The Wilting Ballad

19

It seems every snow that covers houses that were once home to some working family has stories to tell themselves. The North has always been a fell place in Gariel's opinion but, this was something he have not imagine occurring. He saw misshapen skeletons of humans and animals too stubborn to run away from the cold. Or whatever kind of new creatures the North has given birth to.

Roads paved to walk on were now nowhere visible or even walk on. He jumped from one snow blanketed tree to another until he reaches the place smelling with the familiar sweaty nervousness. His nervousness, to be exact, is caused by the heights of the place.

Tereciouth was the highest construction in all of Iruil, four thousand feet high, but with only a floor occupied. The place itself smelled of another same familiar Garmostas liquid. A liquid that can reduce the life of a mortal if consumed. For an immortal, a few hundred years still hasn't done the trick.

It's nice to know he still wants to die. Gariel would've knocked but decided to catch his immortal master off guard, although he can't remember a time he was ever, even for a second, off guard. He pushed open the wood plank door and was immediately greeted with a very strong scent of Garmostas. It went up to his nostrils, down to his throat, and to his lungs. He coughed violently as if spitting out swallowed water while drowning. His eyes water, as well as his nose and mouth in a very unpleasant way.

He sticks his head out the door, rasping for breath. Taking a deep cold breath of winter, as it was always wintering in the North, he felt his head adjusting to the air inside Tereciouth. He sticks his head back in, carefully closing the door ajar, welcoming the outside breeze in.

"Hello, Gariel." Said Semariv Serpari, seating on his bed on the corner, legs crossed, smiling broadly, sipping what Gariel can only assume was Garmostas from a tiny clay cup, which he also assume was his very own hand made. He's still wearing the same clothes as the day I left. Gariel thought amusingly. His white tied-back hair and beard had grown, but his clothes were still the same dirty grey suit ones as before with a white shawl thrown over his back. "To what do I owe?"

Gariel chuckles softly, "People usually add 'pleasure' at the end of that sentence, teacher?" He replied.

Semariv Serpari scoff, "Is this a pleasure, you tell me." He stretched his legs before he stand and went to stir a very old singe cauldron where some unfamiliar smell was being cooked. "Do not take me to be an idiot as you are, you fool. I know what happened to you. I know where you have disappeared all these years. I know of the tragedy that befalls your beloved wife. I know why you venture back North. I know what happened to that golden-haired grandson of yours." He sighed, looking worried, turning to face Gariel, who was shocked, beyond doubt. "And I also know... that... that I cannot help you. I cannot meddle with affairs of a higher power. It is an unforgivable act."

Gariel had about a hundred thousand questions spinning in his head, every single one of them competing to be the first running out his mouth. Along with hundred different emotions. But the main one he noticed was fear.

The fear he felt for Jlyn. Followed by shameful regret. But though there were several thousand ways he could retort, he chose to respond with only callous, pitiless, heartless glare. If he didn't know of the power possessed by Semariv Serpari, he would've gamble all the Ballad leaves in his custody to call strength torment his old master. "How?" He muttered.

"Butterbees. Northern butterflies are curious little creatures. Butterbees can fly anywhere in the world, at a speed faster than eagles. If only one takes a few hundred years to study the way they communicate... they always have mighty interesting tales to share and... they make for good company."

Gariel sneered scornfully, "You heard all that from an ugly flying insect?"

"Oh yes... certainly." He replied, sitting back down at the bottom of his bed.