I Sit in a Room

21.9.24

In this room in which I sit, I listen to the sounds from outside. Rain falls gently on the roof; a soft patter fills the air. Cool air flows in from the windows. The humidity brings with it a sweetness, what I would call pleasant, mixed with the smells of nature.

I’ve been sitting here for a while, staring at a wall. There is a row of shelves to my right, blocking my view of the window. Closed shutters to my left prevent me from seeing out. The room is dark. It’s nighttime. I’m tired. But my attention is fixed.

For so long, I traveled this land, investigating the vast and mysterious landscapes. More specifically, the mysteries of those places. My first adventure was in the distant west. I had arrived by boat, a five days’ voyage which was an adventure of its own. Upon my docking and disembarking, I was greeted by people clad in dark robes. They did not speak much. They watched us with what appeared to be admiration. Which confused me, as my boat was far from the first to come from foreign lands.

I did not hear them speak. Silently, they went about their ways. Eyes always turned to us. I had a task to perform, so I ignored them. I carried my precious cargo to the inn – some place with a name I would never know, I merely matched the symbols that had been drawn for me before. There, I met a man who took my case in trade for one sentence: “Follow the road to the east until it forks, go left, carry on until passing the third town, then take the first turn you see.”

With that, he left. The arrangement was made by a friend of mine who knew my love of adventure. He worked in the telurine trade; it was only natural that he had contacts in the deadlands. It was only a joke when I told him how boring life was, with all our needs being met under the rule of the new king. He smiled at me, and his eyes grew that mischievous look: “I feel like you’re in need of some adventure, my friend. And lucky for you, I’ve got quite the job.”

That’s how it all started. I delivered the “goods” – may the gods never let me know what they were –, followed the road as instructed, and arrived at a small village. It took me four days. Of course, I had no idea what I was meant to do there. Spending my time speaking to strange people who did not want to be disturbed was anything but pleasant. Who is this stranger, and why is he so curious about our village in the depths of the deadlands? I’m sure they were all wondering that. I wouldn’t have known since they didn’t really say anything.

After another three days, I learned something quite interesting. There was a biannual festival being held in two days. At that point, I was already very tired: too much adventure for me. In short, I waited, witnessed a beautiful display of culture, and was given a black drink. Everyone around me took theirs immediately. In my wisdom, I figured it was best to wait and see what was going on. One by one, they fell into some kind of trance. Thinking of that evening still sends shivers through my body. The full moon overhead, the raging bonfire, the trees surrounding the village, seeming to grow closer and closer as the night grew darker.

And the sounds of all those people, mumbling, uttering words and phrases I could not quite make out. An entire village engaging in something so dark and ominous. To make another long story short, I secured my drink (I could think of no other purpose for my errand) and brought it back to my friend after an equally long and arduous journey.

My curiosity was peaked, however. I asked him what I saw, how he knew about it, and why he sent me of all people to do that. “You’d be better off trying to figure it out for yourself,” he said. 

A noise outside reminds me of the third trip I went on: when I ran into a pack of creatures making such guttural and visceral sounds. They were hideous beasts. Terrifying creatures. A great source of food, I was also told. The way they walked was unforgettable. It was as if a human were walking on all fours – like they could stand up at any moment and speak to us.

The patter on the roof grows louder. I’m not entirely sure what the noise I heard was. Though the wind blows sweet air through this room. If not for my racing heart, I would find the situation peaceful. A knock on the door draws my attention. I get up from my seat, careful not to make a sound. I see flickering outside the shuttered window. The patter grows louder and louder.

On one visit to the south, I learned of a man from my region. He chose to live here because he enjoyed the quiet lives of the locals. He wore their clothes and matched their manners. Though he lacked that “gaze” which marked these people. He looked at me like a normal person. I had forgotten what that felt like. “It’s a great place to be, apart from all the moments you spend fearing for your life,” he said with a hearty laugh. “Fearing for your life?” I asked in response. He simply smiled at me: “In the deadlands,” was all he said with a nod of his head towards the locals standing beside him.

That trip involved inquiring about a gemstone. My friend had a friend who would stop at nothing to get his hands on it. If only we knew where it was, we could make a fortune. Oh the irony of that situation. As the sounds from the roof turn from patter to pounding, as the knocking at the door becomes beating and shaking, as the unusual sound from outside becomes violent screaming, I look down at the stone in my hands. I can’t help but smile. So far, I traveled with this rock. Never did I imagine myself getting into trouble over it. It isn’t the gemstone. That was long-since sold to the highest bidder. It was a smaller one I took for myself.

I was just fidgeting with it, admiring its intricate patterns, when a group of locals walked by. I didn’t think much of it. Until I found myself being watched. It wasn’t such a simple look of admiration. They watched me with disdain. With hatred. With anger.

I turn the stone over in my hands. At last, the roof breaks in. The door breaks down. The window shatters. What things I see are the reasons they call it the deadlands. I sit back down. I’m no longer alone in this room.