Virginia Astley - From Gardens Where We Feel Secure


...

The corridors within the Jugend are gray.

Nothing new, other than the pillars who sustain the ceiling above, portrais belonging to old figures, none of them knew by me. Dragoon Knights, that's what I know about them, despite the name written below. August, Fratto, Jeriah, Luneth, Brynhild, a Bartholomew other than dad... they all share of same looks. Drew and painted by same artists, who had been left to wonder how they looked alike, in time for receiving their montly wage.

A blue hue for the walls and its tiles, curtains of silk whose wind coming from outside was the only thing I felt, other than a chill on my bones. The spine alone can't take it all. Steps taken after another, the wall getting smaller, water dripping and falling into my muzzle, running into my skin slow as our walk above this carpet dyed in red, a color so strong and easy to be noticed, even out of the field.

— A Dragoon must be on its shape, but a spear shares of its same shape since it was made. That's what father told me – soon Hrist began to get bored, and started to talk. I could hear her voice, between so many silent rooms, and the noise of papers being signed, one after another.

— It must be really hard for Ezekiel be here all day.

— What do you mean?

— I mean, it must be insane for your father keep signing its own name all day. If he had someone elese to fill in the blanks of each lawsuit taken by his...

— If people stopped complaining abouts bones broke, blaming themselves instead of us.

— Well, someone has to take responsibility.

— And money in exchange – Hrist's words weren't meant to be taken by me. But that's their purpose, to be tackled to another. Even if the one whom she directed these words by wasn't here. Only me, and her father, hidden by those doors unlike the noise of its pen. I remained in silence, because I had nothing to say. No opnions, no movement, an only breathe... I changed looks with Hrist. Was I ready? If not, she already opened the door. Her hand was glued on the handle, to begin with.

— ...One more, and this row should be done by late afternoon.

— I thought that you had plans to see me in training, dad – Hirst came near the table, and sat upon it, as I stood near the window, unnoticed.

— Well, guess not. Sorry, my dear.

— Duty calls... I know – Hrist then looked at me – it's okay. You may deny making presence on my traning, but you can't deny an opportunity to my friend here, can you?

— Good morning, Sir Ezekiel – I said, followed of Ezekiel leaving that chair, and only his to wonder how much time had he spent here in this room. Not even a minute passed soon I arrived in there. We holded hands, shaked it, and the only thing that changed is that I'm tall like his. And wearing of a Dragoon coat, other than standing near one.

— Good morning, Freya – Ezekiel seems tired. The windows are open, to let some cold air in, and the noise of rain as well – it has been a while since I've saw you.

— Not quite a while since you saw someone else, dad – said Hrist, who briefly looked to both of us, before she began to fil the rough edges of her nails. They used to be so sharp, and how tight were those holds of hands. The marks were gone with time, unlike the memories.

— So how had you been, Freya? – I don't remember anything that much of Ezekiel, other that he wasn't there most the time. This ain't a memory, because it's happening to this day.

— I'm fine, despite... – well, in a day you're healthy. On another, you get sick. Then you get better soon. You always get better, hope to be able to feel the scent of flowers, or any other gift received. Those where her last ones, that was the last day. No more hope left. Half a day spent on bed, another on a coffin. Once shy, now in silence.

— Sorry if I have not attended Lenneth's funeral. I was occupied, you see – yes, I see. I didn't wanted to attend it, only in the next day, when everything seemed to be empty, only the grass to grow and be feeded by what was left from mom.

— It's okay. Mom do not have anything else left to offer this world. That's why I came here.

— With my help – Hrist can hear well. She still have ears for eyes.

— Yes, of course – I said, before sitting on a chair, same for Ezekiel. As for his daughter, Hrist stood on the table, doing the same nails. She ain't included on the matter I'm about to discuss with her father – well, Ezekiel... that's it. Do you need something else? – I could only say these worlds. Like if they were trapped, or weren't thought at the moment. The moment where everything changes, the rise and fall of... what I'm talking about? A thing that means so much for you, and you don't know how to describe it.

— Other than your name? Yes – said Ezekiel, taking a piece of paper, filling in that feather of more ink – you seem to attend the basic requirements. We won't have to sew a new coat or forge a new helmet and blazon to you, that's fine. Given medical assistance, life insurance, damage insurance, age of consent, the acknowledge that each of your words are yours, but a Dragoon speaks for a whole, works for all, a Dragoon ain't above the law...

— It'll cost an eye, ya know.

— I need both – I said, looking to Hrist, who stood on her own corner, now doing her hair.

— Do you want a room reserved for you at the Jugend, Freya? – said Ezekiel, to whom I looked

— No, thanks.

— We could be roommates if needed, dad.

— Thanks, Hrist. But I already have my own home.

— Anyway, you'll have to pay for where you live. When will Freya's first wage come, dad? – shouldn't I had been asking for it? No, I'm not doing this to only get paid in money. Not only I am investing same on it.

— If good enough, soon. So, is that your decision, Freya?

— I already took it a long ago. Don't you remember?

— Of course. I'm sure that you know what to be a Dragoon still means.

— Uh... – you have forgotten, don't you? Improvise, at least. That's what you did before, right? – everyone wants to be different, wants to improve their skills from another, and that's the only thing we all share in common, to be deemed as same. Yet we still have a tendency to fight against each other. But a Dragoon doesn't fight against other people. It fights for people, all of them. To be a Dragoon means difference.

— Which kind of difference? – other than my own, there is one. Not that this is necessary, but it ain't correct to end a conversation by leaving another on vacuum.

— It's easy to say.

— Hrist... – briefly Ezekiel looked to his daughter. He couldn't see her face, only hair, despite the helmet laying over that table. Neither I could see Hrist's face, or knew what she felt. This before she spoke.

— I mean, everyone has a definition of what it means to be a Dragoon, dad.

— A Dragoon, no matter its strenght and power, ain't a murderer – Ezekiel began to look serious. By serious, I mean that he changed abruptly the topic of our prior talk, only to focuse in what Hrist said – yet, there are reports of someone disguised as such. The guy doesn't have a name, but its attacks are all written over these papers, Freya. It's a mess...

— That's awful – I said, not that I wanted to know more about that. I didn't came here to be told of news, or to be afraid – don't you think that it must be someone trying to tarnish the name of this institution?

— That's what others think. But these are isolated cases, and they aren't related to this academy in no way.

— I hope they aren't – then everything stood in silence, except the rain. And my teeth, who began to creak. As long as I am within this coat, I do not have nothing to worry about. Though this helmet is so cold, so do these hands. Better for hands to be cold than a heart.

I can hear it beating, while Ezekiel writes on the paper, and Hrist combs that hair. She doesn't face her father, neither he faces himself. Only the paper, yellow instead of white. An old document, left in blank to this day, before the ink touched its surface. Ezekiel's hand moves, as if he was drawing instead of writing something important.

These minutes are boring, painful as well. It's worse when there isn't anyone to scream. Like a round table, when all you can hear are the chews coming out their mouths, and slurps of coffee to wake you up and listen to the symphony. Dissionance for a few who have lost control. When anxiety is gone, and arrive at instants of expectations, reality takes a turn to appear, or change at a minute. You can't swallow your spit with the hopes of hydrating yourself.

Funny how someone living on a land it rains everytime can die of dehydration, or consumed by the fire. Things supposed to be ironic, but if they can happen on your thoughts, so they can happen, but who to be there to see them? Who to not be accused of have done any of them? If I had someone else whom I could talk with, at least. There is a clock hanging on the wall, that marks 9:00 am. When I leave this place, I wonder which hours will be marked there.

So, my mind slipped once again for a while, before – well, I've finished.

— ...and that's only the beginning for you, Crescent – Hrist followed the words meant to be said by her father. It doesn't matter, as I feel the flow coming out of my eyes. After a yawn, tears are left out of my sight, blurred unlike my hearing. My head hurts, but I feel better, that's what matters – better let tears of joy flow out of you than keep them within your eyes in moments of agony.

— Hrist, please... don't discourage the Crescent.

— I'm only telling the truth, dad. Besides, Freya ain't the type who gives up easily. And with a plenty of money invested on this dream, better not give up for real.

— Who said I would? – soon my eyes were washed by this cravat I took out of my neck, I can see again. A smile had been brough to Ezekiel's face, maybe the only one he shared to someone this day. Someone other than Hrist, who is standing in front of me, smiling on a way unlike her father's own.

— Nobody.

— Nobody harmed me. That's the only thing a cyclops could say, after having its eye poke out by a man who called himself Nobody – that's a thing father used to say, before I had been put asleep. One of the tales Voss told on its place. I'm sure that Hrist understood what this excerpt means.

— You've won. Tomorrow will be your first day, Crescent. Know that it won't be easy - even if dad knows you, or because you are the daughter of a Dragoon Knight, or so that look told me. And the way she said my surname meant something, alike that same smile of before.

— Thanks for offering me this chance, Ezekiel – I said, shaking those hands cold as mine. Only his hands are cold.

— Now all you have to do is offer what you're capable of, Freya. Have a good day.

— Have a good day too.

— Don't dissapoint us – then I left this room, but not before standing between the door, after hearing Hrist on my back.

— You know that I won't.

— That's why I said it, so you don't forget – And how can I forget? This day is another one of my achievements. Another day I'm alive, a day in which everything changed, for worse or for good.

The good is that there is an entire day meant to be spent, for others to hear of news coming out of me. For they to see that I am a Dragoon, not only someone disguises as one. Who dreamt to become one. Well, dreams are forgotten, turn into pitch black, so will do these clouds hours later. What should I do? I do not even known how to jump like a Dragoon. Heck, I've slipped on the floor each time I jumped rope.

Those tumblings weren't funny at all. Jack laughed sometimes, but he knew when to stop. And I didn't knew when to stop kicking his knees. When you stopped crying, that gibberish of spit soaking your mouth, dried by your hands soon as you were able to understand that someone was trying to understand you other than mom... I was wrong to consider my brother the vilest of the kids. But that's all water under the bridge, depths that I'm not in the mood to be sunk at.

— Hey, Crescent – I heard Hrist, who followed me to the entrance. I didn't heard her footsteps hitting the puddles of water. Althought my head hurts, it'll pass. Too much happened in a matter of minutes. Too much is still meant to happen.

— What's up? I couldn't hear you approaching...

— Oh, that? It's called surface tension – said Hrist, equilibrating a single water drop with the tip of her index. Looking down, I saw her both feet barely touching the water – it's one of the first things a Dragoon learns while on training.

— Really? Doesn't seem that tough for a first try.

— Watch yer mouth. You'll see in which try you'll learn it – Hrist is putting too much of future tense in those words. No one is able to predict what will happen, though she have felt the experience of being a Dragoon in training prior me. Experiences that can't be same as mine.

— So you've only came here to show me the result of harsh training sessions, or – before I could talk anymore, Hrist grabbed and put a paper on my pocket. Carefully, I took it without wetting, and the words Aragon Street, 125, Brooklet Garden, were written on the face I looked at – what's that?

— Here is the adress of Fratley.

— Who's that?

— Oops, sorry. I mean, Sir Fratley Irontail. Dad is a friend of his, and he forgot to say that Sir Fratley will be your mentor, since you are new here.

— A mentor? That's fine. But why are you offering me his address?

— Because he is my mentor too. Also a good person. I gave it to you, before you get to know his rigid side – then Hrist propelled herself in thin air and dissapeared out of my sight, with a single jump. The water below her feet also 'jumped' and I got soaked, but under the rain, all things get soaked anyway.

Don't know to where she is heading, but someday I'll be able to follow of a Dragoon's footsteps. Not only your own, mom, but to get the raw experience of getting above a building without climbing a ladder is something. It means something. Still I wonder who this Fratley might be, but that he taught Hrist well, sure he did. If people like Hrist got under its tutorage, he must be very good.

Only tomorrow to tell.