Story 12 - Simple Conversations

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Welcome. Cassandra’s Tales and Truths is an anthology series that utilizes the wisdom of the Delphic Maxims. In this episode, the twelfth episode, Cassandra presents a lesson that we will happily express a sort of public or quasi public cheer for. After all, it is socially expected. They tell us as children, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” But those same voices will go against that advice constantly. That expression turns out that you say it to little children to avoid disciplining them. You don’t expect them to hold true to it. You certainly don’t it in your life. But perhaps there is a reason to. Many in fact. If you can take a moment and listen. And I do know it’s hard to.I know it goes against what sense of logic and self-preservation you may have. There is something to think about, though. 

But for now, dear supplicant, speak well of everyone. Even if you think you shouldn’t.

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Chelny kept her eyes low and her throat clenched. It would be inappropriate to vomit in the presence of the goddess. Granted, such a rule was not formally established, but it felt assumed, as unfair as it was considering how natural such a reaction felt. How could one not be seized by dread and panic in the presence of a deity? No matter what that deity says is their purpose and no matter what they promise, the lives of those around them are irrevocably changed for the trouble of whatever service they may provide to the divine. It is a law written so deeply in the hearts of humanity that there need not be any tale whispered to children as a means of warning them. Even the love of a deity can destroy, Chelny knew. And what about her was there for a deity to love? She brewed good tea, or so she had been told. And that was why she had offered it up, but the cups were old–hand-me-downs from her great-grandmother, and they showed their age without having picked up any of the prestige that came with being an antique. The cup in front of Inena the Goddess of Blessing was not chipped, but others in the set were. And perhaps, Chelny feared, that still was some sort of an insult. There was also the chance that the tea cakes Chelny had served were dry or not what flavor the goddess would have preferred. Chelny had not asked about it, which likely was rude, but she could not afford to ask for there was hardly anything she could offer. 

Fearing punishment or some sort of rebuke–for even the softest rebukes of goddess must still cut deep–Chelny kept her eyes averted, and her body pressed against the old wooden chair that would creak loudly if she moved too much. The chair Goddess Inena sat in was only slightly better, and Chelny hoped that the grace of a deity would keep it quiet. 

Chelny hoped for a lot of things. It was an old habit. Her parents were plagued with frequent illnesses when she was small, so small that she could do nothing but hope they would recover. She could hardly even pray back then. At such an age, she was too young to understand what words she should pull together. And that skill was not acquired as she grew. No one taught her how to observe piety or how to be religious. Her parents had been too sick, and the rest of her town had been far too concerned with their duties of care to think of tending to another’s child. 

As it stood, Chelny was perhaps the only one around who would not know how to entertain a goddess, and yet, she had been the one the goddess had appeared to. How unfortunate, she found herself thinking. 

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And it was probably a mistake, she soon realized. For certainly a goddess would be able to read the mind of a mere mortal, a young peasant girl tired by the frequent chores around the small farm who saw no more of the world than the dirt around her.  She was ill-equipped for this visit, she knew, which led back to the thought she suspected she needed to avoid. 

“Is something wrong?” she heard the goddess pur. 

That voice suited her, Chelny couldn’t deny, but it did so in a way that was most inconvenient for her right then. The Goddess of Blessing was known for her beauty. And how could she not be? How could the satisfaction of all of your needs and desires be anything but beautiful. Her presence was meant to sing to that part of the human soul, and no one would be able to ignore it. 

Legend said it was something she was proud of, and if she were not, it’s something worth being proud of. And so–though it was not the full truth–Chelny said. “It’s your beauty, ma’am. I have lost myself.”

And that was not a lie, per say. Chelny was not the type to do well around beauty. She was so unaccustomed to it given how rare it was in her usual life. 

The goddess hummed like a human would to express approval. And that was comforting, assuming that was the sound meant.

Chelny tried to take a deep breath, but she could not allow her lungs or chest cavity to move much as a whole. There was no act of assurance that could calm her. It was not just the risk a deity posed to the mortal but the hope they could bring as well. This was the Goddess of Blessing, after all. Could she not bless the young mortal whose home she was at? Would that not be the best repayment for good hospitality, assuming good hospitality is what Chelny managed to offer?

It was what she wanted to ask for. She wanted to ask for the many things she had dreamed of across her life. Even for something small like a new pair of shoes or a dress that was made for her body rather than being a cast out from someone else’s home. The goddess could provide that. Undoubtedly. There were stories of her raising children from the dead when her followers called out to her in anguish. Chelny did not know the details of those tales too well. She never had time for such stories, for such things, but visits like this were typically a part of them. So did that mean… Chelny could scarcely imagine it. 

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She heard the tapping of fingers against the cup. “I must ask you,” the goddess began. With that Chelny’s heart began a gentle rise upward, but before it could lift off, the Goddess Inena added, “about your neighbors.”

The surprise softened the invisible grip that held Chelny’s body so rigidly. She dared to lift her eyes, only to realize the offense she might cause by daring to look a deity in the eye, as if she were some sort of equal. She certainly was not. Hastily, she averted her eyes again, this time to the well worn wood floor. Patches of dirt were starting to peak up; Chelny hoped it had gone unnoticed. There was simply nothing she could do about that.

“What for?” Chelny whispered.

“One of them will be blessed by yours truly,” the goddess said. “And I want to know which.” She paused. “You may look at me, child.”

Chelny stammered, “I can try to, certainly.”

She was not sure what she meant by that. The words left her lips, but she did not carefully examine them on the way out. It was just what she felt inclined to say, respectfully, to the goddess before her. 

“You are willing to help your neighbors then?” Inena asked. “At no benefit to yourself?”

She was, whether or not she would be notwithstanding. Chelny was used to her current living situation. She was used to the struggles and difficulties after a lifetime of them. What would a few more days mean? So no, she thought, she was not bothered by a change to things. Frankly, if today was anything to go by, change was something to be dreaded. For change meant risk, clearly, and Chelny was not comfortable with that. But her neighbors were good people who helped her when they could. And in any event, it would be the goddess’s choice who took the day and who did not. What difference would a servant girl make? 

Chelny knew what she would do. She would say what she will, and that would be that.

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Inena accepted another cup of tea, but though she finishes the plate of tea cakes, she stopped short of asking for more. “What do you think of Risney Harlan?” the goddess asked with no more explanation or fanfare.

Chelny lingered at the goddess’s side teapot, still in hand. The wheels in her mind turned over as she tried to sort through multiple thoughts at once. There was the tea before her to pour. Chelny wanted to be sure the color was what she knew to be right, and sure enough, it was. But more than that, she had hardly interacted with Miss Harlan in some years. Miss Harlan’s sons had come of age, and she did not want them to speak to Chelny. That much had been made apparent, said plainly the last time Miss Harlan came to give the girl a loaf of bread three years back. The reasoning was unspoken, but it likely had to do with marriage as so many things did for your people. She likely meant that her boys needed to remain undistracted in their pursuit of suitable wives. And by suitable, it was understood that anyone with means would be better than Chelny. 

“She loves her boys,” Chelny said. And that was not a lie. Not one at all. It was simply an unexpected truth. She returned the tea pot to its resting place on the table slowly exhaling as a means of releasing some of the breath she was holding. “In fact,” Chelny went on, “I don’t think I will ever meet a mother who loves their children more. And there is something beautiful about love.”

The last sentence touched a bit too close to home. For once upon a time, Chelny did love the eldest Harlan boy, insofar as one could love an image they did not know too well. Perhaps, then, it was more of an infatuation than anything else, but as Chelny saw it, an infatuation was really just a taste of the real thing. If that already tasted wonderfully then love must be divine. So this was something to put forth. It mattered if someone was able to love, even if their methods in doing so were questionable to a stranger. Humans err, after all. And there was a chance that an error was all it was. 

It shouldn’t discount her from the chance at peace, Chelny thought. There was little anyone could do to lose that. As she retook her seat, Chelny averted her gaze again simply out of habit. Fear lingered, certainly, but it was not the dominant feeling at the time. 

“Won’t you have any more?” Inena asked.

“No ma’am,” Chelny whispered. In reality, she could not afford to indulge herself right then or at any point in time. Offering some to the goddess meant that she would go without for a while as it was. Assuming she had enough, of course. There was a chance she did not. But tea was not a necessity, Chelny reminded herself. It was just something to soothe herself with. Tea-less days were something she could survive, no matter how difficult it was. 

“Won’t you then,” the goddess went on, “tell me about the Doctor Renaut.”

Chelny knew the man quite well, once upon a time at least. He used to come around all the time when my mother was alive, Chelny added. But it had been so long since her mother died that the memory was hazy. She could still remember, or she thought she did, her mother’s pleading face, down on her knees while Doctor Renaut’s face remained stoic and his hand outstretched. Chelny was just a child then, and she knew she could not understand what others might consider obvious. Though her heart ache in a certain way, that way may not be the truth. 

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Chelny could not know the truth, she believed. Not about that moment, and so why should she speak that image to a goddess? Certainly you should never lie to a goddess, even unknowingly, and her doubts meant that it was possible to lie. 

And even if it were not a lie, what if he had changed, she asked herself. What if what looked like a cold heart in years gone by had been softened? What if he had learned kindness? Should he be punished for not always having known it? There were many things Chelny herself did not always know, and in the face of the divine, she did not think she could condemn another for that which she could also be accused of. 

“He is,” Chelny started to say. Her voice was shaky at first, but in time, she found it again. “He is important to this community. He is good at his work and takes… pride in it.”

The goddess studied her carefully. But Chelny’s nerves did not seize up. She knew she was telling the truth. Or she knew that there was truth in her words. And either way, it was up to the goddess to decide what truths matter the most. Chelny could only speak those words she was willing to call her own. And that was that. So she did not flinch beneath the goddess’s knowing gaze. She did not have a reason to.

Inena’s expression remained unreadable. “So then, child, the soul Mygrell who lives down the way. What of them?”

Chelney did not know them. She knew of them. Whispers carry, after all. And some were good, and some were bad.

“But you will tell me the good,” the goddess finished.

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That was enough to chill Chelney’s blood, and she averted her eyes. She gazed at the worn out floor, breath stuck in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. It was better for her not to breathe. Let her vanish by her own hands and not those of the goddess. There was just less pain that way. But she needed to speak, did she not? She needed to explain herself, to give the goddess any and every word she was owed. 

“Ma’am,” she started.

She probably needed to apologize. That was the best thing to do, she thought. For surely she had displeased the goddess with her indecision or her choices or something of the sort. But the words did not come out of her mouth. She opened her mouth, but the words she expected to come forth simply did not. At the failure, she felt a slight tremble enter her muscles. Inena moved before her, and the young girl flinched in response. But when the goddess’s hand came against her, it was not in anger but in kindness.

“How noble it is,” she purred, “to speak of goodness when you have reason not to. To choose goodness when it does you no good. So now, all I have to give you, child, is yours.”

A reward, some would call it. And others would beg to differ. The debate on such may come and go, but for now, dear listener, goodness spoken was met with goodness done for how could it be met with anything else?

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Cassandra’s Tales and Truths is a production of Miscellany Media Studios. It is written, edited, produced, and performed by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. Transcripts can be found at oracleofdusk.online. That’s one word. Oracleofdusk.online. Thanks!