Worldbuilding: The Taste of Grief
In Elihor, you tasted your grief. You acknowledged it would always be a part of you. A part of every meal, every empty moment, every breeze in the leaves, every song over the sea. You embraced it, devoured it, tended to it, remembered it, and sat with it.
Running a finger on the sapling now covering his grave, Avarielle whispered, “Until next time, old friend.”
Someday, she would bite the apples covering his grave and find sweet memories. This day, she only tasted bitterness.
- from Oath Breaker, book 1 of Keepers of a Broken Land
In Elihor, the Land of Darkness, the dead are buried and a special apple seedling planted over them. The deceased’s memories crawl up the roots, and eventually become part of the apple-like fruit, known as Elihor’s Fallen. Families and villages maintain these orchards. Some families share fruit, others hoard memories.
When a dark god, Siabala, attacked the land, flames licked the land, consuming the orchard—the memories of a people. Leaving them rootless, without their usual touchpoints.
He focused back on the scent of fire, looking at the burn marks in the courtyard around him. That was the scent he hated the most. Burnt gardens. Plants. Memories.
If Siabala had meant to rob Elihor of its memories, of the thing that kept them grounded, of their connection to their past and themselves, he’d succeeded. Entire forests filled with the memories of those who’d come before, for generations, annihilated.
His family’s trees had all been destroyed. His mother, who used to sing him to sleep. His father, who encouraged his love of learning. His daughter, who died too young, memories only sweet and afraid, a whisper of love. His wife, who’d followed her shortly after. Her memories he’d never dared taste, for fear of only tasting grief and pain. Disappointment at his inability to save her. To save their daughter.
And now, he never could taste them. She was gone, completely, robbing him of his chance to maybe find peace. To know how she felt.
- from Magic Breaker, book 2 of Keepers of a Broken Land
Not only did Siabala destroy their roots, but he ensured the thousands he killed couldn’t be buried, either, turned into monsters that would not allow for roots to take hold. But the people of Elihor did not forget their loved ones. Instead, they dotted their landscape with different trees, marking a loss of memories, but not a forgetting of a life.
Avarielle finished covering the graves, then looked to the markers left behind, trees that would grow and reshape the countryside, fed by the bodies of those they loved. Fruit trees, the most sacred in Elihor, which would feed bodies and souls.
They’d planted one for each sailor lost at sea, too.
Different ones, known as Elihor’s Lost, which looked more like a plum to Avarielle, for those whose bodies did not feed the roots. Elihor’s Lost dotted the landscape, full of rich, dark plums planted over the past two decades as the world healed itself. So many. Too many to count.
But slowly, steadily, Elihor’s Fallen grew as a crop as well. And the people of Elihor reclaimed their memories.
- from Oath Breaker, book 1 of Keepers of a Broken Land
Memories for generations, beyond a life. Beyond a single moment in time. A change of landscape, a change of culture. Ancient roots, and new ones.
Taste and smell are powerfully linked to memories and emotions, like grief. In Elihor, it’s a small detail of a different culture, but an important one. Imagine being able to share memories with your grandchildren of your grandparents? Not just share them, but let them taste it? Experience it? A life never lost, memories always cherished and grown.
What does grief taste like in your world?
