Chapter 2 - Radical Dream
— Damien —
Currently I am feasting on an unappetizing little thing called pine needle and mushroom mash, a kind of savorless summer delicacy around these parts, sitting on a hard and wooden makeshift chair on the terrace of a run-down tavern, located on the main street of my beloved hometown: Scorburg; an icy bastion for roguish scum, which should come as no surprise, since out here, crime really is the only dependable way to avoid ending up stiff and frozen in the gutter.
Personally, I learned that when I was about eight. After all, what is a wretched child to do when begging only brings insults, when work is sparse and brutally-taxing in more ways than one; the pay barely enough to survive upon in the first place.
Concession to death was not an option though, not when it was her wish for me to live, to triumph over my circumstances…She was a fighter you see, and for the sake of her dream that was something I also had to become.
My mother, she was a good woman; kind and caring, wholeheartedly a selfless person and fundamentally the spitting image of all that I consider virtuous. She died however, and back then I was merely a small cub of course; however, I fought tooth and nail for that most precious life; making nutritional use of every spider on the walls and having the occasional rat for dinner—so what? Yes, it was disgusting, and yes, I did also sometimes incidentally resort to a sneaky trespass in an old lady's attic to escape the glacial cold; which, as one might assume, did in fact place me in one or two dicey situations. But so what? Stealing from the poor and hungry, lowering myself to eat bugs and such, perpetually smelling of shit and piss; it's not like I'm proud of it: but I did survive didn't I?
Truth is that even back then this town was already a sack of ice-glaced turds; now it is a frozen hell, and worsening by the minute. Scattered around the muddy streets, cradled against poorly built houses in disrepair, you can infallibly find a body or two lying around, whether frozen or overdosed on dubious alcohol, murdered, or most commonly—starved. People generally don't live very long in this town. And therein lies a question: who the bloody hell would even want to?
The cuisine consists mostly of dried fish, terribly hard and tasteless sawdust-esque bread made from who knows what shifty ingredients, and of course, moonshine—there is plenty of moonshine, a bloody absence of it really…
The nearest vestige of civilization is a small village two hundred kilometres south, and from there it's a bitter hundred to the next. Sometimes in the winter, the weather gets so cold that your piss freezes before it reaches the snow…And in the summer? Well, for a few months, the ice and snow might start melting, and some years you can hardly find any of that cursed stuff for a week or two; though, this so-called warm period only lasts for a few months at best, and even then the homeless wretches often freeze in the bone-chilling night. So take it from me: you do not want to spend a night outside while visiting this lovely city; the absent pinky of my left hand is testament to this claim.
But even with all that said; the people are generally the worst part. Hard-faced automatons with hearts of ice, living for lust and booze; no ambition to get out of here, no goals, no compassion for their fellow man; and with no fighting spirit—they live in a hopeless limbo. Such are the accursed common folk of Scorburg—monomorphic sheep if you ask me; perpetually being drained by parasitic leeches. And on the subject of these particular bloodsuckers: there are of course the two main gangs who everyone bows down- and pays rent to; but also, the fat and lazy petty king secluded in his castle, surrounded by piles of riches drenched in the blood and sweat of the starving peasant; further fattened through a portion of the gangs' earnings in exchange for his evident protection—truly a man deserving of the cruelest death reaching the limits of an imaginations brutality…
Anyway, that's Scorburg. The truth is I could go on for hours about this Aeon-forsaken place, but my mind latches onto a small piece of my prior thoughts; and upon finishing my lukewarm bowl of soup, I feel a draw towards the north; my eyes glue themselves to a wall of dark-gray stone bricks, and a frankly insane idea makes its way to the surface…
Heaving myself up then from a dubious and obviously fragile wooden chair, I employ my worn brown boots for their intended purpose and begin shifting through the mud-filled street southward towards my aesthetically-dispiriting little hideout—or, 'the Hive' as we had affectionately named it a few years prior…
Thinking of which, despite the irritating creaking and monthly hole-patching, the Hive does have its benefits. Namely: it is located in a southern area of town that in the past was almost exclusively inhabited by the workers of a certain flathite mine; which had up until some twenty years prior been a great source of wealth for Scorburg; every summer, traders would flood from the south during the warmest period in mid-July, traveling in these peculiar wooden vessels called ships that could float on water and scale titanic waves.
Then, a solemn tragedy struck the already struggling and bleak town: flathite was discovered somewhere else; which meant of course that the once precious ore was no longer exclusive or rare enough to make the arduous journey north. Therefore, the miners lost their jobs, leaving most of them dead within months; subsequently marking the beginning of that hopeless descent that swiftly plummeted this town to ruin. So yeah, we don't have neighbours; though we still pay 'rent' of course, since angering either one of those remorseless gangs would be an unwise decision no matter the angle.
Regardless, the walk from Fault's Tavern to the Hive normally takes around fifteen minutes or so, and I'm in no rush. Therefore, I get to enjoy a pleasant excursion of sorts; a meditation if you will, or perhaps plainly a serene walk through this rotten town—and what could be better?
And though my prior thoughts might seem ironically-charged and disingenuous to boot; trust me: I am being serious! At least partly. Since, sometimes, it's nice to have time alone and clear your mind; which only really works due to the fact that Scorburgians generally don't go out for walks much, their life is a soulless repetition of working to drink and drinking to work; meaning that unless you decide to open one of the three taverns' doors: chances are that you won't see many people around. And today was no exception, other than the occasional prostitutes waving me for a visit from outside their gang-owned brothels, as well as a group of three sickly-looking men heading towards the center - most likely for drinks - the streets were empty. Meaning that I was able to enjoy the town in harmonious silence and an absence of distractions…
But yeah, I cannot lie, Scorburg really isn't much to look at. Narrow and muddy streets, surrounded by small and identical loghouses mostly: old peeled and faded paintjobs decorating, ancient, termite-feasted pine. Even the so-called wealthy houses all look like shit these days.
Also, the town has this eternal hint of corpse-smell lingering in the air, but other than that; there is little to no vegetation or industry, so generally the smell of this place is quite odorless; though that is only true for the outer regions, whereas towards the centre the more discerning folk might find themselves overwhelmed by the stinging stench of alcohol and human wastes that permeate the air there.
…Eventually, I reach the inexpertly reinforced outside-door of the hive, catching the surprisingly pleasant and nostalgic scent of pine needles boiling, along with a subtle mushroom-like smell that seems strangely unfamiliar.
Assuming it must be Hermie cooking dinner in the backyard, I decide to see how he's doing and retrace my steps.
Hearing my boots against the dirt, the tall boy turns to face me; and seeing that it's me his mouth immediately stretches comically-wide and assumes the form of a childlike grin; ¨Damy! You'll never guess what I found today!?¨ he excitedly declared.
¨A bag of gold, I hope.¨ I joke while feeling brightened by his sincere enthusiasm.
¨Yes! No! A clearing in the forest, filled with terchan mushrooms, a whole bunch of them!¨
¨I am not even going to pretend I have any clue what you are talking about…¨
Hermes leaned down to grab something from the ground next to his pot; then walked towards me with a worn brown pouch in his hands.
Curious, I met him halfway as he enthusiastically began showing me the insides: I saw medium sized and malformed mushrooms, a beautiful golden yellow colour; smelling bitter and earthy.
¨Man, I was certain these things didn't exist anymore…My mom once prepared a sauce with these tasty treats, along with salt and goat milk. We had potatoes and fresh salmon…¨ Hermes had an absent look on his face as he dreamed of the past. I flashed him a wide smile, and started heading inside; ¨I expect big things then…¨ I loudly said.
I suppose ten years ago the rich still had goats and potatoes, and salt wasn't exclusively reserved for preserving food…I never had anything like that. What does it all taste like?
Heading inside through the rusty-hinged door, I spotted Adel and Liline sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen table: Adel seemed desultory and deep in thought, Liline had her back turned and was pensively scribbling something into the once-empty book that I had stolen for her birthday back in December; neither of them seemed to register my creaking arrival.
I walked over to the table and pulled a chair next to Liline; who finally noticed me as she immediately straightened her posture and swiftly slammed her book shut.
Sitting there the three of us conversed for a while about nothing particularly curious and basically whatever came to mind; I decided to hide my plan for the time being and instead found myself waiting for Hermie to arrive—this was mostly since I thought it perhaps quite rude to start such an important discussion without him, even if in all honesty that particular Hiver was unlikely to add much weight into the conversation—he was still nonetheless family, and a family should all be treated equally I feel…
Regardless, some twenty minutes passed in pleasant though sparse conversation, and eventually I heard the door creak open as Hermie entered the room with the pot of aromatic sustenance in his hands and a wide smile on his face.
Adel of course made some snarky comment regarding the long wait, and how it was about time, but even he could not hide the curiosity that had taken over his features; whereas Liline was clearly also excited as she could be seen savouring the smell with her eyes closed.
Filling up my wooden bowl with this apparent ambrosia, I quickly threw a spoonful in my mouth, which consisted of a small piece of some meat that I assumed at first must have been fish, as well as the thick beige sauce that covered it…
Contact was made and the insides of my mouth were immediately stormed by the pleasant coalescent warmth and soft creaminess of the sauce; I wondered how he got a hold of that white gold as I sampled the saltiness of that savoury sauce—and simultaneously bit into the meat as a strange, rich and gamey taste greeted me. Truthfully as I was sitting there I could not help but close my eyes in absolute contentment as Hermie's wonderful creation delectated my whole being; a concurrent sigh escaped my lips acting as an explicit testimony of my doubtless evident and surely ineffable enjoyment.
Opening my eyes I could see Hermes smirking like an idiot as he gauged my reaction with childlike curiosity; I enthusiastically gave him a thumbs up and felt my mouth curling into a warm smile.
From across the table, I saw Adel looking flabbergasted as he chewed and swallowed quickly, then opened his mouth to speak with clear notes of inquisitive urgency; ¨what dubious manner of methods did you entertain to receive such a bounty…This is seal meat for Aeons' sake;—fresh, seal meat.¨
Hermes scratched above his temple with this clearly nervous-looking grin, and I could already tell that these so-called methods were almost certainly not of the financially responsible variety—a suspicion he soon confirmed.
¨We-ell…I won some money in cards, actually. But you know I've been telling you guys that my luck was about to chance.¨ Hermes defensively explained; leaving Adel looking annoyed and Liline palming her face.
Some people never change, I deduced with a strained sigh. And then upon glancing left, I noticed Liline eyeing me knowingly; and as we exchanged that subtle look of shared pity, I could not help but remind myself of the ridiculous amounts of money I've loaned this big dumbass over the years. In fact, that particular total poses as such a sizable one that I would honestly feel too bad about asking for it back now. Therefore, ultimately the whole thing will more than likely be entirely forgotten.
Adel on the other hand didn't seem to be constrained by such inhibitive notions, and seeing as he had also loaned money on occasion to our own profligate giant; he of course began pestering the boy over his rightful share of the suspected spoils.
I decided not to intervene and frankly saw no reason to. Instead, I tried to enjoy the rest of my great meal. Which, incidentally, brought forth an understanding…
The thing is that I never much cared for food, even when my hunger was driven to its utmost extremes, I never really gained any true gratification from the consumption of food—bar the bodily restoration of course, but that's sort of beside the point...This particular meal however I enjoyed chiefly taste-wise, and that had never happened before. And if the future holds more culinary delights of a corresponding nature; then I suppose I have one more thing to look forward to…Perhaps I find that important: since the truth is that hope can be scarce, whereas happiness can be hard to isolate as its fragments float in a sea of black bile; these moments of mental-respite I find reinvigorating, and these moments I find worth living for; even if life is largely a battle otherwise…
…But regardless of my melodramatic stream of thoughts; after everyone was finished with their bowls, and during a moment of fleeting silence; I took that opportunity to bring my prior machinations to the light…
¨I have a plan.¨