tembovu

He was rooted— no, he was pinned— in place as Mauja’s pale ice eyes slammed into his own, navy gaze. Any thought (any hope) of turning away and leaving the spotted man alone was lost beneath the intensity of the stare; at such odds with the lightly asked question. A question buffeted so easily by the cool breeze, tossed mindlessly upon zephyrs before falling (almost by luck) into his black-rimmed ears.

But the question undid him.

“What for?” So open ended, with an answer so great (so heavy) that it could drive an Elephant to his knees. The simple answer: ‘For burning you,’ was a non-answer. Because, yes, Tembovu was sorry (a thousand times sorry) for incinerating Mauja. He felt badly (how inane and deficient a phrase) that he lost control. That rage overcame him and a beast of flame and fury burst from his chest at the slightest insult of a fiery sparrow. But that was the easy answer, not the fair one. And Mauja deserved that, deserved authenticity and honesty, after all he had done for the Dorobian man. Offered a home, offered a job, offered a kingship…

The answer to this “what for?” caused a burn overcome him. A cold burn, beginning in the icy fear of his chest and spreading its cold heat through pulsing veins by a heart that beat too powerfully— too painfully. It was different that the burn of being discarded by a woman in Mara’s likeness had caused— and that was what he was standing here, in the chill of night, apologizing for. That his own demons had manipulated him (that he had allowed them to rise and contort his mind). That he had lost himself amid a sea of despair, loneliness, and fury only to find Mauja and turn his monsters against his friend. That the Elephant King, who was tethered to this world by a lifeline made of moral justice, had — for those few, dark moments in the Deep Forest— severed the line and been adrift in his darkness. And it had taken burning someone alive to re-fetter him to rectitude. A life (Mauja’s life) was worth so much more than the qualms of his heart.

But that was too much— to voice all of that aloud was beyond the ability of the Elephant King to convey. So his low voice rumbled quietly, “I am sorry I lost control— sorry that I hurt you.” He visibly cringed at the asinine emptiness those words carried. He had done so much more than ‘hurt’ his friend— had he destroyed their friendship? (their relationship?) “I didn’t mean—“ he cut his deep roll off as the meaning of his words sank deeper and deeper into idiotic commonalities. But, at least, the timber beneath them and the agonized gleam of his navy gaze were earnest and sincere.

A long and low breath escaped his flared nostrils, clinging as vapor around his muzzle for a moment before being disintegrated by the cliff’s breeze. A question: ’Why immortality?’ bubbled, unbidden, on his lips. But he no longer felt the right to ask such questions of his friend— not after what he had done. So, instead, he simply said, “I’m glad the goddess fully healed you.”