The Colorless Land

Chapter 35: The Heart of Jadiria

The next day the entire group except Evariel seemed perfectly calm once more.

Jolette eyed Saryana from the corner of her eye, but not once could she tell if her composure was real or a mask. Aithal, too, seemed more at ease, and in his case she believed it was genuine. It wasn't that he had suddenly stopped grieving or being afraid, but it was clear that he felt at home in this country, and that alone seemed to comfort him.

"We are now in the very northeastern corner of Jadiria," he informed the others as Saryana led the way, visibly familiar with every road and turn. "A lot of Elodians live in these parts. I myself grew up in this area once."

Jolette eyed him with curiosity. "Elodians in Jadiria?"

"Yes. This country is only one country on the outside," Aithal explained. "There is a reason why we call it the League of Jadiria. In reality it is a collection of many smaller states, peoples and cultures, but they act as one in all outward matters."

"It's why Aithal and I talk in Common," Saryana remarked from the front. "There is no Jadirian language. We don't speak each other's first languages very well."

Aithal glanced over his shoulder at Evariel, as if expecting him to comment. The elf, however, remained silent. There was nothing indicating he had listened at all.

"Do the South-Elves not live near here?" Aithal continued, still staring pointedly at Evariel. "At the very south-end of the mountains, if I remember correctly."

Evariel made no response. His eyes were blank.

Zamrod, who was walking beside him, grunted and nudged him in the ribs.

"Don't space out," he muttered. "He's talking to you, pointy-ears."

With a visible jolt Evariel snapped to attention. "What? I mean...I'm listening!"

"The South-Elves," Aithal repeated. "They are just north from here, aren't they?"

"The...? Oh, yeah, I guess." Evariel forced a grin. "If they haven't run from each other yet, anyway. In the north we say not even the South-Elves can stand their own hick accent."

Aithal snorted. "Funny how the South-Elves say the same about your people."

"That's objectively wrong. We speak right, they speak funny." Evariel made a grand gesture. "They're only jealous because we can open our mouth without sounding like complete hillbillies."

Edmian frowned in visible confusion. "So the North-Elves and the South-Elves don't like each other?"

Aithal laughed out loud. "Oh, they're the best of friends," he replied. "But they feel a compulsive need to make fun of each other at every chance they get."

Edmian furrowed his brow, as if trying to comprehend this particular kind of friendship. Jolette promptly found herself wondering if he had ever heard of, let alone witnessed this friendly kind of hostility. It was a good thing, she thought, that she had never tried to tease him.

There was a lull in the conversation, and Evariel's eyes became dull again. He moved mechanically, tirelessly, but several times he almost tripped over roots and stones or walked face-first into trees. When asked about it he put on a fake smile, made a joke, and immediately spaced out again.

At long last Jolette got fed up. Leaving Edmian's side, she fell back to walk beside the elf, grabbing him by the arm and shaking him out of his daze. "Hey!" she snapped. "Something's obviously wrong with you, so why don't you just tell us?"

Evariel stared at her. For a moment he looked startled, frightened, almost vulnerable. For a moment Jolette felt like she was looking at both: the century-old elf and the awkward teenager not yet come of age.