Yet Another Resurrection

           Taverns, the favorite establishment of any traveler. Usually attached to an inn, they had everything a weary wanderer could hope for; a bed, food, drink and talk if they wanted it. Sometimes a game of knuckle bones or merchants selling unusual wares were found around the bar or at the wood tables. Every town was bound to have at least one, and Tolm was no exception.

The Last Unicorn had a good reputation. Ealdian had heard that there had only been two stabbings this year, and most of the brawls were broken up with no worse injury than a broken arm. Not too bad for a small town in the middle of nowhere.

The first thing Ealdian noticed as he stepped into the welcoming parlor was the matron running the inn. She looked to him to be a hardened woman with unshakeable calm and sharp wit. Her efficiency was unparalleled as watched her serve drinks, break up a brawl, and check in a guest in the five minutes he had taken to step inside and unshoulder his pack. Her grey eyes had a keen gleam to them, the kind that was able to spot all but the most skilled pickpockets and con artists. Ealdian could see that all but those lost in intoxicated stupor did not dare test her patience, for she had no tolerance of fools. As Ealdian approached and sat at her bar, she was filling a stein with golden ale.

“Be with ye in a moment,” she said, sliding the mug down to its waiting patron.

“No worries,” the cloaked young man said, his tone polite, yet as weary as an elder who had seen many winters. His accent was a tad strange— it wasn’t foreign, but it was not quite like those around him either.

The barkeep wiped her hands on a clean dish rag and walked over to him, and Ealdian felt her keen eye take in his appearance. His hooded cloak was a soft, purple-hued dark gray, half-length and stained with travel with the hood obscuring the upper half of his face. Dressed in dark gray-green, travel worn and simple, the ensemble together was like a pine tree under twilight. On his shoulder was a tarnished silver brooch resembling dragon wings studded with stars, pinning his cloak. A hand-and-a-half sword hung in a leather scabbard from his belt and dark leather boots completed the look.

“What can I do for ye?” The barkeep asked. “We have hot food, lodgin’, and plenty of Tolm's best spirits.”

“A room for the night would be greatly appreciated,” Ealdian said, his tone formal and polite. “And a hot meal would be welcome, thank you.”

The matron nodded, holding out her hand. “That’ll be ten coppers.”

“Of course,” he said, pulling out the coins. He dropped them into her palm and she inspected them for counterfeit.

Confirmed genuine by her experienced eye, she put them in the till and jotted down his room in the logbook. “Name?”

“Ealdian Randír.”

“Yer name sounds familiar, but I don’ remember seein’ ye in my inn before.”

“This is my first visit to Tolmacht in some time.”

“Haven’t heard anyone call Tolm by that ol’ name in years. Are ye from ‘ere?”

“I was, once, but it has been a very long time since then.”

“Can't be that long. Ye look younger than my sister’s son.”

The young man let out a tired chuckle. “I'm older than I look, ma’am. You’d be surprised.”

“Is that so? Then why not lower that hood so I may see ye clearly and judge ye for it meself?”

The young man hesitated, tugging slightly at his hood but not removing it.

“I'd rather not draw attention to myself, with all due respect, but I assure you I am not some brigand or thief. I simply wish to keep my privacy, if you will allow me. I’ll be moving on in a few days regardless.”

A crash sounded behind Ealdian and he turned, seeing a drunken group at a table in the corner had knocked over a candlestand.

“Oi!” the matron shouted, leaving the bar to give them what for. A man walked out of the kitchen to take over helping Ealdian. He was in his fifties, if Ealdian had to guess, with a spiraling trail of scars over his eye and temple. The scarred eye was a milky white while the undamaged one was a peering black.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said. “She’ll be back to help ye with yer room soon.”

“It’s not a problem sir, I am in no hurry.”

“Did ye order yet?”

“Not yet.”

“What’ll ye be havin’?”

“Black tea, if you have it, thank you.”

The bartender squinted in confusion at Ealdian. “Ye want tea? A young’un like yerself?”

“Yes, please, if you have it.”

“Aye, we have it,” the older man said. “I’m just a wee bit surprised laddie, but I’ll start it brewin’ and get your food sorted.”

“Thank you.”

With that the bartender turned to prep the order while the young man rested his wrists on the bar. Hearing chairs scrape across the floor, he turned to see one of the two men who had been sitting at the table behind him get up. He was taller than Ealdian, thick and brawny, and the other sitting at the table still was squint-eyed, as though he smelled something foul, and thinner. The brawny one had a dagger at his belt as he approached Ealdian. Ealdian wrinkled his nose; he could smell the whiskey on his breath already.

Ealdian raised his hands up in a harmless gesture. “Easy there, lad, I don't want trouble. Can I help you?”

“You don' want trouble?” The drunk man barked a laugh. “Lad? Ha! Yer a scrawny schtwig ye are, lad. Yer thuh lad.”

 He grabbed Ealdian's arm and yanked back his hood revealing thick, charcoal colored hair. It was wavy and unkempt from long days of travel. He looked to be maybe nineteen or twenty, a young adult. The young man’s skin was slightly tanned, and he had a few scattered freckles across his cheeks. Dark circles hung under his eyes and his round face bore a polite but tired expression. The eyes themselves were an unusual shade of purple, amethysts with facets of memory over a deep, pensive pool.

“Yer the Everwanner,” the man slurred. “Yer ‘im.”

Ealdian pulled his arm free and turned back to the bar. “Please leave me be.”

With a grunt, the drunkard yanked Ealdian off the bar stool by his cloak. “Weer not done ye liddle freak!”

Ealdian yanked his cloak away from the man’s sweaty grasp. “Evidently not. What do you want?”

The drunkard squinted. “I wan know if yew really deathluss.”

“I’d really rather not discuss it—”

“He is immortal Emil,” the slender man at the table said. “I told you I saw it myself.”

Emil spun to look at his friend, almost knocking the small wanderer over with his careless fist. “I wanna see it Piers.”

“Try an’ kill him then,” Piers said with a shrug.

“Now hold on—” Ealdian began, but Emil was already throwing a punch. Ealdian easily dodged the attack, the man telegraphing his wide swings in his stupor. Like a leaf in the wind Ealdian sidestepped, ducked and leaned to avoid each blow.

By now, the bustling tavern had noticed the altercation and were watching intently. The drunk group in the corner cheered on the fight, and a group of miners glared as their meal was interrupted after a long day of pushing carts. Other patrons stood, gathering around and watching with drinks in hand. Someone tried to take bets on the victor.

Spittle flew from Emil’s lips as he relentlessly hurled his fists at Ealdian, fuming. “Hol’ still ya liwwle twit!” he shouted. He swung again, and this time Ealdian sidestepped and held out a foot, tripping the larger man. With a drunken stumble Emil toppled forward, crashing into a table and upending it. Ale and beer steins hit the floor, spilling their contents onto the wood planks as the ceramics shattered. Emil groaned.

“Out of me way!” Pushing through the gathered crowd was the barkeep, her eyes a thunderstorm.

Emil sat up and pointed at Ealdian. “He attagged meh!”

“I did not, I was just—”

“It’s true!” Piers said. “The kid started it!”

“That is not true, and I am not a—”

“I don’ care,” the matron said. She grabbed Emil by the shirt. “Yer both leaving my tavern.”

“But I ain’t done!” Emil protested.

“Yes ye are!” she said, throwing him outside. The large man let out an undignified squeal, landing in the mud, unable to keep his feet.

“And don’ ye come back, ye swine!” She turned and grabbed Ealdian’s arm.

“This isn’t necessary,” he said.

“To me it is,” she ordered, dragging Ealdian towards the door. “Now out!”

She shoved him outside and turned to go back in, but Ealdian ran around her to stand in her path. Her grey eyes glared at him. “Move or I’ll move ye.”

“Just let me explain, please. I—"

Ealdian saw Emil standing up and holding a drawn dagger. His scowl was a twisted expression of utmost offense, one that emerges from feeling humiliated, hampered by no inhibitions. He moved fast, anger sobering him, and in a moment he was inches from stabbing the matron in the back.

Ealdian grabbed the matron by her shirt and pulled her around, switching places with her. She grabbed his arm, opening her mouth to berate him, but it was a gasp that escaped her as the point of Emil’s dagger burst from his chest as it was driven into his back. Ealdian could feel his heart tearing itself apart on the cold steel blade, and hot blood spurted and flowed down his shirt. The air was pushed from his lungs and his vision spotted red and black.

Ealdian slumped to the ground on his hands and knees, vision swimming and coughing a gurgle of blood that dribbled down his chin and cheek. He heard a sound like a sack of flour being hit with a club, then a thud. Almost numb with shock, he reached up and felt the tip of the blade with his finger, then touched his shirt. It was wet. The floor raced up to meet him and his cheek pressed against the muddy dirt. A war of commotion surrounded him as people yelled and bustled like shadows on a stage. Someone yanked the dagger from his back and called for a healer as Ealdian lay on the rough wood floor. Don’t remove impaled daggers, he thought with distant calm. I’ll bleed out… too late anyway... His breath gasped and the world grew distant as felt himself falling into a familiar endless pit. The world blended to gray and all he could hear was white noise. Darkness fell and Ealdian felt his breath leave and not return.

This again…

When Ealdian woke up, he felt a zinging tingle where the dagger had pierced his flesh. Ealdian knew the wound would be gone by now, but he always felt compelled to check as he ran his fingers over the unblemished skin. He drew in a deep breath and sat up. After a moment he realized he was in one of the rooms of the Last Unicorn’s inn. His clothes had been removed from the waist up, and he couldn't see any sign of them. However, he did spot a clean shirt on a chair nearby, a sage green with ties on the long sleeves.

“That was unpleasant,” he mumbled, rubbing his tired face. His body felt like his bones were heavy iron, dragging great weights on every limb. Walking for a week without sleep was less miserable than this familiar exhaustion. He swung his legs over the edge of the straw-stuffed mattress.

“So, that hooligan was right.”

Ealdian looked up to see the matron barkeep in the doorway. She leaned on the door frame, her light brown hair tied in a low bun with a few flyaways.

“Right about what?”

“That ye’d wake up. Even though I watched ye die.”

Ealdian squirmed in place and rubbed the spot where the dagger had pierced his skin. “I can explain.”

The matron nodded curtly, “Ye better. But first, I'm guessin’ ye have questions of yer own.”

“My clothes?”

“Being washed and mended,” she said. “And this is for the meantime.” She grabbed the green shirt and tossed it at Ealdian. His arm was heavier than lead trying to grab it and he missed the catch. Bending down, he picked it up from the rough wood floor and pulled it on.

“Thank you. What happened while I was out?”

“Ye got stabbed through yer heart and died. I punched the idjit and he was out like a candle in a storm. Alphonse ran and fetched them town guards and they took the bloke away.”

“Why didn’t they take me too? I usually wake up in a morgue if the authorities get involved.”

“Since ye said ye didn't want attention, I snuck ye back to your room since ye already paid for it. Least I could do after ye saved me life.”

Ealdian’s eyes widened. “You snuck a dead body to a room? A murdered dead body.”

She shrugged. “Wasn't hard. Besides, I wanted to know if ye really were the Everwander.”

Ealdian cringed, looking away.

“I take it that means ye are.”

He nodded after a moment of hesitation.

When Ealdian didn't elaborate, the matron shut the door and dragged a chair over to sit across from him. He didn't look up.

“Ye don’t like discussin’ it.”

He sighed and leaned so his forearms rested on his thighs, his hands hanging over the space between his legs. “No, not really… how did you know it was me? Before now, I mean, when you brought me here. When I was still dead.”

“That drunk buffoon said so when he woke up while gettin’ shackled, and I remembered I heard yer name before when folks talked about the Everwander, somethin’ about the last Randír.”

Ealdian sighed. “I suppose that’s to be expected. I stopped hiding what I was a long time ago.”

When Ealdian didn’t elaborate, the matron said, “If ye don’t want to talk about it, I’ll go.”

Ealdian shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I just don’t talk about it often, but you answered my questions. It’s only fair that I answer yours. What do you want to know?”

“Ye sure?”

“Ask away.” He rubbed his eyes.

“Ye said before yer older than ye look. So, how old are ye?”

Ealdian's lilac eyes glanced up into her hard, lined, yet also kind face. He sighed and looked away again, rubbing his arms. “Eight hundred years, give or take a quarter century. Lost count after a while.”

“Been around a while then.”

Ealdian looked up. “You don't sound surprised.”

She shrugged again. “I'm an inn matron, I’ve seen stranger. The only off-puttin’ part is ye look young but ye don’t feel young, if ye follow me.”

Ealdian chuckled. “I understand. It’s strange for me too, even after all this time. Stranger because of all that time really. Do you have more questions?”

“Ye got stabbed, but ye don’t seem mad. I’d be angrier than a bull if I got knifed.”

Ealdian massaged his heavy eyelids. “I've had a long time to realize forgiveness is far better for one’s mental health than holding onto grudges and arguing over the little things. I’ve been killed more times than I can count; there isn’t much point in staying angry, and revenge doesn’t interest me. These days, I’m too tired to fight everyone.”

“Ye should stand up for yerself.”

“I could, and I’m not helpless. If need calls for it, I’ll fight, but I’d rather have peace. I do apologize for the incident in your tavern earlier; he forced my hand. I’ll pay for any damages we caused.” He paused. “Why help me? Not many treat a stranger so kindly and you don’t strike me as one who would usually risk herself to help someone she doesn’t know.”

“Don't be daft,” she said, crossing her arms over her bosom. “Ye saved me life. Ye don’ even know me name and ye died for me. Giving ye some privacy and clean clothes is nothin’ compared to that.”

“I appreciate the help ma’am, I do, but I know that I don't stay dead. It wasn't really a sacrifice.”

“Hogwash.” She sat up and crossed her arms again, her grey eyes stern. “Just cause ye came back doesn’t mean ye didn’ die. Ye still got stabbed through and even now you look like death.”

Running a hand through his hair, Ealdian conceded the point. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. Dying just takes a lot out of me; a side effect of the curse. I’ll be alright once I get some rest.”

“Then the rest of me questions can wait,” the matron said as she stood.

Stifling a yawn, Ealdian nodded. “Shall I find you about noon tomorrow then?”

“Aye, or I’ll find ye meself.” The matron blew out the candle on the nightstand and the room vanished into shadow, stars glittering in the window. Walking to the door, the matron paused. “Almost forgot. Me name’s Yrsa.”

She left and Ealdian lay back on the bed. For a moment he wondered if he should have been more secretive, but he dismissed the notion. I don’t keep secrets. Not anymore. Not after the last time.

He sighed as weary sleep pulled him under, a final thought echoing before the dreamless realm took him.

I should have known better…