Fleas - Songs of the Gnolls I

SHATTERED TIES 6.7

The dungeon door opened. Dannke entered with his head held high and walked over to Fleas' cell. He brought clean shirt and underpants. The guard followed him reluctantly, the key jingling in his hand. He opened it for him. Fleas smiled, took off his urine-soaked clothes and put on the new ones. Fortunately, the handkerchief with the paw print on it was still clean.

"Are you all right?"

Fleas nodded.

"I thought they would treat me badly. Could they release him too?" He pointed to the gnome's cell. "He's good and hasn't done anything wrong."

"It is not up to me. Here," he handed him his bag.

Fleas looked through it, pleased, but noticed that something was missing.

"If this shell is what you're looking for, I'd like to know what it is before I give it back to you."

"It's a gift."

"Nothing else? Because there are strange light blue symbols glowing around it. Are you sure it's not a curse or a spell?"

Fleas doubted if he should tell him the truth. He wanted to trust Dannke, but his instincts wouldn't let him.

"No, it's a souvenir. It glows because it's pretty."

"I see," Dannke narrowed his eyes. "I don't have it here, I'll give it back to you later. Oh, before I forget, Bekwin wants you to visit him. He also offered to buy you, but I still need you with me. If you can wait a short while before you go with him, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure," Flea wagged his tail. "Where is he?"

"Come, I'll show you."

Before leaving, Fleas approached the gnome's cell and told him not to worry, that he would get him out somehow. The gnome responded by interlacing his fingers with his own. Perhaps it was a sign of appreciation for his kind. Fleas looked at his hand in confusion.

The light of freedom blinded him for a moment until his eyes adjusted to the sunlight filtering through the windows, each of which was inscribed with a fragment of Iurian history. Dannke gestured to the door and retreated. Fleas knocked on it several times until a newly awakened Bekwin opened it for him. It was strange that he was asleep, for the sun would soon be setting.

"Oh, little one, how good to see you. And the clothes I sent you?"

"I gave them to a gnome. This one is also clean."

He invited him in. Fleas sat down on the crumpled bed and pulled out the drawings he had made. Bekwin looked at them, opened his eyes and nodded.

"You really have talent. The difference between the first and the second drawing is remarkable. Ah, look, the sun is already setting. Follow me."

Bekwin led him through a series of ascending passages until he came to a somewhat dusty spiral staircase. With each step, the wood creaked its discontent, but did not yield. What did he want to show him? At the top of the stairs, a door with beautiful, very old carvings blocked their way. Bekwin pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Why would he have that key? They emerged at the top of a bell tower, now without a bell, from which they could see in all directions. They were at the highest point of the realm. Fleas looked down, feeling dizzy for a moment. In the distance, on the horizon, the sun was a half-blushing ball, hiding a little more with each breath.

"Do you know the name of those fields beyond the wall?"

"Which way?"

"All the ways."

"Luminescent Flower Meadow?"

"Yes, and do you know why it's called that?"

Fleas raised his shoulders.

"While we're waiting, let me explain a few things to you. Art does not come from mere imagination. You do not create something out of nothing, because nothing is not clay to be molded. All human creation...or rational creation, we could say, not to be so speciesist, starts from reality. That's why reality is the best canvas. Ah, look."

The sun finally set. Gradually the darkness of the meadow was pierced by a few points of light, then by hundreds. After a few moments, the whole field looked like a sky lit by stars of a pale green, almost light blue hue. It was the flowers.

"The flowers are shining!"

Bekwin laughed.

"I thought so too. Two nights ago I went out to investigate, and it turns out that there are insects that take refuge in these little bell-shaped flowers. They are the ones that glow, and since the flowers are very thin, the light goes through them. If you look closely, you can see that some of the lights are moving."

"How beautiful!"

"As you can see, the world is a work of art in itself. Isn't it our duty to preserve it? A fire, the extension of the walls, or the cultivation of fields will take away these little lights. But if we capture them on canvas, they will not have shone in vain."

"I understand."

"And tell me, if you had to paint it, how would you do it?"

Fleas thought for a moment.

"You said we should start with the farthest away. So I would paint the sky. Black, and little white dots."

"All black and all white dots?"

"No, the stars aren't that bright. Maybe dark blue and the gray dots."

"If you use a dry brush on the gray dots, you can spread it out and make it look like glitter. But you have to do it very gently. Then what?"

"Then the field. A dark green line that gets lighter as you go down the canvas."

"No, the green is very noticeable. Look again, it doesn't look green, does it?"

"Right, it looks more blue. Maybe some green as the view gets closer."

"Good, and everything has to be very dark, why?"

"To paint the little dots that are the flowers, I mean the insects in the flowers."

"Would you paint them the same as the stars?"

"Maybe the ones in the background, but the closer you get, the more light you get, which means more white. And also the color. More detail looks closer, doesn't it?"

"Excellent, I had few students, and you are the most prodigious of them. Come, let's paint."

"On a large canvas?"

Bekwin hesitated.

"Perhaps you could use one of the pieces, I saw you had two left. Since this is an exercise, a large one would be a waste. If you progress, you can use one of those."

Fleas hopped back to the jumps, so happy was he. He reached the door to the room, but it was closed. Bekwin patted him on the back and pushed him away.

"First we must eat. I heard of an artist who starved to death while painting his most famous work. That's how absorbed we are. Come on, I have to return the key."

Fleas nodded. It was true that he was hungry, but he was hungrier to taste those paintings. It was strange, the worse the situation he was in, the more he wanted to draw. Why was that?