my mother is from the isle of Cœunette. And my father, I don't really know where he comes from. He said he was from a different land.»
«Really?». Her eyes were wide with astonishment.
«Yeah…» I weakly acknowledged.
«Where?»
I sighed and said with my knuckles on my forehead, «Ah, he refused to tell me more about it».
«Oh», she said and fixed her eyes onto one of the drawings laying on the grass.
Clasping my own hands, I said, «I hope you understand».
«Why of course I do», Cadilla said, with a look that could have said "Err… Hey? Don't you trust me? You're my friend".
«As far as I'm concerned, you're not a foreigner», she said, «so stop thinking of that».
Touching… She took that far easier than I thought. «Thank you… for understanding». I gazed at her friendly smile. Her touching brown eyes always seemed to radiate a strong sense of something within me. Then my eyes darted away by themselves.
I knew she told me that I wasn't a foreigner, but sometimes I felt like I was a foreigner in my own country land.
After a while of each of us being in a situation of not knowing what to say, with me still dangling my legs nervously over the river bank and her… well, sort of the same, I forced myself to ask her this: «So can we play the Secrets Game…?».
Her eyes blinked. «The what?»
«Secrets Game. Err… very simple», I stated quickly. «I told you my secret. Now you can tell me yours! {shy laugh} So… it's fair.»
«O… kay» she said slightly reluctantly and paused for a while. «I… used to be good friends with Jessyllka Tilton». She paused again.
«With Thustle's sister…?»
«Yes, we often played together as kids. But the more we grew up, the more we distanced ourselves from each other. She became sort of like haughty and proud and demanding, and she… I, well… anyway I mean, our interests changed. One day, we had an argument. She said that I played too rough and fought even rougher.»
«You? Rough? So she maybe thinks that throwing water at someone for fun was rough. Okaayyy.»
She sighed. «Anyway, none of the girls really get along with me.»
«Including Illy and Nillie?» I asked.
«Yes. They love my garden, but I refuse to join in their gossiping. They really overdo it, always». She continued firmly, «I think it's really rude to intrude on people's privacy».
Upon hearing that, I leaned a little closer to her and whispered angrily, «They were the sole reason why Thustle knew I was a so‑called "half‑blood foreigner" and why he used that fact to make fun of me and take advantage of me.»
Upon saying that, we both suddenly stiffened and looked around fearfully to make sure those troublemakers were not anywhere nearby.
I stood up and peeked around for a short while then I sat back down again. «Nope. They're not here. Speaking of them, I just remembered something what Nillie said… She said that Malcost said that you once kicked him out of your garden; because he was picking your flowers, without permission—of course.»
«He wasn't only stealing them, he was "accidentally" destroying my plants while doing so», said the girl angrily.
«What! Stealing and destroying?! Couldn't he, err, steal a plant without destroying it?» I shot out.
«Of course he couldn't. He's Malcost. He must destroy something.»
«Worst thief ever», I remarked with a blank face.
«Exactly.»
I relaxed my mood and said in a calmer tone, «No wonder we three are rejects.»
«What do you mean?»
«I mean… you, me, and Garend just can't seem to fit in with the rest.»
«Hmmm… I wouldn't like to say "rejects", but you're quite right…» said Cadilla and she shyly looked away, reddish-brown locks flowing gently down. Her shoe went over the water, forming a ripple of a liquidly pattern…
That style. My heart ached to tell her that…
«What is it with my hair that's making you stare?» she asked, herself staring at the way the water was moving.
{Gasp!} My opened mouth then went into an awkward shape. Too late. Might as well ask her. «I… err… just…»
Cadilla's eyebrows. I couldn't guess whether they were annoyed or amused. I began, «Okay. If you want to know…»
«And I want to…», she said with an almost undetectable, faint smile. She leaned closer ever so slightly.
«{My eyes looking downwards} Sorry for asking, but, I think…». Nervous. Nervous. Stalling was making me more nervous. And her patience could run out anytime. My eyes met hers finally. «I like your hair colour. What colour is it? Tes cheveux, de quelle couleur sont‑ils?»
We both breathed sighs of relief, with me inching away and wanting my body to disappear. Shouldn't have said that. Shouldn't have said that. Luckily there was an obvious literal space between us two.
Cadilla broke the silence with a soft-tone question, «Okay, you're my friend, I'll tell you. But will you please not make fun out of it? I'm serious.»
«I‑‑I will.»
«Truthfully?» she continued softly.
I nodded my head slowly. But apparently, she wanted me to say it out loud.
«Truthfully», I acknowledged, secretly wondering why she was so serious.
«It's chestnut.»
I didn't catch her. «Err… say again?»
Cadilla sighed and said hastily, «My hair colour's not blonde or brunette. Or auburn, or even burgundy.»
Nodding my head along, I tried in vain to understand these unfamiliar terms. «What's broo… brunette?». Every day I would learn new words from her. And new styles of speech.
«A brown-haired girl. {rolled eyes} Obviously.»
I suppressed my embarrassed smile. «Okay. But yours...?»
«Chestnut», she said slowly.
I was about to make a good compliment but my mind's ideas were all terrible like: Fits you. Chestnuts, I like to eat those, but my family doesn't have the money; they are surprisingly rare and expensive in Lelondell. Cute term. Starts with the letter C. C for Cadilla your name…
In the end I said: «This… seems to be a sensitive topic for you. I'm sorry about it. And for bothering you.»
She gave me the faintest of smiles. «I'm fine.»
We sat peacefully for a long time, slightly apart from each other. The cool breeze blowing soft feelings of peace into our hearts, the sparking blue water on the Little Pond of Eau turned simmering golden as the sun gradually descended. The only thing missing was that we could never get to see the sunset in Lelondell for real. A huge pity.
Eventually it started to get dark and I said a little worriedly, «It's getting late». While standing up I added, «I should… should be going.»
«Bye», she said softly, smiling at me as I disappeared from her sight, and into the evening light.
—‹‹››—
It seemed to me that I was spending every tiny little second with the girl Cadilla. Well who wouldn't? She always treated me nicely, and I also got paid for helping her in her garden.
Sometimes, in an impatient attempt to boost my knowledge, I would borrow books from the Library (one book each for a shiny Lelondish cala) for a solitary reading session at my study table at home, where I would browse through multiple genres of fiction and nonfiction alike: a how-to-tie-a-rope manual, tales of the Norse gods, and a nice little book of styles and colours for hairstyles.
And also: tales of adventure and err… romance crept into my growing imagination. The chivalry like sort of stories tended to include the very thing I strived to exclude from my thoughts and life: dragons. Attacks or raids on our villages or not, I didn't care. I couldn't anyway.
Why read alone? The boys would scoff at the stuff I was reading. And Garend would definitely chatter non-stop.
And of course, I would also borrow Cœunettian books for beginners that I would ask Mom to read to me. I hoped that with time, I would be able to converse, and even read, in Cœunettian more fluently and delight my mom and Cadilla. I wondered why Cadilla could speak Cœunettian so well considering there was no other people speaking Cœunettian. Maybe I should ask her to tell me during another round of the Secrets Game.
—‹‹››—
One particular morning…
{door opened softly}
I skipped out of my bedroom. «Morning, Dad!», I cheerfully greeted my nowadays introvert father. He was having his usual "morning armchair routine" (or at least that was what he called it).
«You're up…» went an uninterested deep voice. «Already?» went a surprised deep voice. It was just starting to be bright outside.
«Yeahhh… Already!». I stood still not knowing what else to say. «Heh!» I laughed shyly.
«Tu vas prendre ton petit-déjeuner? |Are you going to have your breakfast?|» my mother called back to me, and I was about to burst out of the front door.
«Yeah yeah, bye Mom! Dad…»
{door closed softly}
{door opened softly}
I stumbled in the house, and started to go straight towards the meal table.
«I thought you had gone out?» asked Dad, still in his armchair.
«Je pensais que tu ne voulais pas le petit-déjeuner? |I thought you didn't want breakfast?|» asked Mom who was standing beside Dad.
«Erm… Looks like I going to need my petit-déjeuner», I replied quickly while pulling out my chair from the table. «Petit-déjeuner délicieux, here I come! |Delicious breakfast, here I come!|»
—‹‹Shift in POV››—
Lastern Statenson pondered over his adrenalized teenage son. Even the way he walked and talked had a joyous spring to it. Unlike himself, who was withdrawing more and more, perhaps due to the fear of hearing the other anti-foreigner Vikings gossiping about him not being a local, Rodêne seemed to interact surprisingly well with most Vikings, even adults. Unlike himself, who was becoming more and more like a timid withdrawn individual, the lad was growing in confidence every single day, despite his pitiful lack of physical strength and disinterest in anything related to combat.
The man sighed while staring at his sword. Unfortunately, the more Rodêne grew up, the more he was turning out to be exactly the opposite of the child that he was expecting… the child that could carry on his father's sword-bearing legacy… the child that could continue in his father's footsteps. The child that could protect himself from the constant threat of the invading flying reptiles. Also, he had the most unstable emotions of anybody he had ever seen. And the typical Viking Norse was notorious for his apparent lack of expressing their emotions…
«Lastern…»
The Viking in his mid-forties switched his gaze upon his sweet-natured Héidie who offered a mug of water in her hand, which he took. She may be a little simple-minded; but her hazel eyes always had a very stable, gentle, and patient expression. Maybe Rodêne took quite a lot from her as a peaceful homemaker. But there was one thing: her calm demeanour contrasted with Rodêne's changing nature. Ah, life. Always unpredictable.
—‹‹Shift in POV››—
By the time I finished my breakfast and headed outdoors, everything was already brilliant with the rays of the sun. With my shoes making no noise, I started stealthily navigating around the village. I spied Thustle talking to an adult Viking just around the corner. Bully alert! I immediately hid behind a wall and peeked at that boy. One thing I had learned was that he was a two-faced hypocrite. So, when there were no adult Vikings around… you get the idea. For now, that handsome lad was smiling brilliantly away, combing his wavy blond hair with his hand. Not his true self. Well, somewhat.
But that… artificial voice. He was imitating the posh Lelondish style of speaking like Cadilla's!
«[…?…]I must say, it pains me to hear of such atrocities, sir…»
Hmph. I rolled my eyes. «As if he could…» I whispered, «Well I can tell that the accent's fake.»
As for "atrocities", well, what about that winter incident? Their cold revenge that winter against me? Okay nowadays I was having less trouble with the gangsters. If they didn't bother me I wouldn't have a reason to bother them. Easy.
Disgusted, I stopped peeking and made myself disappear quietly from the scene.
I was walking along Mr Stheen's barley field, which was in eye-soothingly green reflecting the freshness of spring. Wow. And there were singing in the air by the birds, with some of the cute little things pecking along the stony rugged pathway, and the lot. Hmm… also nowadays, even the dragons seemed to attack less. A few times the fiery creatures did attack, but the Market was raided rather than anywhere else. And so, my parents' barn was untouched. Well, except for the one time they stole several sheep rather quickly and peacefully. Odd.
Then suddenly, I saw someone in the distance, walking closer to me. Huh? Jessyllka Tilton? Usually that girl with the wavy blond hair would be indoors or something. She seemed to act quite cold, and at least, expressionless, to almost everyone. She rarely spoke.
«Um… Morning», I tried greeting her as politely as I could.
Her green eyes darted quickly around me and she walked off haughtily without a word. It was a pity she never smiled. She could be quite pretty if she did. Not even a little joke that I had made one time could cause any reaction to that expressionless face of hers.
I decided to approach Cadilla's garden from the Wooden Wall and not from the busy vegetable farm. Tiptoeing silently to a tree, I peeked ahead to find that she was already in her garden.
The little damsel was watering her plants with a bucket. Even from a distance I could see that she waters them with her heart… and with passion…
Cadilla placed down her half-full bucket and decided to rest for a while. She stretched her arms and started to look around. I sneaked closer, standing in the middle of the garden. I crossed my arms, wondering how long it would take before she saw me—
«Aww… You spoil the picture!» cried the girl as I approached her nearer.
Well that was quick. I made a mental note to be sneakier next time. «What picture?», I teased and tried to look confused. I pretended to be frightened and said, «I'm sorry for trespassing on your territory. Je suis désolé. |I am sorry.|».
«Oh, you're désolé, eh mister?», said Cadilla and she crossed her arms, while failing to make herself look scarier. In fact, she just made me want to laugh—almost. I continued my cheesiest smirk without saying a word, trying to guess behind that face of hers…
«What are you grinning at?» she asked, in a manner probably trying to read my thoughts too.
«Nothing», I replied simply.
«I know it's something.»
Okay, time to mess with her. «Someone, actually.»
«Who?»
«You.»
{Splash!} went the wet bucket onto my head.
«Now you spoiled my head!». I laughed into the bucket which muffled everything up.
«I think your hair needs watering to grow better!». She giggled away using one of my jokes—against me.
…
After plenty of gardening under the yellow rays of the sun, Cadilla and I decided to stop for lunch. «I think it's lunchtime», she said.
«I was waiting for you to say that», I replied.
«Oh you {giggle} greedy cow!»
«Hey! I cannot resist my mother's meals, you know!», I cried out. (And I work with those four-legged creatures on the barn daily.) Now getting better in teasing me, eh? Somehow she managed to insult me in such a playful manner I wasn't offended.
«So shall we visit, say, the harbour, after joining you for lunch?»
All that playful mood went poof for me. My eyes grew in astonishment at her request. Somehow I felt nervous. The harbour was noisy, busy, and full of odd, unfriendly people. I looked away and fiddled the fingers of my left hand nervously.
I muttered something to myself, something liked, «I'm not sure».
Her smile faded. I turned to look at the girl. She looked disappointed. Oh no. Did I just speak out the wrong thought unknowingly?
«Sorry, Cadilla, didn't mean to… I was just little surprised that you want to…» I began frantically.
Her face was hidden by her long reddish-brown locks. Oh—was I really that bad?
«Okay, we can go…»
«Why do you seem so reluctant?» she asked and we both started walking to my house.
«I‑‑I…» I did not know what to say. Should I tell her one of my secrets?
We were walking together in silence among the trees, sunshine squinting through the abundant green leaves above. I spoke:
«I have an issue with myself.»
She turned to glance at me. «Huh? Like what?»
«I have an irrational fear of trying new things for the first time.»
«Oh?» said Cadilla nonchalantly.
«It's my personal secret», I said uneasily. «It's almost like a phobia.»
«Well, then you should get rid of it; it's not very good if you want to achieve things in life.»
I stopped walking. My head went down. Moodiness overcame me. For some reason, her words hurt more than punches and kicks.
Cadilla stopped walking in front too.
«Speaking of phobias», I said stiffly, «What is yours? Quelle est ton… ta peur? |What is yo… your fear?|»
She answered in a string of Cœunettian words I couldn't catch.
I sighed to myself. «Sometimes I wonder how you can speak Cœunettian. Who taught you?»
With an unreadable expression on her face, she started walking ahead slowly.
«Hey, it's only fair that you say something, since I've already told you my secret», I said, eyes fixed on the elegant way her hand reached to the back of her hair, brushing the long strands.
«I thought we're not playing the Secrets Game» she began unsurely and turned around slowly. «Fine, I guess I owe you one secret.»
I just kept silent, feeling bad for apparently forcing her to reveal information in such a reluctant manner.
«You see, once a Cœunettian family visited Lelondell when I was young. They did so to learn more about the Lelondish Norse language and culture.»
«A royal family?»
«Not…exactly. They were ambassadors of Cœunette. The ambassador brought his family along to sojourn for few years. His wife, and two children. They also brought along bodyguards and servants as well, but the ambassadorial family was more modest than I had expected.»
She stopped talking for a while, and sighed. «Whenever I speak Cœunettian, I remember them, the two children, [Rowden?] and [Emmalayn?], and their servant girl [Maylindt?].»
«They sound like beautiful people», I said, not fully catching what she said. I wondered how the names would look like in written form…
«They were», said Cadilla. She rested her hand on the bark of a tree. «They were very patient in teaching me their language while I improved their Norse. They played with me as children… and they have been a wonderful influ—»
Out of sudden Cadilla froze. Her head turned and looked around. I knew something was wrong…
«{gasp!} Hide quick! It's Thustle», she whispered in a frenzy.
My ears picked up someone's voice and trudging footsteps from behind somewhere. «Oh great», I said and started to run but I noticed Cadilla was just standing there. «But what about you?»
«Just hide yourself», she said.
I made a somewhat clumsy leap over some dark green forest shrubs and I pressed my back against the smooth silver-grey surface of a tree trunk.
«Stupid trees. Must I blast a path myself just to walk across?» I heard Thustle grumble.
I had hidden myself just in time. The sound of heavy trudging footsteps was coming closer now.
«Ah there you are my darling», went the haughty voice of the noble boy, which was later contrasted by the surprisingly still soft voice of Cadilla's:
«I'm not your darling. I'm not even your friend». She sounded more indifferent than annoyed.
I peeked cautiously from behind the… the… beech tree (as Cadilla had taught me). So, the muscular blond-haired boy was trying to appear as presentable as possible.
«Aww… Cadilla. Come on. Why can't we be friends? We could, you know, get to know each other better. My father and I would give you anything you can ask for… precious metals, food of all sorts… you name it!»
Cadilla appeared to say something. The purple boots of the chestnut-haired girl were pointed away from him, clearly matching her blunt disinterest.
«Then what do you really want? Flowers? I can give you a bouquet. I can give you anything», Thustle tried. «And you know that right?»
Seriously, does he not know how pathetic he sounds right now?
She snarled, whispering something like, «…don't you [dare]/[try]…».
That was when I saw a side that I had never seen before from that boy. He actually seemed to apologise innocently to her. Afraid of accidentally revealing myself, I stopped peeking and my head leaned against the surprisingly nice-to-the-touch tree trunk. But my ears continued straining for their voices, which went from behind the tree.
«Please…» Thustle continued in a softer tone. «What can I do for you to make you happier?»
«You can start by stop bullying others supposedly weaker than you.»
«Like who? Garend?»
«Anybody weaker than you», went the girl's voice firmly.
«Are you talking about Rodêne?»
So Cadilla is defending me? Me the weakling Rodêne.
«I said anybody weaker than you», her voice continued.
«But he's the weakest! He's useless! He can't even win me in arm wrestling. He can't even carry… this!» I could hear something large being lifted.
«[...] he's my friend.» stated Cadilla's voice unclearly, followed by a muffled thump on the forest floor. Maybe Thustle had placed whatever he was demonstrating back down.
«Cadilla, you shouldn't be friends with him. How can he protect you? It's a dangerous world nowadays. There are dragons everywhere. As a matter of fact, he can't even protect himself… However, I can.»
Sick with curiosity, I slowly let my right eye peek ahead. Looked like the boy had inched closer.
«But he's my friend!» Cadilla stated, with much more force this time. The girl crossed her arms tight, and seemed to move backwards an inch.
«But he's my… enemy!» Thustle growled.
«Then you're my enemy», Cadilla softly stated.
«Come on, [held her hand] please Cadilla…» Thustle said, with seeming intension to ease her anger. «Let's talk about other things, nicer things.»
The girl pulled away from his arms as though he was poisonous. Thustle, what are you doing…!?, I thought angrily.
Thustle said in desperate frustration, «What's wrong? I'm just trying to… I just want to…Why not we have a little stroll? Together?»
«No!». But Cadilla's stance froze suddenly when his hand clutched hers. Firmly.
I had heard and seen enough. «How dare you!», my voice shot out of far ahead. All fiery inside; I stared directly into Thustle's despicable blue eyes. I walked straight up to the blond. «She already said no, how dare you force her!»
«Rodêne, what a pleasant surprise!». Thustle said with an evil gleam, not losing his grip on her wrist. A short chuckle. Then a roar:
«HOW DARE YOU STEAL MY CADILLA!»
I paused to look at Cadilla and then faced Thustle directly in the face. «She doesn't even like you». I stated firmly. Shouting for no reason. Him.
«Oh yes, she did. Until YOU came along!».
«You've got it all wrong—!», protested Cadilla her eyes shooting arrows at Thustle.
Thustle loosened his grip and went forcefully between me and her, suffocating the girl's view. Those brown eyes were now so frightened…
I glared at Thustle. «This is no way to treat a girl! How disrespectful!»
«Oh yeah? Like what?»
«Let. Go. Of. Her», I stated softly and menacingly.
«Hey, I'm not even touching her», he said, releasing his grip of her. He stepped aside a little.
My eyes stared into his even harder and angrier. «You're still bothering her. Let her pass», I said softly.
«Fine». Thustle inched more away from Cadilla and she immediately backed off in fear.
Suddenly something hit me hard in the chest. The wind knocked out of me, I staggered backwards.
Thustle had just punched me!
I dodged another blow from my right. But his fist shot out from the left and knocked my face onto the ground.
Lying on the ground, I glared at the boastful boy from the left corner of my left eye. He was laughing away.
«HAHAHA! Idiotic weakling…»
Insults had always driven me mad. And this one burned inside me. I sprang forward to kick him—
But he simply blocked it with his elbow. «Playing the kicking game, eh?». He pushed me so that I crashed towards the ground.
«See? He can't even protect himself». He turned to talk to Cadilla, but she was gone.
«See? [hands resting on his hips] Even your so-called friend has abandoned you.»
I got up weakly and started to run away but was pummelled to the ground again.
He walked haughtily and menacingly to me. «Haw haw haw….» Then out of the green, a stone hit him from the back.
«What the?». Thustle turned around to find Cadilla picking up a heavier stone—aiming it right at his blond hair.
«Thustle! One more step towards him and I'll throw a larger one at your despicable head!»
«Wha‑‑a?!»
«One…»
He just stood there in completely in shock. The muscular boy backed away slowly.
«Two…»
Still lying down in pain, I saw Thustle grumbling away in a defeated anger…
Moments later…
«Are you okay?». Cadilla stretched her hand to help me up, but I just lay on the ground.
«I‑‑I failed.»
Her eyebrows twitched in sympathetic confusion. «What are you talking about? No you didn't», she said.
«Don't…» I stated softly. «Never mind.»
«In any case, can you get up?»
«I think so… but let me just rest for a while». I was now sitting cross-legged on the forest floor. My head was down and my eyes were avoiding her. «I'm sorry.»
«For what?» she asked.
«For being a failure and a weakling.»
«Rodêne, stop this!»
«You know what Thustle said was true. I can't even protect myself». My mind wasn't helping. Images and memories of me failing to protect myself from dragons kept appearing everywhere.
Cadilla did not immediately respond. She sat down beside my downcast self and said: «You know, failing doesn't mean that you're going to continue failing. And actually, the way you handled yourself against that bully was… courageous». She was trying to cheer me up again, but…
«I don't understand…», I said.
«In spite of the fact that you'd probably lose to him, you still try… to protect me. Thanks.»
I turned my eyes directly to her sympathetic brown eyes. She was impressed by me the weakling? My head turned away from her and faced downwards shamefully. «Why… are you so patient with me?»
«Because—because… when you plant a seed, it takes time to grow», she said. «Quand tu plantes une graine, cela prend du temps pour qu'elle grandis… grandisse.»
I looked up. Confused, I focused my eyes at her right hand emphasizing the word "grow".
«It's mean you have potential. It just takes time.»
«Cela prend du temps…|It takes time.|», I repeated, letting her advice sink into my mind.
«Oui, cela prend du temps |Yes, it takes time|», she said, «Sois patient… |Be patient…|»
I looked at her as she smiled at me.
«D'accord?|All right?|», she said with a cute tilt of her head.
«D'accord. |All right.|»
«So let's go!», she said enthusiastically.
«Let's have lunch first, I'm hungry.»
«Yeah, probably a good idea. I wonder what your mother has on her menu?»
…
That night, as I lay my tired head onto the soft pillow of my bed, I could not help it but ponder over my adventures with Cadilla.
Cadilla and I had gone for a visit at Lelondell's Spiky Sadder Harbour. A curved and narrow land formation sticking out into the blue southwestern sea, it housed the neat row of white-painted ships that docked side by side all long. Côte à côte. I still remembered her teaching me that, along with the grands voiliers blancs—big white sailing ships.
The harbour ended into a little tip that our footsteps soon conquered. I smiled to myself, picturing a vivid image of us doing that.
As for meeting strangers, yes, we had met someone: a friendly and talkative merchant that chattered more than Garend. So much for my strange fear of "odd unfriendly people at the harbour". Cadilla said that he had "a very foreign attire" and was "rather un‑Viking". His handle-bar moustache parted parallel to the ground, in a style like some of the Cœunettian traders, maybe. But he said that he was not from "those isles of splendour".
He had a name I simply could not remember; blame that on my inconsistent memory. One thing I did remember was that he would go on and on telling about his seafaring tales and dangerous adventures: Wrestling the colossal squid, trading with the hardy Vikings of the freezing north, meeting the chief of Papa-don't-know-what… and then Cadilla and I had to stop him.
One story of his interested me though. It was the time when he was tasked with a lot of gold by the chief of a certain tribe, with the task of finding the location of a mysterious island which was supposedly the nest of all dragons. But no one had ever found it.
I turned over to the side and hugged my bolster on the bed.
I wonder…
That mysterious island of dragons… Is it near to Lelondell, which possibly explains the many dragon attacks? Is it really true that nobody has ever found it?
…
❅―――――«‹‹ ››»―――――❅
Author's note:
[28 April 2019]
[13 May 2019]
✽ Written in SCEF Style 2.1.1
✽
English name: European beech
Scientific name: Fagus sylvatica
✽ The blue oleander flower is fictional, with fictional properties.
✽ Hot-smoked salmon salad. It would be nice if I actually learn this recipe.
✽ willow warbler drawing (by calamaripaint)