The Wisdom of Chocolates, part 1
Chapter 7, plus a gift for you!🎁
I’m Lydia Woodward and I write fantasy stories about redemption and forgiveness. To learn more, you can read my bio here or the about page here.
Welcome back, starling!
It’s been insane around here as this semester draws to a close — I’m convinced that some little trickster must be speeding up the time as everything I do seems much too slow. 🫠 While I try my best to conquer the beast that is essay writing, I find that there isn’t much energy left for jotting down Eraneshu’s story. So, I’m only posting half of chapter 7 today and will post the other half next Tuesday. After that, we’ll resume the typical schedule.
But seeing as it’s the advent season, I wanted to give you a little extra gift. 🎁 Scroll to the end for your surprise!
If you haven’t read Chapter 1 yet, you can find it here:
It turns out that adding an extra consciousness to a single mind makes it three times as hard to focus during any actual conversation. Xof remained unperturbed by whatever facial and vocal oddities I became incapable of catching. The Purge, however, were a different matter entirely.
How I made it throughout, I am not at all sure. Enaj's commentary proved to be too much of a distraction and I eventually excused myself from their presence with the excuse of a bout of travel fatigue, commonly referred to as oru’nbaagi.
An excuse that I am regretting even more since shutting myself in my room.
I absolutely refuse to let this go. Her amusement is still painfully clear in her too-high tones and I find myself sighing, again.
For the last time, Enaj, there are no ghets or flying blanes, as you say.
JETS. And it's planes, puh, planes. That's why we say "jet lag" when we're too tired after flying, not- Her voice makes a tight, choking sound, as she attempts to keep the next laugh from spilling over. Ahem. Not, "orange-bagging."
That is certainly not what I said.
ToMAYto-toMAHto.
The oddly jumbled sequence seems to dance gleefully behind my throbbing temples. I have no desire to know what, by the light, a "to may, two too, to mar too" could possibly mean, or what it adds to the present argument. So instead I check the daylight meter and try to ascertain how long she's been sleeping. Shouldn't you be waking up about now?
Beats me. It's not like I can read that weird clock you have. It has seven hands too many, and is that-? What? Why do you have extra faces on top of it?
Blinking several times, I lean closer to the daylight meter and strain to see if anything is amiss. It's perfectly functional. I tilt my head and squint a little just to make sure my tired eyes aren't betraying me. Where are you seeing fac— never mind. I prefer to not know.
She's silent for a moment, the absence of her strange thoughts stretching like a taut string, and I just manage to stop myself from asking if she's still there.
You know, Era-hat-shoe. Her voice is low, each word seeming to break free of her, while she struggles to keep something else from coming through. Meanwhile, I decide to gloss over - whatever it is that she just called me. In the odd chance that this isn't a fruitcake-induced nightmare, I should probably know some things.
Oh? There's a childish impulse to add an "Eh-nudge" at the end for pure spite. It seems my mental fortitude is slipping with every ill-placed thought she sends racing around my mind.
So... How about I tell you a saying and you guess what it means?
It seems the momentary brevity was a farce then. Another sigh escapes me and I lean back against the wall, both legs hanging off the edge of my slim cot. Something tells me you're going to do what you want no matter what I say.
Alrighty then: Sometimes life is like a box of chocolates. Some are good, some are bad. And some are REALLY disappointing.
Frowning, I rub my temples to try to alleviate the headache blooming behind my eyelids. Enaj… I don't believe that's how the saying goes.
Go on, then, Eran. What’s it supposed to be?
Eraneshu. My name is-
A deep sigh threatens to tilt the throbbing pressure over the edge. If you think I'm going to bother pronouncing that again, you've got another thing coming. Besides, wouldn't you rather have a nickname instead of me butchering the real thing?
I'm not about to admit it to her, but I can't hold back the grimace at the recollection. At least she can't see my face. Fine. And it's not chocolates. It's genhea berries.
Now I know you're making stuff up. No one in their right mind would eat something called gun-hay-a.
Despite my best intentions, a grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. They're certainly not appetizing, which is precisely the point of the phrase.
Mhmm. Sure, and I believe you. Let's move on to the next one…
The door of my bedroom swings open and I sit up, reaching for the hilt of Vigilant in the moment it takes the intruder to step inside. His hands go up instinctively. “So sorry, Daviraea. I didn't mean to startle you.”
It's the boy, Aeadys. My brow creases in a frown. “What do you mean by barging into my room?” When he hesitates, hand still gripping the door, I raise an eyebrow at him. “I suggest you speak up before I find out on my own.”
Uh, oh. Has someone been eating the gucky berries? Tsk. Tsk.
I roll my eyes at her childish behavior, which proves to be far more effective on Aeadys than it is on Enaj.
He stutters before wetting his lips. “Um, yes. I wanted to speak with you.”
“Hmm. That much I discerned on my own.” Tapping my fingers on Vigilant’s hilt, I strain my ears to listen for anyone else nearby, but it would seem that the boy came alone.
See, this is why it's chocolates. You could use some sweetening up.
“I'm supposed to, I mean, Uhs wants to meet you.” He motions toward the long hallway outside of my room, towards the dining hall like the name of this “Uhs” character is somehow a thorough explanation of why he has been sent to fetch me. Although the name doesn't bring to mind anyone I know around here, it does niggle uncomfortably in the back of my conscience. The term Uhs is not from the sacred language, Eshusnine, but it’s the Akmad word for the first number - a play on Eshu’s name, the Great Creator, and is considered to be sacred.
Experience urges me to send the boy to tell this “Uhs” person to question me himself, or better yet, steer clear of me until I’ve had at least a bit of sleep. But there’s something else, something I can’t explain even to myself that tells me something is wrong. I need to find out what is wrong. “Aeadys.”
“Yes, sir?”
“This had best be quick.”
To be continued…
Did you know that there are nursery rhymes and fairy tales in the other six mirrorworlds? By far the most popular is the well-loved Legends of Impish, which tells the many adventures of a young fae from the oldest mirrorworld, Shru. One of these tales was referenced back in chapter 4, so I decided to share the original poem with you. 😊
The Fae Who Danced in Dreams
Once there was a little fae,
Impish was his name.
How he dearly loved to play!
His a neverending game.
Once there was a dragon queen,
Eyes of shining red.
Closed within a fitful dream —
Little fae inside her head.
Once there was a goblin friend
Too tired at her post.
Time enough for fun to end
And this Impish lost — almost.
For when it should reopen,
Goblin still did snore,
And angry was the dragon
While Impish stopped for the door
"Tis no more fun," said he,
And bid the dragon well.
Before the fire came from she,
He puffed a mighty swell
And filled the place with dust
Of mighty grandeur hue.
Riding on the stormy gust,
Back out the dream he flew!
Impish laughed as on he sped
Through the dragon's dreams.
Forced his way outside her head —
Slipping through the magic seams.
Once there was a goblin girl
Startled from her sleep.
Through the doorway with a twirl,
Came one Impish from the deep.
Once there was a dragon fraught
With trouble, sleeping;
For each night she always thought
She felt his presence creeping.
Once there was a mighty fae —
So puffed up was he!
Only fae to ever play
In the dreams of royalty.
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