PIRIN

A great room, richly furnished

A great room, richly furnished CHAPTER II

Nhalfòrdon-Domenir. Glowing Narcissus. That was the name of the wheel-chaired boy. The day he was entrusted to his foster-father’s care he was fifteen. His parents had left in an expedition in search of unknown lands across the ocean, whence they would not come back. If Domenir had been a boy like any other, able to walk, maybe, he thought, his parents would have taken him with them. Actually, though, they probably would not have taken him whatever the case, since they were sailing toward the unknown and an almost certain death.

Anyway he must come to terms with it. His life, now, was there, in that estate on the river, with Lord Helewen, his wealthy foster-father, who surely would have taken care of his every need; but whom, until then, he had only met in the occasion of some festivity or special recurrence, and whom he practically lacked any knowledge about, except that he had once been a powerful sovereign, belonging to an almost-extinct lineage of men: the Pirin, demigods dwelling on the high mountains of the East, about whom, and about whose land, a great wealth of legends had developed, but only a few assured facts were known.

He also knew that Helewen had forsaken the throne to retire in that forgotten place, on river Pafantehes-yedo, but he did not know why. He knew Helewen was very, very old, and his age must be about two hundreds and forty years, but through the strange magic surrounding his lineage, he was blessed with eternal youth. He knew he was a quite lonely man, unwilling to have guests and never holding feasts, who much rarely would get into town, rather preferring the quietness of his riverside estate, where he lacked nothing to live a more-than-dignified life, but could stay away from mundanity and noise.

Domenir would have had time to find out more about him. Now he was tired, wanted to sleep and try not to think anymore. He said he would not have dinner and, the morning later, when they came to say ‘good morning’, he said he wanted to sleep some more. Such was the routine for more than a week, only eating a little of what his foster-father had had him brought and only saying ‘thank you, thank you for everything’, and that he wanted to stay alone, and that he was sorry for the landlord but he would rather stay in his room for a while.

Helewen understood and told his servants, asking for dispositions, to do as Domenir would have asked them, until he had himself decided to come home spontaneously.

Domenir, meanwhile, slept, but could not avoid thinking.

And, when he could not sleep, he sat on his bed, leaning on the headboard, and ever thought of his parents, his fate, his life elsewhere. And, between a thought and the next, he also looked at his new bedroom. It was nice. Nicer than the one in the house he had been brought up in, in Sandovelia.

It was a great room, richly furnished, on the first floor of the mansion. Also the bed was large, covered with soft fabric coloured in plum, pink, and green jay, embroidered with pictures of villages and fortified towns, adorned with flowers and plant motifs, beaded with precious trimming. In front of the bed there was an elegant and large fireplace, looking as though it was made in jay.

The floor was in gray stone, raw-looking but cut in complex geometries. On the floor a marvelous carpet had been laid, black, or maybe dark-smoke, with brown motifs, finely wrought with starry skies, neighborhoods asleep under moonlight, shimmering lakes, high palaces with elegant domes, pinnacles of bell-towers, and temples with burning braziers alight in the night.

On the walls, one could see bookshelves carved in wood, and on the shelves there were books, pots, sculptures, and a thousand more items; they framed tremendous frescoes with pastel tones, depicting scenes from mythology as well as from countryside.

There was also an old table in painted, inlaid wood; a few comfortable chairs with historiated backs with idylls and game; a massive wardrobe, alternating light and dark woods. And then, on Domenir’s left as he watched from the bed, three gracious arched windows, facing a side of the garden where great magnolias grew. From them the whole mansion took its name, since its landlord had called it Matir-ath-Adurini, or Magnolias Estate.

Domenir watched his room quietly, but could not avoid the dark thoughts constricting his heart.