The Book of Many People

Grammar and Orphanhood

The moment they got outside, Wentarion grabbed Celestar and pushed him up against the wall. "If you've hurt Nevay," he growled, "I will flay you alive."

"Please don't," said Celestar, highly alarmed. "I swear I haven't done anything to him!"

"Let him go, Wentarion!" Cried Nevay. "He is not an enemy!"

With an air of reluctance about the motion, Wentarion backed off. "But if you've hurt Nevay," he said again, "I will kill you."

"Wentarion, please," Celestar said in an attempt to placate the scary sword-person. "I promise you, I haven't done anything to intentionally hurt Nevay."

"He speaks true," confirmed Nevay.

"If you've coerced him into saying this..."

"Wentarion," Celestar said again, "I swear on my life. I haven't hurt him in any way."

Wentarion backed off, apparently appeased. Then he held up a finger. "You didn't reach for Nevay when I threatened you," he noted. "Why?"

All right. That was it. "Before I answer that," said Celestar, "How come Nevay never uses contractions, and you do?"

Wentarion's expression turned comically confused. Nevay answered for him. "It is because Wentarion is an uncultured heathen," he said primly, "and insists upon shortening his speech into monosyllabic grunts when it suits him."

"Hey!" Wentarion protested, but was silenced by a pointed look from Nevay. "... I have to concede that point," the taller sword-spirit admitted. He frowned. "So what's the deal with you, anyways?"

"What?" Celestar didn't understand.

Wentarion huffed. "You wake Nevay up. You listen to what he says, you care what he feels, and there's hardly a scratch on him at all. And now, you've woken me up, and you're not making me swear fealty to you, and you're not upset that I'm challenging you, you actually apologized to me, and you're confused about my speech patterns. What's the matter with you?"

"I'm going to answer your earlier question," said Celestar. "I don't reach for Nevay because you're his friend. I'm not going to make him hurt his friend."

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about," Wentarion near-complained. "You care! Why? How?"

"Uh," Celestar blinked. "Wouldn't any decent person?"

"You see, this is what I was trying to tell you," said Nevay. "This one is different."

"Well, I'll be," said Wentarion, and whistled softly. "Could you actually be a good person?"

"Maybe?" Celestar felt himself shrink a little bit.

"What?" Snapped Nevay.

"What?" Celestar was completely and thoroughly confounded.

"What will you be, Wentarion?" Nevay asked in an irate voice.

"Nothing in particular," said Wentarion. Celestar got the feeling that this was a private argument between the two of them that had been going on for some time. He backed away slowly.

"Wentarion," Nevay stated, and it was a statement. His voice came out slow and monotonous.

"I know how much you love your grammar, Nevvie dear, but don't you think this isn't really the time?"

Nevay looked chastened. "True. Let us keep moving."

"By your leave," said Wentarion, smirking. He took a bow.

Nevay made a vaguely disgusted noise that Celestar was reasonably sure wasn't sincere, and with an elegant flourish of his hand, he stalked forwards.

Awkward exchange with Wentarion over, Celestar left him and Nevay to catch up a little and ended up falling in beside Eladras.

"You've been booted from the club," noted the blond.

Celestar blinked at him. "I suppose?"

Eladras smiled. "Don't worry. You'll find another one."

"I don't understand what you're saying," said Celestar.

Eladras shook his head. "Oh, never you mind." Then his expression turned somber. "You ought to know that there's a rather low chance we're going to find your friend alive."

Celestar's eyes narrowed. "And why is that?"

"Because generally when the guards take someone out," said Eladras, "we never see them again. And if we never see them again, it's pretty much always because they're dead."

"Maybe so," said Celestar, "but there's always a chance that Nalifrom was able to escape. If they took him to an open area..."

"Perhaps you're right. Perhaps you're not. The point remains: you should be prepared for the outcome, whatever it may be." Eladras's words were hard, and his voice was soft. It was like a steel club wrapped in velvet.

Celestar pressed his mouth into a thin line and prepared not to open it again for a while.

Then Eladras spoke again. "Hey, Celestar. Where are you from?"

"Hmm?" Celestar didn't understand.

"Where do you come from? Where were you born? Where did you grow up? Who are your parents? You know, that sort of thing," said Eladras.

"Oh." That made more sense. "I'm, uh, from the forest. I was born there, and I grew up there, too. I don't know who my parents are. They're dead. Nalifrom raised me."

Author's Note: Welcome back to Aer'denna, everybody!

The story for the photo of this chapter is thus:

I was having a conversation with somebody via text messaging on my enormous iPad after the Geometry final (which, by the way, was open notes. Haha), and they deemed it necessary to take a picture of me and send it to me. So this is a picture taken of me, to send to me, while talking to me. (Laughs)

Thanks for reading this chapter, you guys! I look forward to your feedback. Cheers!