Page Nine

 

When VerNous opens his eyes for a second time he sees a clear and less foreboding visual of the chamber; it is now bathed in a peaceful light rather than a fiery red glow stemming from his buried rage. His tired eyelids flicker open, trying to adjust to the searing shafts of light that cut across his face. Even though his vision is blurred and unsteady, he is able to contemplate his surroundings in order to pin point where he is and whose bed this was. Coming from beyond the baseboard are some faint bustling, foot shuffling, glass clanking noises, similar to the sounds a butler makes as he tidies. VerNous can make out a hefty framed fellow stocking a slender vase with some brittle flowers, giving the stems an even deader look as they slump over in their container. VerNous attempts to prop himself up for a better view, moaning as his stiff limbs take on the deadweight of his torso.  This startles Nelet who is quick to turn and greet the boy,

         “Goodmorning, VerNous! What a sight to see you’ve awaken. My master will be most pleased to see you’ve come to.” Nelet goes to help him, but doesn’t even take three steps without VerNous freaking out, sprouting from his bed groove, and kicking his body backward toward the headboard.

         “Oh, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Here, let me introduce myself. I am Nelet, issar and servant to the -”, but Nelet finds himself tongue tied all of a sudden, the recall of prior events seizing his lightheartedness. He is unsure of VerNous’ temperament, but he must continue after noticing the boy’s impatience, wanting Nelet to hurry and blurt out the rest of his introduction, “the, um, Grand Issara Niseka of Detenstagem.” He finishes with a rattled inflection. Confused, VerNous stringently demands the nervous Nelet to repeat himself.

         “Who?” he cries. Nelet gulps his wind back into his pipes as he prepares his nerves to repeat himself, but to his relief he is interrupted before he could utter one syllable,

         “He said, feeble bodied one, Nelet, servant to the Grand Issara Niseka of Detenstagem- that’d be me!” Niseka proudly points to himself as he enters from the shadows. In contrast to Nelet’s timidity, Niseka is bold and uninhibited, walking toward the bed with zero apprehension and entering the sacred space that encircles VerNous- who reacts by rearing his back ready to maliciously pounce or buck a person who didn’t keep his distance. But the master issar is very wise to the instability simmering beneath VerNous’ green and glum skin, and anticipates any violence he might retaliate with.

         “It is about time you’ve awaken from that eternal, princely slumber. Second only to destroying my property, you’ve shown a real talent for lying immobile like an old mummy. But now, I welcome you back to consciousness after so many days trapped inside your dreams. Why don’t we get you dressed out of those soiled pajamas, for today promises to be an eventful one.” Niseka dauntlessly leans over to lift the boy by his elbow and the opposite hand, but VerNous refuses the courtly gesture and swats his hand away. Niseka is shocked by the boy’s backhanded slap and yanks it back, though not upset at his actions which leaves him with a throbbing hand. The quivering VerNous panics and uses his leg nubs to push himself to the opposite side of the bed, attempting to exit by his own means. But in his hasty retreat he blanks on the fact that he has no feet. He dismounts from the bed and plummets to the floor, hitting the carpet with a thud like a metal ball landing on a soft surface. Niseka cannot resist the urge to laugh heartily before regaining his decorum; eventually he travels to the other side of the bed to assist the fidgety VerNous. The shock of the fall gives Niseka a brief window in which to scoop the boy up and reset his body back on the mattress.

“Slow down you precocious, little gent, you’ll have to gather the strength to levitate your body like the days of old. Here, take my arm and I’ll prop you a couple of steps.” But once again, VerNous makes it clear he doesn’t want his help and crawls back around to the other side of the bed, but this time, before descending he looks wide-eyed over the bed’s edge as if the drop is miles high.  First, he lets his nubs dangle, and then instead of propelling his entire, aching body into the air, he props himself on the side drawer and slides his weight into the air currents, wobbling as if caught in an invisible sling. Niseka watches on without interference, pleased at VerNous’ autonomous effort at making himself airborne. It was like night and day- for at one point VerNous struggled to brace himself on the bed stand, and now he glides perfectly like pollen dancing mid-air to an unknown destination, rising little by little with an occasional bounce downward. Niseka gives the Vernos a gentle applause,

         “Good! Good! Well done. So like you- never taking kindly to the charity of others, no, you are way to hardheaded for handouts. Now that we’ve established your mobility, why don’t we take a stroll through my abode? Follow me, it’s a short, doable distance, just down the hall.” Niseka turns and leads the party pass his menacing serpent doors, down a hall, down some stairs to a corridor open to an elegant, spacious, and light-dazzling chamber. Niseka prepared it for VerNous’ seasons ago and it’s been aging ever since. The room has a long semi-circular floor plan, its curved portion a parade of windows and drapery. Niseka ends the miniature procession in the middle of the room, then lifts his arms as if to command the light to consume him, and says with zeal,

         “This is to be your quarters, one of my best accommodations- with the obvious exception being my own. A stunning retreat in which to soundly rest one’s person.” As he says this, he sinks his cheek into a freshly cased pillow, the acidic, earthy scent awaking his sense of smell and taste. He gestures toward the canopy bed, “Please, have a seat will you?” VerNous gives him an unpleasant glare, the answer “no” embedded in the furrows of his forehead.

         “Or not.” he relents. By the heel of his foot, he swerves to face the curved, windowed wall, then back around to them, yet his arms remains behind his back, “Well, let us begin shall we. My first offering to your wondrousness is this elegant, very chic gown- hand spun and sewn personally by Incskein’s very own adroit hands.” Niseka holds the tiny gown up as if to model it on his own large frame, stretching it long ways to fully display the skilled construction of the seams and the lavishness of the fabric and fringe. Once he finishes admiring the dress’ quality, he moves toward VerNous only to be frozen in place by the boy’s cold gaze. Niseka realizes that there is no chance that VerNous will allow him to touch him, much less disrobe him out of a clingy bed gown. So, he uses some trivial magic to mesh the fabric of the new dress to his body, meanwhile the old, fluid stiff bed gown splits and falls to the floor. VerNous looks down in surprise, mesmerized by the entire process. Niseka continues,

         “It fits perfectly! Great, now, onto the next…” He lifts his clutched hand in front of him, and then opens his fist revealing a marble talisman that falls out and dangles from his pointing finger. “Do you remember this? Yes, I can sense you long for it from here. It’s the complete charm, not a piece missing, and I made sure of it. Take it, you’ll feel rejuvenated immediately after fixing it to your being!” At first VerNous can only gaze upon the lost charm in astonishment, but when he comes back to his senses, he snatches the charm from Niseka and holds it to his chest. The pendant glows and then sinks into his chest like a body into a foam mattress, a warm sensation overcoming him. Niseka nods in approval,

         “Was I not right?  Like a sizzling elixir streaming through your veins. It’s a terrible thing for an issar to exist without his precious talisman, it’s like having a limb-” But the quick glance to VerNous’ legs saves him, “Never mind.”  After recovering from his awkward slip, Niseka regains his excitement over the final gift for the day.  “Ah! There is one more thing! Brace yourself, VerNous. Be patient with your emotions, the final gift is quite evocative.” Once again he hides his hands behind his back, “Forged by the mighty Quanpo himself, within the inferno spitting foundry of Assalvein, molded from imperishable properties known only to Quanpo’s brilliance.  I present your very own daetastoms (daetastoms are formal prosthetics originating from Nepechura practices). Aren’t they splendid?” Niseka observes the boy’s reluctance. “They have excellent rotation, they’re lightweight- though completely indestructible. It’s Quanpo’s guarantee that they’ll never tarnish, erode, rust, patina, dent, melt, dissolve, sear, snap, crack, bubble, crease, congeal, and/or puncture. In fact, all those defects would plague your susceptible flesh before even touching these beauties.” VerNous is at a lost for words; he knows he has always prized his former daetastoms, but that doesn’t stop his heart from churning with fear over the heinous, artificial limbs. Niseka waste no time to address his anxiety.

         “I know, VerNous.  They’ll never be entirely free from their horrid symbolization. But I want you to know,” he says emphatically, “I give these to you with honor and deference to your person. They are merely practical appendages meant to complete your form and provide you a choice on how you’d like to mobilize yourself.” Meanwhile, Nelet has remained calm up until now, afraid of another outburst from the Vernos. He is not the only one unsure of what really simmers in VerNous’ heart, the master issar also wonders what memories must have been triggered by this final gift. After viewing the daetastoms, the boy freezes, floating midair like a stone replica of his body, mouth agape. Niseka decides to use this moment to gauge the boy’s willingness. Lowering his stature, Niseka humbly reaches for the young issar’s leg, but VerNous recoils violently the second he feels fingers press into the bend under his knee. To that unsolicited grab, VerNous squints his eyes and glares at the audacious issar as if he’d desecrated a sacred site. Angrily he snatches a fake shank from him and examines it, though is immediately baffled by its complex modules, clicking levers and gears back and forth, attempting to understand their physical application. But his futile analysis is embarrassing to undergo, causing him to grimace and fold his arms, knowing he must allow Niseka to attach them to his legs.

         “With pleasure.” Niseka bows and gets right to it. “See, you have to align the vacuum pad onto the leg just right, then the actual prosthetic latches on smooth without a hitch.” Niseka carefully grasp the previously forbidden fold under his knee again, and VerNous complies and stretches his joint in sync with the issar’s guidance. As he twist the rubbery socket up his shin, the pressurized, air-release mechanism tightens and loosens its hold with every failed attempt to clutch the leg, for the finicky nub is oddly ovoid, lumpy, and dry. He blast some grouses as he tightens his grasp for leverage, jerking the boy’s body back and forth, but Vernous pretends to ignore his bumbling technique. Niseka eventually has to cautiously squeeze VerNous’ boney thigh for more control, planting his feet into the floor for one more determined thrust. With a quick grunt and a swear word, he finally secures the first cap. Then he snaps on the first appendage, this action laughably incongruent and facile in comparison. He repeats until both are attached. Once VerNous has been dawned with his new appendages, he lowers himself until the upper ball of his mechanical foot is flushed with the floor. His first steps are wobbly, but he doesn’t let that stop him from forcing his scrawny legs to expedite their mastery of the daetastoms. Finally, he arrives at a perfect, fluid gait- charmingly dynamic throughout his form due to the fixed incline of the prosthetic foot. The curious issar takes his leave from Niseka’s and Nelet’s company in order to freely discover his new setting. He notes the refined ethnological antiques; depressing looking furniture that needed dusting; faded, masterfully handled paintings of what looks to be mystic caverns lit from a single light source; and an odd collection of biomorphic glassware, sprawling though out the room. The closer he gets to the ring of windows, the more he is blinded by a searing light that weakens his vision for a split moment before adjusting. A modest-in-length balcony juts into an architectural landscape made up of dazzling spires peeking like a mountain range made of pastries and soot. Then he gives the light another chance and lets it bake the skin of his face. After opening an ornate stain glass door he frees the icy air to whip over his body and chill his legs. Finally he grins and lets the air’s electric field energize his spirit. Staring into the blue horizon, pulling the sheer curtains over his cheeks, he ruminates over the light once more, until it hits him like a flood capsizing a vessel, that this is real and not some envisaged fraudulence. As he turns back to them, Niseka can see the change in his figure, every pocket and rise of his face smooth and tensionless, his lashes shading those tender eyes.

         “I’m back. I’m alive!”  VerNous laughs,  “Death can not handle nor hold my soul, as if repelled by the sight of it.” He takes a deep breath as he relishes in his immortality.

         “Yes, but”, Niseka feels inclined to remind, “Technically it was I who-”

         “Quiet!!!” VerNous demands cutting him off. Nelet jumps a bit as the boy barks at his master, looking to Niseka for his negative reaction, but he stands poised, not fazed by the shrill order. VerNous notices an appealing little box on a wall shelf and fiddles with it, admiring a wonderfully painted landscape frozen in resin.  VerNous demands,

         “Where the hell am I, anyways?”

         “The famed realm of Detenstagem, but of course.” Niseka proudly responds.

         “Detenstagem! Are you joking?  Nipercuria’s shithole? Oh, I’m afraid that that will need to change, master Nisecca.” he says with disdain.

         “Really, you have plans on leaving, then?” Niseka playfully mocks as he scratches his bald noggin.

         “I don’t have to tell you shit about my plans!” Vernous stridently replies. Niseka laughs while making his way to the well-lit half circle and imposes himself behind VerNous, who has turned back around, surveying the land. This sends a bolt of shock down his spine and he warns the lofty issar,

         “Grip your person away from me, I’ll tell you only once!”

         “No wait, let’s revisit this hi-larious notion about you taking leave of my ancient palace, and how you plan on accomplishing this? To start, do you even know where you’ll go? You have no safe location to hide. You shouldn’t even be alive right now, so you can’t solicit help from anyone, let alone be seen by anyone. You also suffer from advance atrophy and have about half the strength of your former self.  Oh, and on a trifling, insignificant side note, my realm is three-layers thick with impenetrable natural forces capable of sending the stealthiest of issars to death’s limbo. Now, answer me this, I am intrigued by your deductive abilities. How are any of these listed hindrances favorable to a successful departure from my estate?” VerNous sneers at Niseka with his smart-aleck approach, and sighs as the facts sink in.

         “Are you saying I have no choice?”

         “No, not at all. You have choices- they’re all just very bad choices.” He says with a chuckle. “All except one. Stay here; let me help you regain your former strength. I will do, give, provide anything your heart so desires. And if I come up short, then the Vernos’ wrath I shall taste.”

         “Like I said, I have no choice.”

         “Yes, pretty much.”

“Oh god…” VerNous laments. Niseka gives his shoulder a friendly, heavy-handed slap before reestablishing himself in the middle of the chamber.

 “Well, now that that is settled.  This day is slipping minute by minute, and we must be advantageous in it. We begin it with the proper nutrition. You, boy, look as if you haven’t eaten in centuries, and since truly you have not; let’s make our way to procure some refreshments. Nelet, have everything arranged on the terrace- No, wait, wait! Where are my manners, I’m terribly unbecoming for a late breakfast.  I need to get dressed out of my bedclothes; Nelet will you guide our guest to brunch. Nelet? Come now, don’t lag behind! He won’t bite.” The timid servant finally leaves the wall and does as his master commands, but still keeps a safe distance between him and the capricious Vernos.