Coffee Stained Pages. Part 1

She almost forgot about it. Then… It was worth a lot!

It was even possible to simply go to Omill under this pretext and quickly come back here after that to continue to rot here.

At least minus one time of stupid songs, forced fun, accelerated by ale, unfunny jokes and inappropriate and unpleasant signs of attention and literally sickening round dances!

Good good. What could be better for the psyche than the absence of odes to one’s own unwanted fertility. This place already has enough of all types of fools.

“It’s not the city’s fault that you feel bad here. And not people. They get along well with each other. It’s like you’re something foreign here.” – she reminded herself. – “And not everything is black and white. This city has its own virtues. Here, in the Mainland’s food capital, you can be sure of tasty, nutritious food in abundance, quiet sunsets, walks in the Forest and flowery streets.”

Alrighty, but in order to try to avoid one day of fertility, one could agree to almost anything. Now we have no doubts.

Yes, it’s a big holiday for the locals. Many people look forward to it, and decorate their houses with bouquets of beautiful leaves and carved fruits, and prepare special foods and drinks. They get beautiful tablecloths and draperies, and dress themselves up too. Almost everyone here enjoys the lively jamboree, even people from neighbouring towns come to see it. Ami saw enough.

What kind of allergy is it? What’s so terrible about it? Why was she clinging to it now, when it was just happening in her head? Why not just walk by indifferently if you’re not really interested? Otherwise it means you’re still “interested”, you know, but in a perverted way. What is she resisting? Why?

No answers. But she can’t deny her eagerness to stay away from these pleasures. And she’s a great master of playing dead.

If something is systematically imposed on her, she will do her best to systematically avoid it.

Additional reason to escape the Fertility Festival is that those days made their mother nervous too. And even more withdrawn. This was something they had in common, but it didn’t bring them together at all.

Every big cycle Yvette simply locked herself in her room with a supply of food, tea, and… a hygiene bucket. And no amount of screams, threats, or persuasion from her relatives could lure her out of there.

However, persuasion-threats-screams were another holiday tradition, repeated from cycle to cycle, as stable as the very presence of a swamp holiday.

No one planned to stop it. Everyone seemed to love this boggy theatre.

Even the dialogues have not changed over time. Immortal recognized classic. And nobody ever got tired of this unfresh scenario.

The mother was asked not to disgrace herself in front of her neighbours. She answered in a calm voice that she would not disgrace herself, since from here she would not be able to greatly harm everyone who congratulated her on her still fertile age and the ability to reproduce further. She only went out at night to empty the bucket and threatened to douse its contents on anyone who interfered with her self-isolation.

Ami winced.

Every cycle of her life she felt as if she had already been doused from this same bucket. Desire to quickly remove herself far far away from home and the glorious traditions, ancestral memory and great city became almost invincible again. To find herself as far as possible from the concentration of those toxic things that already killed her morale.

Far away from the comfort of home. From the family bonds. From the mother with this permanent verbal and non-verbal hygiene bucket. Great.

On the other hand Amelia couldn’t say she doesn’t understand mother’s behaviour. It was probably painful for the older failed tramp to see her mistakes and especially one read-headed ridiculous reflection. No matter how hard she tried to forget who she was before, she wasn’t successful.

One can’t cheat one’s soul. She had to look. She had to look at all of them. Her past mistakes. Amelia was one of three. Mother made them systematically. For what’s sake? One never knows.

Maybe she believed that this would transform her from a fractious tramp into a respectable citizen. Maybe she wanted to be accepted in the house of her husband and in the city in general. But she didn’t succeed either.

And with new hope she switched to the desire to see her daughters become respectable plant growers and mistresses of the house and fields, she had never become herself.

Quite a dysfunctional family. Though… not everyone here was a failure.

Ami’s sisters were much more promising individuals. They fit well here.

Aunt Tata took her part in raising strong in body and spirit peasant women and hard workers.

For some reason this not-magic didn’t work with Ami. A bad seed. You can’t slap genes with a slipper, the mother should only be displeased with herself.

Can’t say Tata abandoned the attempts. Although nothing could be cut out of the grown-out part, persistent methodical attempts to tear it into shreds and sew it together in a new way were periodically renewed.

That’s why Ami tried to show herself as little as possible. Not to catch the eye of her family became her main goal, and she reached it by disappearing at work, in the Archive or, if she was really lucky, on a business trip.

And at her favourite secluded edge of the Forest, of course.

Under this delightful starry sky, among the trees and on the moss-smelling earth. Where one can stop to pretend “normal”, or try to hide away from everyone or to please someone if they got “caught”.

Isn’t it a wonder… This is probably only possible in communication with nature.

Everything is easier here. Just wander aimlessly and sing along with the voices in your head. The Forest will take you as you are, alive or dead, it doesn’t demand you to change, to “make an effort” and “stop being a bungler”, to behave, to be “as you should be” so that “it wouldn’t be ashamed in front of the sky” or something.

The Forest smelled wonderful and looked great. Maybe they must move to a Forest some day. It has food and answers to almost everything. Perhaps they would do it in the end, because none of the other cities like her either.

Or they can travel to the Ocean! Some maps say there’s a real unimaginably huge Ocean on the other side of the Forest! Imagine!

No, you can’t. Boundless spaces are hard to imagine. You have to see it for yourself.

Great thing is to look for elves who rush around here on their unknown business also. Ami’s never seen them ever in her life, but would really like to…

Well. Coming back to now. Still anxious. Why?

My eternally alert anxious mind, pray tell me what else you have in store? Let’s pour it out.

“Ok… What if… someone else is sent to Omill instead of us?”

Ha-ha. And ha. Who? There are no other weak-minded people in the area.

Everyone has business in their houses and plots, fields, families. No one wants to mess with these “helpless, clueless, stupid” witches. Nobody wants to adapt to new people, new language, new circumstances, new everything, no one wants to look ridiculous, feel the lack of the usual and necessary and the abundance of the incomprehensible. It’s a daily basis just for us.

It works here and there because nobody bothers to tell us what’s wrong, they need us to guess. So it’s a daily occurrence that we say and do something weird. It’s a daily basis of us suddenly becoming annoying troublemakers, even if we didn’t mean it, and most of the time we didn’t mean it, and having no clue what part of what you say or do is a trigger. A knowledge could at least be useful for analysis.

But even asking and analysing didn’t help and just made things worse. It’s a strange world. But maybe it’s a cursed gift to be a stranger anywhere in it.

Maybe.

So… Although her candidacy had not yet been officially approved, it was clear from the faces of our colleagues that they were relieved that it almost happened. In this situation, Ami was the invincible Stella the Clayhand. With whom no one fights. What’s next?

“Suns will rise.”

Wait? Really? Aye.

The first night lights appeared above the edge of the forest. If you sit a little longer, you can see how shining stars float into the sky on trails with a haze between them.

Perhaps it’s better this way… she doesn’t want to come home. She’s barely managed to calm down. And too weak to repel the attacks of her nosy loving family.

The fugitive didn’t want to listen again and again to the story about the complications with the roof repair due to her developed egoism and the lack of her not so skillful hands, la-di-da… If she is sent somewhere again, then most likely she wouldn’t return to the beginning of a new stage of (useless) construction and so on, and so on…

One answer to all of this is diligent passive-aggressively shirking. What? What did they expect from a careless mistress?

She was perfectly happy with the look and size of the house and her room. Enlarging the house and expanding their family would be extremely undesirable for many reasons. This family is already big enough to be disastrously annoying. And the house itself was sound and only needed cosmetic repairs.

Also there are much more interesting things in this life than getting bogged down in unnecessary things. So, whoever requires it… let them do this useless work.

And Amelia will wait until everyone falls asleep. It’s a good thing that Kantinians traditionally go to bed early, because the next morning most of them had a new day of work in the fields and gathering in the woods.

On the other hand, Ami’s habits did not exempt her from getting up early for work with everyone else. May the ghouls in the swamps gnaw at those who devised this routine so deadly to the body. And it’s not the first time she has anxious insomnia.

And not the last. She will survive anyway. Just like she did before.

Until she wouldn’t. Then she just wouldn’t. Why try to fight the inevitable?

Next one.

“Our superiors decide that the witches have come up with yet another stupidity, and they shouldn’t pay attention to this, nor to follow their lead… Or they will suddenly find out that there are not enough people here in the Department. And they desperately need this useless one. Or the Omillians will finally understand that working with an ignoramus is of no interest to them…”

Amelia didn’t answer, smirking vindictively at invisible Fate, demonstrating with her whole appearance that nothing would be able to disappoint her anymore.

It was simply ineffective and pointless to panic and freak out when you were already at the very bottom of your life’s expectations.

Instead, you need to keep your mind and hands busy. By starting to pack things, for example. It feels like escaping, it’s calming, and that’s exactly what we need. Even if the authorities don’t plan us to move to Omill tomorrow. Anyway, it’s time to finally go home and have some sleep.

The servicewoman stood up abruptly and reluctantly walked towards her dwelling. All the moons were hidden by clouds, and it was difficult to see the path, but the road was so familiar to her that she could walk there with her eyes closed if she wanted.

Literally. She tried. I only tripped a couple of times. She saw well in the dark.

Although, of course…

…The witch could now illuminate her way. Or stay away from these places.

The Kantinian quickly reached the partly undesired destination and quietly slipped inside. Luckily, there was no one in the corridor.

The tramp exhaled with relief.

She hurried into her room, hastily closing the door behind her.

The apathy that had become habitual in recent cycles was replaced by a weak but noticeable, somewhat malicious and gambling enthusiasm.

Let’s gooo! Now we’re talking.

Not hoping, not planning this time, just packing a bag full of our favourite things.

The unfortunate plant grower jumped to her feet a little energetically, glanced around the room eagerly and began to hum softly, unconsciously.

Interesting… She didn’t make it anywhere out of the Forest for a long time. She doesn’t sing in captivity.

Freedom seemed so close and almost tangible. But it was not the first time that she had been misled by her feelings and that her desires had been mistaken for reality.

Amelia quickly shook off the darkest storm cloud of depression that was creeping back into her soul.

Don’t get distracted… What to take and what to leave? Hm.

…The dictionary is definitely going in the bag first.

The avid bookworm picked up a large, tattered bundle of roughly stitched cloth. She turned it over respectfully, as if weighing it.

It had once belonged to her mother. Back when, according to unconfirmed rumours, she was still a normal person and not a swamp ghoul who had replaced her later. It is not clear where she got the copy, but you will not find a better source of information in Kantine. In fact, it was priceless. Any similar literature stored in the local Archives was almost completely useless. It is difficult to say why this was the case and what dominated these works – the number of errors or irrelevant topics.

This rare, valuable copy will come in handy. Because no matter how much you learn a language, you will still fall into a stupor when you need to say something immediately. Mean words quickly flee the battlefield.

And these ones are captured in the book. They have to serve and simply have no choice. And that’s why they will always come to the rescue.

Come on, good old tattered fellow… it’s not your fault that your ex is a grumpy fury. You are very useful and you will not bear collective responsibility.

Ok then. Who’s next?

Favourite shoes and clothes, of course. All travellers’ first friends. They’re comfortable and practical, even if they have holes in them and are sewn and glued over and over where possible. They’re in.

In our clothes bags. Which are also spacious and light, handy for any hike.

And an old, trusted, no less beloved blanket. It comes in handy anytime, anywhere. Even for sitting at rest stops.

This and that, we don’t take much… Don’t think we’ll stay long there.

But… have the feeling we’re missing something important.

Food. We need food!

The most important and enjoyable part of any event. This little journey is no exception.

Rarely would any Kantinian disagree with it, and in at least one thing Ami agreed with her compatriots. An absolutely sincere love of food.

So it was absolutely necessary to think about what hearty dried food she could steal from the family pantry. And put it in her omillian food bags.

Food bags are critical. She hasn’t learnt to wrap food and even drinks in big leaves like the graceful Selvas do.

But it is fiiine. That is not the only thing she will never be able to compare with the Selvas.

Ami took from the drawer the beautiful embroidered bags she had brought from the last Omill trip. It seemed they still had the smell of small flatbreads and takeaway pies. But no. They could only contain the spirit of Omill’s coffeehouses.

Hmm… It’s such a heartwarming memory… Especially in these dull Lands.

What else? Water bags. Of course.

Coffee-coffee-coffee… And our favourite shell cup, made from the shell of a local nut.

Did we leave our cup at work? Oh no… Let’s not forget it tomorrow. We need to make a mark on our hand…

No, we don’t! Luckily it’s here. On a table, behind the usual clutter. Waiting for something. And it looks like it’s getting ready too. Brilliant.

Come on, beauty. We’re going for a walk. Far away from here. Once again. I’m not leaving without you, you know that. Soon we will both be filled with exotic, delicious drinks.

Quick dopamine is a nice compensation for the bitterness of another fruitless movement to crawl out of this hole. Good, good…

What else?

Our typical travel checklist is somewhere at the bottom of this mess. Somewhere here, in the chaos of our life. Too tired to look for it, as always. So organised. Internal chaos often turns into external mess, there is nothing you can do about it.

There’s a writing tissue, stick and and some juice sticking out of the habitual tabletop clusterflip… Hm. Great. A cheerful company of writing instruments and materials is always welcome. Especially when your own memory isn’t too keen on keeping you company.

Amelia quickly walked back to the table and sharply pulled several pieces out of a pile of cut-up writing cloth. And of course what was on the top is immediately scattered on the floor.

Shhh… No noise, no noise…

Ami angrily picked up the out-of-control paper cutter and shook her finger at it. But it wasn’t the only troublemaker. The scraps of writing cloth, already covered with drawings, also ended up on the floor. Pieces of a unique map of the Continent made by mother. Her own work, torn and trampled by her own hands…

How symbolic.

Ami winced as if from a sudden spasm. The eternal victim of her own curiosity, she didn’t even want to recall the very episode, and quickly suppressed the feelings of guilt and anger and shoved them into a travel bag along with the pieces of the map.

…Maybe we can do something about that in the end, you know. If Ivette’s too weak to finish her own job.

For the Lands of Normality lie beyond and above the fertility-specialised Kantine. And there, with the proper sources of varied information, we could surely find the knowledge and materials to restore this undervalued treasure. And to reunite these disparate pieces of the former mother’s personality.

Or even, joking aside, we’ll be able to add something to it. Not in a negative way.

Perhaps Ami the Misfortune could still fulfil her mother’s wishes and live up to her hopes. But not by becoming a decent plant breeder, but by becoming a decent researcher. Of course, she is a far cry from her mother, but considering how tightly the “advanced” Yvette is mired in her problems, she has long since ceased to be a worthy rival. And even the desire to compare herself to her has completely disappeared.

Given that Amelia is going to be an employee of the Omill Department of Truth, there must be a way to gain access to the Omill Temple Archives. Perhaps there’s some sort of simplified access procedure.

It should not be as difficult to access as, say, Central Prime Archives. In theory.

If she stays in Omill and is not sent back, of course. If it is sent to Omill at all.

“So many ‘ifs’. Here we are again, feeding our depression and feelings of rejection. Enough of that. It’s not relevant. What’s next?”

Sleep. Sleep is next. Everything is packed except the food.

Ami doesn’t have many things. She doesn’t need much. Only the most comfortable. A big travel bag is ready and other things wait for her return.

And she always returns.

Ami clicked her tongue in annoyance, remembering the old “resentment” towards the beautiful and inaccessible cities that did not accept her the first, nor the second, nor the third time.

It is fiiine.

She has to get used to rejection and ghosting, they have been her best and most trusted friends for as long as she can remember. It’s time to accept them and stop ignoring their unseen daily presence.

…Mimicking, sarcastic remarks… silent ignoring or smirking… She’s had enough of that in her whole dung life. At home, among siblings and others, at work… Big gulps of it, in full abundance, everything you want from this set, Ami, everything is for you…

The Kantinian growled softly from the anger that had surged up and plopped down on the couch with a pile of unpacked things in her hands.

…Wouldn’t it be better to crawl somewhere and never come out again, never come in contact with anyone or anything?..

Yes. If only everything was that simple. Anyway, everything is pointless. Everything…

“We’re being unproductive again.”

Definitely… It’s better not to think about it now.

It’s no more but a story. The ridiculous story of one stupid life.

“Surely there are many much more interesting thoughts in that head.”

Right. Some can be rejected, even if they are not just plain weirdos like us, but outstanding people, which the VST agents definitely are. Or, maybe even, they were rejected because of being eminent. Remember that strange case when our Department compromised its principles by asking the VST to send no less than one of their witch agents. It was a big deal of great importance.

But of course something went wrong and the investigation was inconclusive. Which says nothing about the professional qualities of the agent himself or the level of competence of the VST as an organisation.

One can only imagine the level of “assistance” the locals provide to the “metropolitan upstarts”. This makes any complex investigation doubly difficult. If not triple…

…Contempt, devaluation, small-minded pride and arrogance.

An inexplicable fear of the incomprehensible and unexplored. Energy saving mode for limited minds. Why learn when you can project…

To be more educated, more curious, to have superior knowledge was only a reason for additional ridicule. That’s what happened to the agent.

Rejected for another reason, Ami deeply sympathised with a stranger.

It’s a pity that his investigation didn’t take place during her service – she came later.

Once, under silly circumstances, her curiosity had led her to some interesting lists and reports, which disappeared shortly afterwards. Perhaps they are still somewhere in the depths of the Archive… but very deep.

The new employee, Ami, was simply asked to tidy up the shelves here in the absence of the Secretary.

If she knew the real value of these documents, which were temporarily stored away from the other ones… She would examine them more closely.

…Such a fascinating, mysterious puzzle in the midst of the flat, boring life of the Order Department. It was quite intriguing, and she decided to take a closer look at it after carrying out the orders of her superiors with maximum speed and all the zeal of a rookie… If only she had known two important things then.

First, the faster you carry out your superiors’ orders, the faster you will get the next ones. Second, secrets and fortune will not wait forever. Either you take it now, or you go your separate ways.

And of course, a late quick inspection of the contents of the shelves revealed nothing. There was no way to snoop any more. The Secretary kept the secrets.

And he would not tolerate any intrusion into his fabric manor. Ami was pretty sure that the agent had found nothing either because it’s been deliberately hidden.

Although she couldn’t shake the thought that she could somehow help this random VST guy, who was somewhat similar to her, she understood perfectly well that it was too late to do anything.

The case was closed. And maybe even destroyed.

Even if she could find a way to sneak into the Archives under a good pretext and quickly figure out which of the heavy, dusty cabinets contained the necessary information…

How do you copy a document quickly? Absolutely not. They’ll definitely notice.

Of course, neither the Secretary nor the Chief would approve, to put it mildly. And Ami did not want to be thrown out of what was practically the only non-planting job in Kantine that allowed her to travel the Mainland at least occasionally. The job suited the inquisitive mind of the active Amelia, Ami loved her job. In general.

Though, frankly, curiosity and initiative have never been particularly encouraged in their ranks. Which is true of their whole city.

“This is how they lived before us, this is how we live”.

A step in any direction promises a citywide clusterflip.

Somehow, Kantinians have deliberately forgotten that it was curiosity and a passion for research and exploration that made Prime the great and admirable city it was, starting with a bunch of witches hastily and uncertainly settling on a windy mountain plateau.

…to heights beyond the reach of Amelia…

Witches who did not possess the “basic Kantine virtues” declared to be the basis of survival, demonstrated a fundamentally new way of not only surviving, but thriving.

Yes, the Kantinians also look forward with malicious impatience to the fall of the Witch City from its mountain heights, and eagerly discuss all the real and fictional gossip about it.