Diaphanous round transparencies in the fields abound
Here and there some yellow overtures, though not sufficient to turn the season ‘round
I itch and ache and pray my mind will take the opportunity to partake in the joyous blossoming of the apple orchard, the blooming of the hawthorn wiles, apparently without malice yet throwing shades sublime, languishing and perishing so fast I wonder why this May be over soon, as sudden as it began. I blow and, descending like faeries in parachutes,
the seeds of a dandelion flower lay dispersed about,
displaced like sometimes words are displaced too.
Enough of that lilac wine, more than a balm is needed to appease the qualms I have with perfunctory explanations of chaotic sound – is Ariadne visiting tonight? For roots must ground, and threads must bound. Victorious I held delirious drunkards at bay
Tears flooding the space between their palace and mine: a gondola of gilded arses
crossing this world to infamy. Ground ginger root, binding displacement in a cup of tea.|

×

From: Prudence Carvalho <p-rudence@taraxacum.net>

To: Penelope Rose <pennyforyourthoughts@taraxacum.net>

Subject: ...

Dear Penelope,

It’s been five days since I have arrived in Mournhold. I confess it is difficult to say just how I have gotten here, but I am hoping you will be able to receive and reply to my letter. I find myself in need of your sapient and sobering words.

I shall start my tale the day before last. It had been a long day, walking to and fro, seemingly with no other purpose than the fulfilment of third party concerns and errands. Not that I mind being useful, it gives me a sense of purpose. As if my time here on this planet is not a complete waste of oxygen. However, this is frankly getting out of hand. How did Deshaan get by before my arrival? It is honestly starting to seem like everything and everyone is dependent upon my availability, and this is making me quite uncomfortable. On the other hand, what happens if I stop being interpellated by troubled strangers everytime I go for a stroll? What to do with myself then? How will I know that I still have a place?

The violet skies of twilight announced the habitual evening retreat, amber-coloured lights beckoning the weary travellers home. But home I have none – not in Mournhold, at least – and so, dragging my feet, I walked into the Flaming Nix for a restoring lager and a touch of sleep. Noisy little place, but the only joint around for a purse as empty as mine.

As I stepped in, the stench of dry sweat and stale intellect invaded my unprepared nostrils. There was something mouldy too. Probably traveller’s feet. A joyful drunkard danced to the song no one was singing in the firepit. The frenetic flailing of his limbs combined with the expression of pure oblivious happiness on his face made me chuckle. I was half-surprised at my own external reaction: internally all of me was rejection and cringe. I guess part of me envied him for his (perceived) self-abandon. That lasted about three seconds. Then, remembering how much of an headache he would wake up to in the next morning, I walked up to Keminik, the sturdy barkeep, and ordered a jasmine tea instead. I can’t help help but wonder whether I might have better wasted my time somewhere else.

- No Garreth, you cannot say that.
- But I can, and I will. Our Mother is acting erratically, less like herself with every passing day. I am betting word of the Maulborn menace has reached her.
- Maulborn menace?
- Word from Selkamora arrived that a new cult has installed itself there, promising a cure for a strange, quickly onsetting plague. The Llodos plague, they call it.

So focused had I become on what was being said by the elderly couple that I barely realised I was no longer drinking alone. Right next to me, an annoyingly gentle looking man raised his beer at my inquisitive look and smiled. The nerve. One of my pet peeves is individuals with no respect whatsoever for personal space. Ask first, please. I will probably end up assenting to your request anyway, my pathological fear of conflict makes me weary of disappointing even a pub stool. Then it hit me: I am a woman drinking alone at a bar. However, unable to assert my own boundaries when others had none, I quickly finished my tea and stood up, ready to take to my room for the night.

- Wait! - demanded the man – What is one such as you doing in a place such as this?
- It is not within my list of priorities to grant you such an answer – I retorted, attempting to mock his stilted speech.
- No need to be so quick to take offence. I just meant: these are difficult, tempestuous times and the Flaming Nix may not be the most adequate place to be after dark. At least, not unaccompanied. Luckily, I have nothing better to do and can offer you my services for as long as you require them.
- Lucky me...
- Well, suit yourself, see how far that attitude gets you.

As you can probably tell, my fear of conflict had completely dissipated at this stage. By now, I was quite ready to offer this individual a makeover with my bare fists, but I took a deep breath and walked upstairs to my room instead.

Careful enough to lock everything up, as soon as I lay down in bed, the not-so-idle talk of the elderly couple popped back up in my head. Although I was still unsure of who exactly they were or what they represented, I’d heard of the Maulborn. Contrary to what Garreth had pompously announced, very much like her fierce, controlled self would, the Lady Almalexia had of late been taking many precautions to address their comings and goings. Talk of the Llodos plague was however news to me. That the Maulborn had been offering a cure was surely intriguing. I decided to investigate.

The next day dawned in foggy shades of grey, and it didn’t take long before a light drizzle began to fall. As I stepped outside, the scent of wet vegetation revived me after a poorly slept night and, after listening for a while to the ever-singing Athanas Samori, I set on my way to Selkamora.

Red Diamond, red diamond,
the heart and soul of men,
red diamond, red diamond,
protect us til the end...

...I sang along as I walked the slippery cobble stone road. The sun, covering the luscious greenery like a golden mantle, contrasted with the clouds that, threatening and troubled, announced distant showers. This meteorological dissonance lent a surreal grace to the already picturesque landscape: rye fields waved mellifluosly against the purpling atmosphere, rocky formations wearing their mossy coats beckoned for insect life to devour their meek offerings as the morning dew pathetically divined the storm to come. Deshaan is nothing if not a sensory feast.

It suddenly hit me I had been walking non-stop for almost a whole day. I should be reaching Selkamora soon. Just as I thought it, a tall woman in her mid-thirties came running up to me in, her tone aggressive with despair, hope, and something else I couldn’t quite discern. Weariness?

- Oh finally, someone! Please, can you help? My brother has gone missing. He’s the ranking member of House Redoran in Serkamora, no less. As the town consult, he’s gone to check in on the folks affected by the plague a day ago and I haven’t seen him since. Where could he be?

Quite taken aback by her panic, with barely a moment to reflect on what I was agreeing to do, I promised to help. I followed her to Selkamora, which was still an half an hour on foot, and on our way there she told me her name was Aerona Berendas, her brother was Dethisam Berendas, a valiant man of sound advice and gentle manners, loved by many and feared by an equally impressive number. I was not immediately convinced of her manners, but I figured this was a good way as any to know more about the mysterious Llodos plague I had come here to investigate. From what she told me, the plague had arrived a week or so ago, spreading virulently and indiscriminately. The first confirmed symptoms were upset entrails, coughing and an unflattering greenish tint to the skin. Advanced symptoms included madness and aggression, but these were speculation only, added Aerona promptly.

- What about the Maulborn? What do they have to do with all of this? - I asked.
- Oh. They have been administering a cure. Not sure how well it is working though, and I am not totally sure I trust them. Here, we have arrived. You look absolutely exhausted, have you eaten anything? Let’s have supper at mine, you can stay the night and tomorrow we start with the enquiries. I might be impatient to find my beloved brother, but I still haven’t dispensed with my good sense and we’ll need all our energy and good spirits.

I assented. That sounded ominous enough, but all I could think about at the moment was stuffing my face with a hearty, fumigating onion soup, delighting in some corn bread, wrapping myself up in some warm sheets, burying my head in a soft pillow and disappearing into temporary oblivion.

And so we arrive to the present moment. Contrary to yesterday’s morn, the sun is out and about in all its golden garishness. As Aerona gets ready for today’s rounds, I sit and pen you these lines in hopes you can 1) assure me of your existence 2) see whether you can gather some more intelligence about the Maulborn, wherever it is you may be.

Yours truly,
Prudence

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