Here you'll find

 

Into the Light

 

 

 

 

18. Standing On Higher Ground

Today we are the quintessential tourists, and proud of it.

We are walking slowly around this enchanted house in awed silence. Kim is pressed comfortably to Chaim's side; a long arm around his shoulders holds him close. Rashim's fingers interlace with mine. It feels good to have him next to me today, although of course he's been here before. But he has a day off, we'd be together anyway, and this place is worth seeing. Besides, no matter how many times he might have visited this place I bet he still would've come with us today, simply because the person guiding us right now is someone very special.

Looking at him from behind, it's easy to mistake him for someone decades younger. All right, his hair and short beard are now a dull gray, instead of the sandy blonde of years past, but there's nothing dull in his steel-gray eyes or brisk step. He must by all accounts be over seventy, yet he and Rashim were the only ones not panting while we walked all the way up here. Yes, I must admit my shame - I was, too.

Slim and upright, he leads us from room to room. He knows each one of them, every corner, for he was an almost daily visitor here when the owners of this place were still alive. A square, furry dog pads patiently beside him. A dog inside a museum? But naturally. Nobody tells Ossden's only surviving friend that his loyal spitz wouldn't be welcome to Ossden's house. And Tham never leaves his master's side anyway; he wouldn't stay outside even if told to.

This place is a miracle, both outside and in. A home turned museum, a sanctuary for the art created by Ossden, one of the greatest artists Dorelion has ever produced. Countless pairs of feet have walked here over the years and yet the place still feels lived-in. A loose, misty-blue working coat hangs on its peg in the hall, looking like it had just been left there a moment earlier. We speak in half-whispers, almost expecting at any moment to see the blonde figure of Ossden himself step around a corner, or maybe his lover, tham Alíeth of Chademien. Never mind that they have both been dead for more than thirty years, the house still breathes their presence. It's eerie, profoundly sad, and yet somehow reassuring. They are here.

Bronze statues bigger and smaller fill the house, they are in corners, on the terrace, in the bedroom. Bodies entwined, standing, reclining, frozen in a moment of motion. The walls of the big, light studio are covered by hundreds of sketches.

I look at the drawings. How can a few lines tell so much? There are countless images of tham Alíeth, immortalizing his astounding beauty. Chiseled, refined, graceful, he reminds me of the finest thoroughbred 'Demieni horses I've sometimes seen. Other pictures show Ossden, usually working, face intense under long, ragged hair. Those are clearly by a different hand and show that tham Alíeth was no mean artist, either.

Then there are the loads of sketches of their numerous friends. Many of them show our guide, the way he looked back then. Still more feature Chaiell, his partner of over forty years, an attractive dark man with profound eyes and a surprisingly frivolous small moustache. I look at them closely, swallowing the lump that for some reason doesn't want to disappear from my throat. They are so alive, those pictures, they vibrate life. Just charcoal on paper? Oh no. These are people.

Janthiesh has been telling us about the works and the sensation they created. I'm not surprised. Something this powerful damn well should create a sensation. Such raw and poetic and tender and utterly unapologetic passion cannot be just shrugged away. Over and over again the sculptures force us to stop and gape and hold our breath. Some of them just exude power, like the reclining, solitary man whom one can recognize as a Revnashi from a mile off even though bronze doesn't really give away much about his coloring. Others seem almost fragile, such as the small statue that Chaim is looking at. His fingertips brush its shoulder reverently.

"That is 'Caprice'," Jan says softly. "It shows Ossden's favorite character from Chaye's third book."

He swallows. Eight years since his partner's death, and he's battling tears. The dog presses closer, a stolid hairy presence, nudges him with its nose. Darkly tanned fingers scratch its neck and the curled tail wags a little, reassured.

"Belenn." Rashim nods, not missing a beat, while I'm still gulping. "He's my favorite, too."

Jan smiles wistfully. "Yes, Belenn. He's a lot like one of my former classmates, back in prep school."

I look at the old man, wondering how and when Chaim and Kim have met him and made friends with him. Friends they clearly are; Chaim puts a comforting hand on Jan's shoulder and squeezes a little, then just stands there, warm and sympathetic.

After exploring the entire house from end to end, from entrance to cellar, we are finally ready to leave. Tham trots ahead with a determined, no-nonsense air and we follow it, quiet. Before the bend in the road we turn to take one more look at the house. It seems to grow out of the mossy rock of the Rise, as the bumpy mountainside is called. It's like a giant white pearl, surrounded by low, gnarled, twisted trees, and looks like it's always been there. Like it truly belongs here, in the rough, wild terrain.

We've been told that the mountain provides a handsome backdrop for the city when seen from the sea. It certainly looks spectacular enough here, too, and invites the gaze to wander, to follow the play of shadow and light, of darker and paler green on the slopes. Still a little higher up we can see the remains of an Old Donjati spa, and in some distance yet something else. I notice that Chaim is frowning and squinting, trying to see it properly.

"What's that?"

"Ah, that." Jan nods. "That's Galetheann's house - Ossden's uncle, you know, he raised Ossden when he was orphaned and the rest of the family didn't want anything to do with the kid."

"Oh," Kim sighs. I can see that the little tragedies and drama that abound here have really touched him deep. Such a romantic he is... though in all truth I can't claim to be totally unaffected, either.

"I thought Ossden was from Lisjath?" Chaim inquires.

"Yes, but when Ossden and Alíeth settled here, Galetheann moved as well," Jan explains. "Didn't want to be so far from his darling boy. He had that house built here for himself and Doreyon. A fabulous place, that, completely in Old Donjati style. There's even water flowing all through it, in every room."

"Incredible." Chaim is still looking towards the house. "But how did they gain permission to build up here in the first place? Isn't this a protected area?"

"Sure it is!" Jan chuckles. "It took a lot of persuasion, and money, and very strict guarantees that the houses would blend in with the landscape, all that. But the old spa did make things easier simply by being there already. And Alíeth was nothing if not headstrong."

I can very well believe it. Somehow I imagine that a crown prince who decides to abdicate, to leave behind his title and country and position because of the person he loves, must be prepared and able to stand his ground in quite a few confrontations... so 'headstrong' sounds about right to me.

"This place is a museum, but who lives over there now?" Chaim sounds a little absent.

"Nobody." Jan sighs. "Doreyon lived there until his death, five years ago, but now it belongs to his family. And frankly I don't think they even remember that it exists. More's the pity."

We begin our slow trek back to the city below - slow, because we want to admire the scenery. Bushes and grass cover the Rise and gradually merge with the slightly more orderly green of the parks that surround the pastel-colored beauty of the houses. Dirna is bathing in the afternoon sun, a slight haze covering it. Behind us is the mountain, while on all sides ahead of us the city is surrounded by sea, and the Diranas Isles loom darker blue further away.

The sight is breathtakingly beautiful. It's very wise not to hurry; it would be only too easy to stumble on the clearly sloping road when completely lost in looking everywhere but one's feet. And of course we pause frequently to sigh at particularly picturesque spots along the way.

"Let's stop for a while," Rashim pleads. He doesn't look fatigued, merely fascinated. "Good heavens, what a fantastic place..."

"I thought you'd have been here hundreds of times!" Kim says, clearly astonished by Rashim's rapturous expression. Rashim chuckles.

"Oh, didn't you know that the people who just come to visit a place usually know much more about its sights and attractions than those who live there? For me all this is just something that's always been there, you know. Though of course I've been here before, and to Ossden's house as well," he adds quickly, almost guiltily. "With school."

Jan grins to him, gray eyes friendly. "I don't frown upon people who haven't, native Dirnai or not," he says.

Rashim lets go of my hand and jumps to stand on a boulder by the roadside. Wind from the sea makes his ponytail sway, he spreads his arms and raises his face. "This wind is fantastic - I'd like to stay here!"

My heart skips a beat as I look at him there, against the sky.

"Ossden would have loved to draw that." Jan's expression is dreamy, then he laughs a little. "But then, there was hardly anything he didn't love to draw... yes, Tham, are you getting impatient with us? Wondering what's there to get so excited about, right?"

The dog barks in reply, jumps against him and then trots a few yards ahead, turning to look at us. 'Come on already,' its face says, 'enough dawdling'. Chaim nods to it solemnly.

"You are right, Tham. We humans are being such a bloody nuisance, aren't we?"

The city does look inviting, though. By now the mere thought of all those restaurants awaiting us there would make my mouth water, if I wasn't so damn thirsty. Rashim and Kim are chatting with each other and Jan is listening to them, smiling to himself. I wonder what he's remembering.

Chaim is quiet, contemplative, and I have a feeling I might guess what he's thinking about. I must talk to him, soon, but not yet. Not before I've got my own thoughts and feelings into something resembling an order. Definitely not now. Now we must watch out, the road slopes steadily downwards and tries to seduce us into walking too fast, taking too long steps. My thighs are protesting, telling me to speed up, to run downhill. But no, I don't want to roll down the hill and end up in a first-aid ward. I much prefer taking a bath and dining and playing billiards in one piece, thank you.

Note to self: must run on the hills more, even if I like the beach route more.

Ah, and another note to self: must remember to tell Rashim at some point tonight that the rent question is solved for the moment. I was going to tell it first to Rith, at the rehearsals tomorrow, but I just can't keep it inside that long. But there's plenty of time to tell, plenty of good opportunities ahead. The night hasn't even started yet.

Main Jainah Revnash Dorelion Others Gallery