You may want to check the opening to Chapter 9: Sun II. I've added some words because yet again I chronically underexplained what was happening re: the king's commanding Anders to the capital, which lead me to a wee mite of trouble in this letter.
To Vald.
From Anders.
To be sure I did not count the number of words with which I regaled you but I have a memory of several crossed sheets, and I am sure such largesse – even discounting the deeply improving philosophical bent of the content – deserves more in return than a few morose lines. Did I recover my temper only to sour yours. Will you tell me what ails you, Vald?
I feel it only fair to warn you that I will continue to tax you daily on the matter even though we depart for Tyks' capital tomorrow morning. And how will you achieve such a feat, Anders? you ask. Well, by placing one foot in front of another, one begins a process called 'walking'.
This is the problem when you are sullen, Vald: I never know whether I want to cheer or annoy you out of ton cafard and so fall somewhere directly in between.
To whit, and no more of my nonsense, the Sun and I agreed upon a present of my very own, and with that piece of unfinished business done and three days spent, we are allowed again to leave. Mais attendez, my present? I imagine it is now sitting on your right shoulder. I am the proud caretaker of the eye of the Little Fox, and have named it Renard in the Fransk fashion.
I did feel bound to ask what might be the price of such a gift. The Sun paused a moment to consider the deep, quiet twilight that enclosed the mountain, so antithetical to its dazzling heart, and replied that she could not see the future, only remember the past. "Men are curious creatures when they read the world around them – a star lost from the sky could be an omen of good or ill. We know that when once a noble wanderer went its way there was great bloodshed and loss in the Cradle of the World to appease the gods they thought were withdrawing favour from them. Who can say what men will do?"
At which Delfin, seated on the knee of the witch of the mountain bidding it farewell, muttered something to the effect that that was a stupid thing to say because if bad things happen I will say it is because of me and try to fix it. Much has been made of what some would call my arrogance (that I prefer to think of as a considered sense of self-worth), but at least I have never had the stål testiklerne to call a celestial body, one of the givers of life on Earth, stupid.
However, I cannot find it in myself to chide her beyond the scope of these pages for she has suffered a grave disappointment by my hand. The Sun had made glass slippers such as the Moon said she might, but at the request of the witch of the woods (yet another one) and they, the slippers, reside now with her.
Vald, with less than a week to reach Tyksmøde before the Old Eagle's balls then there is no time to trek to the North Woods and back. There's nothing I can do. My first loyalty is to you and the country as it always will be, as it should be. I can promise that we will go north once my work for your father is done but how far will days and weeks stretch out when any weight upon her feet is an agony?
It would be easier if Delfin would shout and cry and do anything other than blink at me slowly and take my hand to tug me along behind as she goes in search of the dragonlings (if that is what one calls their young) whose lanterns are so small they cannot yet be seen by the naked eye. When I try to apologise, she tips her head to one side as if she cannot understand when we had that conversation only yesterday. And she will wander about every hour of the day with no thought to self-preservation – and that the soles of her feet remain supple and unmarked is entirely beside the point. She told me how every step feels, I remember.
Almost I besmirched my honour and considered letting Angel Feet succumb to debilitating seasickness once more so she would be a little more inclined towards staying off her feet, however the lessons hammered into me as a child won out.
"Here," I said, handing her the fat yellow heart of a chamomile flower with wonderful graciousness. "My best guess is if you boil it into something drinkable then it will help with the dizziness. When we are down the mountain where it's warmer, we'll search out passion flowers for the nausea."
She looked at me with mild scepticism.
"If you do not trust the words of the witch of the flowers, I do not blame you; it's not my natural inclination either."
"When did the witch of the flowers come and why did you not tell me? When were you speaking to her?"
"Our meeting in her field was the one instance in which I have been forced to endure the chatter of that sycophant, thank God. You should count yourself lucky that you are not burdened with remembering it."
"You were not listening when she talked of her flowers, you were walking all stiff and stupid."
"That is not true and anyway beside the point. I had a good memory as a child and trained it to be better. Take this," I flourished the broken flower beneath her nose, then thought better of it. "No. I will deal with it, you will stay sitting right here."
"You're an idiot," she replied succinctly.
Fortunately, I was able to leave her in the care of the witch of the mountain. The witch still makes my skin creep but Delfin seems to like it well enough and they find something to talk about.
Commend me to your father and beg apologies for the delay, give my best wishes to your lady love, and if you could point out to my father that it is hardly my fault that the Sun wanted to keep me temporarily, he raised a very charming son and I am he who is forced to bear the consequences of that folly.
Keep yourself well and happy. Shall I tell you a joke?
I want to thank everyone for so very nicely not asking me how it is that Anders remembers whole conversations at a time. I did have it all sorted out just in case, but since Vald already knows there's no reason for Anders to spell it out in a letter to him. That is the single biggest problem with the epistolary style, for those of you playing at home.
You know I can't grab your ghost chips, Captain. (I forgot the ever so witty thing I was going to say so that has not much to do with anything, but since you're here you might as well youtube it and gain a further insight into our culture.)