To Rest, or Not To Rest - Chapter 9

The fair felt endless. We sampled everything, sticky candied apples that had left my fingers sticky with sugar. Sugary roasted nuts that were so warm they nearly burned my tongue. Fried dough dusted with spice that made Lance sneeze three times in a row. We also tried many games. Ring tosses, dart throws, and even guessing jars full of sweets. I didn’t win a thing, but Lance strutted around with his two trinkets like he’d conquered the entire square.

Lanterns swayed above us, their colors bled into the night air like paint over water. The sound of the shore in the distance washed as the music continued to spill from every corner. Drums and fiddles ended up pulling people into wild and joyful dances. I made sure not to join them; I wasn’t too sure if my legs could handle such activity. But I clapped along at the edges, laughing when Lance would try to mimic the steps of the performers, but end up nearly tripping over his own boots. When the crowd pressed toward the center of the square for the next performance, I slipped to the side, tugging my new book free. I sat down on the low stone edge of a fountain; the glow of my hair bows reflected in the water and opened to the first blank page.

The paper smelled faintly of cedar. My hand trembled as I held the writing utensil given to me by my father. It was a quilled pen. I held it tightly, trying my best to write what was in my mind.

“The Autumn Fallfest Fair, my first. From the smell of the roasted almonds to the color of the lanterns. Luisa’s laugh when Gil gave her some. Lance missing two out of the three rings, pretending that he meant to.”

I smiled to myself, writing faster, afraid the night would slip away if I didn’t pin it to the page. Suddenly, a voice cut in. It was Lance. “Hey,” Lance said, standing above me, hands on his hips and peering downward. “What’re you doing?”

“Writing.”

“In a book?”

‘Yes, in a book.” I said, rolling my eyes in the process. He frowned, plopping himself down beside me. “But…why? You already did all that stuff. Why write it again?” he questioned. I’d tapped the quill against my chin, hesitating on an answer. “It’s because…I don’t want to forget this. I’ve missed too many of these. Sometimes my head feels like a blur, causing me to forget certain memories…If I write them down, then maybe they’ll have a better chance of staying.” I said, continuing with my writing of recollection. He tilted his head, his expression softening. “...That’s kinda smart there, Chloe.” I laughed lightly, “Didn’t expect to hear that coming from you of all people.” Lance chuckled after, “Hey, I can be smart too.” he said, puffing his cheeks before leaning back on his hands. “So, what’re you gonna write about next? Like, what you want for your birthday or something?”

The question made me pause. Slowly, I turned the quill in my fingers. I hadn’t thought too much about the Gifting Ceremony that my mother had spoken of before, but from what I could recall, it was something very important. Once you turned twelve years of age, you’d be made to go to the Cathedral to get appointed your gift. I wonder if Gil’s put any thought into what he’d want to do after growing up. Though, I couldn’t be too sure. “Actually…Lance. What do you want to be gifted with? If you could choose any sort of skill?”

He blinked with honest surprise. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” I responded. He chewed his lip, looking up at the multicolored lanterns lighting the sky above us. “I think…I want to be strong. Just like Gil. With a huge boat to help bring in multiple catches. So that my family wouldn’t have to worry and work nearly as hard.” I nodded along, slowly filling in my book with more info with every scratch on the page. He continued, seemingly keen on explaining his thoughts. “I’d want to become a strong, self-reliant man, able to do what I can to help those around me. Whatever gift I may get, If I can help and protect those that I care about through it, I’d give anything.”

His eyes looked away, seemingly shy from opening up so much. He turned his head with a small grin, flickering in the corner of my eye. “What about you? What would you want to be gifted with?” His question stilled me. My quill hovered above the page. I didn’t know. Not really. But slowly, faintly, an image rose in my mind: my father’s workshop, the smell of sawdust and ink, the way his hands moved confidently over the bindings and papers, making something new and traveling to sell it. Watching him head off towards the kingdom. The images struck something within me.

“...Maybe I want to follow Father,” I said quietly. “Learning his trade, from books to records. Making things last. Selling said products, it sounds…rather nice.” I twirled a lock of hair with my hand, growing embarrassingly shy from the comment. I felt a great sense of joy and respect talking about my father. It was as if I couldn’t help but see him as some sort of genius. The dedication he’d put into his work, even if things didn’t feel as if they’d go well. He’d always make a way. I want to be someone like that.

Lance blinked at me, then let off a small frown. “But…isn’t that kinda hard? For you, I mean. You’re always sick. Wouldn’t that get in the way?” The words hit me, though he hadn’t spoken them cruelly, just honestly. I pressed the quill down onto the paper, forcing a smile. “Maybe, but if I don’t try, I’ll never know right?” He shifted beside me, then shrugged, his voice was softer this time. “I guess so. Just…don’t overdo it, okay?” I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I wrote his words down too, letting the ink hold them down for me. 

“Don’t overdo it.”