An Ending & A Beginning, part II

...from The Vitmar Chronicles, Volume I

Part II: Harvest 1^st, 232; 3^rd Era

“...And thus, with great bravado,
Mighty Kaldor slew his foe!”

Kaldor puffed out his chest as he took a sweeping bow, not bothering to hide his smug grin. The patrons of the crowded smokeroom applauded loudly, a few even letting out the odd whoop. Kaldor returned the lute to his brother as he took his seat next to him, bowing a few more times in a grandiose way that let his brother remain out of the public eye for a few moments longer.

Gabriel took the instrument with trembling hands, running his fingers up and down the familiar carved knots of its dark wooden neck as it rested in his lap. Though he had always kept his long, near-black hair free, a hood and scarf now covered his head and throat most of the time, more to prevent him from feeling exposed than for any real protection. He had further deserted his usual well-lit corner spot by the fire in favor of the front-row table so that his back would be to the audience’s gaze. Despite Kaldor and Rian’s best efforts to shield him, Gabriel could feel the weight of curious eyes around the room boring through the pipe smoke into the back of his head, wondering what had changed their usually sociable bard into the nervous wreck in front of them.

Gabriel clutched the lute a bit closer. Kaldor leaned over and refilled Gabriel’s water glass from a pitcher. “You don’t need to, if you don’t feel up to it,” he said, his head tilted sympathetically. “They’ll be disappointed, but they’ll understand. And that’ll just make them all the more excited to see you next time.”

Three seasons had passed since the ill-fated proposal at Druid’s Pond, and this early Harvest evening was the first time Gabriel had promised to perform in his regular post at the Golden Ember in well over a turn. The carved wooden stool in the corner that used to be his regular seat had been home to a variety of guest rears during his absence. Returning to it on this night was a personal challenge, a huge first step towards a hopeful return to a society, whose unpredictable potential terrified him beyond all measure. The familiar murk of herbal smoke and incense offered little comfort, as his imagination turned the act of public performance into a looming beast that towered oppressively over him. How could he ever begin to explain what had happened to these people?