Autumn came suddenly as always.
The days were still falsely warm. While the oak
thicket, enveloping Greenkind’s house, turned aureate.
Once, long before, it was Flance’s wife’s clause to
live under the canopy of familiar treen. Since she was a lady from afar, she
was always afraid to forget the sights from which she arrived. Although Venerva
was a very young lass, almost a child, when she settled here, she had chosen
this nobody’s foliated oasis bestrewn with knolls and rills. Venerva named it
Invar-Inzaralan.
Thereafter, her fiancé, Flance Greenkind Ve Sandbank, steered
to build a three-tier timber house there. Thereby he became to be Flance
Greenkind Ve Invar-Inzaralan.
To “ve” was to live, but in a much more righteous and
relished way, over an own sway.
Being a noble, Flance Greenkind had four noble’s
prizes given by highborn fellows. His chambers were full of insignias,
trophies, holed helmets and old goblets, smited gorgets and father’s armors. All
these items were kept along with graceful figurines, svelte candelabras and
books.
All in all, Greenkind’s house was an abode where traces
of love were interlaced with paces of courage.
By the moment, as always, these hallways were
fulfilled with bountiful flavours of pine rum.
Sure, it was the best time before rains. All pithful pinecones
were picked, squeezed, finely hashed, and soaked. Drop by drop, rum had been
prepared. Thereon, dusky glass bottles were set among other Greenkind’s goods
in the main hall.
As every autumn before, these were the days of chaffers.
Canny merchants were coming for the best pine rum in the southernmost angle of
Rumelia, even though the house itself was a bit aloof away from the pinest
woods.
“Don’t you travel across the Snowdone?” it was a
suitable question by Flance.
“For what?”
“For northern cider,” Greenkind’s answer was cogent.
“Only one reason?”
“And you have one reason to wagon here,” quoth the
host.
“Pardon me, but I have two reasons, or even more,” the
merchant persisted with a smile.
He twigged something behind the host.
Flance grasped that ogle, and turned around to look.
Two stunning tall ladies were nearing the latticed porch. Livinia
and Ounce, lovely Flance’s daughters.
“I was bestowed with luck to glance at such a divinity,”
quoth the merchant.
He took off his hat to bow.
“Such a meed to meet you,” he was almost versing. “I
am Ruth Appleswan.”
Looking into Ounce’s eyes, merchant bowed again.
“You are welcome… Ruth… And I am Ounce… Ounce
Greenkind,” Flance’s daughter was faltered for her own shyness.
She was as beauteous as Livinia.
Though Ounce had softer features and forms, it was a
riddle for trained eyes.
In a nutshell, sisters looked alike.
Alas, Ounce was eighteen years old. And it was Greenkind’s
doorstep of the bride’s age. Hereby she had become to be a “wench-to-be-wife”.
The elder lass was before the face of the new life,
constellations of conversations, endless tryst and wooing boys.
Meanwhile, Appleswan had hinted to Flance, with delicate
cues. Perhaps, Ounce’s father didn’t persist.
“Let me unveil to you the riper batch of rum,” Flance
nudged the merchant to walk to the pith of the house.
By the way, Ruth was not a poor suitor. He had a
tremendous double deck wagon, twelve horses and a small innkeep at the northern
shores of the Mere Mearc.
Appleswan lineage was knightly merchant, he was twined
to the oldest blood of Ankhara. Thereto, Ruth was a seasoned wanderer, knowing
all mazy byways for the swift rides.
Also, being at his twenties, he was a very lucky trader.
Ruth was acute.
Pinecones, nuts, acorns. Grinkind’s house was the
storeheaven for him. There were too many baubles to be traded with all passion.
“You are loving the winds,” Appleswan said it
abruptly.
Peering at old Greenkind’s relics, merchant didn’t
look at Livinia. But she knew he was saying to her.
“Always loved…” Livinia’s piece of speech was groanful
enough to unveil her eagerness.
“Yes, yes, I know!” quoth Ruth, answering it
passionlessly, yet with all swiftness.
Appleswan unbunged a bottle of rum to unleash its
flavor. And the bottle looked like him, tall, dark and rangy.
“Some people name you Walkeress… some Lakewalker… some
other… The Walking Lady of the Lake…” quoth the merchant, and continued. “I see
you every summer when I come for wheat flour, and every spring… let alone
autumn...”
“Yes,” she did
not try to deny.
“Do you remember me? No? So… What about my garment?
Don’t you remember? Black tricorn and a chocolate jacket… Like now… Or
chocolate top hat and a black jacket…”
“I am sorry… I don’t remember all the people I have
seen.”
“Have you seen a sin? Or more?”
“Sin?”
“The roads are the rivers of sinfulness. There are
streams of malice… wrathful bigots… frenetic throngs… even stranger things…” it
was recounted with a shade of passion.
“Strangest thing I have seen was a gist…” Livinia was
bethinking something.
“Please, continue,” Appleswon stopped her as if he was
Li’s tutor.
“It was yearning… The gist…”
“What do you mean when you say “a gist”?”
“I felt and heard something that I couldn’t see. It
was a mind beyond… he or she… the strange feelings…” Li was trying to be
truthful.
“It was a ghost,” quoth the Merchant. “Some name it
“marrow”… I would call it a ghost.” His inmost ardor was awakened. “They are
devious, voracious, numerous.”
“Numerous?” Livinia asked him with own lust.
“Twoness, human and unhuman,” there was boasting, Ruth’s
claim of knowledge.
“So, whence do they come?”
“Ghosts are the offal of mortalfolk.” Appleswan added.
“Not because their being is a dirty thing, but because they were wretches
within their lives, and they retain dirty intents even beyond after.”
Then it was a pause.
“It is a pure ravishment,” Li answered with a smile.
“Your straying is a pure peril.”
He was huffed, but Livinia didn’t twig it.
Ruth felt as if she had hinted to him about being a
fabulist. Without a proof, without a harsh word or look, Li turned his words to
be a fib.
“You are living in a handsome house,” Appleswan
admonished. “Why is that you always walk?”
Livinia was pondering upon an answer.
“But I know,” Ruth continued. “Wandering is a remedy
against withering dreams.”
“Rightly said…” Li nodded.
“You can escape your house. But you can not escape your
dreams.” quoth the merchant.
“He is right,” Flance came all at once.
Li’s father petted Ruth’s shoulder as if the merchant
was his son and sun.
“My dear friend has seen many fears and… things are to
be fabled by him… through the coldness of long evenings…” Flance’s utterance
was vivacious as it was a remedy of life.
The merchant took off his tricorn to bow.
Appleswan stepped away to see Venerva’s masterpieces
made of acorns, embodied battles of the past, treacherous moments, tragedies
and romances. These scenes were to be traded once. Thereto, Ruth was wanting to
taste an opened bottle of rum.
“His wagon is called “Meander”. Some say he meanders ways
like the twines… He is cunning…” Li’s father was sniggering in a mild way.
“Thou hurry her to marry soon,” she glanced at Ruth
ravishing Ounce and Venerva.
“Thou is groking at thy sister,” Flance said it with a
smile.
“Her meed… Not mine…” she shrugged.
“Thou groke… eh-i-egh…” Flance giggled. “Thou is a
child, she is a ripe lady.” He added after a pause. “But thou must be prepared.
Since thy mother was much younger than thou is at the moment.”
“Fa, thou want me betrothed to a lad like him…” she
whispered. “Leastways, not the worst one…”
“He is the bestest suitor.” Flance answered in all
seriousness. “I forefeel…”
“I thought thou is the bestest,” Li giggled.
“Hence he is among the best,” her father smiled and
clarified. “You can be huffy, angry, you can lie, but you must never say “no”
to your dame.”
“Ounce is happy at once…” Li smiled, looking into the
fa’s eyes. “Shall be happy… Utter happiness…”
Then she giggled.
“Don’t groke!” quoth her father.
“I didn’t,” Li’s words were far from the falsehood.
“When thou is groking at someone, someone is groking
at thee. Just because thou is young, thriving, breathe freely.” Flance finished
with laughter, turning it to be a joke.
Her father turned to the hall and went to there,
strolled with whistle.
Fa was right, and so was the merchant.
Li was lucky to be born in such a beautiful house,
full of love and fraternity.
As Li loved, as always, Li was peering at her
mirroring done by the handsomely polished veils of oaken walls.
Her rough green jacket, made of wool, looked very dark
in that surface, almost black, like the naked winter treen.
Livinia was intaken by slow immense rivers of
thoughts.
Meanwhile, twilights had come, suddenly, abruptly.
It was the time to listen merchant’s tales and
father’s stories.
By the vesper, between other thoughts, Flance mildly
said again. “I have never said “no” to Venerva.”
It was truth.
Li’s fa revealed a recipe of felicity.
MAXiM VAZANOV, 2024
