The Portal

I 1.1 Palatials, 1133

Noa Rariff woke up at dawn, uncomfortable with palatials's singing. Usually, that constant murmur that came with the first beams of light did not bother him, but it would be different that day. It was the third day of the third month of the year and Noa knew what that meant in his lands: Bahija's first day, in the month of Bahija, also known as the Orange Tree Day. Damn Orange Day, he mumbled.

Irritated, Noa got up, pushed aside the heavy curtains and walked over to the long balcony that accompanied his room in Palatials. He rested his arms on the parapet and rubbed his eyes. The view of Palatials was stunning: the light reflected in the waves that made their dance slowly by the shore. The fine white sand was still covered by the mist, which became more dense where the forest started. In this direction, there would be the colorful gardens of Palacials, with its flowers of a thousand different shades, exotic plants and ancient trees.

Orange Tree Day was widely celebrated in Palatials, mainly because there was no seed to be cultivated in that land that did not bear fruit. Noa, who had been born in Adij Rariff, a cold and dry region, had never known such a fertile and beautiful land. Every year, he spent the end of spring and the beginning of summer there, but he had not yet gotten used to the southern atmosphere. The beauty of the landscape, the lightness of the people walking, the abundance at the table, the easy smiles ... All this enchanted him and he wanted to feel like that, to live as a palatial lived, lighter than air, but he knew that it was impossible. The contrast with his soul was profound, like a cut in the flesh, and he knew that his smiles would never be so free or his steps so light.

At the end of the beach, where he was barely able to see, he saw a small group, all dressed in white, walking on the shore and carrying something in their hands. The seedlings, he thought. On Bahija's day, it was a tradition to plant an orange tree in honor of Vashï Bahija, goddess of family and fertility and mother of everyone who walks on this land. As a good man, Noa would plant his seedling. But he would have to ignore the rest of the tradition, as he did for the past ten years. This was the day when all the children would choose a beautiful gift, white and immaculate, like Bahija's hair, and give it to the one who, from her flesh and pain, had placed him in the world. He no longer had a mother to give this gift to.

Turning his back on the landscape, he walked further down the balcony, feeling against his feed the cold white marble, carved with fine emerald-colored designs and decorated with small golden inscriptions. He stopped at the second door, just after the one that led to his room, and pulled the curtains aside. Yes, she was there, he confirmed. Curled up between the covers, a tall woman with long curly red hair was sleeping soundly. The night before, she had worn the rich red dress that was now tossed in an armchair.

She was a singer, Noa recalled. She had a beautiful voice, but he admitted to himself that he preferred it when she was silent. I cannot appreciate the talent of a beautiful woman, I feel like a grumpy old man, he judged.

Noa rubbed his forehead in an unconscious movement as he tried to remember her name. Maybe ... Maybe he hadn't even asked, he finally came to the conclusion. He remembered that he had slept there, beside her, but not for long. He was never able to relax when he had company, so in the middle of the night he had entered his personal quarters through the connecting door. But she would not be surprised at this gesture. No woman expected to sleep in his bed. The redhead made a languid movement with her arms and put a long leg over the blanket, changing her position. Immediately, Noa closed the curtain. She is better of sleeping, he decided, today I'm not in my best mood.

He returned to his quarters determined to end that day as soon as possible. He entered the bathroom, and let his body relax in a round palatial bathtub, all made of dark green granite with small hematites embedded in its margin. The water was cold, almost icy, as was his preference. As a typical northerner, it was impossible for Noa to get used to the heat of Palatials. Then he wrapped himself in a navy-blue towel, the color of the Rariffs, and put on light trousers, a cool blouse, and a waistcoat. On his right forefinger, on a silver ring, the huge Rariff sapphire shone. Noa looked at it for a few moments, thinking about his parents, the family he had lost and how that stone didn't match Palatials at all, with its light colors and its golden adornments like Amandeep's reflections.

In that region, everyone knew that the light that illuminated Adij Alim were the strands of hair of Vashï Amandeep, created by Vïc Alim, the one who knew everything. Noa wondered if Alim had also known that Amandeep's strands would rather illuminate Palatials than shine over his homeland, Adij Rariff. Perhaps because of this, Noa loved Palatials more than his own land. But, no matter how hard he tried, he did not feel at home there. Not anymore. One day, he rode on the fine sand of the beach laughing and played hide and seek behind the thick cylindrical pillars of the Palace, he collected fruits directly from the trees in the inner gardens and let Amandeep's light warm his body while he swayed in the large swing nets between the trees. But all of that had happened over ten years ago, and Noa knew he would never feel that way again. Now I feel like a depressed old man, he thought.

Determined to prevent Orange Tree Day from drowning him in self-pity, he left his quarters, went down a long staircase, went through a tall golden gate, with thousands of inscriptions delicately carved in relief, and, wishing the palatials guards good morning, walked among palm trees to the first outdoor garden. Right at the entrance, there was a pile of small orange seedlings. Choosing one at random, he went to the stables, mounted his horse and rode as far as he could along the shore, towards his homeland, Adij Rariff. When Amandeep's lights were at the top of his head, he stopped and, finding a suitable place at the beginning of the forest, planted the small seedling there, his tribute to Vashï Bahija, goddess of the family, and thanked her for, one day, having had a father, a mother, a brother, and a sister. Then, he returned by the shore, making only one stop to take a dip in the sea. When there was no way to postpone it, he went into the Palace to meet what was left of the Nolween Rariff and attend the family lunch, the most terrible part of the Orange Tree Day tradition.

~*~

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Ps: I am a brazilian author and a dear friend is translating this book for me. Please feel free to point out any mistakes. Hope you like it!