I opened my eyes to her and made my best attempt at pretending that we had not experienced any of the turmoil that had occurred in my life over the last day. Nidath looked shifty; uncomfortable. Of course she would, as she had just taken part in one of the most humiliating experiences of my life. But could she not hide it as I did?
She began to speak of the drink immediately, wasting little time on anything else. I had been thinking of simple things as I wailed when she arrived, and I could only recover three: spinach leaves, Galatt and the sinedratha upon the University Chapel. Would she not make some time for simple things before putting me to bed?
But, in truth, I did not want this. I was still thinking on how sleep was the single thing that I desired most. The events of the afternoon had only exaggerated this, as I now hoped that sleep could not only restore my strength, but also help erase memory of my shameful display. Sleep was the most effective agent I knew at easing the flow of time, and time was the most effective agent I knew at erasing the shame of an awful memory. I showed the fullest interest and curiosity I could, considering my state.
“It is called the Hakol-Pata,” she told me. “It will make you weary at first, and perhaps a bit disoriented, but then sleep will come with much more ease.” She produced a small glass bottle and poured into a cup just enough of the liquid to fill my mouth.
I had a thousand questions for her. Where did she learn about, where did she acquire the Hakol-Pata? Had she ever tried it on herself before? What did it contain? I knew the word pata—it was a shade of red—but I had never heard of Hakol. The liquid itself was a ruddy brown. I had never drank anything of the color. What would it do to me?
But I declined to pose any of my queries. I did not want to learn anything unsavory about this promiser of sleep. I wanted it to be as good as it sounded, so I avoided gaining too much information on it. So I took the glass into my hand and watched as the liquid swished around a bit. It was thicker than water, and when it ran down the inside of the glass, it left small traces along the side. I took a brief account of its scent and then I recoiled a bit. It had a sweet odor, but this was largely masked by a mysterious darkness. I had never smelled anything quite like it before, and although it smelled strong and strange—almost toxic—I sort of liked having just a small quantity of it in my nose.
“Go on,” Nidath urged me forward. “It is curious, I know, but it will help you. The taste is strong, so you must drink it all at once quickly, lest you lose heart in the middle.” So, without waiting any longer, I tilted my head backward and poured the lot of the drink down my throat.
The Hakol-Pata tasted nothing like I had ever had before. Its initial flavor, its vanguard, was sweet, but that gave way almost instantly to a bitter, burning taste. I felt that my throat was on fire, and I gasped for air. My stomach felt unnaturally warm, and I became concerned that the liquid would return back the way that it had come. This would have been welcomed, as the drink had tasted toxic and I wanted it out of my body, but that it was especially painful to swallow, and I had never known anything to be simpler coming back up than it had been going down.
“Water,” I called, and I began to cough. Nidath procured a cup of water from the bucket I had kept downstairs. I drank it quickly, and although it did not wholly relieve me, at least it calmed my stomach, throat and mouth enough that I was able to think and to speak. “What have you given me?” I cried. “Is it poison?” I glared at her much more sternly than I had ever before, as I could not understand why she would think to give me so unpleasant a concoction.
I briefly saw surprise as Nidath’s mouth fell agape, as she had apparently not expected such a harsh response from me. Then she rolled her eyes about and revealed a bit of sarcasm. “Yes, Federan. It is poison. I have spent the last three days in selfless care for you, in order that I might murder you in the most laborious way possible.”
I was in no mood for this sort of mockery, as her tone only agitated me further. “Do not speak to me in this way in my own home,” I declared. “What is this drink? What is Hakol?”
“It is nectar that has been made to ferment,” she explained. “It is an old and tested method used to calm the senses, and it is known to bring rest to those whom fatigue tortures.” She stood before me now, hands at her hips as though she were the one with cause to be annoyed.
“Used by whom? Tested by whom?” I demanded. “I have never seen my brothers take part in this liquid. I have never heard a voice mention its name or purpose.”
“It is used by the Qhalam,” she continued. “The Almorstines created it centuries ago, and their Qhalam offspring have brought it across to Hihaythea.”
Now I found myself angrier than I had been even when I first swallowed the drink. The Qhalam was a sect of ignorant, stupid Beautavs, which begged in the streets of Ilepya. I had more disdain for no one, as the Qhalam did nothing but steal the resources created by good Hihaytheans and preach heresy to the public. “Used by the Qhalam and created by the Almorstines? Shame! The Almorstines are the most primitive of all Saulites! The Qhalam are the most Kapbaji of all Beautavs! Why would I trust something that they rely on?”
I could see rage take hold of Nidath, and for a long time she said nothing, but glared at me. Then she spoke through her teeth in a whisper: “you are not Federan Poniubiress. You are a criminal, a vagrant, who has heard of Anzidrion’s death and Yakko’s departure and stolen into their empty home. Those are the names of heroes! How could you disparage them by behaving so shamefully and ignorantly while pretending to be their brother? Take their bed, take their money, take the charity owed to them. But do not ruin the name by saying stupid things as you do so.” She was clenching her fists now, and her face had been drained of its color.
I could not believe that this woman had had the nerve to say such things to me in my own home. She had come to me and given me the poison of savage fools, and now she berated me? “It is you who lies of who you are,” I shot back. “You have come here claiming to be the daughter of Etiar the grocer—a good, honest man of the reform. And yet you show none of his grace, instead offering me this sinful drink and preaching the word of useless dogs. Get out now! Leave this home, and know that you will never again be welcomed here.”
She was nearly shaking in her fury now, but everything around her seemed to be shaking, as well. As she whirled around to exit the room, I thought I saw two of her, but then I redoubled my efforts to focus my eyes, and I saw just one of her depart for good. I began to wonder about how she had the nerve to do and say the things she did. Had Etiar any idea that she peddled Qhalam potions?
Just at that moment, however, I felt a sloth creep into my body, and I realized that I was drifting through the air. No, I was not. I opened my eyes and the room, although spinning mildly, was stationery, and I remained there on the bed. I closed my eyes once again and that cold fatigue crept through my veins. Was this what death was like? I whispered a few words—although I do not remember willing them to be—before giving in to the sensation. “God, please let me live.” And then all input from the world around me disappeared, and I did not feel or know anything.
No comments:
Post a Comment