Laura S. Fox
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Hungry Heart - Book 5 - Ch. 8
🕑 Added 2024-02-11 13:02:32 +0000 UTCChapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight – The Hermit’s Will
A familiar scent tickled his nostrils, reminding him of something he had come across before, or someone. The voice that rang in his ears came from the past, and it took Toru very little effort to remember where he had heard it.
“Hermit,” he hissed, but even his curse was only in his mind, since he didn’t feel his lips were moving at all.
“You are on the most important quest of your life and yet you commit blunder after blunder. I fail to understand how you managed to defeat Hekastfet the first time.”
“Maybe because I have friends, while you have none,” Toru shot back at the voice. Because his eyes were closed and he couldn’t open them, it was impossible for him to see the hermit or identify where the selfish old man had taken him. Like before, in Guthran, he doubted he had remained in the same place. For all he knew, he could be at the top of the Scarlet Peaks, in the hermit’s house, but he couldn’t see that for himself.
“You cannot rely on your friends forever, tiger,” Te’cla said in the same ugly voice he used when talking to Toru.
It was impossible to say whether this was his usual voice, or he used a different one for each individual he intended to torture. Toru had gotten it into his head that the stealer of knowledge the hermit was could only be bad. He knew it in his bones, and a feeling akin to hatred rose in him.
“Did you cause this to happen? Did you make Mako ill only so that you could bring me here for your evil purposes?”
“You are a stupid beast,” Te’cla growled at him. “The lad by your side is not the brightest tool in the shed, either. It’s because of his own stupidity that he got in harm’s way. Anyone with half a brain would know not to put their hands on what they have no idea of how it works.”
“You’re only talking words. And I’m not a stupid beast. Why did you bring me here? Make Mako well again.”
“Why would that be in my power, um? And why would I do it, even if it were? I owe this foolish youngster nothing.”
“You’re just wasting my time,” Toru said simply. “I can refuse to do what you want, and you’ll never see the shards.”
“Are you telling me that you’re willing to let them wreak havoc in the world, as long as their actions don’t affect you? You know the kindness of your soul won’t let you.” Te’cla said the word ‘kindness’ as if he were saying that Toru had a terrible illness that he could pass on to others.
“You don’t know me,” Toru replied. As bad as Te’cla was, he wouldn’t let himself be intimidated so easily. “Why did you bring me here?”
“I brought you here because you can’t identify all of the fragments of the shard located in the city below our feet. Not by yourself, you can’t.”
“Are you telling me that we’re in the same place, and that you’re really here? I don’t believe you because you’re always lying.”
“Not always. As for my ability to do or not do something, you’re far from knowing how real knowledge works. So, you shouldn’t be wasting my time, beast. Listen, and listen closely because I dislike repeating myself. What will happen now is all in my power to make it happen.”
Toru felt a sharp pain rushing through his head. It went away as soon as it touched him, but it wasn’t like him to feel pain so easily. “What did you do to me, evil hermit?”
“I gave you the ability to see the shard fragments. They will appear to your eyes like to no one else’s. You will see them no matter if they are buried at the bottom of the sea. Luckily for you, none of them is that far away.”
“If you can see them so clearly, what do you need me for? Go ahead and take the shards for yourself.”
“You don’t mean that, tiger,” Te’cla said in the same grating tone. “If I didn’t need you at all, I could have just as well made you disappear a long time ago. And you need me, too, or has your desire for finding your place of birth faded from your weak heart?”
“I don’t have a weak heart,” Toru protested. “You will get your shards, and you will tell me where Nelsikkar is. I don’t hurt old people, they’re usually silly but not evil. However, in your case, I will not hold back. And what do you want to do with the shards, anyway? Something evil, I’m sure.”
The more he listened the hermit’s voice, the more he thought that it would be terrible if he surrendered the shards to Te’cla. However, they were still far from having identified all the fragments scattered around the world, and he had time to think of something so that he didn’t have to do that. He knew that Te’cla wouldn’t hesitate to hurt his friends, so he had that to keep in mind. There was nothing more important than that. Duril, Varg and Claw had to be spared from whatever fate the evil hermit had in store for them should Toru back down from their deal.
“You will not have to worry about them anymore once you give them to me. I did what I came here to do, so now, I will take my leave.”
“Wait, what about Mako? I’m here to save him!”
There was no response, and he could move again. At first, he didn’t believe it, but then his eyes snapped open and saw that he was in the same place, lying on the altar, with an unresponsive Mako by his side.
It looked like Te’cla had left without even giving a thought to helping him. It didn’t matter. Toru would see to that by himself.
***
As expected, they found Misar Sogou in quite a state when they arrived. Duril couldn’t help feeling guilty for making the young man experience such a fright, but he staved off any other thoughts save for the mission he was there for.
“Ah, you came for the book,” Misar Sogou said, “and you brought another friend with you. I’m afraid that there has been an accident, and I’m unable to give you the complete manuscript right now. But I will have it ready soon, I promise.”
“That’s all right,” Duril said, “and I can wait for a few days.”
“What sort of accident?” Varg asked.
Duril threw his friend a short, confused look. Did they really need to ask about that? Wouldn’t Misar Sogou find that suspicious?
“I somehow misplaced the fragment of the Heart of Tradeweaving that helped the press work a lot faster than usual. Now, it is only printing at its normal speed,” Misar Sogou said with a sigh. “I have no idea how it happened, but since the mockup shard at the Grand Square Market fell from the sky, it appears that we have many questions we might have to ask ourselves.” The young man remained pensive for a few moments. It was clear that it was quite difficult for him to wrap his head around what had happened. Duril wasn’t even sure how much of it Misar Sogou remembered. Could it be that his mind had been so shaken that he had forgotten what had come about only hours later? That he had seen a tigershifter in the room below where the printer was now doing its job, less efficiently because the fragment of the shard powering it was missing?
“We are here to ask for another favor,” Duril said. “Could you please point us to your father’s house? We’d like to learn more about the city, and I know he is the person to ask.”
“Is your friend a scholar like you?” Misar Sogou asked as he appeared to take in Varg’s presence only at that moment.
“I’m a mercenary, actually,” Varg replied, “but I do know the letters. I’m decent at reading and understanding the written word, I like to think.”
“A mercenary, how wonderful,” Misar Sogou commented in a faint voice. “I suppose you have a lot of amazing stories to tell. I have one, too, but it is so strange. It feels as if it happened to me, and I feel that it did… no, I’m sure, but it just can’t be.” He shook his head and then examined an ink spot on the back of his right hand as if the stain could answer all his questions.
Varg put a hand on Duril’s shoulder. “It has been quite the day in this city, right? Even we, as strangers to this place, can tell that it’s not every day that something like this happens. For that mechanism to stop all of a sudden and everyone to notice the symbol of their city fall out of the sky.”
“No, it’s not an everyday occurrence,” Misar Sogou admitted and rubbed his forehead. “What were you saying? Ah, you want me to show you to my father’s house. I will come with you. While I live here, tonight I find I am in much need of company.”
Duril felt his cheeks burning. He had been so thoughtless and had even roped Toru into it, too. Their quest wasn’t to make other people question their eyes and minds or hurt them in the process.
“Give me a moment, and I will be ready to go,” Misar Sogou said.
“We’ll step outside. The evenings are beautiful here,” Varg said with a charming smile.
Duril waited until they were outside. “I feel so guilty for frightening him so much,” he said.
“Don’t worry. He is fine,” Varg replied. He caressed Duril’s shoulder. “I asked him all those things so that I could gauge his mood. I think the city’s most famous collector of stories is already thinking about his next bestseller.”
“How do you know that?” Duril asked.
“Because I can look into most mortals’ souls as long as they have no reason to hide. And more than frightened, this young storyteller is excited and can barely wait to start writing. Even if you apologized to his face, he wouldn’t change his mind about that. If you told him you wanted to take it back, he’d be disappointed because he wouldn’t dream of being left without such a great memory that he intends to shape into a story.”
“Do you really think so? Or are you just trying to comfort me?”
Varg chuckled and kissed the crown of his head. “You are the one who always comforts others. Why shouldn’t you get some of that back?”
“Thank you, Varg.” Duril patted his friend’s hand, so warm and reassuring on his shoulder. “You’re a great friend. Now, do you think you can look just as clearly into Misar Dagou’s soul and discover all the locations of the shard fragment?”
“I can surely give it a try,” Varg promised.
***
Misar Dagou’s house was located in a quiet back alley, away from all the hustle and bustle that continued well into the evening across Coinvale. Now that they had something new and exciting to share and talk about, the many inns, pubs and places for people to meet for a joyful drink or a hearty meal were overflowing with customers everywhere they looked.
Varg was careful to take in everything, and his ears perked up, eager to catch any fragment of conversation that was bound to come in handy. Like any other people everywhere he had traveled all his life, the denizens of Coinvale weren’t immune to gossip and speculation.
Misar Sogou told them on the trip there that his father always loved company, especially since his son had moved out. He felt guilty for not visiting as often as he should, and Varg understood the longing the young author of amazing stories experienced, even if he could see his father every day if he put his mind to it. The time he dedicated to his passion, however, swallowed all his waking hours, and it was because of that he no longer saw his parent often.
The house Misar Dagou lived in by himself was tucked behind several huge bushes with their flowers in bloom. Their sweet scent permeated the evening air, welcoming the weary traveler with the promise of a good rest in the shadow of their bushes.
“My dad also prepares a wonderful tea, but make sure not to praise it directly. The best way to go about it is to ask him for a second cup. That will make him happy.”
Varg intended to be a charming companion for the evening, so that they would be able to learn everything they needed from Misar Dagou. With that information secured, they would be able to return to Claw at the shore of the Aureate Sea. Hopefully, by the time they got there, Toru would have come back with Mako in good health.
He couldn’t keep from feeling unsettled for a moment before he reined in those sensations. The boat riders were giving him that feeling; yet he couldn’t clearly say what it was that was bothering him. He also couldn’t say that he could tell, hand on heart, whether they were good or not. He just sensed that they were beings that didn’t belong to the mortal world, but rather that they existed beyond it. Or he had it wrong and, in reality, they belonged to both worlds.
Duril pulled him out of his thoughts as he touched his elbow. “We’re going in,” he whispered. “Please be ready to uncover the knowledge we’re seeking.”
Varg didn’t have the time to offer any more assurances on the matter, since the door opened and an old man appeared in its frame. “Sogou,” he exclaimed, his wizened face transfigured by joy, “what a pleasant surprise! Who’s that there with you?”
“I believe you’ve already met Mr. Duril, since you pointed him to me this morning. And this is Mr. Varg, a mercenary and companion of Mr. Duril. They’re both a bit of scholars, and they’d like to hear more about the city from you.”
“Come in, come in, I’m so happy to have visitors,” Misar Dagou said and stepped away from the door to allow them to enter. “I was just about to make tea, would you, travelers, want a cup?”
“Of course,” Varg replied. “There’s no better comfort for the weary traveler than a warm cup of tea.”
He traded a quick glance with Duril. That was the way they let each other know that they were on the same page. Later, they would be able to establish whether they had accomplished their purpose or not.
The master of the house invited them into a large room filled with carpets and pillows, a place that appeared to offer an excellent space for indulging in tea and other delights.
“I will be right with you,” Misar Dagou promised as he disappeared into another part of the house. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back.”
Varg and Duril followed Misar Sogou’s example and sat each on a large pillow. The storyteller studied them just as they observed him and their surroundings, in silence.
“He was right there,” Misar Sogou exclaimed suddenly. “The hero from the story I published recently.”
“Who?” Varg asked, pretending that he didn’t understand what the young man meant by that.
“Mr. Duril knows who I’m talking about. Tigris. He was right there, in the printer’s room. And he was upset that the story I’ve been telling everyone is not accurate. But I thought he wasn’t even real.” There was so much astonished wonder in Misar Sogou’s words that Varg wondered whether he’d be even more surprised to learn of Toru’s real identity. It seemed likely.
“And if he’s real,” Misar Sogou continued, “then that means that Orco and Lupus also exist.”
“Who are Orco and Lupus?” Varg inquired politely. From the corner of one eye, he noticed Duril’s amused smile.
“They are the three heroes of the story I published that became a great success among city dwellers and travelers alike. They saved the world, you know?” Misar Sogou nodded thoughtfully. “He is so majestic, the tigershifter, I mean. A lot larger than I imagined him to be. When he got on his hind legs, the crown of his head touched the ceiling.”
And now, Duril was quirking an eyebrow in disbelief. It looked like the earlier frightening experience had taught the collector of stories close to nothing. He had to be already exaggerating the details of the encounter with Toru. No wonder his stories sold so well. He was impressionable and he liked to impress others with his tales.
Their conversation was cut short by his father walking in with his arms filled with a huge tray. Varg was quick to rise to help the old man by taking the tray out of his hands. However, as soon as he did that, he was at a loss about where to put it. Misar Dagou pointed at the patch of floor between the haphazardly thrown pillows.
He placed the tray as instructed and then took his place back on his pillow, crossing his legs.
“What is that you want to know about Coinvale, travelers? It must be something not included in the brochures I’m selling, although I feel inclined to think that everything that needs knowing is in them.”
Varg looked directly into the old man’s eyes. “We are most enthralled with what the Heart of Tradeweaving is doing for the city. Do all the businesses in Coinvale run on its power?”
“No, not all,” Misar Dagou explained. “You see, there weren’t enough fragments for everyone, so the council decided to distribute it in such a way that all manner of businesses can enjoy its power. As for those within each branch of commerce or enterprise that received the precious gifts, their names were chosen based on their contribution to the fame and fortune of Coinvale. My son here received one for his outstanding career as a collector of stories at such a young age.”
Misar Sogou made himself small under his father’s praise, while Varg took in the scene in front of his eyes.
“About that, dad,” the young man said in quiet voice, “I don’t have the fragment anymore.”
Misar Dagou frowned and his face turned into concern personified. “Why? What happened?”
“The most astonishing thing occurred today in the printer’s room,” Misar Sogou explained. “I had set the printer to making a copy of Tigris’s adventures for Mr. Duril here, and during lunch I recalled that I should have counted how many sheets I had left so that the printer didn’t run out of them. And when I went down the stairs, Tigris himself lunged at me and threatened to take my life for not portraying his adventures as they happened.”
Duril’s soft scoff of disbelief brought a small smile to Varg’s lips, as well.
“Tigris himself? We’ve heard of him, too.” Varg turned his attention to Misar Dagou again, unwilling to interrupt the bond he was establishing with the man whose mind he wanted to pick. “But if he were here, in the city, wouldn’t it have been quite the news?”
“I suppose so,” Misar Sogou agreed, “but I know what I saw with my own two eyes, and I’m not lying.”
Not a lot, Varg wanted to reply in good humor, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. “Do you believe he might have taken your shard?” he asked.
“Why would someone as powerful as Tigris need a mere fragment of the Heart of Tradeweaving? He is unbeatable in battle, and no one can stand in his way.”
“My dear boy, are you getting enough rest?” Misar Dagou asked, his paternal concern only growing with his son’s confessions about what had happened earlier in the day. “All those stories you hear must have gone to your head. You walk in a daze and you live your days in the realm of make believe. I appreciate your passion, but be considerate of your health.”
“I’m telling the truth,” Misar Sogou defended himself. “My piece of the Heart of Tradeweaving is lost, and how do you explain that?”
“Coinvale is not a place for thieves,” Misar Dagou said with a thoughtful nod. “If anyone stole it, it must be one of the many strangers coming here.”
Duril shifted in his place and Varg had to give him a quick stare to assure him that no one would suspect them. The small fragment that had been powering Misar Sogou’s printer was gone, already joined to its siblings in Toru’s shoulder.
“I haven’t noticed many guards,” Varg said, pulling the attention of the master of the house to him again. “How common is theft here?”
“Not very common. The punishment for such deeds is great, and no one dares to go against the rules. No one who knows them, of course.”
“Strangers to these lands might not know anything about them,” Varg pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be too harsh to mete out their punishment without seeing if they knew they were in the wrong first?”
“Everything they need to know is listed in one of my brochures. “Rules for Harmony”, the pamphlet is called,” Misar Dagou explained. “It is among the things I sell the most of every day. No one wants to violate the rules of the city, and it is a known fact. So travelers always select that one.”
Varg felt the need to fidget in place now. His eyes met Misar Dagou’s stare, and this time, he could tell that he was being stared at back. Was there any suspicion in the old man’s eyes? He wasn’t able to tell for sure.
“Why are you interested in the businesses that operate on the fragments granted by the council?” Misar Dagou asked while caressing his long beard slowly.
“It is astonishing what can be achieved with the help of such power,” Duril intervened. “Under my very eyes, the printer your son had the kindness to show me began creating a book that would otherwise take many days and even weeks to bring into existence.”
“A printer that is now reduced to what it was before,” Misar Dagou said.
Now, Varg knew for a fact that the old man was beginning to put two and two together. Maybe he considered it all nothing short of a coincidence, but since he was a man who had lived for many decades, his wise mind was telling him something was going on, and he wasn’t far from the truth.
“I believe that it is time for us to go back,” he said and got to his feet. “Thank you for the tea. It was delicious.”
“Are you sure that you don’t want to stay for a second cup?” Misar Dagou asked.
“We are weary after a day spent visiting the city,” Varg said.
“Have you been to the Grand Market Square? Were you there when it happened? The great fall?” the old man continued his inquiry.
“No, but we saw it from where we were. It was impossible to miss,” Varg replied.
“Rumor has it that the shard powering it is gone, as well. Just as happened to my son’s printer, it seems.” Misar Dagou turned toward Misar Sogou briefly. “That is quite the coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Indeed,” Varg confirmed. “We apologize for not being able to stay longer. We have quite a trip to make to reach our inn, but there are some beds there with our names on them, beckoning for us.”
“Sogou, see our friends out,” Misar Dagou said. “You will forgive my old bones for protesting at me wanting them to move too much at the end of the day.”
“Of course, thank you for your hospitality.”
They were out in the street when Duril voiced his concern. “Do you believe they are starting to suspect us of something?”
“We’re strangers, and since we came here, some really strange things have happened. I cannot blame them,” Varg replied and looked over his shoulder at the now dark house. It appeared that both father and son had decided to call it a day right after their visitors took their leave.
TBC
Comments
Laura S. Fox
You're more than welcome, Coy :)
Coy
Thank you for continuing the series. I really missed the shape shifting boys. Thank you Dave and Laura.
