The lantern light that usually illuminated the tavern so well seemed to cast an ominous glow to the room. The flickering shadows took on an eerie affect, and Mira couldn’t help but feel that room was colder than before. The tavern was crowded as ever, humming with the usual chatter. The only exception was the trio huddled on the stone bench in the corner, isolated in their own world, lantern light barely reaching them.
Mira’s hand throbbed as she cleaned the tabletop, making sure to avoid a large hole in the stone. It gaped back at her tauntingly, an unneeded reminder of when the group had come back, bearing the news. The counter glistened spotlessly, but Mira kept circling the counter with the pale maroon lichen, needing to keep her hands busy. The resounding chatter grated at her, making the few quiet hours of contemplation she had before a distant memory. She longed to send everyone out and take the time to mourn with Tan, Naran, and Timbe, but she wasn’t in the position to turn away business. Maybe she should just get it over with and go to House Estrell. She heard the Blooms in his employ were treated well, and she could make a real difference towards this crisis. She could escape the savagery of the Outer Ring. This was her home, she had fought to stay when other Tuned left in droves, but maybe it just wasn’t worth the trouble anymore. This was getting more and more frequent.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a patron. Mira ground her teeth as a man, dressed in a fancy dark brown duster, flailed his hand in the air, asking for drinks for himself and his two female companions. Man buys a nice coat inside Molanter and thinks he’s Outer Ring royalty. She cupped two mugs in one hand and a third in other, filling them all in the barrel less than generously. As she made her way over, she could hear the man’s companions “Ooh”s and “Ahh”s of feigned wonder as he regaled them with tales of his former life as a guardsman. She fought to keep her lips flat, a smirk threatening to break free. It’s amazing how he can’t tell they don’t care. Not my problem. She placed the drinks down silently and began to walk towards the next table. The man raised a hand to stop her and held out a shining silver slice to her. Not gasp worthy, but a nice tip on top of the drink’s cost. Maybe he’s not so bad after. She took it with thanks, jamming it into one of the many small pockets in her cloth pants. Then she took a breath and continued her rounds.
Eventually, she worked her way to the group’s corner. The atmosphere was a distinct from the rest of rowdy room. None of the men spoke, opting instead to lay there, shoulders slumped and eyes faint. Each looked as if they were looking for something to say to break the curtain of silence, but just couldn’t find the right words. She knew a few that might help though.
“Anyone want a drink?”
Silence responded, louder than any possible response. She sighed in understanding. This wasn’t something ale could fix. She motioned Naran to scoot over and making room, seating herself on the bench. She kept one eye on the rest of the tavern, wishing it would just start clearing out already. No such luck. She couldn’t fix this, so the least she could do was wallow with them.
So she sat amidst the silence, eyeing the table, wracking her brain for a way to lift their spirits. She was no stranger to stillness and silence, but this was wrong. Those things should be enjoyed on a warm day with sunlight crashing down, not a chilly tavern corner. Tan especially concerned her, and not just because he was her closest friend.
When the group first arrived, Naran had settled the group down in the corner and gone to Mira, asking permission to bury Gerald near the tavern. Mira had acquiesced, offering a hand after her initial outburst. Her particular affinity with soil helped them as they dug, the arid ground parting much more easily to her hands than it did from Naran’s shovel. As the worked, Naran told her how Tan had stopped the Rit, threatening to take Monk on himself. She had shaken her head in dismay. When word of this spread, people might take it upon themselves to punish him for supposed heresy. She knew he was no heretic. Rits were barbaric, a veiled tool for the strong to take what they want. That Tan was brave enough to step in should’ve been to his credit, but the rest wouldn’t see it like that.
She saw none of her friend’s usual bravado or kindness right now. It had been replaced with a limp demeanor and the persistent vacant look in dull brown eyes. Leaving would’ve been a lot easier if she didn’t think Tan needed people around recently more than ever. The loss of Gerald wouldn’t help that cause. The rest of the table had fared a little better, at least. Naran sat next to her, stroking his wiry red beard thoughtfully. Timbe looked agitated, anxiously tapping his fingernails against the stone to an unheard beat. She almost quirked a smile at that. Ever the musician, Timbe. He was pretty good back when they were kids, too. That’s how he had gotten the nickname Timbre, now shortened to Timbe.
Had things always been this bad? Was she just too young to notice it before? Mira found that hard to believe. The Outer Rings had always been a tough place to live, but before it was a tough place they all lived in together. She had to blame the food shortages, her people weren’t always like this. People used to stop things like this, instead of blindly following. They had been a community once. Now it just felt like they were all animal trapped in the same cage, not enough room or feed to keep them all satisfied. There had been laughter, singing, and dancing in her tavern before. Even now amongst all the noise, people remained confined to their own tables, talking and laughing with their friends and no one else.
She rose abruptly, an idea powering her steps. Naran and Timbe looked up, startled, curiosity breaking through the shell of mourning. Her leather sandals slapped smartly against the stone as she made her way behind the counter. She dug her fingers through the barrel where she left all the cleaned dishes and silverware. A meat knife pricked her finger and she pulled it out, swearing in surprise.
“Ancients damn it!” There had to be an easier way to find it. She slowly removed each item in the barrel, placing the silverware in the bowls and mugs. Her foot tapped impatiently as she sorted, increasing her search as much as she dared. Finally, she felt a smooth stone bowl, thinner and wider than the rest. There you are. She set the bowl, chipped on one side, on the countertop reverently.
“Be right back!” she shouted, as she began to clack away to her quarters. The perplexed stares of the dozen or so patrons bored into her, as there was a brief pause in the handful of conversations happening. She didn’t care at the moment. In fact, it was nice to hear nothing but her sandals against the stone rhythmically while it lasted. As soon as she closed the flap to her quarters, the conversations and mumbling resumed.
She rummaged around the leather sack at the end of the hide she slept on. Easing herself down, she shouted in relief as she found it-a rolled up recently dried flap of weedsprout, pale yellow as most were.
“There you are!” The noise outside paused again as her exclamation traveled. She ran back out to the counter, noticing that this time the conversations did not resume-all eyes rested on her. She scowled and set on her task. She pulled out a cord, made of torn and wound strands of uncured weedsprout, and set it on the smooth stone. Unraveling the flap she had retrieved, she pulled it taught and wrapped it over the thin bowl. Holding the bowl tight under her arm, she bit into the excess flap and began tearing it off. By the time she was done, there was only a fingers length of excess flap hanging over the bowl. She grabbed the cord and tied it around the bowl, so it pulled taut the flap taut. She beamed proudly at her creation and ran over to Tan’s table.
She was in such a rush that she didn’t even notice the pinprick of a dozen stares. She arrived at the table with a bead of sweat running down her oval face, panting a little from the rush. Slamming the bowl down in front of Timbe she basically shouted at the man, “Play something!”.
The man stopped his anxious drumming, and looked up, seeing her for the first time tonight. “Huh? What’re you on about?”
“C’mon Timbe! Play a song, tell a story, do something!”
The crowd liked this idea, especially the man Mira had served before and his entourage. The women looked towards the corner bench, intrigued for the first time tonight. Other patrons hunched forward, looking intently at Timbe now. The man seemed offended by all the gawking.
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“Buzz off, all of you. I’m no minstrel.”
“Play something Timbe! As a favor to me?”
“It won’t work.”
“Just do it!”
The man’s glower deepened, but he picked up the makeshift drum hesitantly. The crowd leaned in even more. He rested it on his lap gently, as one might a child. Using his first and second finger he swung down swiftly at the flap, barely tapping the surface before pulling his hand away just as quickly. A faint, dull sound came out and Timbe cocked his head. He brought his whole palm down the next time, slapping the flap hard. A slightly louder, but still muted, noise emerged and died just as quickly. Timbe shook his head and placed the bowl back on the table, looking at it like a disappointed father.
“That’s no drum, Mira. Can’t make one with stone, no matter how thin.” He sounded even more disappointed than she felt. What a stupid idea. Even if it worked, what was the point. Her flash of inspiration blinked out of existence. Shame and embarrassment took its place. Some songs and laughter wouldn’t fix what was wrong with the Outer Rings. It wouldn’t even make a dent in the lives of her patrons.
As she began to spiral down that dark series of thoughts, a clear whistle rang out. Sounding almost as if it came from a flute, Timbe formed a small “O” with his mouth, pulling in and exhaling air methodically. He was concentrating intently, seemingly oblivious to the room’s attention on him. Naran caught on, looking around the room. He stood and walked to the man from before, handing him two stone batons and whispered in his ear. The man looked confused and then terrified, shaking his head violently in protest. Naran pulled the man away from his table, arm slung amicabally around his shoulders. He continued whispering to the man, occasionally pointing at the two women left at the table. The stranger’s eyes gleamed in understanding and he was now nodding eagerly. Timbe’s melody rang clear throughout the entire time.
The stranger went back to his table, took a deep breath and began tapping the stone batons rhythmically, his face scrunched from the effort of trying to keep a steady beat. Naran went back to the table and whispered in Timbe’s ear this time, stunning red eyes glinting. Even Tan snapped out of his daze to see what was happening. His face turned ghoulish, clearly not in the mood for this.
Naran took a breath and bellowed, “For the friend I lost”, he pierced Tan with his gaze, “and the one I may yet lose. I invoke the tale of Eaph, the last Ancient.” The crowd stirred in fascination, murmuring between themselves. It had been a while since Mira had heard this one-the last time might’ve been when Tan’s mother had told them.
“Last of the gods! Eaph, bold and kind. Stood, against all odds. Looking to free us from our binds!”
Mira listened in awe. Her heart beat with the words fleeing from Naran’s lips. She felt foolish for being so quickly drawn by the first line of the tale, but looked around to see the rest of the crowd rapt-not a whisper said, not a drink taken. Some of the patrons had joined in the stranger’s beat, clapping their hands or stomping their feet with every other crash of the batons.
“His brothers had ascended! He alone remained. Trekked to the rotting marsh, where Decay lay contained!” Naran took a shaky breath, struggling to keep to Timbe and stranger’s rhythm. Keep going. Myra knew how the tale ended, but she needed to hear it, now more than ever.
“Eyes narrowed, he fought. With vigor and fury, our lives he bought and left to Heat in a hurry. Crossing o’er lands dry and hot, suffering through Heat’s domain. He marched for our future, as the one that remained.”
Naran seemed to be in a different sort of trance now. Eyes distant, not cold like before, but rather burning with passion. Tan looked at the man intently, finally awake, listening for the message underneath.
“He went to Her, knowing the respite we needed. Knowing the wrath he’d incur, Eaph knelt and pleaded. She gave a hiss, her face lined with a pout. Not a single beat missed, Eaph reached tore his heart out. Two boons were granted, for two gifts were given. He wandered the planet, so that we were forgiven.”
Mira felt silly as her heart pounded. It was a children’s tale, albeit a bloody one. She knew the ended and yet her heart still ached hearing Eaph’s struggles.
“His chest was aching when he reached the chill of Frost. He stood unbreaking, so that the future was not lost.”
Mira shuddered at the mention of Frost, almost as if his chilling presence was in the room beside her. Then she looked at Tan, and the rest of the guests, drawing into themselves to stave off the cold. Maybe he was. Even Naran looked a bit effected, just from the mention of Frost, but he carried on.
“Eaph begged and plead. Frost lay, secure in his bastion. Eaph knew our greatest need and gave Frost his own passion.”
Mira saw Tan gape, the words hitting him a second after everyone else. This performance was for everyone, but it seemed to be giving the man exactly what he needed.
“Eaph’s was broken. To the Forgotten he was sold. He had only one token, to offer Growth.”
Naran paused, playing the part of a master storyteller, leaving the audience on edge. Mira saw pleas for Naran to continue bubbling on the patron’s lips, but no one wanted to break the scene. She could see the events Naran described play out in her head. Eaph, worn from his fight with Decay, hole in chest, eyes cold, standing before Growth, only one thing left to offer. Naran pierced her thoughts.
“Eaph, our last champion. Offered his life to Growth, the last treasure he was carrying, his final oath.”
The room was dead silent, almost as mournful as Tan’s table had been. Some people were quietly wept, including women at the stranger’s table. No one noticed that the rhythm had faded; they were too engrossed in Naran’s tale.
“Gods and mankind wept. Eaph lay dead for our lives. His spirit spent, so we may thrive.”
The story ended there, abrupt. Eaph hadn’t ascended with the other Ancients. He remained and slowly sacrificed himself to stave off the old gods, finally giving his life to ensure humanity would prosper. The room erupted in the noise they had held at bay, all dozen of the compatriots rushing to the table to clap Naran on the shoulder or comment on his rendition.
“You do any minstrel work for Rowan.”
“What a telling! Haven’t heard it like that since Lyra!”
“Any other stories?”
Mira extricated herself from the table going back to the counter. Naran should enjoy his moment of fame, hopefully this would curry some favor for the ex-Inner Ring resident. As she left and situated herself, she kept her gaze on Tan. He showed signs of life, rising and commending Naran with the rest of them. More than that, his eyes were wide and glossy, shining with a vigor Mira barely remembered. He had taken more from the story than anyone else in the room, as he should.
Mira knew Tan, more than anyone save for her. He could rise above this, just like he had clawed his way past every other stone in his path. Even now he was magnetic, kind…and well he was Tan. He could overcome this and she would be here to help him do it. The room had slowly realized their thirst and rushed to the counter like a Hive of Chits, crying out for ale. Swallowed up in the rush of exuberance, Myra exclaimed, “Let’s finish these barrels! Drinks on the house tonight!”.
That was met with an even louder cheer as Mira frantically began setting out mugs. She ran out of mugs almost immediately and groaned internally at her impulsive decision. The patrons grew more and more drunk throughout the night, but the atmosphere remained considerably light. At one point, Timbe began singing a silly song about a man who tried to marry a Tree and the stranger whipped out his batons to bang on the stone floor in accompaniment. Mira winced briefly action, as her floor would definitely come out worse for wear, but it was worth it. The whole tavern was abuzz with conversation- a single conversation to be more specific. They laughed at strangers’ jokes and danced merrily, even though Timbe’s song had long ended. Even Tan dropped his glower and joined in. Mira would only have the few barrels in back left after this, but she smiled proudly anyway.
Naran came and gestured towards the center of the tavern, where the emboldened guests were flailing wildly. Mira set aside the mug and took the proffered hand. She joined the guests as another cheer erupted, along with a joke about how Naran had managed to crack the hardest stone, to which she gave a glare. Time flew by lazily as Mira found herself lost in the dancing and laughter, spinning wildly one moment and snorting uncontrollably the next. As the night wound down, and some guests filed out, Tan found himself in the center of much less sinister ring, retelling the tale at how Mira had almost killed him for breaking an entire shipment of mugs. The man throttled himself and fell to the floor, playing dead. Mira rolled her eyes at his exaggeration. She had barely strangled him.
She tried to tell her side of the story, but it was drowned out by the cackles of the crowd. Mira threw up her hands, relenting. Guess Tan was the victor in this war. The moment slowed for her, a brief smooth area in a chipped rock. The scene before her was the Outer Ring she had set her roots in. It was why she had initially refused to go to the Middle Ring, and why she would refuse again.
Mira breathed in deeply, hoping to extend this moment of clarity. The air was oddly moist, wet from the crowd’s panting laughter; she didn’t mind. This was right. The fact that she could create moments like this, amongst the hardest times the Outer Rings had faced, was enough for her. She saw a community-her community- come together for a brief moment. She would hold on to that hope, plant it, and watch blossom into something that bore fruit for all. That was her role as a Bloom. She would stay, she couldn’t abandon these people. After all this was the Outer Rings-her home.