RAVEL. Chapter 4. NEPENTHE

“When it rains, it pours,” quoth everyone in Trianvil.

By the way, by the moment, rising slowly, wuthering clouds were covering the sun. And the day was too warm for snow.

“It’s raining – it’s pouring,” an old porter repeated the old saying.

That man peeked at the Gi, twigged Gi’s nature, and turned toward the Sweet street leading to the Palace of Lords through all grand markets.

The porter and Gi were hiding under the salient eaves of the Grand Jester’s High House. And that undercarnice place was ample enough for both persons. However, Gi didn’t want to stand together with a stranger.

So, Gi continued his path, dashing from wall to wall, treading the vestige of the yester snow. Gi was afraid of rains even though the rain hadn’t begun. Anyway, this fear was not reasonless. In a nutshell, Ravel’s flutters always came with rain. As if there was a holey roof above, every pouring brought illusions, strange dreams, luck of misfortune. Unseen twines of the Ravel were everywhere.  

And so, by the moment, the dark canopy was finished. Water of winter’s sky was unleashed.

Fortunately, Gi had finished his way. He liked to be swift.

By the bye, Gi was known to be an “altaborn”, a questionable foundling resembling leisure altas. And they were either forsaken as a pitiful brat, or gifted to Trianvilians as a secret rite. Howbeit, most of altaborns could be mistaken for human’s folks. And so was Gi, being as tall as any human. But lad’s face was strange and somewhat unhuman in the eyes of beholder. Hence, many people in Trianvil saw his nature from the first sight.

“What are you? Are you welcome?” wearing arterial red clothes, inn’s doorkeeper looked very bright.

Innkeep known as “Red Inside” was carved from the flesh of a tall giant statue of a stocky bearded man, bald and sad, sitting with the crossed legs between which a portal was holed. That naked figure had been chiseled fifteen centuries ago to be a palace of the past. Then, too many pages of fate were turned.

“I seek orders,” the altaborn answered after a long pause.

“Are you waited here? Be welcome… if you know a name…” the sturdy doorman was an impassable wall for unwanted visitors.

The only good thing was that the doorkeeper did not understand Gi’s outhuman nature.

“Bread Unred,” quoth the altaborn.

The doorkeeper answered with a welcoming gesture.  

Then, Gi stepped inside to enter entrails of the baldheaded inn. 

And everything was red for truth. Russet walls of the carved rock were mantled by heavy scarlet curtains, while elegant marron tables were surrounded by crimson sofas. Thereto, porters, wearing bloody red clothes, had blushy somber faces.

So, finding Unred was an easy order for Gi’s eyes, because Bread’s clothes were too indigo to suit this place.

“I greet you, sir,” Gi murmured and nodded.

“Good hours!” Bread’s way to greet showed Lilewlen nature.     

Unred was a child of Lilewal, belonging to the Pantsless, a tier of people revered for their bravery, trickery and devious deeds of forebears. Meanwhile, Pantsless were not knightly by blood nor by their nature. So, living without pants was a mark of a tier as well as it was a chance to tether so desperate people every winter.

By the way, that rule was nothing outside Lilewal, but the Pantsless always tried to keep the old custom wherever they lived. And the pants were not the only missing item of their garments.    

Also, Pantsless people had the privilege of having their own Pantsless king. Thereto, Unred was an emissary of that fancy throne.

“Why so silent?” asking, Bread nibbled a piece of cheese, delicate, pale pink.

Feasting, Unred was sitting beside a dozen women and men, Pantsless and pantsful, Trianvilians and Lilewalians, Beerlanders and foreigners. 

“I was told to find you…” Gi shook head to get the greasy dark hair out of his face.

“You have found… And so?”

“I can work for you,” altaborn tried to be bold.

“Our guts aren’t a workshop.”

“I am a mercenary,” quoth the altaborn.  

“We have heard about you…” these words were said by the light-haired wench with naked winterly red legs. 

“Methought, I…” Gi was trying to say, but his speech was parried by Bread.

“We have heard about the deranged one walking here and there, wanting to be a mercenary,” Unred uttered and gestured.

Gi’s figure had been mantled by the spacy coat, that is why it was not obvious if he was armed or not. Nevertheless, Bread’s people were too eager to stay aside.

The swoop.

They pushed him down.

Hereupon, the fallen altaborn dropped the dark figurine, an embodied horse. The hefty thing was blunt enough to be a weapon. So, Bread’s people kicked it way.     

“Son of a wretch! You are weaponless bastard! You lie!” Unred’s utterance showed his ire.  

Bread was nearing to the trampled Gi.  

“I know! I feel, you are unreal!” quoth Unred. 

“You err…” Gi said, looking at Unred’s pantsless lower half, pale, with reddish blurs.

“Perhaps, he is a brat of Ravel…” the lass whose pantsless legs were also upkissed by winter returned with a round bulb and uncapped it. “Drink nepenthe!”

A hale Bread’s butcher unclenched Gi’s mouth.

Hereafter, a luminous trickle poured.  

“What if you are a guest from someone’s nightdreams? Drink nepenthe!” Bread had turned very serious.    

An eerie moment came along with last nasty dribbles of a Ravel’s rain.

MAXIM VAZANOV, 2024