Mooncakes
Unpleasant memories of Childhood burden his trance, but do they ease his troubled mind?
It was probably due to the recent events of the day, some odd strands of memory which invoked something in his mind, causing him to relive things he had thought he had forgotten, or at least not actively remembered.
Valdor didn’t like to go through his early years in his trance. Those years were hazy and restless. Sometimes he had a forceful, crippling feeling of being too tired to do anything, but knowing inside he had to get something to eat or it was a real possibility that he wouldn’t open his eyes in the morning. He knew it was a copy of a real feeling of past, and when he nowadays woke up in the end of his trance covered in cold sweat, feeling of terror slowly releasing his body of its grasp, he knew that the only thing to calm himself down was to have an early breakfast or at least something to drink or snack on until his body could understand that everything was alright. Luckily it nowadays happened only rarely, usually during a very stressful phase of life. Typically, those times it happened were just anxious, painful flashes which often passed quickly and changed into something more pleasant, but this time it was slightly different.
The hunger was a constant, nagging feeling on the back of your mind. You’d get used to it after a while; the dizziness and tiredness were things one can learn to live with if there is no other way. And in a sense, as you did not know any other way than being hungry, it became the new norm. Only later when he was older and turned away from begging he learned what it meant to have a full stomach. His first months in the army had felt like a feast, even in some other standards (player’s note: Most likely May’s and Shade’s) the food was sub-par.
It was the time of the midsummer festivities again. One of his earliest memories was of his mother dressing him up in a deep blue tunic she had gotten somewhere. It must have been made of spider silk, now that he later thought of it, but as a child he had only known it was something very extraordinary. Then they went to visit the temple area and pray for Dark Dancer. They saw the sword dancers at the temple, but also those teasing ladies with their scarfs, elegantly dancing around like nimble spiders when others tried to catch their decorations. There were noises and smells far beyond his capability of understanding, but what he remembered was the smooth, chill feeling of quality spider silk against his skin. Valdor never saw that tunic again, probably because mother had quickly sold it it onward, most likely with profit.
The scene Valdor repeated in his mind had happened couple of years later than his first memory of the festival season but around the same time; the time of the delicious, mouthwatering smell of the mooncakes. It was exhilarating when one could catch the first whiffs of the special spice blend used in the making of the much awaited drathiraiqy. Children would loiter around the bakeries in hopes of getting a bite of a failed patch. It was a sign to young Valdor, around 6 or 7 at the time, when the usual ingrained smell of urine and feces he was accustomed to was temporarily overpowered by the entangling smell of spices and herbs. Then he knew he should leave the rat-catching and the usual streets where he used to rummage around in the hopes of something edible, and situate himself closer to the marketplace, in the corner of the biggest street, almost adjacent to the high towers of the Palace -that was the name it went by on the streets, simply because it was the closest and only palace in the area. Valdor didn’t know which family lived there and tried to avoid its gates just in case the scary looking guards would want to hurt him.
But, today was the promised day. The enticing smell had lingered in the air for a few days, slowly growing more potent, until it was the 16th of July. Not that young Valdor would have known which day it was, as he had no idea how to read, but he knew that it was the day people would gather around and be on merry mood. And when people are feeling happy, they also are usually feeling more generous. So, that was why Valdor was there, sitting in the street corner on his knees, his hands cupped and extended before him, but head politely bowed so he wouldn’t accidentally offend anyone.
He had been sitting there for a few hours and his legs had gone numb ages ago, but the boy knew that persistence was the key. If he would leave now, someone else would come and take his place and he would be left without anything. Not that he would have gotten much by begging. His stomach was rumbling, and he had been seriously considering if he should just nick a bun or two from the stall selling hot buns next to him, but he was scared that the guards would get him and chop his hands off, like the older kids had told him they would do to thieves and pickpockets. And that would hurt very badly, worse than his numb legs and the gnawing hunger, he was sure.
Suddenly, something was placed into his hands. So suddenly that he almost dropped what he was given. It was huge, flaky pastry, formed into a shape of a crescent moon. And it was still slightly warm, which meant it was as fresh as those sweet-smelling treats could get. In pure awe and fear of somebody snatching it away from his hands, he pressed the pastry tightly against his chest like it was the most precious thing he owned -which was probably true. In surprise he lifted his gaze, eyes following up the deep blue shimmering fabric until reaching the waist of the unknown benefactor, at which point Valdor understood that this was a woman. And judging by the expensive looking clothing, of which kind he had never seen before, also a noble lady. For a short moment he froze in fear. Nobles often meant trouble. Not once nor twice had he witnessed a noble born forcing their way onto someone of lower class. Not that he would have felt any rage about such thing, justified or not, as it didn’t matter. That was just how things were; if you got money or you knew the right people, you could get away with almost everything. And if you had both, you were basically untouchable.
“May the Midsummer Moon bless you.”
The voice was deep and soft. It tingled the boy’s neck in an odd way. He bowed so deep that his forehead touched the grimy flagstones.
“A-and you too, ma’am.”
The boy peeped, and even though he didn’t dare to raise his eyes on the ground, he could hear her smile before she turned away, judging by the soft swish of the fabric resembling the night sky, with all its glimmering stars.
Deep, slightly changing blackish blue of the nighttime sky, the rich tone one’s eyes could sink into for eternity. So much resembling those scarfs Valdor had seen today in the fancy store. The stars dancing in his vision, the same swish of fabric when the owner lady had approached him in the store. Never again, Valdor thought only partially conscious, memories blending together in a swirling motion. Women were too much a hassle, stars or not. Even if glad in the finest spider silk in town. Or especially then.
The hunger was a constant, nagging feeling on the back of your mind. You’d get used to it after a while; the dizziness and tiredness were things one can learn to live with if there is no other way. And in a sense, as you did not know any other way than being hungry, it became the new norm. Only later when he was older and turned away from begging he learned what it meant to have a full stomach. His first months in the army had felt like a feast, even in some other standards (player’s note: Most likely May’s and Shade’s) the food was sub-par.
It was the time of the midsummer festivities again. One of his earliest memories was of his mother dressing him up in a deep blue tunic she had gotten somewhere. It must have been made of spider silk, now that he later thought of it, but as a child he had only known it was something very extraordinary. Then they went to visit the temple area and pray for Dark Dancer. They saw the sword dancers at the temple, but also those teasing ladies with their scarfs, elegantly dancing around like nimble spiders when others tried to catch their decorations. There were noises and smells far beyond his capability of understanding, but what he remembered was the smooth, chill feeling of quality spider silk against his skin. Valdor never saw that tunic again, probably because mother had quickly sold it it onward, most likely with profit.
The scene Valdor repeated in his mind had happened couple of years later than his first memory of the festival season but around the same time; the time of the delicious, mouthwatering smell of the mooncakes. It was exhilarating when one could catch the first whiffs of the special spice blend used in the making of the much awaited drathiraiqy. Children would loiter around the bakeries in hopes of getting a bite of a failed patch. It was a sign to young Valdor, around 6 or 7 at the time, when the usual ingrained smell of urine and feces he was accustomed to was temporarily overpowered by the entangling smell of spices and herbs. Then he knew he should leave the rat-catching and the usual streets where he used to rummage around in the hopes of something edible, and situate himself closer to the marketplace, in the corner of the biggest street, almost adjacent to the high towers of the Palace -that was the name it went by on the streets, simply because it was the closest and only palace in the area. Valdor didn’t know which family lived there and tried to avoid its gates just in case the scary looking guards would want to hurt him.
But, today was the promised day. The enticing smell had lingered in the air for a few days, slowly growing more potent, until it was the 16th of July. Not that young Valdor would have known which day it was, as he had no idea how to read, but he knew that it was the day people would gather around and be on merry mood. And when people are feeling happy, they also are usually feeling more generous. So, that was why Valdor was there, sitting in the street corner on his knees, his hands cupped and extended before him, but head politely bowed so he wouldn’t accidentally offend anyone.
He had been sitting there for a few hours and his legs had gone numb ages ago, but the boy knew that persistence was the key. If he would leave now, someone else would come and take his place and he would be left without anything. Not that he would have gotten much by begging. His stomach was rumbling, and he had been seriously considering if he should just nick a bun or two from the stall selling hot buns next to him, but he was scared that the guards would get him and chop his hands off, like the older kids had told him they would do to thieves and pickpockets. And that would hurt very badly, worse than his numb legs and the gnawing hunger, he was sure.
Suddenly, something was placed into his hands. So suddenly that he almost dropped what he was given. It was huge, flaky pastry, formed into a shape of a crescent moon. And it was still slightly warm, which meant it was as fresh as those sweet-smelling treats could get. In pure awe and fear of somebody snatching it away from his hands, he pressed the pastry tightly against his chest like it was the most precious thing he owned -which was probably true. In surprise he lifted his gaze, eyes following up the deep blue shimmering fabric until reaching the waist of the unknown benefactor, at which point Valdor understood that this was a woman. And judging by the expensive looking clothing, of which kind he had never seen before, also a noble lady. For a short moment he froze in fear. Nobles often meant trouble. Not once nor twice had he witnessed a noble born forcing their way onto someone of lower class. Not that he would have felt any rage about such thing, justified or not, as it didn’t matter. That was just how things were; if you got money or you knew the right people, you could get away with almost everything. And if you had both, you were basically untouchable.
“May the Midsummer Moon bless you.”
The voice was deep and soft. It tingled the boy’s neck in an odd way. He bowed so deep that his forehead touched the grimy flagstones.
“A-and you too, ma’am.”
The boy peeped, and even though he didn’t dare to raise his eyes on the ground, he could hear her smile before she turned away, judging by the soft swish of the fabric resembling the night sky, with all its glimmering stars.
Deep, slightly changing blackish blue of the nighttime sky, the rich tone one’s eyes could sink into for eternity. So much resembling those scarfs Valdor had seen today in the fancy store. The stars dancing in his vision, the same swish of fabric when the owner lady had approached him in the store. Never again, Valdor thought only partially conscious, memories blending together in a swirling motion. Women were too much a hassle, stars or not. Even if glad in the finest spider silk in town. Or especially then.
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