The Halfling

Chapter 9

On the table were flagons and napkins and cloths and foods. A thousand sets of dishes dressed delicately. Raging brown crisps; foods dressed in inexorable liveliness; sweets and treats whipped in caramel and sugar; gilded violets; whirling greens—it was heavenly.

But the boy's face was set, firm, grave. The old man had told him where to meet him if he wished to return to the world, to his friends, to his destiny. Bonds forged by hardships are not so easily broken even though they haven't lasted very long.

The Fairy noticed but said nothing of it.

When all was done and their bellies filled and their tongue soaked, the two took a walk in the evening, the moon a cut of white silk. They passed small streams, puddles, rock formations, walked dales, climbed peaks—they did not cease, their hearts rang too loudly for that.

"It's sad that you won't stay," Merena started.

"I haven't made my choice," he said, nudging her elbow.

She turned.

The light danced on her forehead as if she was a sculpture dressed in the most magnificent gold. Her eyes shimmered with tears.

That someone so beautiful he could adore; that someone as striking as this star in front of him adored him back—it all felt like a dream. Even the place he was in, it was a dream. A most wonderful dream. And yet a dream just the same.

"I haven't made my choice," he repeated. "I want to stay beside you. I want to be with you. And yet..."

"And yet what?" Merena asked.

"And yet there are some things that we can't have even though they would be the greatest boon to us."

"And I am one of those to you?"

His face fell. Grim lines etched across it. "I don't know. I haven't made my decision yet."

"You should," Merena said, turning. "The ways of this island are enchanting. You might be forced to stay though you have no wish to. I wouldn't want that. Just...think about it."

And he did think about it. Near the craggy lands of the temple, they hiked. And when the boy beat his feet on the granite rocks, trudging his way up the slopes, he heard nothing but the oppression of his thoughts.

They argued and argued, they talked and talked. One bid him leave his fate and duty in order to remain with Merena. Others asked him to recall those moments he spent with his friends, how he was meant to live in the world, no matter how broken it seemed, rather than escape into an island of perfection. He was not meant to love a Fairy.

They reached the summit. He still had not cleared his doubts.

They both watched the sun rise from the East, turning in its orbit around the world. It glimmered not unlike jewels that, hewed and polished, fraughted the palaces of kings and nobles. The air no more smelled of the plump bluff of pleasures and rosy dreams and mosses and weeds—they were now the musk of boulders, of weighty pains and responsibilities.

Even the sounds ceased to offer any pleasure. As they maintained their silence, the songbirds sang eulogies and dirges, the warbles like the menacing wail of seas during storms. Each sound no more contributed to a spell of enchantment; they were now disturbing bells that reminded them of their sorrow, of their situation.

"I don't think I'll stay," the boy said.

Merena's head turned. Her eyes were sparkling emerald crystals. "You won't?"

The boy shook his head. "I can't. No matter how much I want to."

The Fairy nodded.

The dry breeze ruffled the blades and the fronds around them, uttering stifled cries. If they heard the song of one another's hearts, would they have sobbed or wept or, at least, had tears run down their faces?