Chapter 12: Divergence

After knocking, I step through the pine doors. A butler waits for my presence, and he capitalizes on his persona of a rich noble's servant with surprising grace. His gut juts so far forward he leans back to balance his posture.  He twiddles his droopy mustache with cheap looking gloves so old their falling apart, but his shoes and suit emanate a pristine appearance. Somehow, the factors merge into a old, dashing steward.

 He takes off his glove while approaching me with hair both golden and gray. He offers his hand while saying, "Why hello my boy. Geralt spoke of you and your unfortunate circumstances. He has told me to check your play before he listens so that I may ascertain your worth."

I shake his hand smelling the cologne on his wrist. A servant paying for luxuries. Incredible. The butler exaggerates his expressions with a loud voice, "I am Hemly Gadir, and you are?"

"I'm Jack." 

"Hmmm, no last name aye? Poor fellow. No wonder my master pities you."

In our society, having no last name means your parents passed away. Many people burst in outrage when anything pertaining towards an insecurity or disability surfaces in a conversation. The method society formed for handling the situation became a set of gestures and sayings that inform the other party of their specific insecurities. This allowed the rapid exchange of information, but it came with consequences.

What started as a custom for helping the disadvantaged quickly became a crippling societal requirement. Now, regardless of your ability, you face judgment from the moment you discuss your name with someone along with your gestures. Even legal action can be taken if you lie about your titles during a greeting. I normally abstain from this practice as few townsfolk know or care for it. 

This rule changes in noble society. Geralt will abstain from assisting me if I neglect mentioning the information these societal gestures grant. At least no other gestures apply to me, and I can also leverage this point for more opportunity if I use it well.

Dispatching my unease, I say while placing my hand on my chest, "I have long since handled the ordeal. Think nothing of it."

Hemly responds, "Oh, I don't. Let us go to another room to hear your play. I want to end this quickly."

What a butler. Such civility and geniality.

We walk into a small concert hall after crossing several hallways lined with paintings and embroidery. As we pass, I stare awed at the luxury of the estate. I even see a large fireplace made of marble with a pink sword mounted on the wall. The house demands observation of the class and style displayed. I obey willingly.

We reach a small auditorium lined with at most twenty seats where Hemly sits down and I tune my harp.

Hemly snorts, "Why are you doing that? Just play."

I say with patience, "I'm sorry Hemly-"

"Sir Gadir."

I reproach with a cracking and apologetic tone, "Alright, Sir Gadir. I'm trying to tune this harp giving me the opportunity to fully take advantage of the location. I've never played within a room so grand, therefore I must make sure my harp and voice carry through this new environment."

He nods in understanding. The action signifies a very important aspect of Hemly. He knows nothing of music or harps. Neither faces a disadvantage from playing in an auditorium, and I utilized this deceptive tactic to gain an understanding of Hemly. Since he lacks an understanding for excellent music, I just have to wow him with raw impact. 

The perfect piece presents itself before me as I ponder what to play - Discourse and Enlightenment. It's a rendition I developed during my stay with the slaves. The work rumbles as an instrumental, and I find the contrasting nature of the song moving. I believe he will as well.

I tell Hemly, "This is one of my finest works. 'Discourse and Enlightenment.' I hope it suits your tastes."

I evoke the emotions of the passing weeks for the song. I relive the conversations with Kless in the morning. I re-experience the arm wrestle Morne won against me.  I remember times at the fountain were other performers livened their performance with me. These memories leave a happy, comforting aura floating around me.

So I start a chat between each of the harp's keys. They in turn feed on each others words until a chorus of chattering shrieks through the room. Each note complements the other's rapid succession imitating the sound of animated conversation. Each note debates their ideas and understanding. My fingers traverse and transpose maintaining the feverish pace with a maniacal strain. Sweat forms over my forehead as I focus on imparting their flawless logic.

Just as the altercation reaches the absolute pinnacle of zeal and ardor, The song achieves enlightenment. The arguers elate over their new found knowledge. They relish over the progress made. The joy dies down as I return back from my performance. As the notes slam against silence, I stare at Hemly who appears amazed.

After several seconds of sinking in quiet, he claps while saying, "What a show my boy! What a show! I've only seen such talent a handful of times throughout my life. You are no doubt a worthy musician. Please do  excuse my treatment of you earlier as I assumed a homeless orphan would fail miserably."

I rasp with the tidy amount of kindness I can manage to muster at his comment, "Of course, of course. No offense received. May I give Sir Giralt a performance now?" 

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He tilts his head as he says, "Oh yes. I shall see if he is ready to receive your company." 

I stand upon the small stage preparing myself for my next performance. I string a couple different keys while I wait.

After several minutes, Geralt walks in with Hemly. The butler postures himself differently. His gut controlled. His form pristine. He stands as the powerful servant of an even more powerful man.

Geralt says, "So apparently you can play. Well I want a happy tune to change my mood. Today has been far more drab than necessary."

I look toward the butler, "I shall show you my true ability Hemly."

Hemly raises an eyebrow in surprise, but he remains silent.

I summon memories dormant within the recesses of my mind. My mother teaches me music on her harp. My father shows me a wolf sleeping in the woods. I remember the day my mother gave me her harp. I manifest the very finest memories of my past. I reveal my vivacity. I paint a picture of why I live.

I string the notes a second time. The speakers no longer argue; they sing. Every word harmonizes. Instead of fighting each other for dominance, the cords give for one another without concern for their own well being. They sacrifice their essence for their faith. With the devotion of a mother for her child, the notes pray for a future. They do not give meaning through reason. Instead, they create purpose through devotion. Mountains shift. Oceans shiver. The world and all her creatures tremble before the tones's conviction.

And after their the apocalyptic rumbling, they succeed. Jubilation and rapture explodes forth. Ecstasy and exhilaration saturates the air. The stars offer their tears as illuminations. The universe equalizes as all becomes fair and just. Pain no longer pervades, and heaven becomes earth.

I cry tears of joy as I encompass the wholesome completeness of my life. I sincerely show myself before my audience. They see all my virtue. They feel all my bliss. 

After the climax, I slow the symphony. I end my tale with all that I am brandishing my notes.

Geralt sniffs his nose. Hemly hides his face with his hands while heaving sobs. During the performance I dropped on my knees. Deluge confesses three words at my performance.

"That was beautiful..."

I lay there calcified. I await there response.

Geralt speaks, "Where did you learn to play?"

I say with strength in my bones and compassion in my blood, "From my passionate mother, I discover benevolent affection.  From my unrelenting father, I unearth dauntless courage. I can only pray that...for one moment...I resemble their subliminal grandeur and their ephemeral elegance."

Another tear falls from geralt's eyes. He peers downward. After several moments he says, "I need time to think about what I will do from here. Please, what is your name?"

"I'm Jack."

"I will send a messenger for you within the next three days. Wait for my message till then."

I grin as I say, "Thank you Sir Geralt."

"Just Geralt if you wouldn't mind. I acknowledge you. I need time to think of what you've shown me...Thank you for giving me this experience. It was...wonderful."

He and Hemly slowly trudge through the room on shaky legs as a breath of air escapes my lungs. I believe I accomplished my goal.

Deluge says, "So you do know of consolidation...Of unity."

I say, "I don't understand."

"You have shown me more than words or time can. I have seen into your soul, yet I never experienced your pain. I now have..."

I shrug as I say, "My unity exists for mere moments Deluge."

"Yes, but it exists perfectly...As there are lies in humanity, their also lies truth...I need to think Jack."

I nod as I think, "Of course. I will wait and listen when you are ready to speak."

After I compose my self, I run back to the inn. I succeeded. I accomplished. I reach the inn celebrating my victory when I open the door. Silent stares berate me. Eyes infused with loathing stab into my very being. Needles of disgust pierce me. I look upon Kless and Morne finding distraught shells. They are guardians no more. No joy spawns from my entering. The world turns on itself.

I sprint up my stairs and slam the door. Kless and Morne should be waiting for me sharing in my victory. As I happily sprinted, Morne should have lifted me with a smile on his face while Klessilia squeals in delight. I should find the happiness taken from me by the Gaia forsaken thunder.

Instead, I endure scorn and abhorrence. I reach for Deluge, but I find no one. For the first time since Deluge called me a wretch so long ago, I am alone. I writhe and bend in abuse. After hours of squalor, I lay in comatose. I spent all this time. I spent all this energy and fire and fury and frenzy. It amounts to nothing.

I am forsaken. I am persecuted. I am alone once more.