Chương 8: Vol 1. The House of The Rising Sun

Prince Tahir and Morton had been trudging along the dirt road for nearly two days, and Tahir could now say, with utmost certainty, that he hated hiking more than anything he had ever hated in his life. His cute little red shoes were stained with brownish grime to the point of unrecognizability. His leg fur was matted with sludge and mud. His dress had turned a foul umber, wrinkled and clinging unpleasantly to his form. The pads of his feet throbbed with an intensity Tahir found highly unwonted.

With each step, his damp fur clung to his skin in ways most disagreeable, and with the shifting winds, he caught whiffs of himself that made him wish he could depart from the mortal realm entirely. Just their luck, the weather had been horrendously indecisive. One moment, rain poured down as if the dual-gods had decided, for some unknown reason, to drown him personally; the next, the sun would be high above, laughing maniacally at his suffering.

He was also growing very tired of eating overcooked hare every single night with his bare paws. Worst of all, his tail had begun to seriously ache from constantly lifting it out of the mud, and the clumps would stick to it and make it stiff—ugh! It was utterly embarrassing. Somewhere beneath that walking ball of mud, he was still technically Prince Tahir of House Orien, but at this point, he doubted even his own father would recognize the horrendous monster he had become. Morton didn't seem too fazed.

No, the human just trudged along with a smile on his face, occasionally whistling, apparently unbothered by the fact that the single article of clothing still clinging to him had been muddied so relentlessly, stiffened to the point of inflexibility. Eventually, Tahir had pleaded with Morton to rest. It was midday by that point, and the two were leaning against some rocks near the entrance of a forest. Mosquitoes flew around in black billows near the tree line, and chubby moths were clinging to the rocks.

Dragonflies circled the dandelions and the weeds. They had barely settled before Tahir spoke.

"Sir Christian."

"What is it, kid?"

"I… desperately need to wash up," he said.

"Please, we must find a place to bathe!"

"The settlement should only be about two more days if we get a move on."

"You do not understand, Sir Christian," Tahir begged, "I cannot wait that long. I must bathe sooner rather than later!" Morton thought for a moment.

"Tell ya' what, there are a lot of dragonflies and mosquitoes around, so there should be a body of water not too far from here, I reckon. We can try seein' if there is one, but it may add more to our travel time."

"I do not care about that," Tahir retorted, "please, if you truly think you know where this body of water is, take me to it at once."

"Alright," Morton groaned as he got up, "let's get goin' then." They hiked into the tree line. Tahir was highly focused on not getting scratched by the thorn bushes and the loose branches of the trees. Then his ears fluttered, and his tail went straight up. Water… Oh, praise the gods, it was water! A nice, large body of crystalline water that swished back and forth lazily, with insects flying about the flowers that made a very poor excuse for a protective border around the edges of the pool.

Swiftly, Tahir took out his hairbrush, peeled off his dress, very visibly cringing as he did so, feeling as if he had ripped out a few hairs. His desperation drowned out any sense of decorum. Then he quickly ran into the body of water; he never thought cold water would feel so good. For a singular, oh-so blessed moment, the world was made good again. The cold water ran through his fur and turned foul clumps on his tail soft enough that he could comb through them.

The brush against his fur hurt; it hurt a lot, but he didn't care. The feeling of the clumps of dirt letting go of him filled him with intense bliss. Then another pain bloomed along his legs, sharp and concentrated, nowhere near where he had been brushing. And it was really starting to hurt. Tahir got out of the water and let out a tiny, masculine scream as he saw leeches attached to his legs.

"Oh shit, kid," Morton said, "you got yourself a couple of friends. Hold—" Tahir was panicking, running around to and fro, before tripping and falling into a bush. Tahir could feel little itchy red bumps sprouting from beneath his fur.

"Jesus, get out of there!" Morton pulled Tahir from the bush. He forced him to the ground, then one by one picked off the leeches. Tahir twitched and turned this way and that, attempting to rub his back against the ground.

"Don't do that," Morton said, "you fell into poison ivy." Morton's pleas proved tragically ineffective. # Tahir sat on a rock, once again wearing the filthy dress, watching the fire dance, crack, and pop. His eyes had taken on a certain hollowness. Morton had set up a makeshift contraption once more, and this time he wasn't cooking hares. He was cooking rabbits. Yippee. Morton hummed a tune as he turned the rabbits over the fire.

"Don't worry, kid," he said reassuringly, "the swelling will settle down in a few days."

"That is wonderful," Tahir quietly said. There was a silence for a moment.

"Ya' know," Morton said, "I remember the first time I fell into poison ivy. I was around six, I reckon, and my mamma was takin' me out to the beach. She told me, 'Morton Adam Christian, don't ya' dare go near those woods.' So, naturally, bein' a little smart-ass kid, I had to go and do the opposite of what my momma said." Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

"Six seems a little old to still be partaking in that type of cub behaviour," Tahir mused.

"Heh, I never grew out of it, I don't think. Anyway, I went into the woods, frolickin' around, and I started to get a lil' itchy, real itchy, and I went out screaming for momma. Of course, my momma, may the good Lord bless her heart, she damn right scolded me and gave me the biggest spankin' of my life."

"Sounds like the behaviour of a mother," Tahir said. Morton took a deep breath; "yeah, they really be somethin' sometimes." The fire crackled in harmony with the chirping of the crickets.

"I still wish I could see my momma again sometimes, though."

"Has she perished?" Morton took off his hat.

"Yeah, only the good Lord knows where she ended up when death came for her." Tahir wasn't certain what a "good lord" was, nor why Morton kept invoking this apparently righteous male-lady, but he understood the sentiment.

"I understand you," he said; he mulled over his next words carefully, wondering if he should be telling a stranger this, "though, if I am being honest with you, Sir Christian, there are times I wish never to see my mother again."

"Is she a bad woman?" Morton asked.

"No," Tahir protested, "well, no, but…" His tail twitched.

"She … can be a handful, that is for certain. She is the reason we are travelling to the capital in the first place."

"Did you even wanna go?"

"No," Tahir admitted.

"Why didn't you say that?" Morton asked. Tahir looked up at him incredulously.

"Why would I ever say no to the lady of my household? I still wish to live!" Morton chuckled as if what Tahir had just said was in any way funny.

"Trust me, I get that, being married teaches a man that lesson right quick. She's in charge of ya', you ain't got freedom no more." Tahir's ears slumped.

"Is… that so?"

"I'm mostly jestin'," Morton admitted.

"But find yourself a good woman, and you'll never wanna say no to her." I wish I could find myself a good woman, Tahir thought, and not have an anonymous woman, who could be any moral character, thrust upon me. Morton had finished cooking their meals and handed Tahir a rabbit. Tahir once again devoured it uncouthly. He was worried that if he kept eating in such an undignified way, it would become a permanent habit.

"Say, kid, you got any hobbies?" Morton asked.

"Why do you ask, Sir Christian?" Morton shrugged.

"If we are gonna be travelling together for a while, I thought it might be best to get to know one another a little better, you know? I used to travel with this one fella. We really never talked much, and he was damn good on the road, so I didn't feel the need to, but when I started settin' up a main camp, he was right horrible. Really saw his true nature then, and my, was he one hell of a sick bastard. We're talkin' every sin you can think of.

Anyhow, I like to know a bit about the people I travel with; it keeps life interesting, I reckon."

"Oh, I see." Tahir thought for a moment.

"I like poetry, I suppose."

"One of them learned men, are ya'?"

"Not as much as I would like to be," Tahir admitted, "but I suppose I do enjoy the high arts."

"You know any off the top of your head?" Tahir relayed a particular sonnet from Aurel Vesh; still too syrupy for his taste, but memorable enough:"I loved her first in absence, then in shame, for noble hearts are buried ere they bloom…" When he finished, he could see a small tear in Morton's eye.

"Heh," Morton said, rubbing his cheek with the back of one hand.

"That was quite lovely, kid."

"Its subject matter is not my favourite, I find love sonnets to be rather tedious, but it is a good demonstration of mastery of the form, for sure." Morton blinked, dumbfounded.

"That's what ya' took from it?"

"Well, what else was I meant to take from it?"

"Hell, I dunno, like, feelin's or something like that."

"Well, it is about feelings, I suppose," Tahir smiled.

"Do you know any poetry off the top of your head, Sir Christian?" Morton rubbed his chin.

"I dunno about poetry or stuff like that, but I do know a couple of old songs from… the before times."

"Like something a chorister might sing, or something closer to a bard?"

"Hell, I never thought about it, guess a bard."

"And do you have any talents in the musical arts, Sir Christian?"

"I wouldn't call myself a singer or nothin', but I used to do karaoke when I was younger."

"I am unfamiliar with the terminology. Perhaps a demonstration?" Morton stared into the fire for a while. It crackled and popped; the illumination of the flames outlined the roughness of Morton's face. Eventually, he said,"Alright. There was this one old song my daddy really liked. Real old. Good Lord, older than him, older than his daddy, probably; I don't exactly know." Morton cleared his throat and began to sing.

His voice was low and gravelly, textured and rough around the edges, yet there was a funereal quality to it that made Tahir's ears twitch. He sang of a grand house beneath a rising sun in a realm called New Orleans—a house of great regret, the ruin of many poor sons. Tahir's tail curled tight against him. Tears welled in his eyes. He did not understand all the places and things mentioned, nor the customs wrapped within the verses. He understood a son being dragged back into misery by the ankle.

He understood duty feeling less like the honour it should be, and more like a chain. He understood having to return to somewhere you knew would hurt you tremendously, just because one had been told that was where he rightfully belonged; his place in the world; the duty of a dutiful son… A big, pus-filled welt beneath his shoulder blade throbbed.

Beneath Morton's voice, his skin was whispering in his ear, begging him to stretch, to writhe like a dying insect, to do anything but sit still on that rock, yet still, Tahir ignored it. Beyond the ring of illumination cast by the dancing flames, the forest was dark and wary. And as the song came to a close, he found himself picturing his mother in his head, every backhand, every kick and punch, every yell and scream, every stern, horrible look of disappointment.

Oh, how he regretted how much he disappointed his mother. The fire crackled between them.

"Well?" Morton asked, with a little softer cadence than before.

"That was…" Tahir said slowly, "a rather grim narrative."

"Yeah," Morton chuckled.

"It ain't exactly a tune to bust some moves on the dance floor."

"No," Tahir agreed.

"But it was certainly about feelings."