"In which the idiot is full of Shit" – Jaskell
The carriage of Elves and Humans traveled all day, and all evening, and all night, and for three days after that. Phem one time shouted about 'making up for lost time,' but Den didn't see the hurry. Ætsolai was some weeks away, and Dreg soon informed him that they'd be stopping in two nearly-as-large cities on the way. The War would still be out there weeks, and even months from now. Not that Den was excited by the prospect of his kinsfolk dying in it (no matter how low or traitorous some were)—Dreg explained that the Lord of Pretipaxae mentioned a defeat at Signestad in their wake—but still. After so many centuries, couldn't The War wait for them to sleep? But no, that's selfish. Den was very tired. He hadn't slept well in Pretipaxae either. Something wasn't right. Maybe the two were connected: when their Mission ended The War, he might rest better. This idea strengthened him; at times he also dozed in their carriage, its white silk-cushioned seats. At least it had ample storage space, for all their trinkets, and fresh food courtesy of Lord Dolgashnue.
This latter gift turned out to be unnecessary: every passing town was all too happy to bless their party with provisions from their own larders. Dreg mentioned that they passed the southern edge of Orevictorum's (that is, Duke Moliesvar's, or—he now deceased—Phemelius', as he was the Duke's only living heir) manor-lands, but Den didn't notice the difference. It seemed that every Elf was overjoyed by the Lost Prince's return. As my own people should have been, Den thought bitterly. Maybe that's what he meant to tell me. Phem had said something about all humans being low; brought low or low by their own nature; they were set against him and all the Elves. Den had seen such treachery personally in the most powerful man in Newandrale. Well, he did say 'I don't think any less of humans,' or something like that. And that tracked with Den's view of the Elf: he treated Dreg and the others as well as he did any of his own kindred. But maybe it was ironic? The Prince's words stuck in his mind: 'I don't see humans as 'tainted'. Could anyone say otherwise?' Yes, Den thought, ashamed on his own kin's behalf.
After some days more they reached another city, and this a more familiar sort of metropolis than the towering, monolithic (pentalithic?) stronghold that was Pretipaxae. This city was called Delcorpiddium, and it sprawled out over a long slope of rising terrain, so that Den could see many buildings, all of similar low height, staggering out higher as they continued further West and up the rise. Their walls were pallid stucco, and their roofs tiled with gold-leafed ochre, those tiles curved such that they looked like waves, or many Elven shields interlocking.
The city guards let them inside the gates without much trouble; they saluted Phemelius and the carriage as it came. "Word travels faster than we do," Jaskell muttered—he'd switched with Dreg along the way. Actually many switches had occurred, so everyone could sleep; it just so happened that Den was back inside by now with Jaskell, who didn't speak to him much. Phem and Dregal rode ahead on horseback; Fia and Getta were outside driving their carriage-horses. The days of desperate cart-driving with one sorry old workhorse seemed a distant memory.
Inside this city, their carriage came to pass something that excited Den most extremely: high-walled and ornate, with an enormous golden Sun sat atop its highest steeple: a Western Elven Church of Emolelei, God of Gods. Den leaned out the left side window to see, and heard the faint notes of music, which grew as they drove closer. "A cathedral of the Elves!" he cried. "And listen, they sing their holy hymns in the High Tongue!" He heard a particular word he recognized, and was elated further. "The Ax! They sing of the Prince's birthright!"
Fia, from the front, called out to Den: "Pass me my lute, Denbas! I can translate for you. What better than to hear these Elves in song?"
This is exactly what she's here for, Den thought. He handed the instrument up, nearly dropping it by his manic glee. He was surely warming up to Fia.
She, the Elf-Bard, strummed once upon the strings of her lute, and then began to tap them with four fingers, a steady rhythm in one note, and chanted along much the same, a Hymn to Emolelei in the Human tongue:
"Lo-ord E-e-molelei,
King of gods and mo-or-tals,
Unto you alone we give,
Trust and Supplica-a-tion.
Grant us strength and wea-a-pons,
That we conquer de-e-vils.
"Royal golden Ra-Jesvei,
Blade of our Domi-i-nion,
Sword of kings andco-o-nquest,
Bear us over e-e-vil.
"Immostraecus pierce the night,
Strike the heart of da-a-rkness,
Bring our light to distant lands,
Spark civiliza-a-tion.
"O-o-oh and Ket-Blaskar,
Fist of righteous fu-u-ry,
Mountains shatter, forests fall,
By your holy fi-i-re…"
Fia trailed off, and Den smacked his lips. "That's it?" he said.
"Oh, no, I've heard a few more by now," said Fia. She continued the rhythmic chant:
"Sa-ardolias the true,
Scepter of salva-a-tion,
You protect our sunlit shores,
Western lands defe-e-nded—"
"Okay, um, I get it," Den said. "I, uhh… it must sound better in the original Elvish…"
"What?" she said. "It's a song as good as any here. The True Word deserves to be repeated, so, uh… repetitiously!"
"I don't know, it's kind of, err, monotonous, right?" said Den. Jaskell chuckled, and Fia shot a glare at him.
"Ashrubar here just doesn't appreciate Art!" she said, and stuck up her pointly little nose, snorting in annoyance.
"…Yeah, that's it," said Jaskell. He was smirking, smug as always.
"Well, the words are good, anyway," said Den. "Holiness, righteous Kings, defending the innocent… the True Word warms the soul."
The other two were conspicuously silent at this. Getta was snoring. Den, set at ease, saw fit to do the same, for what minutes they went on.
***
He was roused by their carriage's stopping; the lurch of brakes. All within stepped down in turn, and their horsemen both dismounted. They were at an Inn, a very fine one, and Prince Phemelius projected his voice for all to hear: "We've been granted lodgings by a most generous Elven Innkeeper. However, the Sun still grants us light, and we are far enough from what perils human lords might send us. You've all been cooped up long enough, so: explore! Enjoy what wonders Delcorpiddium has to give you! Humans are something of a… novelty, here, and our Quest is known to most. Hasten out to drink the golden hours of sunset, and keep those round ears open." He winked; then he and Fia went inside.
Dreg spoke also, a bit more quietly, and less theatrical: "Stay safe, you lot. I'll be in 'ere nursin' a Delcorpiddian pint, and sharin' words with any Elf that'll humor a human captain. And Getta." He lowered his head at the man, to whisper: "Don't get caught." With that, Dreg followed the Elves inside.
"Oh, no," said Den. He turned around. "Getta, please don't…"
Getta had already gotten away. Den saw a Getta-like look in Jaskell's eye, but the ginger rot-smile had missed his chance to give the slip, and looked down his J-ramp nose at his fellow soldier. "...Alright, Denbas. Let's go 'explore'. And no more churches… they water their wine." He walked off without much waiting for Den to follow.
Young Sorman hurried after him. What else am I going to do? he thought. Plus, Jaskell had nearly died, and couldn't be fully healed yet; Den could see the slight depression in the man's chest. No matter how nasty he could be, the Corporal needed protection, and company couldn't hurt either man. "Jaskell, wait!" he said. "Where are you going?"
Jaskell let his feet answer: he was simply going.
"Wait! I want to speak with you! The Prince, he said he's 'just a man,' but it makes no sense! Even among these fair folk he's exceptionally—"
"Shh. Shut up, tool. I'm looking for perspectives from these 'fair folk,' and sometimes the only way to get an honest perspective is by listening unseen." He smirked and carried on.
Eavesdropping! Snooping, peeping, spying on High Elves! Den shook his head, but followed still. This is wrong, he thought. Jaskell's gone too far. They were but humans; they'd certainly scuff the Prince's reputation if they were caught where they Should Not Be, or hearing what they were not meant to hear. But… he was curious. They'd listened in on the chanting cathedral choir, hadn't they? Was that really so different from snooping? There was once a mischievous little boy named Denbas Sorman who loved to eavesdrop, and that boy never quite went away, he just got… tamped down, by many other, more pressing matters. Responsibilities, and duty, and other serious things adults must have. That boy was fearless in his mischief-making.
Jaskell crept around the side of a large house, and Den found himself following; pressed to the wall's shadow like he'd been in Signestad. Then abruptly Jaskell stopped him, dragged Den under the wooden lattice of a porch, shushed with a finger to the lips and looked up furtively. There Den heard what the Corporal had; footsteps above, and the mutter of approaching voices, speaking Elvish. Jaskell listened to the words, then grinned and whispered to him: "I speak their tongue. They'll speak, and I'll switch it over for you… you'd better well listen. Delk is a nice place for these 'fair folk'." So it was that Den heard for the first time a conversation between Two Western Elves Who Didn't Know Humans Were Listening, filtered through the mind and tongue of Jaskell—though his translations were quite faithful. Whispering, he even gave the two Elf-sires distinct vocal inflections, so that Den might tell the two apart. The conversation was as so:
First Elf: "...—re four of them! And a Half-High also, though there's a more common tragedy."
Second Elf: "Oh, come now. I've met plenty of good Halfs. And that one looked more Elf than human, maybe she's a quarter…"
First Elf: "Hah! What, that one amuses you? She had such a mannish way of dress, and that humanish hair… though, maybe one is just your flavor, or the other…"
Second Elf: "No, no. She at least has proper ears, but… never mind that. Let's not talk of the humans on this night; this is a fresh one. Drinks rich, breeze warm, not a cloud in the sky. And Prince Phemelius, the heir of the North, returned to his own kin."
First Elf: "Ech, he's the worst human-lover of all! You heard that he bedded one—not even a hybrid, a full human! Maybe he has some mutant spawn out there, some bastard mutt, some—"
Second Elf: "Oh, here we go again. I don't see why you care so much about these humans. They're strange, and a little cagey, but some can be alright. Why, that assistant in—"
First Elf: "Oh-h-h, that's just what They want you to think! Humans aren't just dull barbarians like the Darks, and may not be much in combat (not individually, anyway) but they're clever—conniving. I've heard whispers that they've even made allies with the Darks, and now harness them to—"
Second Elf: "Please, man. Don't tell me you believe all that tripe about 'Humans taking over our Kingdom, weaseling their way in to subvert the Throne'. We should get you in the square, to spread the Good Word, and tales of the End Times, hah!"
First Elf: "You joke, friend, but you haven't heard what I have heard. I was a skeptic too, once, but consider it logically: the power of each little human 'lord' grows, as do tales of their degenerate acts. Any Elf could tell you that they've started to hide things from us… and still we send them so much in the way of weapons, and riches, and they hardly make a headway in The War. What if they're stalling it on purpose?"
Second Elf: "They're all fanatics, I say. Barbaric. Hardly my concern; let Rounds and Darklings wipe each other out, and let's be done with it! I don't buy all this conspiracy talk, but I don't like to see my coin go towards the humans either. Still… there's no way they do all this secret subverting like you say. They couldn't manage it! Finance is one thing… but ruling?"
First Elf: "It would take a hundred of them to rule as one Elf would. But my friend, they have those hundreds—everyone knows how quickly they multiply. And now, the King's taken a human advisor into his own court! In Ætsolai… in power! And who knows how many more will flood into our home, now the dam's cracked open! Emol's light, who's to stop them, if King Ambidon himself is tolerant of their kind?"
Second Elf: "…Look, I don't want to have a whole argument. You have your opinion, and I have mine… so be it. Let's just enjoy the night. And please, friend: try not to speak of this in front of the maidens. You know how they get…"
First Elf: "Oh believe me, I'm no fool. Maidens won't believe it until a whole horde of humans storm the gates, steal our daughters to throw to Darks, and start grabbling away our own riches here in Delcorpiddium itself! You know the saying: 'Ears round like coins…'"
Second Elf: "'...the better to hear them clinking!' Oh, true enough friend, true enough, haha! Let's get back to it; all this worrisome talk has me hankering for the calming company of maidens, and a topping up…"
The two elves walked quietly back into their home above. After a certain point in the eavesdrop Den, red-faced with anguish, only remained in place for fear of being seen if he fled. Now he did flee; marching fists-down terrified back towards the Inn.
Jaskell raced after him, and by his longer stride caught up, and grabbed Den by the arm. "Where are you going? That scared of some Elves?"
Den wheeled. "It can't be true!" he hissed. "In Emol's name, it can't be! Humankind would never seek to bring this Golden Land to ruin!" But he believed it. He'd seen the traitorous, craven ways of even the highest of his own kind. And there was a human advisor here in the West, in its capitol? Plotting to destroy the Elven Kingdom from within? He ran on.
"What?" Jaskell shouted from afar. "Of course not! They're just—hey, where are you going?"
"Phemelius will know the truth." He was an Elf; he was a wise Elf. He'd seen the worst of humankind firsthand; but if they were evil, if they'd fallen to evil, if indeed they were evil by their very nature… no! It couldn't be true! "No!" he muttered to himself. If humans were evil by their nature, that meant that Den himself was evil, and Jaskell, and even Dreg, and Getta, and Fia by the half. That couldn't be! Well, maybe Getta…
Jaskell grabbed Den's upper arm from behind and wrenched the smaller man around. "It's not true, you simpering tool! Why are you so quick to believe their nonsense over the facts before your eyes?"
"It's not just nonsense, Jaskell! Our people were once allies to the Elves, and now we've had to steal an Elven weapon back from them like thieves in the night! How can we say humans aren't corrupted when we've seen it firsthand?"
Jaskell pinched his forehead. "It's not—oh, sonofabitch, you're so far turned around you can't even see facts! Why can't you take Phemelius at his word, or even those hateful morons up in their wealthy homes? They're not lying, but they're not right either! They're just… their whole world-view is busted, their beliefs! And you just… follow along, 'oh yes, m'Lord, very good, yes, I'm your good little tool, thank Emol I can eat your SHIT'."
The crimson drained from Den's face. "You're not making any sense, you're… you really are a demon, you despise them, you wouldn't even… oh Lord…"
"I see the truth!" Jaskell shouted back. "And frankly, even those fat-pocketed Elves are closer to it than you. Tool! You won't let facts get in the way of hating your own kind, putting yourselves second to these… these bright-faced shitters! Den—Den listen to me—" he grabbed Den by both shoulders, eyes wide and wilder still, spat coldly: "They will believe whatever they must to keep hating us. They do: they hate us, for much the same reason as you do!"
"I don't hate humans!" Den shouted back, and he shook free to shout some more. "What gives you the right to speak for me!? I say there are many good humans, and sure, some wicked ones too, but more still who are somewhere in the middle, neither wholly good nor wicked… who just are!"
Jaskell's shoulders sunk. "I… I'm sorry, Den. I… that was wrong. Of course you couldn't hate all humans. You know us to be a large and varied bunch. The Western Elves hate us…" There was that coldness again, that smirk. "...in the same way you admire them."
Jaskell walked away more slowly. Den was stunned. Not because Jaskell was right, exactly: he did admire High Elves… but what did that have to do with hate? "I… I'm just frightened, Jaskell. It's like… the Good of the world is shrinking. If we're responsible, or even play a part in that corruption…" Jaskell looked back at him, lips tight, but watching, waiting, not cold anymore, not at all. "…if some of us are now inleague with the Night Elves…"
Jaskell threw up his hands, turned once more and stomped away. "You're a fucking idiot," he shouted from the darkness.
"Jaskell!" Den cried, running and failing to catch up. He's so… judgmental, and temperamental, and just… mental! What right does he have to judge me harshly? He doesn't even know me! But Phemelius trusted this man… why did he so hate Den?I even said 'Night Elves' this time, as the Prince always insisted, and look what good that did! This man Jaskell was impossible to please, and intent on hating Den. And, it seemed, intent on hating High Elves. That gave Den pause. Was he a traitor to The Mission, to the Elven Kingdom itself? He'd have to ask Phem… but no, he trusted Jaskell… but maybe he didn't know? Den ran faster now, faster back the way they'd come.
Den found the Inn, and Fia was standing outside it, looking up into the night. "Fia!" Den cried, panting. "Oh, it's good to see you!"
"Den? What's the matter?"
"By the Lord of Light, it's Jaskell! I've seen his true heart, and I believe he may be set against us!"
"Huh? What'd he say?"
"He's clearly set against your kind! Err, your and Phemelius' shared kind… High Elves, I mean. He's full only of hatred, like a demon, like a—"
"Eh, nahh," she said. "Doesn't sound like Jaskell to hate anyone just because they look a certain way. They at least gotta open their mouth first before he lays into 'em. Although…" She grinned. "Guess it might be that he hates anyone who isn't named Ashrubar Jaskell… or who is."
"Fia, I'm not joking here. We were… listening to some Elves, and they spoke of human treachery, as indeed we all have seen. Fia… do you hate humans?"
Fia's eyebrows went up. "What?"
"Uhh, maybe 'hate' is the wrong word. But like, there are plenty of us who do wicked things, of that there can be no doubt. So do you, um, well whatever, you'd have reason enough. Do you hate humankind?"
"I…" She seemed to grow very sorrowful, her voice catching as she said: "…no. I guess I don't. I just wish… I just wish that humans acted differently most of the time. That you all saw differently."
"Oh," said Den. These words came as a relief. And she doesn't mean me, he thought. I've been trying my best to do what's right, and to See Differently. I'm a good person… or, uh, trying, anyway. "Do you, um… hate High Elves?"
Fia's eyes went even wider. "…" she said, and then she looked to Den's right, where emerged Phemelius from the Inn's doors behind.
He walked past Den, then addressed him: "Den, is everything alright?"
"Yes, um, no… I hope so, Fia and I were…" Den turned back towards the Inn, and Fia was gone. He hadn't heard footsteps. Of her presence, only a gently-swinging door remained. "Where'd she—"
"Long trip for all of us," said Phem. "What where you two talking about?" He led Den walking down the street.
"Oh, just about some Elves we overheard out in the city," Den said. "And Jaskell, oh—"
"Elves? What Elves?"
"Some High Elves, they were talking about humans… about our corruption, and the possibility of us conniving to steal the throne from the Elf King. Honestly, Sir… it terrified me. This is just what I'd been fearing, with how badly my people have treated you. That we're all tainted… oh, and Jaskell—"
"What did Fia have to say of all this?"
"…well, Sir, I was quite surprised, maybe a little touched by her insights. I've been thinking about something she told me when we first met: that Elf-humans resent being called 'hybrids' or treated as strange. And I have seen animosity, in what few Elf-humans I've met—there was an Elf-human Lord in Signestad, I noticed, and he in league with Lord Benail. I got to thinking: if Elf-humans really feel 'trapped between two worlds,' they might have to, uh, push to one side, to try and fit in there. Either by hating humans, or hating Elves. That noble Elf-human in Signestad surely had some negative will towards your kind, and Fia, well maybe she doesn't hate us humans, but—"
"She doesn't?" Phem stared back at the Inn's walls. "…oh, and Den, it's Elf-human person, not just 'Elf-human'. And I say 'human-elf person,' though I suppose that's interchangeable, and fair in both directions…"
"What—all these words, Sir! First I say 'hybrid,' and that's one word, then Fia says it's 'Elf-human,' and that's two. And now you're telling me it's 'Elf-human person,' but that's three words, and at some point there's just not enough time in the day!What about: we all have our own opinions on the matter, and say what terms we each think fit best?"
"What does it matter?" Phem growled. "Well, Den, if you want to do some shortening, 'person,' is the last word you should be removing. A person is a mind, and then you get to 'elf' or 'human,' which differentiates by the body, and finally you're at 'round ear' or 'sharp ear,' and that's just an ear! And it's only worse from there: 'round,' 'roundie'… I won't even say the really bad ones…"
"'Ears round like coins'…" Den chuckled.
"Where did you hear that!?" Phemelius' eyes narrowed and darted out into the dusk. "...so this is what my kinsfolk speak about in the still of night. Again I say, Den: it's 'Elf-human person,' or just 'person' if you only have time for the most important part!"
"But Sir, that isn't accurate. I mean, I'm a person, and I can see how some might take offense to 'roundie,' but the opposite is no insult: you High Elves are more than just people, you're higher, and so is Fia and all, um, 'Elf-human people' by extension."
"NO," said Phemelius. "What have I told you, over and over again? I am just a man; all of us, all High Elves, we're all just people!"
"But my Prince, that simply cannot be. High Elves are long of life, and tall and wise. And your magic—"
"Maybe wiser than you, how quickly you forget. But no! We High Elves have plenty. Those who eat well grow taller and live longer. Our wisdom we record, and have so written down for longer than your people have been able… or allowed, perhaps. And our magic, hah! By yourself and Dreg, Fia's sword… you've seen that humans can use it. Our healers—think of Jaskell!—by wisdom and magics possessed, they can do wonders also, wonders you couldn't dream of, and by this too do our lives prolong. We aren't greater than you, Den, we just HAVE MORE! And are very pleased to keep this plenty from your kin."
"...ridiculous! You're saying that High Elves are wicked! Your own kind!"
"No, Den. I'm saying that we are people. Nothing more…" Phem glared at him, smirked. "...and nothing less."
He left Den out in the night's dark chill, inside the tall Elf went without another word. Denbas Sorman was, for his part, stunned to silence. He had meant to tell Phemelius that Jaskell was a traitor for calling High Elves wicked… but now…
Phemelius had said the same. But no, Den thought, mind racing. That isn't what he said. THIS is what he's always meant; the implications all point here.High Elves were not evil, they were people. Just people, same as any human in all but appearance. It was worse, much worse. Gray, numb worse.
Den stumbled inside and slept.
***
Getta crept back into the Inn at a very late hour. There sitting inside were Jaskell, Fia, and Dreg, as well as a few other people still lingering and sipping. Of their party, only Dreg was drinking much of anything: the last sips of a tankard. The two human men muttered to each other. Fia ran up to Getta and held out both pink-gloved hands before him, saying: "Ey, nice score. Shh, let's get it back 'fore the Bigs see."
Getta turned away and eyed her warily. He had many sacks and pouches at his belt, stuffed under his clothing, clutched tight in his arms. "What split y'want, Smiley?"
Fia stroked her Elven chin. "Ah-h-h… I'll be needin' four Suns for my help haulin' 'n hidin'. No—five!" She grinned at him.
"Three's too many," he whispered. "Gotta be two, and I'll add a bread to sweeten'it."
Fia groaned. "Fine, I guess. Quick, 'fore the sods see!" Getta handed off a few bags (and then a few more, she seemed excited to pile them high), and then she bolted off down the hall. Getta hurried after her.
Dreg saluted lazily and smiled towards the two as they scurried towards their bedroom. Sloshed, thought Getta. "Hey Smiley," he whispered ahead. "More songin' tonight?"
"Naw, sorry Getta," she whispered back. "Can't bring attention, not with loot."
"Aw yeah… yeah, heehee! Crib tonight, sleepy-song tomorrow!"
In league, the Bard and Thief together cackling hid their score.
***
The sun rose in Delcorpiddium. Denbas Sorman flopped up off his bed. Captain Dregal was there lying next to him; still under his covers but clearly awake. "Dreg! Dreg, listen to me!"
"What?" Dreg sat up. "What is it, Sorman? What's the matter?"
"He said… it's insane! Phemelius, he said… he insisted that he and all the High Elves are just people, low as we humans!"
Dregal looked at Den solemnly. "…yes. He's felt this way for a long time."
"But is it true?" Den cried. "God, why am I asking you? But then, who can I ask, if the Prince himself believes it? Everything is backwards!"
"I ain't seen anythin' against it," Dreg said, and he leapt up off his bed. He pointed emphatically at Den. "Again I say: there's nothin' low 'bout bein' people." The Captain ambled off to breakfast.
Den followed, trudging and shaking his head. People weren't as low as monsters, but they were definitely a bit lower than Good. We're defined by our choices, he thought. And so many of us make the wrong ones! But… 'wrong'. The opposite of right. If the High Elves weren't Good, what was Right!? What was the fixed point, the Light? A thought assailed Den's mind like the falling, rotted tree that topples all its neighbors: Nothing. High Elves could be evil. There was no Good in the world, no sacred truth… just Gray.
He ate with the slow deliberation of an old man whose mind had left him; in a fog, unfeeling. The food was good, but he wasn't. Nothing is, he thought. The others were very much not ignoring him; at several times did Dreg, or Getta, or even Phemelius ask him if he was alright. He wasn't, but each time he muttered something like "yes". All these… people still believed in Good, or at least believed in something. How?
The Innkeeper came in: a fat old Elf with a crown of straight white hair worn short. He spoke to them the human tongue, with barely an accent: "Hello, my guests! I hope you all enjoy what sparse provisions I have here. They hardly befit a Prince… err, Duke..."
"They're more than fine, Steskalvoi. We are all grateful for what you've given us," said Phemelius.
"Grateful… no, I am grateful for your company! And your humans… I have always had a soft spot for their people—their great people—and these soldiers of yours do credit to us all. Why, I'll need to have more human guests from this day forwards!"
So High Elves can be nice, thought Den. But that hardly changes anything. People can be nice too, and still there's no true Good in the world. His fog continued, and then he was back in the carriage, and its wheels turning to carry them along the road from Delcorpiddium. Dregal was in there with him. He laid his head back. "Dreg…" he groaned.
"...yeah Sorman?"
"Is there no good in the world? I mean, what's even the point? The War, The Mission, any of this?"
"No good in the world? Hah, you're so much like Jaskell, after Phem laid this all out… and after Ash himself had time to mull it over, heh…"
"What!? No! I'm…" But maybe he was, now. Maybe Jaskell was so nasty because it just didn't matter; when he said 'I see the facts!' he had been right, and The Fact was: 'Who cares, fuck everything'.
Dreg must have been a mind reader; he said: "'No good,' 'nothing matters,' yeah, that's little Ash alright. Well, for one: I have Vishezadhu, and you have your god, the light one; Emolelei, like the Elves. It's nice to have somethin' solid like that beneath it all."
"Sure…" Emolelei is still true Good. But what did it matter, if all his children here in Selegrae were low, and could be wretched and evil? If Den was the only good person in the world (and even now, he knew that was a stretch) it gave no comfort. He needed real good here, not just in the heavens.
"And… Den, how'bout people dyin'? Y'think that's Good, or just Nothin', and who cares?"
"...no…"
"S'there!" said Dreg. "There's your Good: stoppin' people from dyin' or getting' hurt. Lotsa people dyin' in The War, and we're here tryin' to end it, so The Mission's good too." Dregal crossed his arms, satisfied.
Den wasn't. There was more to the Gray, it was… both Phem and Jaskell seemed to strongly dislike at least those two High Elves that they had overheard in the city. They were here now, the Elven Lands, where things were supposed to be better, but the Gray had somehow followed them. All the others seemed dead-set on proving to Den that even High Elves could be corrupted—High Elves, turned low and craven without being twisted into Night Elves; evil by their own wicked choices.Worst of all, Den was beginning to believe it. He closed his eyes and fell into a shallow, sweaty sleep.
***
"Yea, just like Ash back in the day," said Dreg. He was riding a horse ahead of the carriage, with Phemelius at his side. Ket-Blaskar glinted in the midday sun. "Can't help but pity the lad. Not sure he really feels the love of that Lord of Light there without Elven Heroes proppin' the whole thing up. I couldn't imagine the grief he's feelin'…"
"This is progress, Dregal."
"Sure, now he's past the peak. Or deepest valley, maybe, hrm… dash the arty-speak, he's—vishin'—he's got through the worst of it: the whole world crashin' down around 'im!"
"Yes. Now he can build something better. Something stronger."
"We can. Like they say: 'takes the many'."
***
Den floated back awake and looked out to the Road. The Gray stone Veamunae, and it seemed to him now as though the Road went ever on, flat and gray and meaningless. They'd been driving forever on this Mission, this pointless Mission they'd been on since the dawn of time, and which had only seen the world's decay: from beauty down to mud. He swiveled lifeless, reptilian eyes to the opposite seat, and there, curled up was Fia, dressed in pink and gold, bright whites and bold turquoise. Even these seemed dimmer now… and yet. Den remembered music; he had the distinct impression that her songs had pushed back the Gray before, had made things brighter. He prodded Fia's shoulder.
She thrust her head up groggily. "Wuh? Oh… Denbas, whaddayou want?"
"Um… I was wondering if maybe you had any songs for this part of the journey. I think, uh, I could really use a song right now."
"Nah," she said. "This ain't the time for songs. Go back to sleep." She laid her head back down.
"I can't…" he said. "Everything just feels… empty, now."
"Don't care."
"How can you—" Den snapped his mouth shut. Why not? Why should anyone care, in a world like this? There was no Good, there was no light at all, there was only… selfishness, and nastiness, and emptiness beneath. That was always the worst part: the Nothingness: there was nowhere to build anything, no foundation beneath his feet. Den's eyes went lifelessly wide.
Fia snapped a gloved finger in front of his face. "Denbas, buddy… you still in there?"
"Yeah, I…" He looked away, ashamed. I can't spread my gloom now. There IS good somewhere in this world, just… just not for me. Everyone else can see it. I'm the Gray one, it's me, I just…
"This is so boring," she snapped, and pinched fingers in front of her lips. "You're just the same as Jaskell was, except… at least he had a sense of humor about it. The answer's so easy! You knuckleheads are just too wrapped up in pity for yourselves to even consider it."
"The answer?" Den sat up and looked at her raptly.
She grabbed his wrist and tugged the old rope bracelet out, so that it snapped back against his skin. "Us, Den. People! This stupid 'misery' of you human guys, it all just GOES AWAY when you're around other people, and caring, and helping and building trust, and living. Instead of sitting around, moping and drinking alone!" She thumped back onto her seat and crossed her arms. Her eyelids began to droop.
Huh. Den held his bracelet. It had felt better, hadn't it? When he was involved in The Mission? Had something to do, and people to do it with? People. Something about what Phem had said, or Dreg, bubbled to the surface. Something to aspire to. But what, then? Humans and Elves were set against each other, and if Elves weren't flatly Good, why fight at all? "Which people?" he asked her.
Fia cracked one eye open. "As many as possible," she croaked, and then she was asleep again.
Den frowned, then looked out and around. Jaskell and Getta were on the front of the cart, nudging each other and laughing. Well aren't they having a good time, huh? Couple of thieves, coupl'a knobheads who like to make knobhead jokes and get into trouble! Den crossed his arms. But Phem liked them, no? And Fia? Dreg had called Jaskell a 'wonderful knobhead'… wonderful how?
Getta did have his moments—Den couldn't deny it. Even Jaskell… he had, well, at least one or two good qualities, Den struggled to admit to himself. He looked up at them again: Getta was making some ridiculous face. Den scoffed, stifled a laugh. He was struck then by a strong desire not to be seen; of shame, that he was watching others laugh, and not laughing along with them. He was a hateful thing: alone, pathetic, unworthy of such friendship. They hate me, he thought. They know what you are, Den. You're Gray. They all have each other, and that's more than enough to worry about, without you barging in to mess things up! He shied away.
But no, some tiny voice inside him said. They don't hate me. They can't even pretend not to care. Dreg would've given up everything to save him, and even after Den's greatest failure, the man had felt guilty for being angry at him. Phem seemed to go out of his way to speak with Den, to take him seriously: there was more desperate pity in his words than anger, for the most part. And Fia… one moment she had said she didn't care, and in the next…
Slowly, Den cracked open the front window of the carriage. He weathered the heat of Getta and Jaskell's blank stares, the halting of their laughter. And then, slowly, all three got to talking again, together. The laughter returned.