Lux Aeterna
by
Steven Mayo
Book I ~ The Meager
Chapter 4 ~ Sword and Dagger, Tome and Prayer
"Okay, let's hear it then."
Dunnings closed the tavern early so the four could be alone, even retreating himself to the underground living quarters. The size of it was noticeably immense when so unoccupied. They looked lonely at the single table near the bar, a few candle flames flickering uneven light upon them. Without even realizing it, Edrick and Seville, who sat opposite each other, had positioned their chairs closely to doctor Sylum, and the bulky Herrik Gipson was solitary, a distant face enwreathed in shadows. Those that wanted something to drink could have it, but that was only Sylum. Off to another table Gipson had unloaded the stacks of equipment, but they were always within a moment's reach.
"You mean about the legend?"
But it was more than an empty tavern, a creeping darkness depressing the surroundings. It was the same within. They were alone now. No more words had been exchanged with the king, only a worried nod and the release of the captive. And they had not been met with cheers befitting legendary heroes, but fearsome glances like those of wild dog's, unsure of a coming master. The people were not silent, but they did not speak to the four, and their comments did not make it so far as them. Suddenly choking under a horrible weight, the warriors of light passed beyond the crowd and towards the town, not sure what to feel, an uneasy Seville leading them to the only place he knew. Only the doctor smiled, and there was fear in it, the worry of realization, the worry of mistake.
"Of course. If I'm going to go on a legendary quest it'd be nice to know the legend, I think," said Gipson, bringing his head in closer to the light and trying to make the best humor of the situation. He found he still needed to put on the moves. He was an outsider. It was inescapable.
Three of them had done their best to make small talk, friendly enough, but they were stifled. Even Seville couldn't find anything relevant to say in those first moments. Edrick, however, had said nothing at all, or even looked at the others with any social relevance. His eyes read the cracks of the tavern walls, counted the chairs, reflected the candle wick, and studied his twitching hands. Seville was subdued, keeping his arms lazy to his side and saying what came to his mind, if anything. But his energy had not faded from exertion, or from one of the doctor's potions, but instead faded from a dizzy release. Not long ago he was but a single crush from death, a swift moment from feeling the toothy maw of a dragon. This warrior, Gipson, this Knight of the Coast really was magnificent in battle. A thought came to Seville's mind, forcing him to ceremoniously look between the three men and cast a secret smile. Each of them had saved his life today.
Seville and Edrick gave a concessionary glance to Sylum.
"Well," said Sylum, trying to sound as humble as physically possible, "The Lux Aeterna is a very old legend, once widely accepted but now fallen to the wayside like a children's story."
"Lux A...?" sounded Gipson, a confused and uplifted brow, Seville broke in.
"Lux Aeterna. Means 'Eternal Lights' in ancient."
"Right," said Sylum, "So anyways, the legend says that four warriors will appear holding four orbs of light, one each for earth, fire, water, and air." Sylum pulled his own orb forward and held it above the candle, groove forward. "See here, a water droplet for water. Edrick's has a flame, Seville's a mountain range for earth, and if you check yours, Master Gipson, I believe you will find a progression of lines resembling a whirlwind. For air, obviously."
Gipson removed his orb curiously from his pocket and surveyed it first himself.
"Quite right," he said, and then placed the orb on the table. It was the identical size and make of the others, distinguished only by the swirling ridges and…
"Hey, it's clear!" Seville said, craning his neck in. The orb was not filled with that mysterious gray gas, but shone transparent from end to end. Through it the person across the table seemed to look back at you, only distorted and stretched.
"Huh," said the doctor, lifting it close. "I suppose it is still active. A good sign if you ask me. So, according to the legend these four warriors will appear at times of global turmoil and will restore order to the world."
A moment of silence.
"And that's supposed to be us?" asked Gipson, a severe note of doubt.
"Well the evidence stacks. We have four," and Sylum gave a concerned glance at the distant Edrick, "Ahem…four warriors and four orbs, and while I can't speak for the state of the world, Corneria is in great turmoil. Fields of crops have failed, our primary mines have run dry, we're a diplomatic puppet nation, and topped on that, our leader's daughter has gone missing."
"Why has the king not rescued this princess?"
Seville chimed in, cutting Sylum's prepared answer off, "Because the king is only interested in the festival. He's blessed to have it in his reign, and wasn't gonna let something like the abduction of his daughter ruin that. He's not a bad king but he's a popularity grubber."
"Would not a triumphant search for his daughter improve his popularity?"
Seville and Sylum bounced a look between each other. As usual, they were on the same wavelength. Seville spoke:
"Why do you think the king is letting us do it?"
"Ahhhhhh!" mused Gipson.
"Think of it! The coming of the light warriors, whose first job becomes the rescuing of his daughter! Eliv will be the most documented king in history. He saw it and grabbed it!" said Sylum, building steam.
"Yeah, and less than a percent of the population will have the brains to notice that the coming of the light warriors actually speaks badly of a king." Seville continued.
"I don't understand." And then another glance between Sylum and Seville.
"Follow us, big guy. If the light warriors come at times of great turmoil, then it doesn't speak highly of a king that his reign was characterized by turmoil. The light warriors are the solution to crappy rulers."
"Right, but nobody's going to catch that in the history books."
"I guess only you boys will!" said Gipson jovially. Seville and Sylum usually didn't like it when somebody couldn't keep up with them, a haughtiness that edged on vice, but Gipson was different. They found that they liked him immediately. They both secretly noticed that he had an infectious smile.
"But even though it seems meager on his part, such a character trait actually works to our advantage in this situation. Saves us a lot of time at least."
Gipson nodded acceptingly but then looked to the neglected side of the table, where a blonde young man in white robes was looking up, as if he were counting the planks along the ceiling. With an up-thrust of his eyebrows he regarded Edrick to the others, a questioning look on his face. It was difficult to be an intimate outsider. He longed for the invisible shield between an audience and the stage. Seville shook his head with a silent chuckle.
"Eddie!"
"Huh, what?" Edrick stumbled as he shot out of his trance and quickly surveyed the table to see what had changed. "What?"
"Are you with us? On board with us, Eddie?" Seville said carefully. He knew very well that Edrick would be difficult to convince. In fact, almost nobody would go along with the professor as quickly as he, Seville, would, but Edrick might not go along with even the minister on something like this. Seville suddenly flared with an anger at Edrick's peevishness, something he couldn't quell.
"We can't do it without you, Eddie. You're a part of this. You know that, right?" he said, and Edrick focused his attention on Seville. The three of them would be too much at once. Even when he spoke it was low and directional; Sylum and the worried Gipson had to lean forward.
"It's just that … well, I don't see four warriors." Edrick said, sending Seville abruptly to the defensive, but the other two remained calm. "I see one warrior, keeping company with a thief, an accomplice too smart to be one, and a no-talent priest who's gonna be discharged when the minister learns that I helped you out, Seville."
Seville did not envy Edrick's persistent rationality, even though they were among what Sylum called "the same peer group". With such child-like mannerisms, the busyness of the fingers, the isolated attention, the neurotic sheepishness, Edrick could hardly be called a man, but Seville could also not call him a boy, no boy has the pension for caution like Eddie Valance. Still, you could admire how the freckles upon his pale skin, crawling up over the bridge of his nose and pooling over each cheek made him look like a boy, much more of one than Seville. This was how Seville always thought of it.
"No talent? Come on, Eddie, surely you're good at something. Not cure spells, obviously, but certainly something!" said Seville with a friendly grin.
"Seville." Dr. Sylum cut in. "Now, Edrick, warriors are not always defined by combat prowess. I don't deny that Master Gipson is the most obvious warrior among us."
"Well I guess that's good," rang in Gipson with a full-bellied laugh. This white- robed boy concerned him, but past that concern was a comfortable vibe. This might not be so crazy after all.
"And I know you have seen Seville practice with his daggers. His swiftness is key to any battle." And Seville pulled a dinner knife from a holder upon the bar and spun it quickly through his fingers, tossed it back and forth a bit, and then launched it upwards where it spun in perfect circles, came to an apex where it seemed to hang for an eternity, and then sliced downwards, landing with a dull thud back in the holder. Seville gave a confident smirk.
"And you, Edrick, your white magic, regardless of what this one has to say," an authoritative jab at Seville, "will be invaluable. Master Gipson, as a seasoned adventurer, tell young Edrick the importance of a healer to any traveling party."
Gipson perked up, his head bobbing a few times and his shoulders becoming flat and centered, "Um, yes, well, since I put out books on classification, often the human side of the story is lost." And then, for just the briefest moment, but there for someone as keen as Seville to see, Gipson traced his thoughts. He was treading carefully. "It would be bad for my career if I discussed how very many times I left a battle with but an inch of life left. I never adventure without a white mage of some kind. It's vital, really."
"Exactly!" rooted Seville, "Don't you see, Eddie? You're the glue! You gotta be a part of it. You're a light warrior, you're kinda required to."
Seville peered on with glimmering hope in his eyes, adding a brilliance to the reflected flame, but Edrick was still soft, nervous.
"And you?" Edrick said to Dr. Sylum. Sylum looked surprised at the question, but evaded a look of anger if it was there. Seville knew that the doctor was trying to avoid that topic.
"Me, well, I provide diplomatic support," said Sylum, fastening on an unsure grin that Edrick wouldn't have. "And, um, I can hold my own in a fight! I've trained many hours."
"Besides, he's bound to it, because if it turns out to be wrong, he's gonna pay for it!" chided Seville and he laughed hard along with Gipson. They allowed themselves to enjoy it, because the tension had dropped to the side. It was obvious that Edrick was in their grasp now. The pressure had decreased. As Edrick slumped low in his chair, his characteristic sign of defeat, the rest of them fed smiles out to the bar. The tavern suddenly did not feel small or even feel to be there at all. They were alone, but they were whole, blanketed by a title: Light Warriors!
"But how are we gonna find the princess?" asked Edrick, still looking for an out, "People don't just disappear everyday, and they have a startling low recovery rate."
"Oh, I don't think that should be a problem," said Sylum matter-of-factly, but then pausing because he knew someone would ask.
"And why is that?" Edrick did the honors, but the other two were just as intent. Seville especially was eager to find what the doctor had up his sleeves. Sylum had his moments when everything just glowed.
"Because finding the princess isn't a principle concern given our situation."
The three stared at him; something had taken a step backwards and they were lost. Even Seville was confused for the moment.
"But we don't even know where she is?" cried Edrick, though emphatic speech from the young priest was more a whimper. Seville and Gipson turned their heads, admiring the tennis.
"We don't need to know! Edrick, you need to realize that you work for destiny now. Light Warriors are infallible. Tomorrow we'll set out, north sounds good to me, and we'll find the princess, because destiny dictates that we must."
"Wait a minute," broke in Gipson with a forward push of his beefy palm, "You expect us to go out there without any kind of game plan? We could ask around first!"
"No need! It's tough to accept, but you'll have to understand that from now on, none of our choices are really our choices. There's only the illusion of choice here."
"I don't understand how you're coming up with this, Doctor," Gipson said, shaking his head, and suddenly worried. Edrick had chosen to return to counting the ceiling, he'd decided to join, and shouldn't that be enough for now? Seville, however, was lapping this up. Sylum was putting out the goods tonight.
"Okay, just stick with me. Destiny, fate if you like, is basically the lack of choice. No matter how obscure or unbelievable it seems, everything we do is set. And it feels like you can escape it, but you can't. Even if I'm mortally wounded and Edrick decides not to cure me, just to prove me wrong, it will just be what he was already meant to do, and since Light Warriors are immortal, something would have to happen to save me.
"Immortal?"
"In a temporal sense, yes. We have a destiny that nothing can keep us from, no matter how difficult the road may seem. If the legend states that we are destined to bring order to the world, then we can't die until we do that, can we?"
"I guess …"
"It's paradoxical! If you could look into the future and know the moment you're going to die, then until that point, one could assume to be immortal. But that doesn't work. Just to prove it to his girlfriend some poor kid would jump off a cliff and kill himself."
"But I thought you said…"
"I'm getting there! This is also a paradox, presumably the kid would find his time of death to be that time he jumped off the cliff, but then if he sees that, he's probably not going to go jumping off any cliffs. But it's different for us. We're not seeing the future, we're predicting it, and that's okay, because we have destiny on our side. We have something that gives us a hint!
"I just don't even…"
"But remember, because this is important. You can't act on this knowledge. Doing stupid stuff to prove fate wrong doesn't work, because the stupid things are a part of your fate. They have to be. Similarly, my blatant choice to set out unprepared on this mission is really the only choice I could make, and changing that choice wouldn't avoid destiny. You can't avoid it, only agree with it." And Sylum allowed himself to stop and rest. The tavern was quiet a few moments, Gipson struggling, his face scrunching in and showing his wrinkles, which Seville noticed. Edrick, having paid little attention, looked down to regard the quiet but made no comment. Seville allowed a satiated smile, content.
"Zen adventuring!" he said with gleeful affirmation and Sylum nodded back to him appreciably.
"Exactly" said the doctor.
"Zen?" Gipson asked, not sure if he should continue trying.
"Discovery through enlightenment. How did you ever write a book?" joked Seville but he felt badly afterwards. Gipson took it with a flash of his eyes that was quickly submerged. And then the moment was allowed to settle further. Things were calm.
"You know," spoke Seville, "There's nothing in the legend about saving a princess."
"Seville, please! If we don't save the princess the king is not going to let us be Light Warriors. This is going to work."
"I trust you, professor, I was just saying!"
"Well don't say it! You'll worry Edrick!"
"Huh?" Edrick dropped his head quickly and shot from side to side.
"Nothing, Eddie!" And Seville started laughing heartily. For all his spastic excess, at least you could have some fun with ol' Eddie. He and Seville had been friends for ten years. Their parents had known each other, so they didn't have much choice in the matter. But it was a strong friendship. Differences aside, there was something under the surface, an intangible certainty between them. It was trust, unbreakable trust. Seville felt it there, and knew it was real, or else Edrick would have seen him thrown in the dungeons long ago. Not often does a do-gooder, and a priest at that, go back on his principles. No, you had to be something special for that.
"Well, tomorrow then, Gents," said Gipson, looking out the window at the pitch darkness. A mix of glances swapped around and the motion was passed. Sylum and Eddie rose along with Gipson; Seville sat for a longer moment but then stood to see them away. Sylum drew up the four orbs and gave each to its owner, he seemed to place great weight in the doing so.
"Morning?" asked Edrick and Sylum answered.
"Of course! Don't be dense!" and then Edrick walked out the tavern and headed to wherever. As Sylum got to the door he turned and waved Seville closer, suddenly very serious.
"You will come to the quad?" he asked, deeply.
"Yeah, I'll, well … first I've got to talk to Mr. Dunnings." Sylum looked hurt for a moment, as if disappointment had already taken him, but then he flattened his expression and nodded politely.
"Right," he said, and walked out the door.
Herrik Gipson was still fitting on his many weapons, an act he did with quiet precision, as if the perfection in the act be important even at such a time as this. His hands were slow but dexterous; it looked almost like a ceremony, ordered and significant. He was silent, and Seville would not break this. He watched it with a blank gaze. The fluid motions of Gipson, his tall head erect and covered with noble features, a strong nose, pronounced chin, lengthy eyes, his broad figure, seeming to float over the table, and his hands, thick but refined. It came off of Gipson like heat. This was a great man, thought Seville. More than he could be. And the building admiration mesmerized him, almost soothed him.
At last Gipson turned and gave Seville a warm smile, one of his favorites.
"Sorry about that. Not easy being a walking tank," and he chuckled comfortably. "Tomorrow then." Gipson made his way to the door before Seville returned with something.
"Master Gipson?" Why was he so meek all the sudden?
"Please, call me Sir." Another chuckle.
"Have … have you ever seen anything like this?" Seville pulled the sleeve back on his shirt, revealing the sullen bruise covering most of his arm up to the elbow. Gipson's smile faded, even drooped to a frown. The skin squeezed in around his eyes, showing those wrinkles again, and he showed stern contemplation. With an assured hand he took the arm and brought it near, he studied the glowing veins and how the inky scar wrapped around Seville's fingers like dark flagella. The moment was murderous to Seville, horrible anticipation burning in his gut, and then Gipson released and let out a breathy sigh.
"It's called ghost rot, from a very powerful apparition by the looks of it. A shadow wraith, most likely," Gipson said lowly. He seemed to be choosing his words with certain thought, "This is very bad."
"What, I mean, do you know the cure?" Seville said with weak hope. Gipson didn't look like he had anything.
"No cure. Nor can you be cured. Ghost rot feeds off positive energy."
"So," a quiver growing in his voice that he fought as best he could, "what will happen?"
Gipson let out another heavy sigh, "Whether you feed it or not the rot will spread. Soon, whatever you're doing to fight it will stop working, the pain will be insurmountable. Ghost rot is … well, it's just tangible evil. Concentrated pain. And that pain will become so great it kills you. There's nothing wrong with your body, but the pain will be so immense that your mind would rather be dead. I've only heard of instances where people accept the whole disease. Every man in my experience to be inflicted has begged for death, and it was given to them as quickly as possible. A nicety."
Seville felt as if each part of him was individually falling, each atom a drop in the waterfall. Chills scuttled south down his skin line the legs of centipedes, each hair taking its own moment to rise and sting.
"So, there's nothing?"
Gipson tried his sad smile but quickly took it off. It was the wrong cue. "Some people I've dealt with say that because the problem is not physical, if you truly believe that it will go away, it will. But nothing has ever been documented. This is bad, Seville."
"What can I do? Anything?"
"You can only be careful. Constant vigilance. You will tell the doctor?" Seville looked up to Gipson's stern face, the liquids in his skull swirling.
"No. It would worry him, and he would begin to doubt."
"But he will say it is your destiny. He will not worry." Gipson said with a strong affirmation in his voice.
"It's … Professor Sylum is more complicated than he seems. If he knew about this he would not allow me to go, and I feel that I must. There's more to it than his destiny theory, he's knows it. I won't tell him." Seville saw disapproval in Gipson's face, but it was with respect, the knight knew little of these men. Still, to smooth it over, Seville added, "Not yet, anyways."
"You understand that it worries me as well? The rot is not something you go adventuring with."
"Yes, I know that. But you will not tell them, right?"
"Of course, not. It is your business. But they should know. Honesty to the group, Seville. I'll take it over destiny any day. Try to get some rest."
And Gipson tried to smile, but in the weakness it probably went unnoticed by the infected man. Gipson pushed open the door and took a breath of the night's crisp air. Seville watched him, a pall of shadow descending over the lands, up to the end of the street, and then turned back into the bar.
********************
Seville had studied his fearsome arm a few minutes more but decided to shroud it once again. That was a distant concern really, nothing at all. A thousand strikes from that creature's scythe he would gladly take before what was coming. He blew out two of the candles and then returned to his same seat. There he controlled his breath, intentionally long and deep, trying to calm that guilty flame within. He wrapped his arms together, eyes getting lost in the blue arcs and diagonals crossing over the tables. He wanted to stay that way. No adventure, no light warriors, no eccentric Sylum or skittery Edrick, no friendly Gipson, and especially no Dunnings. He felt drawn, as if he was insistently reaching for that serenity, always slipping through his fingers.
Sudden thick steps to his side told him that Dunnings was coming from beneath. The large man rose above the counter and walked around. The single candle on the table cast light only up to his nose, and his eyes were left beyond the grim horizon. They gave only dull sparkles. His face was slumped. Seville saw his hands were full.
"Here, you're friend from the school brought these by after … well …" Dunnings placed a belt down on the table. Inserted into it were Seville's twin daggers. The belt lay limply, like a dead snake that Seville was afraid to touch should it spring to life and strike him. Seville did not even look at it, but still remained quiet. Friend from school? There was an encompassing tension in the air, but he wanted to let Dunnings move first.
"Quite a day," said Dunnings, still keeping sentry above the table, casting a weighty glance down. "The centennial was impressive. I wish I'd had more time there. The first night is supposed to be the best, but I guess I'll have more time in the coming days."
Seville let the words drift around; there was no landing for filler. "Yeah," he said, "It was quite a day!"
It was awkward, each of them uncertain. Seville hated that bitter stare coming from Dunnings. He couldn't face it. Dunnings's eyes had arms and hands to grasp, choking fingers around Seville's neck that shut out the light. Why does getting your way always feel so bad? Minutes passed, but finally Dunnings spoke, a hidden condescension in his voice.
"A light warrior, huh?" That snapped it.
"Mr. Dunnings, I think…"
"Wait your turn!" Dunnings yelled. His voice had found a shout quickly, a fiery anger behind it. He centered himself and let out two firm breathes and then continued, slowly. "I've given a lot, Seville. I've given a lot to you. And I've tried hard, to do what is right but still let you be. I'm not your father, but…"
"Don't…" Seville tightened at the mention of his father, he could feel his heart slapping against his temples, the pulse making him shake.
"… But I like to think that I have made some of the right choices. Choices he might have made." Seville hated how still Dunnings's voice was, so sure and angry.
"You don't know…" but Seville could not finish a thought. Glaring anger rose in him so quickly.
"But I'm at a handicap, you see. My choices are harder, because I will never get the respect from you that you gave to your father. It's something I've dealt with for a decade now."
Seville wanted it to end, he was filling with an ugly hate, blacker than even ghost rot, but he did not want to let it out. He feared to let it out.
"I have always respected…"
"No, Seville!" Dunnings began to yell again, his thick voices piercing the halls. "Don't say something you can't support. Don't try to deny this burden upon me. I've tried, Seville, but still you get into the kinds of things you do. Thievery! Jail! And now you're going off on some holy quest! For what? A history teacher?"
"Don't … do that!" screamed Seville, rising to his feet, trying hopelessly to match his godfather's boom. "What is it you want? If you want me to stay, I'll stay! Just say it!"
"No, Seville, I don't want you to stay, I gave up on trying to control you."
"What, then? Why?!"
Dunnings tried to calm a little but he flared instantly, "What I want is appreciation! Appreciation for everything I've been through, and everything I'm gonna go through. For as many mistakes I've made I can still ask that you show one ounce of appreciation, for all my hard work on you." His voice softened a little. Seville was gripping the top of a chair, crunching it in his frigid hands, his teeth chattered as he talked.
"I … never tried to…"
"So am I selfish, Seville? Selfish for asking a return from the job I took? Well, if I'm selfish … then damn it! I deserve to be selfish!"
"You're not…
"Because how do I feel, Seville, when I remember your father entrusting you to me, and then watching you do the things you do? How does that make me feel? Heartbroken!"
"Stop it…" Seville was shaking all over.
"Because I'm going to die one day, Seville," and then Dunnings voice seemed to break, high octaves of pitiful sadness, "And then I'm gonna have to tell him! Look him right in his eyes and tell him that I failed!"
Seville screamed out, slamming both his hands so hard into the table the legs gave way and then pointing an accusatory finger.
"Stop it!" his voice was high, screeching, and tears were forming in his eyes. "You will not use him against me!" And Dunnings was startled, a hurt flash of his eyes. "Nobody asked for this! I don't want it, and you don't want it, and he didn't want it! But I can't change that! And you will not use this pain I've felt against me. I won't apologize for my father's death!"
And the tears began to roll down Seville's pale cheeks, his voice trembling and weaker and his bottom lip rapidly bouncing back and forth. "Because, no matter how bad I may want it, I can't have him back. And sometimes that's all I want in the world. Mr. Dunnings, sometimes you try so hard, but still without him I feel like I've got nothing. Like I'm nothing!"
Dunnings could not respond, so Seville dropped his voice, wanting to take back so much of what little he'd said. He wanted everything to go away. "Mr. Dunnings, I know I make a lot of mistakes. I do stupid things, and maybe that means I'm stupid. I don't even know why I do them, but it's not your fault. It's my fault. Always."
Dunnings slumped, let his bulk rest down on itself as the tension passed. The tears slid down Seville's face as he continued, "But, don't you see, this thing, the light warriors. I don't care about some legend. But stupid or not for the first time I'm doing something good, really good. And the professor, and Eddie, and even the knight. They like me! And that makes me like myself! So I just want to be with them."
Seville paused to give Dunnings a chance if he wanted it, but he said nothing, only looked on with drooped eyes, soggy with moisture. He had brought them into the light so Seville could see, and for once Seville could look at them firmly, the anger passing, but still these two men were miles apart. An inky void between. Seville spoke slowly once more, assuredly.
"I'm sure, very sure, that my father wouldn't want me to be so alone." And those words drifted in the air a bit, falling on the large man before Seville. "I will not go without your blessing, but I do want to go."
And there was a moment there when all things were uncertain, when all things floated above and swirled around them. Seville was drained, empty but for a single hope that suffocated more with every breath. The dragging silence brought fresh tears that he fought back with sad gulps. But then Dunnings spoke, soft and morose, distant, defeated.
"Godspeed, Seville. I ask you return safe, and with that knight around I'm sure you will." But Dunnings would not even look up; attain a final image of the boy for his mind. As Seville picked up his belt and walked out of the tavern, he thought terribly of how certain he was he was going to die on this journey, and that Dunnings would have no final memory of him. He had looked away. Perhaps it was a memory that Dunnings didn't want, Seville's final hour also his lowest.
Outside the shadowy pall had not lifted, the earth still covered in an infinite sadness.