The troubles of talking to unattainable ones - 1. Story

As the caravan entered the little dukedom, someone had asked me if I could speak to the wind. I said yes. It was an innocent answer for an idle question.

I only realised the tragic and deadly proportions of such simple statement as I stood at the topmost tower of that estate-city.

I was indeed able to talk to the wind - occasionally. Despite my many flaws I was considered quite the reputable Skriptor. That was the reason I had joined the caravan in the first place. I had departed from the Skriptorium a few months ago, headed towards the Capitol to aid the Queen’s High Skriptor himself on matters of utter secrecy.

The only trouble with the wind-calling business was that the Wind himself was a fickle element of Nature, if not the worst. Getting an answer from it was a matter of luck and how good was the Weather’s humour at the moment. Not a subject of right precision.

Of course if I was to answer the question with such detail, the servant who had asked would drop dead out of boredom. So I gathered a “Yes, of course” would suffice. I handed her my belongings so they could be taken to the barracks’ dormitories, there I would find some food and rest, along with other less prominent people in my caravan.

Before said rest, however, there was the task of presenting ourselves on the great hall before the Duke himself. It was a matter of bowing down, smiling, saying pleasant and elaborate words and off with it.

I was one of the last people in the caravan to get to the man. Standing at the rear of the long line we had formed, hunger already bit at my guts. When my time finally came I ignored one of the women in his entourage whispering by his ear and bowed as graciously as my travel aching body allowed. Before I could say any long yet devoid of substance praise, the Duke spoke to me.

There was utter silence. The greetings were a mere formality, usually responded with a simple nod from his part. He had not spoken to anyone in our caravan. Yet.

“Skriptor Khald-Han, am I correct?”

I recovered my words faster than I expected.

“That would be me, Your Grace” I bowed my head.

“My Matron-Counselor tells me you are familiar with the Old Language and can talk to the wind. Is that true?”

It was only at that moment I realised the mistake of my simplistic answer to a servant who was not simplistic at all. Before I could correct the misunderstanding, my mind flashed with everything my good friend Ayana had told me about the Duke many days ago.

Ayana was a remarkable Skriptor in her own way, with all the historical information she could keep inside her mind. When she found I was going on a trip to the capitol, she set to relay all the useful facts she could recall. My memory floated around what I’ve learned from her about this Duke. He was an old and peculiar man, that loved to collect all sorts of objects. Ayana had babbled about his long lineage and short list of accomplishments too, which I did not remember at all. One thing she said had stuck to my mind’s eye, though.

“This Duke has the deepest trouble being vexed in any way, and has no tolerance for hearing words of negation.”

I realised in that fraction of instant that I would not be allowed to contradict his Matron-Counselor without incurring his wrath. So I simply said “Yes, Your Grace”.

He clapped his hands with a smile on his face and asked me to go to the topmost tower of the estate-city. There I was to summon the winds at once and bring and end to the shortage of rain that had been plaguing his domains the entire season.

There were no words other then “Yes, Your Grace” leaving my mouth, and I was ushered inside the castle by the very Matron-Counselor that started everything. Said woman spoke to me gleefully about how the Duke’s mood would improve with the appropriate weather. The whole castle’s staff would be fairly less punished by his rampant moods after that, she said.

I took pity on her almost as in myself. I remembered Ayana speaking of how the Duke would punish people who vexed him, as well as sentencing to death those who failed the tasks given by him.

We walked the stone corridors and I lost track of the turns. The great arches that peered outside showed the sun in the midst of its descent. The coming twilight, always my favorite time of the day, felt gloomier than I’d like.

“After you summon the Wind your meal will be waiting for you in your caravan’s quarters, Master Skriptor.” the Matron said as she opened a heavy wooden door that led to a set of never ending spiral steps.

She waved at the door and I made my way up by myself. I contemplated escape or even fighting the Duke’s soldiers when they finally discovered I was a fraud and took me to the gallows. But my Vows as Skriptor kept me from using my gifts in self-interest. A Skriptor’s Vow was not mere promise, but an oath tied to the very fabric of her or his soul with the power of the Old Language. Dared I to break it, I would suffer an excruciating death the same instant. Fight or flight were no options.

There was, of course, the possibility that the Wind would hear my calling and do my bidding. It was as close as the possibility of the Duke letting go of his petty behaviours and acting like a true leader.

So there I stood at the top of the higher tower. A Skriptor with a fair amount of talent, fresh out of taking his vows and his cape to set off in the world and do some service to human kind, about to have his journey terminated too early.

The tower overlooked the entire plain in which the castle and the estate-city were built. The sky coloured itself with shades of fire by the west, already lighting its flickers of stars by the east. The air stood still and the dryness of the weather revealed itself in the lack of clouds above.

I raised my hands, strained my mind as farther as it would go and pronounced the calling of the wind in the old language. The words rang deep, reverberating with the bones of reality itself. It felt as if the world went silent for an instant, waiting for my call to be answered.

Then the sounds of the night came back, the crickets and owls, and the murmur of the voices far inside the castle. The air did not move an nothing else happened.

The Matron-Counselor looked at me as I walked out the tower. Her eyes dripped expectation.

“Later.” I said, as to answer her silent question. “Those things take time. By morning it will be done”.

It was all a lie made up by my mind on its last grip to buy some time, of course.

The woman took me towards the great hall once again, a relieved smile dancing on her face. She told me the meals would be held at an impromptu banquet in homage to the coming rain. All my caravan and the most important people on the Duke’s court would be there.

I walked back to the main hall, that had been filled with long tables and benches. People sat and mingled about, enjoying the sound of mandolin and flute.

A toast was made by the Duke in my honor, right after the matron whispered at his ear once again. He announced to his court the lie that tomorrow morning there would be rain. People cheered and drank. My caravan fellows joined, quite happy to drown the discomforts of the road in a sudden festive occasion.

My lips quirked up a smile that did not reach my eyes. I was doomed.

 

….

 

I resigned myself to a corner of the great hall and watched imbued in detachment people toasting, singing and dancing to my eminent demise. Being the object too much attention usually made me feel my bones trying to shrink and my guts withering. In such a morbid and unexpected situation, though, I felt a hysterical sense of laugher begin to bubble inside my stomach and come up the oesophagus. It was a silent battle with myself not to let it out.

“So it seems this foolish little dukedom has a new hero”

I jumped at such a sudden comment. A wrinkled familiar face smiled under a large beat up hat.

“Rorshar” I relaxed and smiled back genuinely, out of gratitude for being taken out of my own thoughts.

“Master Skriptor” the old man tipped his hat and extended me a goblet full of wine. “It seems unfair that you do not take part on the celebrations, don’t you think?”

I took it without much thought and gulped half of its contents.

“Thank you. And no Master Skriptor if you please.” I replied after wiping my lips with the back of my hand - a bad habit I didn’t manage to shake off during my years of learning in the Skriptorium.

“There, there! That’s more like it.” He perched himself next to me on the large wooden bench and used the wall to rest his back. “You did not seem to be enjoying your moment of glory when I spotted you from afar.”

For an instant I considered confiding my misfortune to my closest companion since I joined the caravan. Yet, I could not bring myself to spoil the unexpected festive occasion for my good, yet recent, friend.

“It must be the tiredness from the road, my friend.” I opted instead to steer the conversation away from the gruesome truth. “I’m glad you were able to join these sudden festivities. Already finished with all the bookkeeping?”

“Rightfully so. Not much business to be conducted in this poor estate-city, especially with the bad crops of the summer.”

I nodded.

“But surely you’re hoping to find at least an interesting artefact or two for you private collection in these parts? I’ve heard the Old Empire’s art still remains in some of the most ancient houses in this region.”

Rorshar’s eyes gleamed with excitement at this subject. I smiled inwardly to the small victory of avoiding the whole wind talking subject altogether. My friend launched into a rant on the prospect of finding rare and dusty vases from a culture that was wiped from existence a few centuries ago. I hang on to his words with unprecedented attention, savouring the last conversation I’d have with this man. After all, he had made my journey so far much less lonely with his joyful camaraderie and I would miss him in whatever place the afterlife reserved to me.

Time fluttered in a weird manner as more wine was brought by servants and my goblet was filled twice more.

Rorshar did not last long. His old age caught up to him and prompted his early retirement to our dormitories. I remained alone in my corner, entranced by observing people mingle about and the peculiar and unique way each of them behaved after being a bit intoxicated. Hope danced around the eyes of the locals, and the prospect that it would prove false weighted on my shoulders. It stood right beside the expectation of my punishment to death, of course.

It did no take me that much for my eyes to direct themselves at him, almost as if they had a will of their own.

He sat with the rest of the soldiers, haunched slightly, elbows braced on his knees and legs spread wide. Even on such relaxed posture, he was tallest of the bunch by far. Most of his mates laughed and yapped loudly about whatever they pleased. Probably tales about adventures in service of their Lord, or girls and boys they bedded on their travels. But he seemed to listen much more than talk. He smiled a lot, but did not downright laugh, scraping his short beard from time to time when he was asked something directly.

His name was Hogar and he had caught my attention right on the first day I started travelling with the caravan.

I had joined their group in the settlement of West Marsh, the outpost closest to the Skriptorium that stood at the very west of the continent by the ocean. I had settled my fare with the Master, offered my services in case of any matter related to my skills as a Skriptor and mounted my horse to depart with them. Soon I’ve singled out Rorshar, the caravan’s bookeeper, by his refined manners and the aura of knowledge about him. It was a kinship that people of our kind, the less physically equipped, sought out in situations like ours. We immersed ourselves in conversation about scholarly things and later about our own life stories and views of the world. It was a good day’s worth of talking that put us at ease with each other and paved the way for our friendship in the next month of travelling. I’ve always liked better the company of my elders then the ones of my own age.

It was at night, when we broke camp and lit the fires, that I spotted him. There was a fair amount of armed protection around us. All of them were men and women from the caravan’s Lord, not the hired and unreliable kind. They set about to patrol the perimeter and took turns in resting and eating by the fire. When he joined a group nearby, sharing the same fire as myself and Rorshar, he caught my eye, towering above his peers. I noticed his scruffy face, the angled pointed nose and close cropped hair. There was confidence, control and calm in way he moved about. And I mostly noticed his eyes. They were the most ordinary if one was to describe them: dark brown, well proportioned, not big, not small. But underneath them, behind the austerity of those who did their job well, there was the a glimpse of something that snared all my concentration. There was a pale flicker of gentleness, perhaps kindness, well disguised by his mannerisms of a military man.

There were quite few things one who desired to become a Skriptor had time to do besides study and learn. So there had been few options of past times to be acquired by me, growing up in the Skriptorium. But watching people was the little thing that I’ve found to do in the small moments I had to spare. It became something I developed into a habit since my childhood years, as to keep my mind from sagging from all the knowledge being crammed into it. I taught myself to read the small gestures and the words people said with their eyes, as if to know them from subtle signs from afar.

And I saw that gentleness that seemed to be an intrinsic part of his being seeping through his armour of roughness. His kindness showed in the way he’d listen to people with his whole body, inching slightly in the direction of those who spoke to him, or how he’d take extra care no to bump into smaller people around him. He spoke less then most people, but smiled a lot, even if in a contained manner.

For the next month my past-time had been warped into watching only him as much as I could. I discovered his name was Hogar from listening to other people’s conversations and I was ashamed to even admit it in my own mind.

“Quite the strapping young man, your soldier.” Rorshar had commented in a morning after we left the third city since I joined the caravan.

I had jumped at that, unaware that once more my eyes had drifted ahead in Hogar’s direction, where he rode near the carriage of the caravan’s master.

My ears almost burst on fire as I coughed, my throat thick with embarrassment. Rorshar laughed at that.

“What do you mean, Rorshar?” I tried for a feeble attempt of deflection.

“I am not going to pretend I haven’t seen you making eyes at him for the last week, Young Master” he smiled somewhat triumphant.

I shook my head, while trying to clear my thoughts.

“I have no idea what came over me.” my hands gestured wildly and I almost lost balance in the saddle. “I’ve never been one to loose time with such things.” I suppose I even scowled a little at that thought.

Rorshar laughed again.

“Ah, you are young and brimming with life. It is only natural to have such interests.”

“It is frustrating, that’s what it is.” I grumbled.

My friend looked at me.

“You should talk to him, Master Skriptor. Wouldn’t hurt to get to know the subject of your interest.”

I pondered for the fraction of a second before shaking my head again.

“I can’t imagine how such a thing would happen. I would not know how to even strike up conversation. He is much different from me.”

“You might be surprised.” My new friend had replied with the knowing smile that only elder people could muster.

“Forget that, my friend. It is not a thing that will happen as long as I live.”

As I replayed my conversation with Rorshar from many days before, my gaze once again lost itself in Hogar’s direction. For the briefest of seconds the big soldier returned my stare.

It felt like grabbing a steaming kettle with no protection. I flinched and might have mimicked a kettle in burning with shame too. Perhaps there was even steam coming from my ears. I cast my eyes down and inspected my boots while counting the alphabet backwards. Taking a deep breath after finishing, I ventured another quick glance in his direction. His attention was back to his group of friends, of course.

I sighed, with no control over my inebriated mind, and gulped the remains of my goblet. I looked around for a way to replenish it, but the nearest servant in charge of beverages had wandered to the other end of the hall. Closer to the soldiers.

There was no avoiding the movement of my eyes back to where they wanted to be. Hogar smiled brightly at something a young woman, also a soldier, was speaking about. I figured I’d never get to see that smile up close, either for the lack of courage of for the simple fact that I’d probably be marching to the Duke’s gallows, or maybe the chopping block, by the next evening.

Right in that moment, speaking to the man with gentle eyes seemed more of a daunting task than talking to the wind itself.

Then a tiny voice inside my head wondered that if my death was so certain, there wasn’t much to loose. If I was to die tomorrow, shame of making a fool of myself would be a considerably insignificant trouble.

My feet seemed to agree faster than my mind, for I was halfway through the hall when I came about myself. There was no time for my heart to thump with desperation or my palms begin to sweat in the familiar way they did when I faced unfamiliar social situations.

“Nice evening fellas. Mind if I keep some company?” My mouth went ahead and spoke without much of a command. “It suddenly seemed awful lonely to me drinking by myself in in such an abundant feast.”

It appeared my body parts had gotten rather independent at the face of alcohol.

Six pairs of eyes stared back at me while I seemed to leave my body and stare shocked at myself. The world tilted a bit, and suddenly I did not seem to care so much if I was going to be laughed at and sent away.

It was the woman who had spoken to Hogar and made him smile that curved her lips up and broke the silence of the bunch:

“Well if it is not the guest of honor himself!” She mocked curtsied without standing and I braced myself to be dismissed. But as she looked me into the eyes there was no malice in hers, just mild camaraderie “Come, Master Skriptor. The amount of wine to share doesn’t seem to be an issue and I believe we all have you to thank for that.”

At this, the other soldiers agreed loudly. There was a swift hustle of bodies along benches and room was made for me amongst themselves. Someone poured me more wine and I’ve found myself sitting directly across Hogar. At least the view was better from here.

I settled in a comfortable half-lucid state as I followed their conversation. Despite any conceptions I’ve made about what soldiers were like, they talked about fairly relatable things such as the wars going on in the isles of the south, the reminiscence of past cities we’ve visited so far and even the spooky stories the people of these regions told.

“I’ve heard some people on the tavern in that village we were some days ago - what was it’s name again?” said Connar, a stocky man with a crooked nose whose mouth ran faster than his wine addled brain could manage.

“Arv’astar” supplied Lytha, the woman who’d welcomed me into the table.

“That’s it, Arv’astar.” nodded Connar “So, there was a couple of girls and an old woman at a table. The wrinkled lady was telling the two young ones about a story of a woman who stalks the forests at night wearing the head of an owl as her own.”

I smiled widely at that. Connar seemed to take notice.

“You happen know that one, Master Skriptor?” he asked. I began to realise that they calling me Master Skriptor was not in the playful way Rorshar used to. My elder friend seemed to find rather amusing to address a much younger person with pretend deference. But these soldiers seemed to think necessary calling me by this title, one that was far away from being mine. If my own master heard that, she’d be out of wits.

“It seems only fair you should call me by my own name, Master Soldier, as we seem to be sharing the same wine” there was soft laughing from the others and Connar himself.

“Very well, Master Khald-Han” Connar had saluted pompously and prompted more laughter from the group “Do you happen to have knowledge of such tale as the one of the woman with an owl’s head?”

I had to admit his attempt of speaking like a rather sycophantic erudite was quite accurate. I’d have to keep myself in check in the future, so I didn’t sound naturally like that.

“Why yes, I do have that knowledge, kind sir.” I trailed in the far-fetched language, but as memories of my childhood began to surface, the humor slipped away from my voice “I was born not far from here and grew up with those bedside tales. In the midlands there is the old tradition of the Mosha - the owl woman - as you’ve heard.”

There was silence. The other conversations in the hall floated around us as all my new fellows stared intently at me. I’ve found that even Hogar gave me his whole attention, as I chanced a quick peek in his direction.

“Go on, Khald-Han” he urged - the first time he’d ever spoke to me - and his comrades agreed with nods from their heads.

I sat a little straighter, cleared my throat and looked all of them in the eyes. Then I began recounting of the tale of the Owl Woman the best I could remember from the times I’ve head it from my mother, before I drifted to sleep on moonless nights.

After the story ended, there was a little chat about other bedside tales people recalled from their childhoods. Then Connar engaged Lytha in a banter about who had the best aim, and others rallied around to recount both soldier’s conquests on hunting. As the conversation shifted I smiled and settled to listen. But Hogar’s movement leaning across the table in my direction caught the corner of my eye.

“So you’re from the midlands too, Master Khald-Han?” he asked with a small smile.

“Just call me Khal, Hogar” I tried to dismiss the title with a wave of my hand “I’m far from being anyone’s master, believe me.”

His smile widened a little.

“All right, Khal it is. But I don’t remembered telling you my name.”

I faltered a bit at that. Embarrassment made its way through the mist of wine that floated around my mind.

“You’re sure you didn’t?”

He nodded, but only amusement made itself apparent on his expression.

“You Skriptors’ abilities for gathering knowledge must be as incredible as they say.” He jested.

I couldn’t help snorting at that.

“You’d be surprised” I muttered.

And he laughed at that, showing all teeth and throwing back his head. Maybe my heart raced a bit faster while I stole a glance at his thick neck and throat at display. I’ve never thought it could make for a good view.

“You from the midlands too? Your name doesn’t sound like it” I ventured a detour on the fact I secretly knew his name.

“Yes, born and raised. My parents were from the capitol. That’s why I have an eastern name.” He noded and drank from his goblet. “I lived in Ahn-hulaín until I joined the Queen’s guard and was assigned do serve the Lord of the Westlands.”

“Ahn-hulaín, that’s the village in the valley were the two rivers meet, correct?”

He smiled and nodded.

“It was not very far from were I was born.” I said “Kahrn’tar was up the mountais, a bit to the north. I was still a child when I left, but I remember we could even see your village’s lights flickering at night on the top of the watchtower.”

“I remember gazing up to see your watchtower’s flame flickering at distance too.” Hogar nodded at that. Then he scratched his beard and frowned a little bit “So it is true what they say, that Skriptors start training early?” he ventured.

“The younger, the better. That’s what my master says. I actually started off late. Was eight summers old when Kiran-Stat passed through our town, gazed into my eyes and decided it was my destiny to be one of them.” I laughed at that, remembering my old tutor’s decisiveness and brusque manners.

I came back from my slight daydreaming to find Hogar watching me. I felt a bit disconcerted at that.

“I’m sorry. I’m not used to talk about myself so much.” then a realisation came upon me “I’m not one to drink that much either. Maybe I should stop” I pushed my own goblet away.

Hogar barked another laugh at that and patted my hand, not in the careless manner I usually saw drunken people do, but with utmost gentleness. My eyes stuck were his hand touched mine.

“Stay some more” his hand stood where it was for a minute. “I’m not saying it is wise to drink your wits off every time opportunity strikes, but it is good to relax and enjoy now and then.”

He patted me again and grabbed his wine, taking a sip for good measure.

I took a deep breath and decided to stop censoring myself just this once. I quieted down the little voice in my head that always chastised me on any detour from utmost perfection. Said voice curiously resembled my master’s. I pictured myself shoving it inside a wooden chest in the corners of my mind and locking it with a brass key.

“Well, here’s to relaxing and enjoying, then” I raised my goblet.

Hogar and I toasted at that.

The conversation flowed along with the wine. We joined the group again and I listened to Connar’s elaborate, and apparently not very accurate, adventures from his childhood in the capitol. Narim, a tall woman with big fluffy hair told us folk tales about her village in the south and even Hogar told us an anecdote or two.

From now and then he’d look at me and ask me something and sometimes people would stop to listen to what I had to say. Other times they were engaged in another subject and Hogar and I would chat amongst ourselves.

I’ve found out he had two younger sisters. One of them was training as a midwife in his home village, while the other had married a sea merchant and set to live aboard a big ship. He sent them letters from now and then, but the military life made him quite busy to find the time to visit his parents. He confessed he was hoping our caravan’s route would tilt a little to the north so we’d pass by.

I smiled at that and babbled something about trying to convince the caravan’s master that doing so was a good idea. He laughed and patted my hand again in silent gratitude.

At a certain point the banquet started to come to its end. Wine stopped flowing and servants began to gather cutlery and plates from the tables. The man at the mandolin changed his tune to a slow cadence and people began to fill out to their resting places.

Connar was the fist one to give in. He hunched at the table and stated snoring, and his two friends had to drag him to the caravan’s quarters. Letha and Narim followed after a while, walking out with much more dignity than her comrades. Maybe it helped that they embraced each other. It seemed to make balance much easier.

Then it was only me and Hogar.

I looked about and saw that there was not many people around. The flames had dwindled and the great hall was more dark than light. Such realisation made me yawn.

“I suppose it is a good time to get to bed” I finally stated and Hogar hummed in agreement.

I made to stand and the room spun fast around me, forcing me to grab at something for hold.

Hogar was fast on his feet, bracing my shoulder across the table.

“Slow there, Master Skriptor.” he said with a bit of laughter in his voice and made his way around so he could support me better.

“It’s just Khal” I looked up and smiled at him, trying to manoeuvre myself out of my bench.

He smiled back.

“One foot after the other, Khal. C’mon.”

We made our way out of the hall towards the corridor. Hogar wrapped an arm around my waist and it made walking in a straight line much easier.

“I seem to have exceeded my tolerance for alcohol.” I snorted at that. Hogar laughed along and I looked up at him. “How come you’re walking so steady?”

His expression was like one of a child that was caught with its hands on a candy jar.

“I guess I’m more resistant than you are?” he shrugged then scratched his beard with the hand that did not hold me “I am a few pounds heavier than you, and wine is not my favorite drink in the world. I gather I had much less than you did. ”

I patted his hand that held me.

“The talk of enjoying from now and then it was just a devious plot to have fun on the expense of a drunken Skriptor, uh?” I jested.

He laughed at that.

“Not intentionally, no. But it was worth it.”

We walked the stone corridors of the duke’s keep by the languid lighting of the torches on the walls. The dark sky with the new moon did not cast any light from the arches in the stone, and the flames were posted several feet apart. We wandered without hurry from isle to isle of light, crossing the darkness. As I gazed up in Hogar’s direction, I watched the shadows dance across his features as we moved. It made me feel sadness, happiness and wonder curl up in spirals into my stomach. The realisation that my last waking hours in life were finally coming to an end joined me in my steps.

“I’m glad I got to have a good chat with you, Hogar.” I said without much thought.

He looked at me and paused our walk. He may have frowned at the solemn tone of my words, but his smile was soft, rounded with something akin fondness at the edges.

“So did I Master Skriptor” and he winked at me.

I smiled back at that. The feelings spiralling in my stomach seemed to burst at the tips of my fingers and toes. His expression gazing down at me felt like something sacred, akin to the sunset from the top of the midlands’ mountains or the flickering spirit lights in the farthest frozen north. There was a sudden irrational need to kiss that smile of his.

And I did.

My hands braced against the front of his leather chest plate, my toes stood at their tips and my lips grazed his with the feeling of having something one wishes to keep forever but can not.

In the following instant I stepped out of my own selfish bliss to feel Hogar had frozen in place. It was like being awaken by a bucket of water - something I knew too well from my days as a child-student at the Skriptorium.

I stumbled back like thunder had struck me and braced myself on the wall. A flame flickered above my head and I caught a glimpse of his stunned expression before I cast my eyes down. Shame enveloped me like a blanked and the comfortable buzzing of wine vanished from my ears.

“Please forgive me” I whispered as I set of with a speed I did not recognise.

I prayed in silence for the wind to snatch me from that place as fast as possible. Maybe it had even heard me, because in the blink of an eye the sound of Hogar’s voice calling my name was drowned by distance.

It could have been luck that took me to the caravan’s quarters, for I did not pay attention to where I ran. My trained mind spread around the place to locate my belongings in a cot to the farthermost corner of the long room full of sleeping bodies. I walked careful not to wake anyone and tucked myself in my own accommodations and curled into a ball, enveloped by the warmth of my enchanted cloak and the pulsating cold of shame.

The buzz of wine came back like a tide that as much as it is pushed from the shore comes back with equal determination. I drowned myself to sleep in thoughts of embarrassment and the doom of a possible death, come the wind had really rejected me as Hogar did.

At least I was most certainly would not have to endure facing the soldier ever again.

….

There were drums sounding somewhere. I wondered if my head itself was being beaten, for it hurt in strong pulses in compass with the drumming that pounded from a short distance.

My eyes opened in sudden movement as memories of the night before came back to me. It was time to face the wrath of the Duke and maybe I’d avoid the awkwardness of crossing paths with Hogar before that.

As I stared at the ceiling of the barracks fighting the feeling of dryness in my mouth and the pulsating ache in my forehead, I noticed that the drums I heard had a wet quality to them.

I sat with difficulty in my cot to realise most of the people from the caravan, the soldiers and workmen that had been accommodated at the barracks, were already up and packing to start the journey anew. The wooden windows were barely open, tiny slits here and there. It made several candles and lamps necessary to light the way for the task of packing up. I frowned at that, wondering why people had not pried the windows open to use the morning light to better do that.

Then my nostrils caught the dampness in the air. The wet drums were actually rain pouring down outside.

“Good morning, Young Master” called a rough voice to my side and I turned to see Rorshar setting a large piece of canvas around his cotton satchel.

I grimaced with the movement and nodded gingerly at my friend.

“Good morning, Rorshar.” I looked at his readied belongings and it prompted a question in my head “Do you happen to know the time?”

“The eighth bell rang moments ago. It appears you’ve quite enjoyed the banquet in your honor last night.” he stated genially and it made me groan.

“I believe I went past any suitable measure of enjoyment.”

Rorshar smiled at that.

“I am actually glad you did so, my friend. It seems healthy for a young man at your age, Skriptor or not, to let himself enjoy some good time now and then. And you, most of all, deserve so. You made it rain, after all.”

I looked around and took in the sound of water coming down from the skies. I still could not believe the wind had chosen to abide to my call.

“It seems I did.” I whispered mostly to myself.

Rorshar regarded me with a slight frown.

“You seem surprised.”

I sighed and shrugged at that.

“And I truly am, my friend.”

“How come?”

“I think its better I explain after I put some food in my stomach” I grimaced and made to stand up.

We gathered our belongings and headed to the great hall for a quick meal. I recounted my trouble on getting any answer from the wind the past night, and my fear that I’d wake up with my life at stake this morning.

Rorshar seemed surprised, relieved and a bit entertained at the same time.

“Well, I’m glad the wind turned out to answer you call, Young Master.” his lips quirked up “But I don’t think you’d have been sentenced to death if it did not rain today.”

My mouth gaped a bit.

“Why is that?”

“It might have been a case for flogging, but the unreasonable and excessive Duke that had a penchant for sending people to the gallows has been dead for a few years. The current Duke of this estate is a bit moody, yes, but never known for being irrational in his punishments.”

There was no answer I could give to that. I munched on the fact that I may have overreacted to thoughts that were never accurate. It tasted weird.

Despite all the confession making, I did leave my interactions with Hogar out of my retelling of the previous night. But as we made way for the stables it started to dawn on me that the fact I’d live another day meant sooner or later I’d be crossing paths with the soldier once again.

I started to fuss, wondering if he would keep his distance because of my bold and inappropriate behaviour. Or would he mock me and tell all of his mates what happened? Maybe he was even angry? I was fidgeting heavily by the time I got to my horse and dropped my satchel twice while trying to attach it to my saddle.

When I leaned down for the second time to gather it, huffing with irritation at myself, a pair of hands grabbed it before I could and hauled it up.

“Good morning, Master Skriptor” Hogar said as he made a point of securing my belongings efficiently in my hose.

His tone was light, there was no sign of viciousness on it. Yet he seemed off, somehow.

“Good morning” I babbled back.

He finished his job with the precision of a good soldier and kept his hands on the saddle, playing with the tip of the rope that he’d just knotted with much expertise. He did not look me in the eye.

“I trust you made it safely to your quarters last night. Did you sleep well?” he asked in a way that I could only say was uncertain.

I cleared my throat before I was able to answer.

“Yes, yes. I… did you?”

Hogar sighed and straightened his back before turning in my direction. He could have been blushing, but it was possible I was imagining things. I did not trust my judgment at that point.

“I must confess I did have a little trouble in sleeping after you left in such a hurry.” he smiled slightly.

I was at a loss of words.

“I’m sorry…” I said out of reflex “… I had so much to drink and I’m not used to it and…” I did not know what else to say, and I instinctively brought my hands to my face and tried to rub the frustration out of my eyes.

I felt Hogar’s hands enveloping both my shoulders with a feathery touch.

“It was somewhat of a surprise” he said and I felt a smile in his voice “But a pleasant one.”

I took my face out of my hands and looked up at him.

“Was it?”

He nodded.

Suddenly the caravan’s master whistle sounded above the pouring rain and we both looked in its direction. People started to fall in line to resume our journey.

Hogar grumbled with frustration, still looking at a distance.

“I must go back to my post. Letha won’t be able to cover for me much longer.”

“All right” I nodded.

He turned his gaze to me and finally looked me square in the eyes. I saw the gentleness that entranced me so much flickering in his gaze, along with a sort of fierceness that was not there an instant before. It was like he’d won battle inside.

“We won’t be on the road for long. The caravan is scheduled to march to the nearest settlement up north. Then we’ll break camp and split into the local taverns to have the midday meal and wait the storm out. Patrol duty will be light and I’ll be able to stay a few good hours at ease. Will you join me for lunch then?”

There was an expectant pause before I understood the meaning of that. I nodded with much more force than needed. My head hurt but it did not bother me so much anymore.

“Yes, I will.” I said and Hogar broke into a toothy grin at that.

“Great, I’ll see you then.” he squeezed my shoulders and I could not avoid smiling back.

Then, in the quickest of the moments, he grazed his lips to my own smile before running back to his post much ahead in the caravan.

I stood baffled for a few seconds before getting back in motion. I guided my horse and stepped into the rain that I was certain would not come this morning.

It appeared I did not know anything at all of either talking to the wind and with men of gentle eyes. But I looked forward to learning more.