Who knows what true loneliness is -- not the conventional word, but the naked terror?
~Joseph Conrad
I am lonely, and loneliness breeds imagination. I’m traveling northward, on a cold, rainy day, trying to take advantage of the weather; demons don’t like the rain at all. Idly, in the back of my fatigue-deadened mind, I start daydreaming of where I want to be. Of a place I’d like to go to. Somewhere warm, where no one will hurt me, where no demons will chase me, where no one will even know me.
I close my eyes and keep trudging north, reveling in my quiet little dream. A warm, pleasant tingle starts in the back of my mind, and, when I open my eyes again, the most curious sight meets them.
A green, glowing circle floats in the air, the inside dark, murky, and oddly inviting. A Gateway. I actually crafted a Gateway, one of those mysterious portals that leads to other lands. To other worlds. I’m astonished. If I wanted to speak, I would be speechless. A little part of me says, You don’t really have any other choices. Why not try it out? That little voice makes sense. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and step through.
A strange feeling runs through me, a thrill, a chill so cold it burns, a fire so hot it freezes. But the sensation isn’t painful. Merely...odd. The time it takes to go through is eternity and yet no time at all. Before I have even fully realized what has happened, I tumble through the portal, and land on a grassy plain.
Soft sunlight has warmed the grass, the earth, and I lay there for a long moment, reveling in the sweet warmth. Such bliss, for one precious moment. At long last, I pull myself to my feet and draw in a deep breath of air, tasting of blue skies, green grass, white clouds. That one breath soothes my tired soul.
I shield my eyes from the sun with one hand, and gaze about with an eager hope blossoming in my heart. The plain stretches on for miles to the north, east, and west. Along the western horizon, there is a vague grey mass that suggests mountains. To the south, a sea of crystal blue sparkles in the sunlight. So lovely. And, long that glistening stretch, there is a bluish lump that can only mean one thing: a city. A faint smile, the first in days, tugs at me.
“Things are starting to look the way I want them to,” I murmur, and set off for the city.
After an hour’s walk, I reach the gates, and stop to look at the city in awe. The pale grey stone is streaked with pale blue, and the walls almost seem to glow in the sunlight. The people walking in look friendly, and peaceful, and hopeful; the guards check their business with a good-natured laziness. It looks almost idyllic. Too god to be true, really. I join the small crowd to enter the city, telling the guards I’m looking for work. They nod and wave me on. One actually wishes me luck.
The city is even pleasant on the inside. Like many others, the gates open directly into the marketplace, but this market is different. The tone is quiet, subdued, yet in a good way. The people are all relaxed, and smiling, nodding to each other and wishing one another a good day. I spot few thieves, and those few, although uncommonly cautious and stealthy, are as quietly calm as the other residents of the city, and in considerably better health and physical condition than most thieves.
I cut a merchant’s purse to acquire enough coin to last me for a few days, then set about looking for a good inn at which to spend the next few days. I’m luxuriating in the sense of freedom I now have; I’m sure I’ve left the demons behind me, and now I can eat a real meal, buy some new clothes, and rest my weary body before moving on again. This is the closest I’ve come to enjoying life in a long time.
I can afford to be choosy, thanks to the gold the merchant was carrying, and stop at a tidy little inn. The neat white letters on the sign proclaim “The Traveler’s Joy,” and a very contented-looking traveler is painted underneath. It’s small, and modest, but has a pleasant appearance. I take a deep breath, straighten my tattered clothing, and step inside.
There are eight people in the common room, and one very bored clerk at the desk. Few of them spare me a glance as I walk past, and the clerk seems to find nothing strange about a twelve-year old girl in rags who wants to rent a room. Nor does he question the three silver coins I place on his desk. He hands me a room key, politely suggests I take advantage of the baths and, eyeing my thin frame, the excellent meals, prepared by the most excellent cook. I smile, nod, and, handing him another coin, ask him to send someone to purchase new clothing. He nods, smiles and rings a bell. I take myself up to the room.
It’s not large, but, like everything else, perfectly tidy, not so much as a speck of dust or a piece of furniture out of place. The sheets are crisp and white, the blue woolen blankets soft and warm. Every item wears the glow of comfortable age and use. I smile slightly; this is almost like a dream. I drop wearily onto the bed, and, before I can stop myself, fall fast asleep.
A knock on my door startles me out of my slumber. A knife slips to my fingers before I remember where I am. With a snort of disgust at my own parnoia, I put it away and open the door.
A young girl of perhaps eight stands before me, holding a tidy bundle of cloth. “‘ere’s yer clothes, miss,” she chirps. “We didn’ get no shoes, weren’t sure what size ye wanted. So ‘ere’s yer change.” She transfers the bundle to my arms, and puts a few coppers in my hand. “G’bye, miss!” she adds cheerfully, before turning away.
I shut the door, setting the clothes down on the table, examining each garment individually. Well-sewn, sturdy, and a tad bit large, they should last me for some time. I pick them up again, and head for the baths.
The warmth is positively blissful. I stay in there until it grows too cool, the dry of and dress, delighting in the feel of being fully clean again. I look in a mirror and grimace. So horribly thin! I decide to take the clerk’s other suggestion, a meal suddenly sounding very good to my stomach.
After the meal, I set out to the nearest shoemaker and purchase new shoes, then head out to view the city. It’s truly a beautiful place; tranquil and idyllic, and the people reflect those qualities. I learn the city name is Beryl; indeed, it is much like a precious stone. I feel as though I could stay here forever. A balm to my weary soul...
I spend several days in the city, resting, recuperating, and rejoicing in my newfound security, although I know I’ll be moving on later. Nothing in my life is permanent, as I have slowly and painfully learned. A chaotic existence, but without the demons, maybe it will actually become an enjoyable one.