A principal Method of Communication

"I'll be going now. Please stay inside, dear."

"Sure thing, Mother!"

That is me having a sweet but brief conversation with my mother. One of the few pleasures in my rather boring life, constrained by the few corners of our tent so far. I had a small peek outside the other day, but can't say the sight of more tents around us proved to be much entertainment, nor did it give me a better estimate of the situation.

With all that in mind, I've spent the bulk of my time fully dedicated to learning Mother's language. By any means, it wasn't easy. Mainly due to the fact she wouldn't stop speaking to me like I am a toddler. I mean, I most certainly am. But learning proper grammar and pronunciation is a nightmare when your example slurs their words, trying to baby you.

Though once we got past all that, the language feels rather sensical to me. That is to say, not unlike languages from my old world.

Now, with me being one eloquent toddler, I am now able to hold a proper conversation with my dear mother. During one of which I gleaned her name. Rinah. Beautiful name for a beautiful woman, it certainly fits.

But since she has to work hard during the day to provide for a freeloader like me, I have to find other ways to keep myself busy in the meanwhile. I'm still brainstorming on ways to help her. My lacking physical ability severely limits my options and I'm still just drawing blanks.

Considering all that, I am almost thankful for the other new presence in my life...

"ᒎᕮ ᘻ'ᗩᑭᑭᕮᘂᘂᕮ ᑊᔕᖺᗩ, ᑊᔕᖺᗩ! ᔕᗜᕞᕓᑊᕮᘯᔕ-ᘕᗜᑊ, ᑭᕮᘕᑊᘕ!"

I am talking, of course, about the white spirit from my dreams. This ghastly figure looks rather peculiar. The best way to describe her shifting form would be to compare her to an unfinished drawing of a woman, the lines blurry and changing constantly. Her presence gives me quite the chill actually.

She is currently screaming at me in yet another language, unlike the one Mother speaks. While I didn't want to worry Mother by asking her if she too can see the pale, creepy figure watching us sleep from the corner of our tent, given the fact she doesn't so much as flinch when she would be in her view, I'll just assume, for now at least, only I can see or hear her.

Which makes the annoyance I can infer through her manner of speaking quite understandable. Imagine you could only speak to a toddler and had to wait for several years until he stops eating clay, or in this case sand, and becomes aware. Then on top of all that, he doesn't even speak your language. Oh, the horror! The mere thought makes me shudder to my core.

As I wallow in my thoughts, the onslaught of words seems to let up...

"ᑊᔕᖺᗩ."

She points at herself.

"ᑊᔕᖺᗩ!"

Ah, finally something constructive. We might be past denial and anger by now, so is this bargaining? Or she might be done already with the 5 stages of grief?

Anyway, that word was one she mentioned before already in one of her screaming bouts. "Isha," was it? Is she trying to tell me her name? She definitely is. I too should refer to myself and state my name.

"Isayah"

Thus, I proudly proclaim my name, as given to me by my dear mother, and point with my thumb to my chest. While her face is certainly hard to read, I'd still like to think that her expression has shifted to one of relief right now.

We can finally start getting somewhere. With Isha to teach me all of her words, I might just have something to do during the day. Since I've learnt one language already, another one will of course be no trouble. Sometimes, my boundless mental capabilities frighten even me...

Far, far too hasty. I might have slightly... underestimated the complexity of languages weird ghost women speak. My great success with the other language has emboldened me a tad too much.

Memorising the words is fine, I do consider myself rather gifted after all, but all those grammar rules will be the death of me. It doesn't help that my teacher appears quick to anger and somewhat impatient.

Though all the same, no matter how much I frustrate her, she won't stop teaching me. Most likely due to the fact she can't really do anything else. She can't touch anything; she's completely incorporeal.

I've never seen her leave me, though as to if this is a matter of can not or will not, yet again, I can only guess. I'll ask her once I know the appropriate words. I should tread carefully not to annoy her any further. To that very end, she spends all of her time testing me and my grasp of her tongue.

"ᑕᕮᘕ ᕮᘯᗞᖇᗜᑊᘕ ᕮᔕᘕ ᔕᗩᘂᕮ, ᘕᕞ ᗞᕮᕓᖇᗩᑊᔕ ᘂᕮ ᘯᕮᘕᘕᗜᒉᕮᖇ.ᑊᔕᖺᗩ."

Ugh, let's break this down. After spending some time with her, I can approximate the feelings on her face rather well now. She is definitely disgusted. I know the words for 'filth' and 'clean'.

This is about the condition of the tent, isn't it? Yeah, she is right, I should clean it. That might be something I can do: keep things tidy and neat while I'm alone during the day. I could ask for a broom and use the rags we have lying around.

Though I'd like some soap. Do they even have soap around here? Anyway, I shouldn't keep Isha waiting any longer.

"ᒎᕮ ᗞᕮᕓᖇᗩᑊᔕ ᘯᕮᘕᘕᗜᒉᕮᖇ"

A simple declaration of my intent to clean – I can manage that much. I am rather proud of myself, if I may say so myself. I would even pat myself on the shoulder right now, but someone else is already doing that for me.

My dear mother seems to be home, though this time I am not greeted by my usual hug or hello. She holds me in place, kneeling in front of me, summoning a strength one definitely wouldn't expect from her, based on the state of her frail body.

She looks me straight in the eyes with a look I've never seen on her face before. Abject terror? Fear? Elation? All of the above and then some? She takes a moment to form her thoughts into coherent words...

"Where did you learn to speak Elvish?"

Elvish? Isha is teaching me Elvish? Aren't you the elf here? What the hell have you been speaking with me then? I'll shove those questions to the back of my mind for now, they can wait.

Should I tell her about Isha? In the corner of her eye I see her shaking her head. Better not then. A smooth white lie it is...

"The people next to us were speaking it, I picked it up from them. Aren't we elves?"

"Isayah, we cannot speak that language anymore. We have to speak the language of the humans now. If they hear you, they will beat you or even worse..."

She trails off, but she doesn't need to finish that thought for me to understand her meaning. This might not just be poverty we are facing here. Sounds much more like slavery...

That at least clears up why she was so afraid, hearing me speak her native tongue. But I cannot help but wonder: How did it come to this? Thankfully, I needn't even ask the question. Good for me, for I don't even know how I could find the right words for this.

"Long, long before you were born, many different elvish tribes lived all across the world. We lived in harmony with nature, and in turn nature gave us one of her many gifts. We were given a tree, larger than any mountain. Its roots were said to encompass the entire world. Anywhere an elven village was, a root of the tree would sprout, granting its blessing. As long as it stood, our entire race was able to call on nature's prowess to work wonders others never could."

A tree that gives the ability to do miracles? Like magic? The last big tree I saw burning was in my dreams, the one with Isha. This very same ghost started radiating an aura of seething hatred as Mother told this story. She certainly also has feelings on the matter...

"However, during our struggle against the humans, they made fire and thunder rain from the sky and torched the world-tree. Without our blessing we could do little against their fire. With our forests burnt to ash and nothing left to give..."

She struggles to finish her sentence, tears welling up in her eyes. I just hug her tightly, for I don't know what else I could do to soothe her pain. I fully admit that I am out of my depth here.

At first, I was just going to complain about how unlucky I am to be reincarnated as a slave and having barely missed out on magic. That just feels tactless now. It hurts my soul to see Rinah despair like this. She probably feels guilty about birthing her kid into this awful situation as well.

I have to do something, anything, to help her, but what? For now I'll just be here for her and start working as soon as I'm old enough, so she can rest a little easier. Until then I'll give that cleaning idea a go. Can't have her catching something nasty due to lacking hygiene. I'll ask her if we can acquire a broom and some soap when her spirits have lifted...

So now I spend my afternoons cleaning our domicile. Using this rather scuffed broom as my implement of destruction, not a single grain of sand or speck of dust shall escape annihilation. At least not under my watch.

No luck on the soap, though. Mother said that's something only the overseers can buy from merchants. Too bad, really. Maybe I'll just make my own soap. I remember watching a video on the Internet in which a guy made soap out in the wilds. Where am I going to get the animal fat for that though? Not in here, that's for sure. I'll have to ask Mother if she can take me outside sometime soon...

Also, during sweeping time, I still train my elvish with Isha. Though I am now thoroughly convinced that I should not speak it lightly, I still wish to understand Isha. Based on that dream where I saw her first, she might've been there when this world-tree burnt.

I take it she might be a disgruntled elven spirit, or something to that effect... Oh well, no point dwelling on it now, just like with every other mystery concerning her: I'll ask her once I've gained a better hold on the elvish language.