Chapter 8
An important visitor comes to Randirm Temple and a tense rivalry is born
An important visitor comes to Randirm Temple and a tense rivalry is born
Garaf arrived at the gate in a rush, and suffered the bespectacled glare of Esslar for his trouble. Guthlac, Crawa and the lalafell stood in a neat line, all decked out in their formal wear. Garaf took his spot on the other side and attempted some last-minute neatening of his tunic. Even he was feeling the pressure of being conspicuously under-dressed standing next to the others, but he didn’t own anything else to wear; a problem made all the more troublesome as he was fast outgrowing his one set of clothes.
Esslar cleared his throat, and Garaf looked up from his tunic to see a procession of chocobos rapidly approaching down the path that led to the gate. He grinned goofily at the exhilarating sight of fully-equipped chocobos moving at speed, but another “hrmph†from the lalafell at his side put a stop to that expression.
The chocobos came to a stop just shy of the gate, momentum carrying a cloud of dust from their heels past the venerable wooden threshold. Most of of it wound up passing over a displeased Duskwight. Then, he saw that behind the two chocobos was a small coach, decorated with green paints and red enamels, and he watched as the porter slid from his perch and opened the door to the cabin. No sooner had the porter put down a step stool between the door and the ground than a stately looking boy appeared. He stepped down the stool, ignoring the porter, looking to Garaf’s eyes the very image of a stately young prince, about the same age as Crawa. His clothes were formal, and obviously expensive, and the Duskwight reckoned that anyone with posture that perfect either had a stick along their spine or had never stooped to do a day’s work. He instantly decided he favored the chocobos more than the much anticipated visitor.
The other boy approached Guthlac and gave the man a formal bow, binding down at the waist so that his body formed an L. “I am most gracious for your hospitality, Ser Guthlac, and hope to return your generosity at the earliest available opportunity.†The formality of his speech and manner, juxtaposed with his young age, created an almost comic effect. Garaf barely kept himself from giggling.
“It is a pleasure to see you, Young Dasma. I only wish we could enjoy your company for more than a single evening.â€Â
“Alas, but my training needs must recommence on the eve of the morrow. If only there were time.†He stepped down the line to Crawa, never disturbing even a puff of dry dust with his silver and sable boots. Garaf squinted as he noticed that Crawa was blushing furiously, and he was sure that he could hear her heart fluttering in his ears. And that was before this “Dasma†character knelt before her, took her hand in his and laid a kiss on the back of her palm. “My lady looks dazzling this morning. I have anticipated this day for some time and can only hope that I live up to your expectations.â€Â
Crawa was speechless at the display, and now Garaf was sure his ears were picking up her heartbeat. It was the skip when the boy took her hand that convinced him.
Dasma did not approach Esslar when he got back to his feet but he did give the scholarly lalafell a respectful nod. “Master Esslar, even in the city we have heard of your esteem-able knowledge. Perhaps later we might discuss the history of the Wailers?â€Â
Esslar bowed in turn and replied. “Certainly, Sirrah.â€Â
Dasma’s eyes barely even fell on Garaf before he turned back to Crawa. “Now, if you would be so kind as to have your boy get my things, I should be delighted to see this Temple I have heard so much about.â€Â
It didn’t immediately dawn on Garaf just what Dasma had meant, not until he saw Esslar pointing expectantly at a small mountain of luggage that the porter had just set in the road. When it did dawn on him, Garaf commenced with flinging daggers from his eyes right into the back of the silver-haired wildwood boy’s head.
It took two trips, and another face of dust as the coach rode off, for Garaf to haul all the luggage to the guest room on the second floor of the house. More than once he considered lugging them out a window and leaving the jangling, jingling contents to roll and rust on the ground. It was only the thought of Guthlac and Esslar’s reactions that stayed his hand. Still, it didn’t stop him from concocting a creative method of piling the luggage so that, at the slightest touch, it would topple to the ground.
From then on he went about his day. He had spent the last three days cleaning every ilm of floor and wall in the Temple so he grabbed a fishing pole and decided to make himself scarce for awhile. Esslar eventually passed him by, however, and asked that he check in on the other two children. Garaf found them in the library, politely tittering on the history of this and that. He slid the door open and stepped through nonchalantly, still toting his tackle in one hand. “‘Ey. Esslar’s wantin’ ta know iffin’ ya’ll’r gettin’ along?â€Â
“Oh, Crawa,†came the detestable voice of Dasma, “I know I shouldn’t but I feel I must speak to it. You really should do something about your servant. He’s quite filthy and has that insolent way about him. Surely you’ve heard the reputation of the Greys. No good can come from associating with his kind.â€Â
When asked later why he’d done it, Garaf could never recall quite why he’d gotten so mad at that. He’d never done something like it before, that he could recall, but the other boy’s words had just stripped through his inhibitions. When Dasma happened to look back towards Garaf he found a bony grey fist hurtling towards his face. Knuckle connected with forehead, and Dasma rolled backwards, either to avoid the brunt of the blow or because of it. He got back to his feet in a flash and threw a punch at Garaf, who ducked inside it and tried to knee Dasma in the groin, though the other boy blocked it. From there it quickly broke down into a cascade of fists and feet and elbows as the two boys tumbled around the Library. Crawa shouted at them both, but neither of them heard. Garaf had speed and strength, but Dasma had discipline, and neither had a clear advantage over the other from the outset.
Somehow during the hubbub, Guthlac had appeared in the doorway. “ENOUGH!†His voice boomed like a crack of thunder and the fight paused until Garaf resumed gnawing on Dasma’s ankle and the fight resumed. At least, until the old man stomped across the room and pulled them both apart by their ears. Both of them were scraped, bruised and scuffed in equal measure and a dangerous glare passed between them. “Garaf! To your room! Dasma, you will come with me!†The two boys continued glaring as they were marched away until the walls got in the way. Even then Garaf continued to frown, as though his glance could cut through the wood. Neither had noticed Crawa crying back in the Library.
Garaf was in his room alone for several minutes before Esslar came in to join him. He wore a stern look on his face, but none of the anger that Garaf had expected. The lalafell approached where Garaf lay on his bed but stood to the side. “I must admit that I am considering checking that head of yours for further injury; to explain your recent lapse of sanity. Yet I am well aware that the thickness of your cranium would render such things considerably improbable. Tell me though, do you understand the importance of Sirrah Dasma?â€Â
Garaf stared up at the ceiling and tried to recall if it had ever been mentioned, but he couldn’t remember anything specific; he’d just kept hearing how important Dasma was. “He’s a richie hoity-toity.â€Â
“Hmmm… well, that in of itself may be true, but it does not, in and of itself, impart any significance within these walls. Dasma is Crawa’s betrothed. Do you understand that?â€Â
“Means they’re gonna be hitched.â€Â
“Indeed. Dasma comes from a very old family in Gridania; one with a noble history of defending the city and its surroundings. His family and the Nerian family have a centuries-long history of inter-marrying. Their wealth helps support this Temple, while we reciprocate with spiritual wealth, to put it one way. Our spheres complement each other. Crawa was promised to Dasma very soon after she was born, in fact. Yet his family has another tradition, one that requires Dasma to become an officer among the Wood Wailers;the legion of lancers that have long defended Gridania. To follow that tradition he must enter into the training for this on his seventh birthday, which is in less than four days. His parents sent him here as a long-planned sojourn, and so that he and Crawa might have memories of each other before they reach the age where they might be joined.â€Â
“So?†Garaf wasn’t quite sure where Esslar was going with all this. In his head the silver-haired boy was still just a ‘hoity-toity.’
“So, Dasma comes from a clearly different environment. One that is, perhaps, somewhat… ungracious towards others. If it is too much to ask for you to respect him, then you should tolerate him. If not for his sake, then for Crawa’s.â€Â
Garaf answered with a “hmph†and rolled over towards the wall. He had understood what Esslar had said, or thought he had, but he still wasn’t quite satisfied. A few minutes later, Esslar left Garaf to brood in silence.
Garaf decided, if only to respect Crawa, to avoid the other boy and found that it wasn’t hard. He stayed in his room much of that day, carving and whittling to pass the time. He had no visitors, and was quite content with that. The next day he went out to the warehouse and used the makeshift forge there to continue working on a number of projects. A few of them were items he had been asked to repair, but just as many were personal projects of his. He grinned every time the hammer fell; secretly hoping that the clanging would annoy their oh-so-important visitor.
He heard the cart approach the gate in the late afternoon, and finally left the forge. He scurried up to the roof of the house and watched as the other four assembled around the coach. He felt his first pang of guilt when he saw Esslar huffing to carry Dasma’s things, but then he only got more annoyed at the precocious boy. A few minutes later he was gone, and Garaf fell on his back with a sigh of relief. ‘Good riddance!’
Crawa, however, watched the dust of the coach’s passage until it faded into the distance and the great gates that spanned the hedge were closed.