[Mkguild] To Scorn the Flight of Doves 6/7

[Radioactive Toast]

    The increasingly poisonous atmosphere began to wear on the other guests.  “Erm, Zynaid,” Ioel began to say, “I think what she's meaning to say is-”

    “I have a fair idea what she means to say,” Zynaid suddenly interjected, growing tired of this charade and playing word games with Sadif.  He would prefer to be working with a cutthroat loan-shark out for his blood than deal with her.  “If I just stayed and had never left perfect sunshine would rain down and the land would gush out milk and honey for everyone.”

    Ruth shifted uncomfortably.  “Zyn, that's a bit harsh...”

    “It's alright, it's alright,” Sadif held out her hands in a calming gesture, “He has a lot on his chest.  Let him say what he will, we can work through it.”

    Zynaid openly rolled his eyes.  “As long it ends with me accepting your position,” he muttered.

    Once again Sadif's face twisted in ire.  “It's not about whether it's my position or not.  It's about what's best for you.”

    He couldn't help it; Zynaid burst out laughing.  “That's rich.  That's just [i]rich[/i],” he hollered.  “Of course you [i]always[/i] know what's best for me.  You clearly always have.”

    “How is doing what I've requested of you not the best thing for you?” Sadif suddenly snapped, her civil veneer wearing thin.  “Everything I tried to teach you was so that you could have a good life here in the village.”

    “Maybe that's what I didn't want.”

    Silence.  Parnsus darted his eyes about between the two verbal combatants and seemed to sink into his chair like he was trying to disappear under the table.  Ruth was the first to speak.  “Zyn, I won't say who was to blame for the breakdown between you and...” he voice trailed off, unwilling to point the finger at Sadif or anyone else at the moment, “But I never understood why things were so bitter.  What made you keep escalating things?”  

    Zynaid smirked at her euphemistic manner of describing his last several years living in the village.  “Why do you think?” he asked.  “No, really.  I wanna hear it.  Say what you've been thinking, I want to hear for myself what everyone was whispering”

    For another several long moments no one spoke, each of pondering how best to phrase themselves.  Finally Ioel spoke.  “Maybe we all judged too harshly, Zyn.  I won't deny we could have handled things better.”  

    Of course he would try and equivocate.  Zynaid shook his hands to cut him off.  “I figured.  You have no idea why I left, do you?”

    “No,” Sadif declared frustrated.  “All we ever did was try to provide you with the best home we could.”

    Ruth chimed in.  “We reached out to you, Zyn, even in your darkest times, even when you were struggling as a child who lost both his parents, we weren't going to let you fall without catching you.”

    “Yeah,” Ioel said, nodding his head.  “Gemesaret is here for all its people.  We just want you to have a place where you can be comfortable.”

    “We want you to belong,” Sadif said.

    Zynaid snapped.  “There.  Right there,” he pointed an accusatory finger at his grandmother.  “YOU want me to BELONG.  You want me to 'fit in,' be a good little villager and sing all the songs as enthusiastically as everyone else and pat everyone on the back when something goes wrong.”

    “And what's wrong with that?” his grandmother challenged.

    “Nothing,” Zynaid responded with acid, “except that happens to be the ONLY thing this village can do.”

    “But...” Ioel said, struggling to wrap his mind around what his old friend was saying, “I don't understand what you're saying.  I've heard strangers say that Gemesaret is the most welcoming and loving place they've ever encountered.  We open our arms to everyone, especially our own.  We've all grown up with that and we try and live it as best we can.  Are you saying that we still somehow failed in that, Zyn?  I'm not angry if you say so, I just want to know.”

    Again, the point completely and utterly went over their heads.  “You know what, you're right.  Gemesaret is the most loving, caring place I've ever met.  But that's all it is.  Pats on the back, encouraging words, promises that things will get better.”

    “Aren't those things enough?” Sadif challenged.

    Zynaid locked his eyes with her before giving his pronouncement.  “No.  Not it isn't.  It's like trying to kiss a little booboo away.  Well guess what?” he pushed the chair out behind him and stood up.  “You can pretend you're in the land of rainbows and fluffy clouds all you want, that doesn't [i]fix things[/i].  You run around ignoring real pain, real suffering and think you can just push it away with happy thoughts.  

    He visibly shook with anger and found himself on the verge of screaming.  “THAT is why I left, THAT is why things boiled over until I had to leave.  It's probably better that it happened that way; if I had just straight up run away instead of being kicked out you would have just gone out and searched for me and dragged me back home kicking and screaming.  So no, your love and your welcoming and your embrace is all well and good but it just [i]isn't enough[/i].  Sometimes you can't wish away the pain, you can't just pretend it isn't there!  I don't belong here, I never [i]wanted[/i] to belong.  Not when belonging is just another kind of alcohol so that you can try and drown out your sorrows all the while fixing absolutely nothing!  And heaven forbid if someone grows up here and isn't convinced by all this and yet they still have it shoved down their throats!”

    His face practically pulled back into a snarl before adding with pure acid, “If this precious village were so upstanding it wouldn't have tried to bury things under the rug and wouldn't have tried to falsely put blame on an innocent girl.”

    With that, Sadif did something Zynaid had never witnessed before.  She sat there opposite from him at a loss for words.  Ioel and Ruth looked like they had just been struck by a lightning bolt, all the while Parnsus looked like he wanted to crawl into some hole and die.

    Without further ado, Zynaid picked up his nearly empty bowl and cup and banged them down on the counter by the stove.  “I'm going to retire to my old room, assuming you kept in there.  I'll see you tomorrow morning,” he declared as he stormed off, too angry to stay in the same room with them any further.  


*    *    *

    The room was poorly lit and small, though that made little difference when one was only sleeping.  Most of the children growing up in Gemesaret never even had the opportunity to sleep in their own rooms, and if he had had any surviving siblings Zynaid was sure he would have shared this little glorified closet with them.  As it was, growing up he was alone with his grandparents, and thus the small little space was one of the few things he was able to call his own during his childhood.  

    The grown, worn and bearded man lay on his back on his old stiff bed.  He was actually somewhat surprised to see it virtually unchanged from the day he left; apparently his grandparents had used it as some sort of guest room (for whatever few guests they ever had) and for some storage; he could see old imprints and marks on the floor and walls he didn't remember from his childhood.

    Part of him considered the fact that he was allowed to stay at all after his outburst to be some surprise; he half expected Sadif to give him the boot and throw him out.  He had laid back on the bed waiting, just steaming and fuming to himself, awaiting his grandmother's declaration that he wasn't welcome to spend the night.  But such a moment never came.  He heard concerned voices, some conversation from the other side of the wall before he heard scuffling of chairs and a general clean up from dinner.  It seemed like everyone was leaving, but still, no one came to inform him of anything or even so much as knock.  

    Some time later he heard a soft commotion outside, and the snorting of horses.  His best guess was that Parnsus had gone to retrieve the pair they had rode in on from the village square and brought them here for the night.  If so then it seemed they were spending the night after all.  Aside from that there was little in the way of noise or commotion, nothing that would attract attention as it became fully dark out and the village went to bed.

    Zynaid was able to catch a few hours of sleep, or at least he assumed it was a few hours, before he found himself waking during the night.  He considered going into the kitchen, fetching something to snack on if there was anything in the cupboard, but thought better of it.  Better to not risk coming into contact with Sadif until the morning when things had cooled off more.  

    In any case, he did hear the soft murmuring of voices, presumably from the kitchen.  It didn't surprise him; most people woke during the night at some point, and if Parnsus and Sadif were up at the same time it was only natural they'd engage in conversation.  Zynaid had in his time heard of a few proposals from some eccentric mages or even a crazed Rebuilder of how wasteful it was for people to fall asleep, wake up and then fall back to bed an hour or two later, and how much better and more efficient it would be if everyone was able to just condense all their sleep into one block and be able to spend an optimized amount of time during the day for other activities.  Indeed some of them advocated reworking society around this principle.  Zynaid personally found the notion laughable.  Trying to force everyone to sleep in one mashed eight hour block for the sake of “productivity?”  He appreciated getting things done as much as the next man but that was just a step into absurdity.

    As the moments wore on, he could hear them continue to speak.  Tilting his head to the side, Zynaid pondered.  He searched the wall, looking at the corner.  Slowly and silently he slid off the bed, pressing his ear against the wall in that spot, listening.  Sure enough, it seemed that his grandparents had never properly fixed this room up.  His old eavesdropping spot was still intact.

    “It's... been interesting,” Parnsus’ voice drifted through the wall.  “Ever since that island, we've basically traveled together.”  Part of Zynaid scowled, thinking it a tad unwise to be leaking out that information.  A resourceful and clever investigator could do digging through ship records and find that there was no Simon Leon registered on that ship, but that there was a Parnsus Scolastin listed.  Though it probably didn't matter terribly much; despite their differences he doubted Sadif would speak about the matter to anyone else in any detail.

    “He changed, changed in so many ways,” came his grandmother's voice.  Was it just him or did she sound... wistful?  No, not just that, something else, something he couldn't put his finger on.

    “Well, even from the first day I met him, he changed.  Mostly during the time we were marooned there; by the time we finally escaped he was... different.  A lot more focused, a lot less angry about everything.”

    “Mmm...” Sadif intoned.  She almost sounded pleased.  “I guess that is something good.  He was always so angry growing up here, so ready to lash out.”

    Even through the wall Zynaid could hear the sound of Parnsus shuffling uncomfortably.  “Yeah, he mentioned once that his parents were dead, that he was raised by his grandparents, but after that first time he never spoke of his past.  I barely got the fact that he was from around the Galean Sea out of him.”

    Sadif chuckled.  “Really now?  He's certainly grown up in that regard then.  When he was a little boy he would tell you everything, and I do mean [i]everything[/i],” she said with more chuckles.  “Anything to what he thought of you to when he could hear me and Ranshod making love in our room during the night; Zyn would tell you everything that he saw going on.  At least, when he was little...”

    Zynaid smirked at her recollection of his childhood personality, though he did suppose it was true.  He had been rather a blabbermouth as a child; it was only when he kept running into brick walls and creating more problems that he finally learned the hard way that silence was often the best option.  It was a learned behavior that Lorian had intensified a hundred fold.

    Moments dragged by in silence before Parnsus spoke again.  “How bad was it, really?  I've never spoken to him about it directly, but he always struck me as someone who had... a lot of pain.  Not just in the physical ways either...”

    “You could say that,” Sadif responded, pausing to collect her thoughts.  “It was never easy.  His father... he died before he was born,” she said a little curtly, but just as Zynaid was starting to   she was ending the conversation with that she continued.  “His mother... If she had she survived his childbirth, he would have turned out differently.

    “She was looking forward to him so much, especially after her first two miscarriages.  She chose his name, even before he was born.  I have to admit I don't know where she got it from, but once she chose it and then she... passed on, it didn't feel right to give him any other name but that.  We were so afraid he was going to die that first night.  He was so weak, so sickly... for two months we were almost certain that each night was going to be his last.  It left him scars, and he had pain from his maladies all through his childhood and I suspect even to now.  So much pain just in waking up in the morning.”

    Zynaid found himself enraptured by her confessions, honestly eager to hear more of things he never in a thousand years expected to hear her say.  Even though if it was starting to bring up unpleasant memories.

    “It seemed like every year he would come down with some affliction that we were sure would take him, but he kept pushing back.  He refused to give up, refused to stay in bed even unless he was physically unable to do leave.  He'd get up and march forward, tried to live his day as he always did, even when it caused him to double over in pain.”

    “I...” Parnsus said, apparently unsure of how to respond.  “I knew he had it bad, but he never let on it was like that...”

    Sadif continued.  “That doesn't surprise me.  Even when he was talkative about everything else, he wouldn't talk about how much it hurt.  I was convinced at times it was embarrassment, shame, pride... I could never tell which.  It was always a mystery.  I wonder if even he could tell you why.

    Another moment of silence.  “Did he really punch the village elder's daughter?” Parnsus asked.

    “Told you about that one, did he?” she snorted softly.

    “Well... when I asked why he left he said the short version was that he had done that”

    Sadif laughed again, before sighing.  “That would definitely be the short version then.  That was more the straw that broke the camel's back than anything.”

    Her words drew Zynaid in; how much was she actually going to admit?

    “Like I said, he was always so angry; he didn't make friends easy.  The only real, genuine friend he ever had was Giant.”

    “Er...”

    “His dog,” Sadif quickly filled in.  “He was a rather... large one; he could easily rest his head on a table while standing up.”  The way she spoke Zynaid could almost imagine her smiling.  “Zyn and Giant were inseparable; they'd even sleep in the same small bed.  When he died, Zynaid insisted on burying him up at the cemetery.  He was forbidden from doing so, but that didn't stop him from making his own grave for him nearby,” she trailed off.

    “Aside from that, Ioel was the only one who stuck by him consistently, and Ruth did sometimes too in the later years.  He was always getting into fights, always taking those fights personally too.  He took his grudges seriously.”

    Zynaid stifled his instinct to laugh; what a mystery where [i]that[/i] particular trait came from.  

    “It built from there.  Even as sickly as he was he'd still start fights with the other children, sometimes even with some of the adults.  We'd punish him, but nothing we did could make a difference.  He just wouldn't behave.  Just wouldn't play nice.   The only person he'd listen to it seemed was the priest.”

    Considering that the priest was the only one willing to answer his questions about whatever his grandparents and the other villagers kept from, Zynaid found it hard to believe that she still couldn't understand why he kept going to the chapel.  He'd even taught himself to read there, and the priest (there were a number in and out of the local chapter during those years) would always keep himself open to him.  

    “I'm kind of surprised he didn't look for a future in the Ecclesia,” Parnsus said.  

    It wasn't hard to imagine the glare that statement must have earned.  “It wasn't what he needed.  He was always too angry to be a priest, too energetic to be monk,” she said curtly.  Zynaid balled his fists again; she was ever the control freak.  Maybe he could have donned the cloth, maybe it would have been good for him.  But no, she never would have allowed that.  In fact when he ran away one of the thoughts most prominent in his mind was to go ahead and join.  It hadn't turned out that way in the end... but still.  She never should have tried to decide that for him.

    “Some tried to reach out to him,” she continued, “we tried to engage him with the others, find him a nice girl from the village or even beyond that would suit him, but he refused and made a scene every time we tried.  Ruth herself developed a bit of a crush on him, but he was never willing to give anything back.”  She chuckled again.  “I wondered even if he had tastes that didn't lean toward women at all, but even there he showed no interest in anyone.  Any time we brought up the subject of marriage, family or love he would just explode into a rage and storm out.”

    “Who, uh...” Parnsus stutteringly asked, “he said something about an girl earlier, right before he stormed out tonight.”
 		 	   		  
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://lists.integral.org/archives/mkguild/attachments/20140917/eff5c6ea/attachment-0001.html>