Paths of Green and Gold

Thoris - gardener

Outside, he was assaulted by a temperature worthy of a blacksmith's furnace and the sun burning his eyes. Blinking, he waited a moment for his vision to return. Still half-blind, he crossed the open part of the yard, walking towards the greenery contrasting with the white and grey of the buildings. A moment later, green shade embraced him.  

The tall birches seemed to grow directly out of the marble floor, the slender trunks just as white. The cascades of small heart-shaped leaves tangled with vines. The green web created a transparent screen over the pond surrounded by a row of bright columns. Round yellow flowers swayed in the water. From time to time, golden scales flashed from the depths.  

A short person dressed in a brown-green robe was busy between densely planted flowers. The scissors gleamed every time they attacked another dried leaf or faded bud. Each cut piece was carefully placed in a basket. The gardener was wearing a straw hat adorned with a pale blooming rose.   

Shielding his eyes with his hand, Thorn admired the garden for a while. It was truly exquisite that the will of life could pierce even stones. Why was it that he was still alive? Where did that will to live come from? What forced him to recover every time he was on the brink of death? Whose tool was he? Who needed him? 

[I'm sorry I couldn't react. Maybe my reaction was wrong. I hope I didn't offend you in any way.] - he remembered the words from the letter.

The life he chose put many things out of reach. He knew any thread of attachment could be used against him someday. The Gods were jealous, possessive, and cruel. Just like humans. Would he ever be able to accept being a part of that race?

["You will never be one of us..."]

He never even considered trying. He lived between what was unattainable, and what he hated and despised. He felt two powers battling in him - one of them he was trying to hide, the other one, kill. What was left?

No matter how much blood he shed, nothing changed. Even vengeance lost meaning long ago. How many lives did he take throughout the years? Tens? Hundreds? Thousands? He knew sooner or later, he would be outmatched. It could happen tomorrow, or in a few years. But it didn't have to be a blade either - an arrow shot from the shadows could claim his life just as well. He had enough enemies for that to happen. 

He looked at the gardener's work, but in the place of cut dried leaves and flowers, he saw lives being claimed by the blade. It's been almost fifteen years since he set his foot on this path. He knew it was too late to turn back now.

[Relish in every peaceful moment because it might be the last one...]

Slowly he walked towards a stone bench visible among the trees and flowers. He sat down and stared at the water. The sun rays piercing the canopy of leaves covered the pond with gold. It was pleasantly cool in the shade. A moment of rest.

For some, their whole life was a battle, and for others, the battle was their whole life...

"Exactly like this, my dears, no need to be afraid. It doesn't hurt at all," the gardener's voice was quiet and full of affection. "Dry leaves are like damaged robes. You have to get rid of them to make space in your closet for new ones, even more beautiful. And here... and here... See? And you'll be fresh and beautiful like in the spring.”

The thin man moved nimbly between the plants, careful not to damage any of them. Every few steps he bent down over another one and removed redundant parts. The scissors flashed like fish in the pond, flitting between green stems and shadows of leaves floating on the surface. The soft sound of the closing blades was almost like a caress.

Finally, the gardener straightened up and wiped the sweat from his forehead shaded by the straw hat. He had a nice clean-shaven face, and the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes showed that he liked to laugh. His bright eyes stopped on the visitor.

"I didn't hear you coming," he said with an embarrassed smile, walking towards Thorn. "In the garden, there is always something to do, and you should never let anything slip your attention. The plants can feel that - if you care for them like for your friends, they repay you with a splendor of colors and enchanting smells."  

Stopping in front of the bench, he took off his fabric gloves, and stretched out his small delicate hand toward the guest. He looked the warrior up and down, his gaze lingering on the tattoos on his chest visible from under the parted robe.

"My name is des Esseintes, Jan Floressas des Esseintes," he said, bowing slightly. “I look after this garden. The mean-spirited claim it's a waste of time, but I am convinced that taking care of the beauty around us makes us nobler. And you - do you like flowers? Do you appreciate beauty?"

The warrior stood up and bowed. Studying the gardener, he shook his hand firmly.

"Good afternoon, sir. I am Thorn," he emphasized the name as if it explained everything. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to disturb you..." he added quietly.  

Des Esseintes was about a head shorter than him. Freeing his soft hand from the warrior's grip, the gardener stepped back and looked up to see Thorn's face. The pale rose attached to his hat shivered, as his hands fluttered in a funny gesture of negation.

"Disturb? Never! A garden is a space for people! Only reflected in the eyes of the guests admiring them, my plants can feel truly great," he chirped, raising his voice. "I'm trying to make this place an ideal haven for those who draw their strength and hope from perfect harmony, and silent approval of the world of nature. The plants want to be loved and admired like all of us," he explained with a playful smile, putting his hand on his hip coquettishly. "And I'm just trying to let them achieve that goal."  

Thorn kept looking at the man, trying to hide his astonishment and disbelief under a smile of polite interest.

[Really? I just barely managed to get away from the doctor. And here I am with yet another madman. Loved and admired like all of us? We come from very different worlds, mad gardener.]  

"Mhh..." he fell back on the bench again, partly not to force the gardener to look up, and partly because he suddenly felt weak.   He bowed his head gripping the edge of the stone seat. Could he draw strength from nature? After years of living only from one fight to another, he lost sight of everything else. At first, it was vengeance that gave him strength. Then the unwavering determination coming from the will to protect Someone important to him. But was he determined to live on? Could one be ready to die and, at the same time, willing to survive? What did strength even mean?

"I'm guessing you're one of doctor Tregarth's patients?" the gardener asked. "I still can't convince him that robes are also a part of the healing process and they shouldn't be such shapeless bags," long fingers pinched the wide sleeve of Thorn's outfit, "Everyone looks similarly bland in these eyesores! You have to admit you can't feel manly in this!"

Thorn raised his head, listening to the gardener. What was he talking about now? Feel manly? What did that even mean? What did clothes have to do with anything? Anyway, it didn't matter - all he had to do was not offend des Esseintes in any way. He had Selena's reputation to uphold - he had to be a good boy.

He sighed.

"Ummm... it's not the most comfortable outfit for a fighter..." he said hesitantly, not sure what else he could contribute to this conversation.

"In that case, it's rather fortunate you will not have to fight while staying here," the gardener said, narrowing his eyes. "Our charming hospital is a place of peace, and we don't do fighting. Well, maybe except the cases where the results of fights are admitted here..." he smiled awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I should have thought before speaking..." he shifted his balance from one foot to the other nervously.    Thorn watched the short man bewildered. He looked similar to the plants he took care of: small, thin, and fragile like the flowers he loved so much. It was impossible to imagine him anywhere else, in any place without green vines and colorful petals. And cute little songbirds... 

"I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry.” The gardener looked into his eyes. "Of course, we all heard how heroically you fought, defending your cousin... Weren't you at all scared facing a whole group of bandits alone?"  

[Defending my cousin? What a beautiful story, Selena...]

"You didn't offend me, sir..." Thorn's voice was distant. "And that group was not so big anyway..." he added quietly. 

Des Esseintes observed the warrior intently. Thorn felt uneasy under those piercing eyes. There was something strange in that gaze, something he couldn't define. 

"We've had many fighters in Thoris," the gardener said slowly. "And most of them would end up here sooner or later. But I have never met one who would play down his accomplishments! You don’t seem to be one of those scoundrels looking for fame and free beer offered by farmers in awe of heroic sagas," his eyes narrowed again, as if it could help him see through the wounded warrior and his secrets. "Are you planning to stay with u... in Thoris and take care of your cousin? Or do you have some other things to do here?"

The warrior endured the penetrating gaze.   

[Indeed, I'm not one of those scoundrels... I am much worse than them.]

"I don't really like beer, sir..." he said calmly, still looking in the gardener's eyes. "And I don't have plans yet."

The plant lover grinned happily, clapping his hands.

"That's wonderful! So we'll have a chance to show you the beauty of Thoris and its surroundings! Maybe you'll stay for some time, after finding what this city has to offer! Most of the citizens and guests might be just some halfwits with swords or coin-purses instead of brains, but you can find real royal roses among them! And if you decide to see the grounds outside the walls, you will be enchanted by the splendor of rare plants and magical charm of summer flowers filling the nights with seductive smells..." The man's hands fluttered like sparrows caught in a snare. His fingers made complex shapes in the air, and half-closed eyes stared at Thorn with fascination. The warrior wondered who this mad gardener reminded him of.

"And maybe the beauty of Thoris will seduce you, and you'll decide to settle here with us..." The gardener's thin lips curved in a grin revealing white shiny teeth. 

"I wouldn't be a valuable citizen, sir..." Thorn said coldly. "Killing is hardly a merit."

Des Esseintes was silent for a while, looking at the warrior with a lingering smile, but an inner conflict was visible on his face.

"Creating means nothing without destroying.” His voice was changed. "We are a perfect duo: a destroyer and a creator. You kill, enriching the soil for the most perfect of all gods' creations - plants - to grow! I look after them and make sure they have enough sunlight and water to thrive. So as you can see, killing has its place in the eternal cycle of changes. And it's just as important as feeding in ensuring the smoothness and fluidity of rebirth. Trust me," he cooed, placing his hand on the warrior's shoulder. "Your talent will not be wasted in Thoris." 

"You said there are many halfwits with swords in Thoris, sir. I'm sure they can destroy enough," Thorn's voice was quiet but very clear. "One more will not make a difference. And I am not looking either for a job or a home," he added firmly, holding the gardener's gaze.

Des Esseintes was still smiling, as his hand stroked the muscular arm of the wounded warrior. He seemed distant, his thoughts far away. Judging from his face - very pleasant thoughts.

[You are coming much too close, mad gardener.]

The warrior was not used to other people being closer to him than the sword's length and it made him feel uneasy. With a gentle but decided movement, Thorn removed the gardener's hand from his arm.

"One way or another," the gardener continued, unfazed. "I hope you will fondly remember your visit to Thoris. Your arrival was not the most pleasant one, but I trust soon you'll be able to forget those traumatic events which made our hospital the first place you saw in our town..."

Thorn closed his eyes, considering the words he just heard.

[Remember fondly? I already have a few fond memories related to Thoris or at least the area around it. Every time the Goddess lets me live yet another day is a fond memory...]

He opened his eyes, but didn't answer, just followed the gardener's gaze. At the entrance to the garden, there was a young man with a bruised face.