“Teach me your language,” I demanded, smacking both my hands on the filled desk of the scary Russian. After the whole fiasco at the place with chocolate, I decided to drop this whole charade. Charades, by the way, was probably the most accurate word describing my situation. With no one to understand my words, I had to act out my thoughts—though, I don’t think I did that at all; I just bumbled about while hoping for something—preferably a good thing—to happen.
The scary Russian’s desk that was full of organized stacks of paper ended up as an unsightly mess. A cold sweat trickled down my spine as papers landed gently on to the floor, the desk and both of our heads. As my breath grew a bit ragged, the scary Russian snatched a paper that landed on his head and carefully laid it on his desk. Then, with a not so comforting look in his eye, he said, “Well, do you even know what you’re going on about?”
Yes, of course! I think… Maybe… Who knows… I don’t… Never mind…
However, just as I was about to give in to his poisonous question, I remembered the chocolates. If I had understood what everyone was saying and vice versa, I may have been able to bring back some chocolates. Sadly, apart from the scary Russian, it didn’t seem like anyone understood a lick of English. With righteous indignation, I growled out, “‘Course I do.” Weirdly, my voice didn’t come out in a super scary tone but rather a super quiet one.
The scary Russian—no, I’ll call him the Scary Russian—eyed me like an eagle eyeing his prey. “Do you understand what you’re talking about?” he repeated his question, changing only a few words. Again, I started to think doubt my decision but the chocolates brought me back to the right path. “‘Course I do,” I reiterated, my voice still being as quiet as before. The room became deathly still and the Scary Russian started tapping his desk with his left index finger.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
With every tap, I grew even paler. Oh no! Is my salary going to be cut? Wait… Never mind, I don’t even get paid. The Scary Russian stopped his tapping and let out a sigh. “I’ll ask again.” He put his hands to his face and, with his eyes being covered, questioned me again with what seemed like an exasperated tone, “Do you even understand what you’re saying?” The Scary Russian put his hands back on the table and stared at me not very lovingly.
“‘Course I do.” My answer was the same throughout the whole exchange as I had no imagination. Though I berated myself for having less creativity than the Scary Russian, I thought that the three words that I kept on saying were enough. With another sigh, the Scary Russian supported his head with his left hand and protested, “No you don’t. I know this because I’ve placed the Branding on you. Now, don’t tell me that this Grand Magic is useless because I know it isn’t.”
Faced with the Scary Russian’s sudden outburst, I felt sorry for myself for having such a naggy boss that spouted nonsensical words. However, I couldn’t accept his effort in trying to put down my dreams of taking home chocolates. “Teach me your language,” demanded I. Wow, this conversation when in a whole circle, didn’t it?
The Scary Russian made the motion to grab his hair but he realized that he had none so he just laid his hands on his bald plate. He scowled at me and went through the motions of asking me the same question again. And, just like last time and the ones before, I replied with the same answer. This whole routine repeated over and over and over and over again until we were finally able to reach a conclusion. I was going to learn their gargly language.
*** *** ***
Entry Made on: Eleventh Day of the Third Week, 70th Year of the Ulr Calendar
It’s been about a week and a half since my first latest entry in this journal, and so far I haven’t made any progress at all! Ah! What am I going to say to my little brother now? I’d really wish he’d stop looking at me with those condemning eyes. It really hurts, bro.
So far, aside from the demon’s little trip to god knows where, he hadn’t done anything noteworthy at all! No virgin-eating, no portal summoning, no anything. Sometimes, I just want to go to the demon and beg for him to eat some babies or something. Yes, it’s barbaric and cruel but who cares? Well… I do but that’s beside the point. Mr Demon, oh Mr Demon, can you please actually do something? Otherwise, I might go crazy.
I haven’t really got anything to write about unless you discount my encounter with that really greedy vendor I encountered the other day, but that’s not really part of this whole demon business, isn’t it? Ah, what am I doing with my life? Should I write the demon’s characteristics like before? No, I don’t think I should; it’s not as if I know anything new about the demon. Well, since this technically is a journal, I might as well retell my encounter with that greedy vendor on paper.
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So, on the day before yesterday, I was out to buy some ingredients when I noticed this really out-of-the-place stall being manned by some old man wearing some dark red robes. As for why it was out of the place, it’s definitely because of the fact that the stall was in the middle of the road. Strangely though, no guards shooed the old man away nor were there anyone who complained. Intrigued, I went towards the stall and took a look at the stuff he was offering.
By some stroke of luck, he had everything I needed in his out of the place stall. To escape the extra mile that I had to walk to buy in the rowdy market, I decided to take my chance with this weird old man. “Hello,” I greeted him with an amicable smile. “Lovely day today, isn’t it?”
The geezer didn’t reply and he didn’t seem to want to have some small chat so I hurried on to business. “Alright, never you mind that.” I lifted my hands up in resignation. “Mr. Vendor, I’d like to have this, this, this and this.” I pointed out all the things I wanted in sync with my words. After saying what I wanted, I beamed a bright smile towards the old guy. The old man raised hands and opened it wide so that all five fingers were clearly shown.
“Five?” I hoped against all hope that this super cheap deal was going to go through. The old man scowled and shook his head. With a weakening smile, I croaked out another number. “Fifty?” I acted professionally and I was sure that I fooled him into thinking that fifty was expensive for all the stuff I wanted but, alas, the old geezer wanted more. He shook his head and my face cramped with no further pretence as I spat out, “Five hundred?”
At this he smiled and nodded. Without another word, I walked past the stall and made my way to the market. As I passed by, a hoarse voice sounded onto the air, “May the Reaping bless your soul.”
I honestly have no idea why he said that. I mean, like, seriously? Reaping? What’s that? Some sort of farmer’s harvesting period? Well, too bad, no one in my family are farmers. Well… that might explain why we lack the money we need. Crops do give a good bit of coin. Ah, blast it! Who cares? I better just stop writing for now lest I upset myself.
*** *** ***
“Cheers!” The satisfying clank of metal mugs full of alcohol bumping into each other brought a smile to my face. The flushed faces of well-built men—my comrades-in-arms—added to the pleasant air of the alcohol-reeking bar. Of my comrades, one of them patted me in the back, saying, “Good job, sergeant.” The one who patted me was a tanned, bald man with a tattoo under his eye. His name was Burke, the best platoon lieutenant I had ever seen. Smiling, he said, “And may fortune favour you in the North, Frederick.”
“Many thanks, Burke.” I returned the smile. “Though, I’m pretty sure that my pious service in protecting the His Holiness will protect me from misfortune.” I patted the left side of my chest in pride. His Holiness, the Pope, had moved from the Holy City of Heilig into the Barbaric North and I had received the honours of being the personal guard of the His Holiness.
Burke’s face had warmed and he muttered, “I’ll miss seeing you over in the barracks, sergeant. Once you’re gone, there won’t be any person handling those baby-faced recruits as good as you ever did.” Laughter echoed across the room and the rest of my comrades started talking about all the events that happened over the years, building up bittersweet nostalgia inside of my heart. I then started to doubt whether I really wanted to abandon my comrades to protect a man I’ve never seen. No, I want to go. I need to go. To uphold my responsibility as a believer of the Faith.
It took a good hour and a half for the celebration to break away and, after which, I headed towards the last place I wanted to visit under the light of the moon before leaving for good. In the middle of a pasture of grass, stood erect a wooden shack of adequate size. The shack was a one-floor building, with a small veranda sticking out from the front. Just like the usual for this certain household, the windows on the sides were covered by a curtain from the inside and I wasn’t able to see any signs of life inside.
I strolled towards the door of the shack and gave the wood a good knock. In response, the rustling of clothes could be heard from inside. The door opened and a smile broke out into my face. Similarly, the recipient of my smile grinned under this blessed moonlight. No, it is the moonlight that has been blessed for it has witnessed the smile of an angel. The golden-haired angel stepped out of the house and I opened my arms, readying myself for an embrace. Unfortunately, what came was not a hug but rather a resounding slap to my cheek. “M-Monique?” I was barely able to say this angel’s name when a torrent of words hit me.
“Don’t you ‘Monique’ me! What are you thinking getting yourself posted in the North!? Why there of all places!? Why can’t you just stay here!? Answer me, Frederick!” Despite her demand to get an answer out of me, she left me no time to respond. However, compared to her noisy rants, her last question almost broke me. “Most importantly, why can’t I go with you?”
This question left me silent. I knew why she couldn’t go but I couldn’t say it. I was scared. So, till the end, I stayed silent, forcing our hopeful relationship to a halt.
May the North be worth my sacrifices.