Closed These Eyes Deceive (Caelum)

[Timothy Mered]

8th of Winter 514Av

It was cold. The wind tossed his hair about and filled his eyes and ears with small, coarse grains of sand from the beach. Timothy could hardly imagine how cold Riverfall would become when the rock would be blanketed by white flakes and all the little waterfalls would turn into icicles. A storm was brewing, the sky had turned dark grey and the clouds were like massive waves flooding towards the shore. Timothy took only a tick to observe four blue-skinned sailors hoist a load of freshly caught, salmon off their small ship, bringing the briny scent of the sea with them. The docks had been his home for a few days now, stacked crates outlined his room now and the ground was his bed and his bundle of clothes his pillow.

It was best not to remain in one place though. The fierce Akalak with their strong, chiseled features didn’t seem to tolerate any idleness. It pained Timothy to be guilty of that crime, but he refused to seek employment and submit himself to an adult. Only now, when his belly growled in anguish, did he creep out of hiding and risk being near any grown-ups. Hugging the wall, Timothy tried to keep as many feet between himself and others. Not that many pedestrians noticed him, many were too occupied to rush home, seeking shelter and warmth near their hearth fires. Taking a detour through a narrow alleyway his bare feet pattering against the stone was the only sound until he made a sharp turn to the right and back into the open.

This isn’t the right way… Scratching his head, Timothy glanced left, where the road meandered back towards the docks, then right where the cobblestones sloped upwards. He had meant to go to Kulkukan, but is that up or down?
Frowning, his glanced left once more, his eyes were drawn like magnets to the faint glow of little lights, sparkling like starts in the growing darkness of twilight. Upon closer inspection Timothy figured it wasn’t a jewelry but a tavern of sorts, though the menu chalked up outside mostly indicate drinks and a strange word he didn’t understand. Tinctures? He didn’t meditate on the meaning much longer as his eye traveled down to the bottom of the list: Fruit, cheese, and nuts plate…

He didn't even look at the price, too hungry to care that he couldn't afford even the most basic thing. The warm light lured him in and he pushed through the cherry door, allowing warmth to wrap around him like a blanket. An avalanche of scents assaulted his nostrils, he smelled the sea, the woods, even the dried peppers and teas from faraway lands that he’d only heard whispers of and the rugs littering the floor were like warm sand on a sunny day to his feet. Blood rose to his cheeks as he hurried over to one of the cherry tables and he almost regretted having thrown his worn-out shoes into the sea not two days past. Hiding his numb toes under the cover of the table, Timothy sat down in far corner and swiped his sleeve over his face in an attempt to look somewhat proper. When he thought he didn’t look much worse than the salt-and-pepper bearded fellow at the other end of the bar, he willed his features to settle into a neutral gaze aimed at the bartender.

If ever someone would have asked him to draw his ideal father, it would’ve resembled the bartender on many levels. The man looked strong, but not rugged, gentle, yet tough, and there was a warm glow to his skin that made it hard not to stare at him. I wish I could be like him, Timothy thought, he must be very well respected and loved here. Just looking at him, Timothy doubted the man could’ve possible been employed elsewhere. He seemed to belong exactly where he was, stuck behind that bar, wearing a smile that broke through Timothy’s bitterness like the sun breaking through clouds.

If the man would come over, Timothy would shuffle back into his seat, feign contemplation before ordering two fruit, cheese, and nuts platters, a cup of juice, and a cup of coffee. “My mother will be here shortly, but she asked me to order in advance,” he would lie.

[Caelum]

"There are exactly twenty-two tumblers," Caelum informed Elise with a smile. It was more than a bit wicked, that smile, and it was still the kind of expression that made a person warm from the chest out. "Twenty-four," Elise corrected, eyes rising to the ceiling with thinning patience. The pair of them were behind the marble-topped bar teaming up on a mountain of glassware. It was far too early in the evening for there to be that amount of dirty glasses unless they had been host to the alcoholic equivalent of an afternoon tea. The truth of the matter was that Caelum and Elise had engaged in a drink-mixing lesson that swiftly got out of hand and became a drink mixing war. Up until Caelum had opened Alements, he had never bartended. Elise, on the other hand, had been serving since she could walk. Caelum was the herbalist. Elise was the wine connoisseur. Caelum was the employer. Elise was the woman who assured all of the mundane things were taken care of so that he could continue to afford to employ her. "Twenty-two because I bought twenty-five," Caelum argued while lightly tossing a freshly cleaned tumbler into Elise's hands. She caught it and began to dry it, just like all the others, with a soft dish towel. "And one broke in that fight at the beginning of autumn and another when Aoren showed up and the last one was ruined when Lillian put her paints in it." "Twenty-four because the one you dropped when Aoren came was a highball glass, not a tumbler, and I fixed the one Lillian used," Elise countered. Deep blue eyes settled on the child as he came in and she reached for another glass to dry. "You fixed it? How did you fix it?" Gold flecked Caelum's otherwise dark eyes as he followed Elise's gaze. Warm, soapy water spilled out of his hands as he lifted out a glass and dunked it in to the rinse sink. With a long, knowing look at Caelum, Elise reached over to pluck it out of his hands. "Magic," she deadpanned. Caelum proceeded to slap a bar towel over his shoulder and tug on the sleeves of his favorite, old sweater while rounding the bar to aim himself at the table and, more notably, the child. "Oh, yeah?" He said after Timothy ordered, easy and warm. Calloused hands closed on the back of the empty chair opposite him. "Alright. Hey, I have some some leftover white bean and chicken stew in the kitchen. We don't usually serve it, but it was a big dinner pot." The smile he gave crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Want a bowl? I'm Caelum, by the way. This is my place. What's your name?"

[Timothy Mered]

8th of Winter 514AV

For a moment, Timothy’s eyes were transfixed on the girl behind the bar. He’d missed her completely when he’d strutted in, but now that he noticed her it was hard to tear his gaze from her. He couldn’t quite tell who of the two was the owner, and it was even harder to judge who had the better smile. They looked quite happy together. The right people in the right place. It was hurt to watch.

Biting through his envy, Tim settled two lazy eyes on the man. What had been true from afar was even more true now. Whereas Tim' sported a grimy smudge on his cheek and a blueish hue on his fingertips, Caelum's skin glowed like an ember and whereas Tim's hair had turned different shades of filthy blonde through lack of soap, Caelum's hair looked smooth as silk. Whether the man truly smelt of pineapples or if he imagined it, Tim did not know, but the smile sent at him made him feel right at home. He swallowed, trying not to show the anguish inside. Within half a bell he would be gone from this place with his belly stuffed to the brim, but the man would have no mizas to show for it.

"Want a bowl?”

“Yes, that would be very pleasant,” Timothy said in a voice that betrayed the contrary. I can’t do it… he thought uselessly. Lying was not the issue, but to knowingly betray someone was worse than stealing. At least then he didn’t have to look people in the eye before taking their purse, even though he lacked the skill to do so presently. Still, it was close to impossible to maintain his lie in front of such a kind face. Much to Tim’s horror, the man revealed that he was the owner. A sigh escaped his lips, He had to persist now, there was no way back.

“What’s your name?”

“Tim- I mean, Thomas. Thomas Cane.” A cold tingle surged through his body, as if someone had poured a bucket of ice over his innards. Whereas Caelum spoke with grace befitting a bartender of esteem, Timothy struggled to find his words and spoke with great hesitation. “It is a very nice place you have here,” he tried to switch subject. But his voice remained dull and insincere. “I am sorry,” he started in a last ditch effort to regain his composure, “I am just feeling a little dizzy.” He brushed some invisible dust from the table.

Allowing a pause to end their conversation, Tim hoped the man would rise up and fetch what he’d asked, As soon as the bartender would reach the kitchen, Tim would bolt, so he told himself. There were other places to look for food, he couldn’t just lie so blatantly, it made his bones twist in agony to even think about betraying a hard-working, fair-looking, kindly bartender like that.

If Caelum would stand up to fetch the order however, Tim’s small voice would call him back to the table. “Maybe just make it one platter,” Timothy would blurt, his eyes stubbornly avoiding Caelum's gaze. “I think that should be enough for both of us.” He scratched the Radacke mark on his forehead, thankfully hidden from sight by blonde strands that reached just short of his brows. If he had misjudged the man, nicking two platters would yield him twice the trouble, and it made him feel slightly less horrible too. Even so, Timothy couldn't quite keep his legs from trembling and he pressed his lips into a thin line, attempting to wipe the puckers from his forehead. Glued to his chair, thinking it impossible to escape unnoticed and lacking the energy to run for long besides, he remained, stiff as a board and retreating far into the cherry chair, hoping to vanish if he just made himself small enough.

[Caelum]

It was impossible for Caelum to miss the incredible twists of anguish inside the young Thomas Cane. It rustled through him with conflicting desires, hunger braided in with an instinctive need to flee, longing roped around fear. He stifled a sigh and tightened his fingers along the back of the chair before releasing it. "Stay," he invited, simple and direct. It was not so much a command as it was a request, a hand gesturing with tangible expectation. Most people would find it difficult to deny him when he used that tone of mingled of hope and leadership. "I'll be back in a moment." That said, he turned about to walk away and disappear through the swinging door to the kitchen. He exchanged a speaking glance with Elise as he passed her at the bar and the girl adopted an expression of long suffering before shooing him along. Should Timothy look at her, he would find Elise offering him a warm but distracted smile. In the kitchen, Caelum slid a wooden tray to the granite countertop and proceeded to load it up. A couple bowls of the white bean and chicken stew came first, ladled up from the pot on the stove. He topped the bowls with a generous portion of shredded cheese pulled from the ice house. A small basket was next, layered with a soft cloth napkin and filled with thick, warm slices of bread baked that morning and a little bowl of butter joined it. Late season apple slices, figs, and pears were arranged on a platter with a thimble of honey, soft cheese, and a handful of roasted almonds. Caelum frowned at the tray and after a minute he reached down and set a rack of prepared herbs and a carafe of tonic water next to a small ceramic tea pot he filled with hot water waiting on the stove. Satisfied at last, Caelum lifted the tray with the ease of long practice and backed his way out of the kitchen and back into Alements mains. After giving a glance down the bar to assure himself that Elise required no assistance with the patrons there, he turned for the table where he had left Thomas earlier. "It's my dinner break," he announced upon arriving. The tray was set on the table in front of the boy and without waiting for an invitation, Caelum pulled out the chair across from him and dropped into it. Strong shoulders pitched comfortably forward and he began to unload the tray, setting the first bowl of stew in front of his guest. "Do you mind if I join you? Don't worry, I'll make myself scarce when your mother arrives. Try some of the stew. It's on me. It's a new recipe and I'm in desperate need of an opinion on it."

[Timothy Mered]

The command was simple and to the point. For as long as Caelum remained in sight, there wasn’t a cell in his body that considered to move. And so he sat still, very still, desperately trying not to break the pressing silence. Elise gave him a warm but worried smile as his eyes followed Caelum until the tall bartender had rounded the corner into the kitchen.

He let out a long, quiet sigh, only now realizing he’d been holding his breath all the while. This is wrong… Some curse rested upon this city, invisible to the senses and fleeting like the wind. Or perhaps it was just him, perhaps he’d fallen ill and was slowly going mad. Whatever the case, when he’d walked into the cozy establishment he’d been determined and confident. But now he was like wax to a flame, melting away in his chair as his of escape chances narrowed.

In the end, the fight between his mind and the bottomless pit that was his belly, was settled with a draw. He stood up from his chair and edged to the nearest window, pressing his upturned nose against the cold, hazy blue. Rain scratched the window, and he didn’t need to guess just how cold the sweeping winds would be to his bone. A large, bleary green eye stared back at him. I can’t lie…I can’t lie about her. Every moment inside, even if the towering bartender would kick him out, was a blessing. At least here he was warm.

“I don’t think she’ll come,” he whispered. His breath condensed on the glass panel, rendering his blurry resemblance even hazier. Footsteps had announced Caelum’s return, but the bartender wouldn’t find his young guest at the table anymore.

Only now, bathing in the soft orange glow and standing at his full height, with drooping shoulders and a leaking nose, did it become fully apparent that Thomas wasn’t the paying kind of guest. His boots were too large, too dirty, and had more holes than toes in them. The ragged three-quarter trousers hung together by mere threads and were about to dissolve out of pure misery.

Yet behind the grime and the filth, beneath the shallow heartbeat showing through his collarbone, there was a hint of pride left in his appearance. “I don’t think my mother will come,” he reiterated after he’d turned to face Caelum. “She’s dead.”

Timothy didn’t demand pity or respect, he merely wished Caelum would see his words for exactly what they were and weight their value accordingly. Lies and deceit had come almost naturally to him in the sea-side city, but he would not lie about his mother, he couldn’t bring himself to pretend she was still alive. In that instance he remembered her forgotten face, her cherry smile and her warm, comforting presence. His eyes shifted into soft focus as he gazed at some floating point in space. She would come in a blue dress, her favorite, and a red shawl. Her far-too-tight, dangerously-pointy shoes would come click-clacking over the streets and she’d bring a smell fresh as dew into Alements when she’d push the door open and smile warmly at them all.

But the door did not burst open. It merely creaked on its hinges as the elements barraged the establishment.

Briefly, his eyes flashed over the plate and bowl in Caelum’s hands. “I lied. I don’t have a farthing on me.” Even with no other voices present to overpower him, Timothy’s was but a low muttering. Odors of meat and herbs wafted into his nostrils and his tongue darted over his lips in reflex. Yet he remained steadfast. “I am sorry about the food, I hope you’ll find some use for it.”

For a tick he fidgeted awkwardly with his fingers before walking towards the door, bracing himself to step into the deafening orchestra that was wind, rain, and thunder. Narrow shoulders raised and tensed in anticipation of a large hand arresting him. With a bit of luck however, the bartender would just let him go.

[Caelum]

Caelum made a face at all of the wants that all but wept off of the boy. His nose crinkled up and his brow furrowed and he coughed into a hand as it dispel the clamoring cloud. Ranuri threw all manner of data at him and they were largely without detail, generalizations made less broad only the by the fact of his own analyzing. This was not an unusual circumstance as the ethaefal often found himself in a situation where he was forced to suss out the complexities and origins of another’s needs so as to meet them. Of course, some he dismissed, storing them in a mental dossier; but others he found to be more immediately useful. “Didn’t I just tell you that I’m desperate for an opinion on the stew?” Gold flecked eyes latched onto the boy and an eyebrow rose in eloquent punctuation. “Sit down, eat it, and then tell me if you like it or not. And why. Why is very important. I’m trying to unravel the mystery of cooking, Thomas, and I can’t do it on my own.” Shaking his head, he plucked up his own spoon, leveraged an elbow to the table, and took a bite. After he swallowed, dark eyes picked back up to look at the boy. “You don’t really want to go out into that. It’s nasty out there and, in here, there is food that needs eating so as to help me improve my cooking skills.” This time, he stabbed his spoon with an incredible weight of expectation at the chair Thomas had vacated. “I’m sorry your mother is dead. I would have liked to meet her. But you can tell me about her, can’t you? And what she’d think of you lying to me and then backtracking toward the truth. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting such a swift turn around. Hunger is a powerful motivator and to ignore it in the face of storms and stew and personal humiliation suggests that you are either possessed of an incredible strength of will or a deplorable store of wits.”

[Timothy Mered]

For the longest while Timothy remained frozen near the door. Caelum invited him back, but even then the decision was not so easy. The stew smelled nice, the stool he'd plonked down on just moments ago looked terribly vacant, and the freezing rain would be the least friendly of companions now. Yet, a terrible weight pulled him towards the door. He had lied to a kind, well-intending man and if he had any honor, he would hang his head in shame and leave now.

Honor or hunger, honor or hunger.

Heavy feet sauntered back towards the table. Timothy kept his head low, uneager to have to face the golden-eyed man again. Caelum pointed out his spot like a sign-post, only with more force and insistence. At long last he reached his destination and sat down, albeit it on the very edge, as if he feared the stool would scorch his behind. A rumble sounded from his stomach, and all shame and politeness were forgotten.

A spoon was grasped with bony fingers. Like an animal he attacked the food, ladling as much of it into his mouth as he could. When the bare metal scraped the bottom of the bowl, the hunger had subdued, but not faded. "It's good," he murmured, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Honestly, anything warm that didn't taste of stale bread was good now. "Very tasty. Honest," he added. Silence joined them at the table while the rain pattered on the roof.

"My mother would have hated it if I lied," Timothy sighed eventually. "No good ever comes of it, she used to say. I suppose she's right...or was...I don't know anymore. Honesty does very little to keep you alive an-" He stopped there. He'd said too much already. It was easy, too easy to trust this man and spill all his secrets. The desire to do so tugged at the fringes of his mind, growing stronger every tick.

"I don't like to lie, you know," his voice was small as mouse now, "but sometimes it's hard and you have to even if you don't want to." Another sigh. Yet again, he felt the burning desire to be honest and upfront with this man. Before he knew it, he'd blurted another piece of the truth. "My name's not Thomas, it's Timothy. Not that it matters..." His eyes fell on the tray. "Can I have some more?"

[Caelum]

"I thought Thomas might not be your name," Caelum admitted absently, dark eyes not focused on the bowl that they rested on. He ate, but not with excessive hunger. He was barely hungry, in all honesty, having been more than nourished and restored by the bright but pale light of Syna's winter smile. "It sounded a lot like a hand atop lute strings when you gave it to me. You know, it was silencing." When Timothy finished his bowl of stew and asked for more, Caelum set his spoon aside onto the tray and then nudged his still mostly full bowl across the table to the boy. "There's still more if you want it." An elbow settled to the table top, comfortable if not incredibly well mannered, and he absently picked up a fig from the fruit plate he had arranged regardless of the veracity or vitality of Timothy's mother. Popping it into his mouth, he chewed thoughtfully for a while and simply listened to the slowly softening song of hunger fading off of his new friend. "Names matter," he stated finally. "Even made-up names. Sometimes even especially made-up names. Caelum -- that's a made-up name. I stole it from a constellation in the southern hemisphere as visible in late autumn from the shores of Black Rock. That's truth, every word." A grin sprawled, sudden and irrevocable. "I spent several nights searching the sky for the right kind of light and when I decided this one star was the absolute dimmest star still capable of being seen, I asked it's name of a sailor. Her name was Nel Sayo and she had lightning in her blood, but that's a different story The star was called Caelum, and that's what I've been called ever since by any who know me." A hand rose, heavily calloused but still somehow elegant, and he slunk back in his chair with a creak of its legs and a deeper slouch. "I've other names, of course, just like you. Everyone has a few names. The name they're given, the name they make up, they name they earn, and more. Always more. There's a thousand reasons for a name. I met a woman not so long ago who walks around with dozens of them that are less names than they are titles and I really do think, Tim, that she is the second most unhappy creature I've had the pleasure of meeting. I like Timothy. It's a solid name. But if you prefer Thomas, we can use that one. It doesn't matter to me what you're called, so long as it's still being said." Finished for now with his ramblings, the doctor sunk into silence and listened to the rain drum against his windows and splash and scatter out to sea. "Where do you live then? Do you have a place here to live at all?" He squinted, considering Timothy. "Those are the hardest things to find, you know. Homes." There was a long silence then in which he continued to watch Timothy eat. Not for the first time, he wondered after this driving necessity of man. It was one he was largely free from, only threatened with starvation in the most dire and extreme of circumstances. After all, the light of day alone could sustain him. It supplied him with all of the nourishment and energy he required to function and live a healthy life. Of course by night he often grew hungry and thirsty, but it was never the gnawing, desperate desire that plagued most everyone else in the world. After all, although he would be hungry when the sun was out of the sky, yielding the domain to her lover moon, he would not die in the roughly twelve bell window before dawn broke again. And once it did? He was restored in full. When Timothy was finally finished, or seemed to be, Caelum nodded a little to himself and pushed back his chair. “Come along with me then,” he invited the child. “I want to show you something.” Assuming that Timothy chose to follow him, Caelum led the way through the tables that occupied Alements main room toward the far back left corner where a short hall led off away from the bar and kitchen. They passed a stairway leading up whose door was at the moment partially open and another door before reaching the end. The door there was unlocked and the proprietor let himself in and left the door propped open with a river stone meant exactly for that purpose. Alements infirmary was top notch. It was clean and cool, everything about its set up intuitive, simplistic, and soothing. The walls in here were stone like the rest, of course, a pale grey granite made smooth by magic. A bubbled glass window would let in plenty of sunlight during the day, but for now provided only the soft, dim glow of Riverfall by night beyond. Six beds were lined three to a side along the walls and dressed in crisp white linens and soft moss green blankets. There was a long stone counter as a work station and shelves of jars and medical tools that stacked all the way up the ceiling. It was to the farthest corner Caelum went, where his desk waited as the only cluttered and disorganized space in the entire place. Caelum pulled back the chair under his desk and dropped into it, but this was only to lean forward and pull out his desk drawers so that he might rummage through their seemingly disordered content. If a person looked at the ethaefal’s desk long enough then slowly but surely all of its various components began to make a sort of sense. It was just Caelum’s sense, and he was by all accounts a strange man anyway. “What else have you done in order to survive?” He asked directly, still searching. It had to be here somewhere. He rather hoped to be given an honest answer, but he knew how unlikely it was. It was a rare person who was in the mood to confess all of their sins to a virtual stranger. Though, those that did often found themselves confessing to Caelum. It was the magic of ranuri, Nikali’s insidious grace, though that was not it alone. He kept a horde of secrets. “You are not the first to compromise his morals for the sake of breath and another chance. Another minute, another hour even. Time is hope. Time for a miracle to happen. For circumstances to change. Life to go on.”