5: Regrettable Decisions
Perturbed by the scolding he’d received earlier in the day, Taowren waited until evening before attempting to light up the medicinal herbs that Tomar had given him. Dusk found him amidst the brightly blooming flowers in the delicate bed that grew beneath the window of his chambers, sitting cross legged with Tomar’s gift in his lap. Taowren had carefully unfolded the small paper packet and pinched a thimble’s worth of the oily substance into the bowl of the bamboo pipe, tamping it down with his little finger. The smell was unusual, but not awful. It had echoes of watercress and carrot leaves, with just a hint of body odour.
Taowren glanced around the garden one last time, ears straining, to ensure he was completely alone, before invoking the symbol of fire with a furtive dance of his fingers. A small burst of his mana was instantly infused with the delicate gesture, and with a sound like a soap bubble popping, small licking flames burst into life between his index fingertip and thumb. Holding the pipe in one hand, Taowren lowered the tiny flame to the bowl and held it to the dried herbs until he saw them start to smoulder. Thin tendrils of smoke began to drift up towards him. Taowren held it under his nose and took a deep sniff.
Instantly, his face fell. The aroma was pungent and earthy, like rotten autumn leaves thrown on a bonfire. It did not smell appetising in the least. He pondered the curling filaments of smoke with a grimace. Whilst smoking was popular and fashionable in the South, particularly in the coastal provinces skirting the far border of the Nightingale lands, even impulsive Taowren had never felt any particular draw to it.
At that moment, one last ray of light broke through the clouds above the mountains as the Sun descended behind their snowy peaks, bathing the gardens in a moment of orange brilliance. Taowren’s heart beat hard in his chest. Why was he breathing this into his poor lungs when he could – should? - be out exploring those beautiful mountains by the light of the moon?
The glow slowly faded and twilight began to settle in, bringing with it the first croaks, murmurs and ululations of the oncoming night’s chorus. Taowren took a deep breath in and whistled it out quietly as he again perused the pipe.
Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. If it can calm Tomar thenI’ll probably be asleep before it’s left my mouth, right? Taowren licked his swollen lips once and raised the mouthpiece, eyes shutting instinctively against the stinging smoke. He breathed in deeply once, twice, three times and then a fourth, before exhaling a large white plume of smoke.
Grim.
Taowren’s face twisted and he wondered if maybe this was actually why Tomar was always scowling. How was this supposed to calm your nerves? Steeling himself, Taowren took another long drag, half remembering that you were supposed to hold it in your lungs for as long as you could. Who had told him that? Another exhale. The cloud was not as white this time, nor as large. Perhaps more of the medicine had gone into him? He leaned back against the rough bricks of the wall and held the pipe before his face. Thin swirls floated from it to dance in front of his eyes. They reminded Taowren of the moth he had seen in the hall at the welcome banquet, beating its wings in its endlessly twirling journey. Tiny miniature patterns and curlicues wheeled and turned in the heated air emanating from the pipe’s bowl, and he watched them for a while, feeling faintly bemused.
Bemused, but definitely not tired. Taowren took a couple more tentative drags before his throat started to itch and he abruptly decided this was absolutely not working.
“What else makes one sleep, though…?” Taowren pondered aloud to himself, using the still smoking end of his cousin’s favourite pipe to dig little holes in the soil around his feet. “I’ve tried tea, and the Gods know I’m walking more around this mountain than I ever did in a day at home.” He was a long way away from his uncle’s medicine cabinet of sedatives, painkillers, and whatever else a veteran soldier might need to ensure a dreamless sleep. Then the answer came to him in a flash.
“Alcohol?” Why hadn’t this been his first thought? Alcohol was available in every tavern and bar in the realm! The solemn Okan clan had many unfamiliar rules, but they weren’t averse to wine – even severe Lord Balin took a cup with his dinner. When they had passed through the town below the Okan Keep, he was certain he had seen multiple signs for drinking houses. It was but a walk away!
Ever light on his feet, Taowren sprang upright, tapped the pipe’s embers out against the wall and burst out of the flowerbed, making a beeline for the Okan residence’s grand gates and the town beyond.
The town was bustling with evening markets in the early twilight; food stalls lined both sides of the road as Taowren weaved his way through the mingling crowds of people. The air seemed almost alive with smells emanating from the stalls, the mouth-watering offerings filling the air with a mixture of hot Eastern spices and the aroma of charred meats, as well as the sweet smell of fresh baked buns and the aromatic steam of bowls of boiled noodles. Taowren had never experienced such rapture, and his stomach bellowed inside him like a wild beast demanding to be fed.
Taowren’s attention was suddenly wrenched away by the unforgettable hootings of an impressed crowd – a small group of street performers had set up in the town centre and people were jostling for position to see the show. A delighted smile creased Taowren’s face as he quickly looked around for a vantage point. There! He scampered up the side of a parked caravan and perched on top of it to take in the sights. He gleefully joined in the hollering crowd as they watched a trio of acrobats bending to incomprehensible angles, flipping into the air and landing perfectly, only to coil like a spring and take off again. It seemed even the inner lands of Turo were home to artisans and creative folk; whether they were of the Mohan tribes of not mattered little, to Taowren they all made him feel nostalgic and at home.
The show was clearly reaching its climax, and one of the acrobats was hushing the crowd for the final trick. He took position centre stage, readying himself with an ostentatious set of stretches before presenting his profile to the audience. With straight legs he bent over until his face was between his calves. Taowren could see the cords of wiry muscle in his bare torso bulging with tension, then with a yell he released, whipping his upper body up so fast it almost blurred. Faster than you could blink, his body had travelled a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees and he was back on his feet. Taowren could hardly believe it – a standing backflip without a leap! He had never seen such a thing.
After applauding the end of the show with the rest of the audience, Taowren made his way to the riverfront promenade, following the flow of the crowds until he found himself staring out over the rushing of the wide waterway. Here the river slowed to a wide meander, allowing pleasure boats to ply the relative calm of the waters. Stone lanterns mounted on top of slender pillars cast their dancing light across the river’s swirling surface, broken by the gliding boats host to families and couples, their reflections shimmering and twirling with the waves made by the long poles of the boatmen. Either side of the river were lines of shops and taverns that were still bustling with energy. Taowren grinned to himself. There was excitement in the air, and it infected his mood—he had all but forgotten the reason he had come into town to drink was to help ease himself into sleep, and the buzz of the herbs he had smoked only seemed to heighten his sensitivity to his surroundings.
Taowren selected a bar at random, a large and well-lit building with latticed windows and a wooden stairway leading down to the mud of the street. He stood up as tall as his diminutive frame could bear him and affected a saunter as he entered. The air was thick with the heat of bodies and the scent of liquor rolled off waggling tongues, but it didn’t take him long to find himself a seat in a corner and order a jug of wine, his ears pricked to the sounds of conversation around him.
A lad approached, of an age or perhaps slightly older than Taowren, a gourd of liquor in hand along with a small cup patterned with cherry blossoms. He placed them before the youth with a smile, and deftly filled the cup to the brim without spilling a drop.
“We have a special on our oxtail stew this evening, if the young sir is interested,” the serving man said smoothly as he poured. “I can personally vouch for its quality.”
“No need, I’ve eaten,” Taowren replied, raising his grace to the man, “but I thank you!”
The server glanced up and took in the sandy-skinned young man’s face, eyes squinting ever so slightly at the glint his nose and lip rings gave off in the light of the tavern’s many candles.
“You’re not from around here, are you, young sir?”
As the server straightened up, Taowren noticed his hand absentmindedly touching the same area of his lips that Taowren had pierced.
“Ha, no—I’m from the South.” Taowren replied. It was well known the Mohan tribes decorated their faces with piercings, but he suspected they didn’t often come this far north; home was where the sun was for his people, and the south was much more welcoming in that regard than the mountains.
“If I might ask,“ the server continued, “Your piercings, did they not hurt?”
“At the time, maybe,” Taowren hummed back, downing his cup. The liquor warmed his face, but his smile was genuine for other reasons—it had been a long time since someone had asked him such a question without the noble classes’ stiffness, “I don’t really remember now. It is my people’s tradition to do the sacred septum piercing rite at the age of twelve.”
“Amazing. And how do they do it? Is it true that you hammer a nail to red heat, grasp the lip with tongs, and-“
“Rongyee!”
A burly man from a neighbouring table had leaned over and attempted to swat at the server’s flank, causing the younger man to flinch. Taowren was astonished to see the man hadn’t a single visible hair on his head – having a bald head or a smooth chin were common enough, but even in the dim glow of the tavern Taowren could see no trace of an eyebrow or lash. It made him look slightly surprised.
“You’re being—“ he hiccupped, “—rude! And I am out of drink-k!”
“My apologies,” Rongyee flushed and gave a bow, first to the other man then to Taowren, “No offence meant, young sir.”
“None taken, honestly.” Taowren waved his hand airily before turning to the burly neighbour and raising his cup diplomatically. “What are you drinking?”
“You not familiar with the local specialities?” The man huffed, then grinned, “Let this uncle show you wha’ the Okan Province is famous for! Grab a seat!”
And just like that, Taowren had inserted himself into a group of locals, sharing cheap wine and local gossip. The evening then smoothly passed in a blur—a warm blur, filled with many cups of at sometimes over-sweet and other times severely-tart wine.
“Your first time here, is it then?” The burly man’s name was Nianhe, and it turned out he was a local farmer who sold his wares directly to the Okan residence. Taowren nodded, downed another swallow of the acidic wine and grimaced, sticking his tongue out petulantly, which caused Nianhe to bellow with laughter so hard he nearly retched. On recovering, the beefy fellow clapped Taowren on the back playfully.
“You’ll learn to like the taste eventually. Don’ call it sharp or bitter though. Call it ‘dry’.” He leaned in close. “‘S more s’ph’s’t’cated.” Taowren laughed dutifully, turning his head so he could discreetly dry his face on his sleeve.
“They really drink this up in the Okan residence?” he asked politely, remembering that none was offered to him at the welcome dinner so he couldn’t know.
“Unlikely,” Nianhe laughed at him as Taowren took another swallow with a wince, “they import that kind of thing from up the mountains.”
“There’s a brewery on the Heavenly Peaks?” Taowren quirked an eyebrow. Even half-drunk, this poor failing student thought that sounded farfetched.
“So’s I hear it, some say there’s a dragon up there who brews the best wine in the whole country. ” Nianhe shrugged and poured himself and the man sitting on his other side another cup. “Isn’t that right, Asok? But who knows, really? They keep us folk clear o’ demons and look after any who can’t sleep ‘cause of the call of the mountains, and really—that’s all we can ask for.”
“What do you mean?” Taowren asked after a beat, blinking fast as his vision doubled for a moment before him, “About not sleeping because the mountains are calling?”
“That’s the first sign of the Giving, ain’t it?” Asok interjected, his voice slurring, smacking his hand on the table and nearly spilling his drink.
“The Giving?” Nianhe squawked at him, “What’s that? You mean the Offering, don’t you? Or is it the Going?”
“The Gift,” Taowren corrected, unthinking.
The moment the words left his mouth, Taowren felt his eyes cross and his head spin. The expression made him look rather befuddled.
“Boy’s drank too much,” Asok nodded sagely to himself, sloshing his cup as he set it down. “Needs a good night with a patient girl, I thinks.”
Taowren laughed, but despite the warm alcohol in his belly his mind was bubbling. The Gift? Surely not! Cup in hand, he slowly stood and drained the last of it in one slow gulp.
“Uncle Asok here is right,” Taowren said, blinking fast, “I shall see myself home.”
“You gonna be alright, Taown?” Nianhe asked concernedly. He had swiftly become fond of the overly friendly young lad, but Taowren batted him away with one freckled hand.
“I’ll be fine, I’ve had much heavier nights out than this!” Taowren chirped with a grin, “Next time, you both owe me a round!”
Taowren stumbled slightly as he left the tavern, but the cool night air instantly helped to clear his head. The moon was well risen and the lanterns lit his surroundings, so he easily found his way along the riverside, up past the closing market stands and the well lit streets of the town, to make his way up the wide dirt trodden road towards the Okan residence.
Alcohol doesn’t normally hit me this hard, Taowren thought as he frowned with eyes that occasionally saw twice as many feet as he had carry himself up the sloping hill. Probably Tomar’s damned herbs.
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