Thorns: Good and Bad

1 – West

 

“Hey West!” a familiar voice rings in his ears he turns on his heels to greet his friend.
 

“Hello, Anatoli. What a pleasure to see you here today.” he smiles warmly at him.

 

“I could say that same.” Anatoli laughs as he walks over to his friend. “Why are you holed up in the garden?”

 

“I needed to check on the rose bush. It’s having troubles settling in. I don’t think it’s getting the right amount of light.”

 

“You worry about the rose bush like it’s a human. It’s fine. Come out to lunch with me, we don’t have general classes for a couple hours. We could spend some time off campus. What-da-you say?” Anatoli holds out his hand for his friend to take it.
 

“Everything needs care Anatoli. Even things as common as rose bushes. Their delicate, soft, tender; they need love too.”

 

Anatoli eyes his friend suspiciously; he never understood the way West thought.
 

“Are you going to answer my question?” he asks.
 

“Hm? Yes, we’ll go to lunch. Where, may I ask?” West responds, taking his friends hand.

 

“There’s a small shop in the village that serves the best pita bread, rumor has it anyway.”

 

“I wonder who spread that rumor.” asks West jokingly.

~~

Anatoli reaches on the counter to get his food; he nods a thank you the chef and walks to the table his friend and him have claimed. He notices West staring blankly into his plate of pita bread and lamb meat.

 

“Are you alright, West?” Anatoli asks with concern.

 

“Hm? Yeah I’m fine; I was just… lost in thought.” West says with a nervous laugh.

 

“Aren’t you always? What do you think about?” Anatoli asks, taking a bite from his pita bread.

 

“Oh nothing, it’s nothing to concern you about, just classes and such.” West says dodging the question.

 

“I see…” Anatoli decides not to pursue the question any longer. Moments pass as the two eat their meals. Anatoli stuffs the rest of the pita bread into his mouth and guzzles down his water. Wiping his mouth with a cloth from the table he decides to pipe up another conversation, “Do you have a teacher yet?” he asks.

 

“Not yet. I haven’t been invited to any classes. Out of sight, out of mind I suppose. “West responds, his mood seeming to be dampened.

 

“Mm. I find that hard to believe. You’re one of the most talented students at the school. Not even daskalos Aaron asked you to join his class? He was very interested in your writings last year if I remember correctly.”

 

“He hasn’t. It saddens me; I thought he would take me in an apprenticeship. His writings and music have inspired me ever since I join, five years ago. “

 

“I heard we’re getting a new daskalos tomorrow, maybe you’ll have a shot then.”

 

“Really? Do you know his name?”

 

“Aeolos, if I’m not mistaken. I heard the Elders speaking of him. He’ll be a teacher of music.”

 

“Ah. I see. I’ll be sure to introduce myself promptly then, eh?”

 

“You better, if I get invited to a class before you we’ll know; the world as we know it is ending,” Anatoli says jokingly.

 

The two share a laugh before leaving the shop to wander around the village. Half way down the block Anatoli strikes another conversation, “You’d think that a school as big as ours would be in a grand city. Not small villages like this.”

 

“I think there’s plenty of reason for it being here.”

 

“Enlighten me,” Anatoli says with a laugh.

 

“Gladly,” West says, accepting his challenge, “with the war in the north against Exodi this southern coastal village is great for a prestigious school like this. It keeps the rich seekers of the north from finding it. If you want to be rich, why sack a small village of cow herders and farmers?”

 

Anatoli rolls his eyes at his friend. “Again, you think too much for your own good.”
 

“I think I think the right amount.”

 

“Of course you would,” Anatoli says with a sigh, “Hey. Let’s go to that scripture store. I need to purchase a new scroll holder and pens.”

 

“What happen to the last one I bought you?”

 

“I broke it,” he answers watching West’s face for reaction.

 

“How’d you break it?”

 

“I was practicing Go’Zan.”

 

“I’m not buying you this one;” West says frankly, “get it yourself, with your own money.”

 

“I was planning to.”

 

“Good.”

 

The duo disappears behind the wooden door of the scripture shop. Anatoli goes to the back of the store to browse the scroll holders. West feigns as if he is browsing the chess sets. He’s actually watching his friend, Anatoli, look through the scroll holders. Anatoli has always perked his curiosity. How can one be so carefree, yet so elegant with clumsiness? His mind searched for an answer every time they were together like this, be it in a scripture store, be it searching for lamps, be it in the marsh during the coldest nights, he always wondered about his friend, Anatoli. Always. But always the answer never came; Anatoli’s personality always baffled his genius mind, being friends with Anatoli for four summers now the answer always evaded him. Anatoli is a mystery, a puzzle, a maze to be never solved.

 

“You alright, West? Daydreaming again are we?” Anatoli jokes.

 

“You always catch me.” West responds, “Did you find a durable scroll holder this time, something that’ll outlast your Go’Zan training?”
 

“Yes, this one’s made of iron and not oak,” Anatoli says tapping the scroll holder with a proud smile.

 

“Well, go on and pay for it. I’ll meet you outside.” West says motioning toward the store owner.

 

“You see…” Anatoli smile fades from his face, “I left my denarii at the school.”

 

West’s smile fades to a frown as he digs in the pocket of his robe to pull out a pouch of coins. Tossing the pouch to Anatoli he turns on his heels, his mood soured.

 

“Thanks, West!” Anatoli turns to pay for the scroll holder, the door chimes as West exits.

 

West breathes in the fresh village air. The village air is pure, not contaminated by the smog of a blacksmiths post, the traffic of traders and wagons, the smell of horse manure, the aura of wenches and whores. The village is calm; West’s silver eyes take in the scene. The sky is a brilliant blue the sun giving off its rays lovingly; grasping the village in warmth. A call rings out from a horse drawn wagon, a fresh shipment of metals the cargo.
 

Anatoli exits the store, the wooden door closes quietly. Sitting on the bench beside the store building he sees, West, lost in thought again.

 

“Hey West,” Anatoli says, his voice wavering as he treads on thin ice, “I’m sorry about that, I’ll pay you back when we get back to the school.”

 

“It’s no big deal. You’re paying for my next meal instead. Deal?”

 

“Deal. Here’s your coin purse back,” Anatoli tosses the pouch down to West, landing it in his lap. West rises and they continue their journey back to the school. Going through the village square they’re silent, not a word is uttered. Children dance around the square, preparing for a festival that the school will have; honoring the village that has kept them such a well-guarded and well pampered secret.

 

Anatoli thinks back on his studies, how he has so many classes during his fifth year; all general classes of course. He’s been at the school a year longer than West and still no prospects of promotion to a special studies student has arisen. He was sent by his aunt, Elise, to go to the same school that his father and grandfather went too, continuing the dynastic tradition. Aeolos was coming to the school tomorrow, since Aeolos was a teacher of music there was no possibility of Anatoli joining his special class, let alone be invited to at least observe. Anatoli was a student of the fighting arts and literature, nothing more, nothing less. He was content. However, West; was jumping all over the place in his studies. One year he’d be a student of the kitchen, next a gardener, then a writer. What was his goal? Anatoli’s mind could only guess and never find the answer, not even if we as so educated in his friend.
 

Anatoli remains as puzzled as West is about their friend counterpart.