my voice rings down from a thousand years to coil around your body and give you strength; you who have wept in direct sunlight; who have hungered in invisible chains, tremble to the cadence of my legacy; an army of lovers shall not fail
There is a story in Oresziah of two boys imprisoned in a garden. The old fable contains the stereotype, that they weather all the seasons in the span of four days: hot as summer, cool and rainy with autumn, cold as winter, and crisp and windy as spring. One boy cannot resist the temptations of the garden, despite being warned against the fruits within; he eats of it, and is condemned. The boy who hungers and thirsts and suffers without relent is later spared.
I’ve always thought the tale rather strange; what is the moral of it? To suffer, and be rewarded for one’s suffering? That seems the most logical allusion to draw away with, the easiest; but my mind has always remained on the boy who first succumbs to the temptations of the garden, and ask, why are they there?
The question follows me now, to the Ieshan estate. I had come to visit Adonai, but when overcome by a fit of coughing, he dismissed himself. He invited me to tour the estate; specifically, he mentioned, I would enjoy the gardens.
Perhaps the commentary had been derived from my admiration of his lyre. It is true, the beauty of the gardens appeases me in a way I do not expect; there is a fountain tinkling in the background, and around me the desert flowers are budding. Everything seems voraciously green from the backdrop of desert soil and rock. I admire stalks of desert lilies, green that fades into dusky purple. Some have white blossoms already spread.
I hate myself for the boyish hope that begins to blossom, similarly, within me when I hear the telltale clacking of hooves upon the stone walkway. The foliage obscures my line of sight and so I call, presumptuously, “Adonai?”
Even as his name leaves my mouth, I know it cannot be him. I had recognized the fine spray of blood that left his lips, and the bleached expression of his face. He had been in pain—and what kind of man am I, to wish he there, while in pain?
I clear my throat quickly, coming around the corner. I amend, “Excuse me. I thought you were someone else.” The disinterest is evident in my tone; and my eyes are unabashed in analyzing the stallion. I do not recognize him. I have never seen him here before. But what colors my expression, and my tone, is not confusion or curiosity; I dislike him on the principle that I had asked, Adonai and received, instead, this.
"Speech." || @Mernatius
