* * *
Nigilin ignored the damp wind as he walked briskly along the open shore. He momentarily wondered what lay beyond the great waves of the ocean as he stared out across them. “What gifts have you for me today,” he whispered to it.
It had become his habit to talk to the ocean each day as he walked along the sand. The sea never answered back, but Nigilin felt that it was alive and deserved to be paid respect. After all, its waters did bring him his means of an income.
Nigilin adjusted the limp bag of twenty or so starfish on his shoulder. Not one of his better days. Hana would pay him for his catch, he knew that. He tried not to think about some of the herbal remedies she put dried starfish in. Though he liked the lamps she sometimes made from them.
Meow.
A black cat did a figure eight around Nigilin’s legs. “Hello, cat,” he greeted.
The cat ran off stopping suddenly. Its head whipped around. The animal stared at him with its yellow eyes. Ignoring the feline, Nigilin bent down to pick up another starfish that had washed ashore.
“Ouch,” he yelled.
The cat pricked his legs with its sharp claws screeching loudly. Aggravated, Nigilin followed the animal with his eyes as it bounded off.
A shadow on the ground caught his eye. The light of the setting sun caressed a facedown body. Dropping his sack, he ran to the still form. Sandy hair was plastered to swollen bruises on the stranger’s face. Nigilin checked for any signs of life and felt a faint breath against his cheek. Gently, he heaved the unconscious man onto his shoulders and carried him to his cottage.
Nigilin kicked the wooden door open as he carried the stranger inside and laid him on the only bed in the place. He removed the man’s ragged clothes and covered him with blankets to keep him warm. The man shivered violently from fever. Nigilin lit a lamp and took a closer look at the man. He had seen some horrible things in his life, but this made him gasp.
Tangled seaweed littered the stranger’s mangy hair. A jagged scar carved his left cheek. His twisted nose had evidently been broken a few times. Nigilin noted another scar that stretched from the man’s right shoulder to the waist. But it was an old wound from long ago.
Fresh burns marked the man’s muscular chest though they barely stood out among all the blackened bruises. Blood trickled from his cracked lips as the stranger coughed. Nigilin ran the lamplight over the man’s left arm. His swollen, left arm was caked in more blood.
Carefully, Nigilin removed a piece of cloth that clung to a gash on the stranger’s leg. The foul stench nearly made him retch. Swollen with infection, Nigilin knew that it had to be treated straight away.
Fresh scrapes and cuts littered the man’s body as though he had been trying to escape from some unspeakable terror. Gingerly, Nigilin lifted the man up. The stranger’s back had clearly been flogged a day or two ago. He laid the man back down with care.
Sadly, Nigilin shook his head. By rights, he should be dead. Setting the lamp down, Nigilin fetched water from the well and put a kettle in the fire to boil. He brought steaming water and bandages to the stranger’s bedside.
First things first, he thought as he stared at the puss filled wound on the man’s thigh. Nigilin grabbed the knife he had stuck in the fire for sterilization. He placed leather between the man’s teeth.
Taking a deep breath, Nigilin sliced open the scab on the wound cutting deep into the infected area. A painful groan escaped the stranger’s lips. Nigilin sliced a bit more. Instantly, white puss oozed from the cut covering the leg with its grotesqueness. Nigilin wiped it away. He placed his hands on either side of the gash and squeezed. Pus burst from the opening hitting the wall behind him. More groaning escaped the man as he moved a bit.
Nigilin quickly placed a hand on the man’s chest forcing him back down. “Steady,” he whispered.
He turned back to his task and squeezed some more. Each time he put pressure on the wound pus spilled from it. With each eruption Nigilin wiped the area clean with a cloth soaked in boiling water. After about an hour of forcing the infection from the laceration Nigilin knew he had reached the end. Soon, only blood came forth. To Nigilin, it was a good sign.
He poured warm water over the gash washing it clean. Afterward, Nigilin placed fresh bandages on it covering it completely. He made certain to secure them with enough pressure to stop the bleeding, but not too much where it would cut off the circulation.
With the first task completed, Nigilin began cleaning and dressing the man’s remaining wounds working tirelessly throughout the night. If the stranger survived, Nigilin would send for Hana in the morning. As a healer, she had far more knowledge about this than he would ever possess. And so one of the longest nights in Nigilin’s life passed.
A knock on the door woke Nigilin. He rubbed sleep from his eyes as a more persistent knock shook the door rattling the hinges. Nigilin opened it to find the boy who regularly delivered goods from the market. “Twenty coins please,” said the boy.
Nigilin handed the boy the coins including five more. “I need you to fetch Hana for me. Tell her I have a gravely ill man here.”
The boy took the coins and sped off. He returned with Hana within the hour.
The plump woman entered the cottage out of breath. Bits of graying hair fell from her tight bun. She set her basket of herbs by the fire pulling out some dried, foul smelling leaves and handed them to Nigilin.
“Boil these in hot water for one hour,” she said.
Hana looked over the sick man while Nigilin set about his task. She carefully examined his wounds and dabbed a cool cloth on his forehead. Upon seeing the dressing on the man’s leg, Hana smiled. She lifted it up carefully inspecting it thoroughly.
“You did well on this cut,” she said. From Hana that was high praise.
“I learned a few things in the King’s army,” replied Nigilin.
When the salve was ready she soaked some bandages in it and applied them to the stranger’s wounds. “To fight infection,” she explained to Nigilin while he watched her work. She placed a hearty amount of the medicine on the man’s leg after squeezing out some remnants of pus.
Nigilin helped Hana bandage the rest of the wounds. Mostly, he lifted the man’s body so that she could tend to the stripes on his back. Hana’s frown told Nigilin that she thought the same thing he did: why would anyone do such a thing?
When they finished bandaging the man, Hana poured water down the stranger’s throat. Hana spent the rest of the day tending the strange man while Nigilin went about his chores: chopping wood, tending his garden, mending what needed to be fixed, and collecting starfish. Hana left when evening came.
“I have prepared more medicine,” she explained to Nigilin as she prepared to leave. “When it is time to change the bandages soak the new ones in it before applying them. See to it that he drinks plenty of water. I will return in the morning. If his fever does not break by then…” Hana broke off.
There was no need for her to finish her thought. Nigilin knew what she meant.
She paused in the doorway. “Who is this man?”
“I do not know,” replied Nigilin. “I found him washed up on shore.”
Hana shook her head in thought. “He has suffered much. I only hope that we are doing him a favor by saving his life.”
“Should I have left him there to die?” asked Nigilin.
“Of course not,” replied Hana. “His physical wounds can be mended easily. It is the ones within his mind that concern me.”
Nigilin knew what she referred to. He had shown up on her doorstep one day long ago in the same state as the man on his bed. Broken, Hana tended his wounds. But the last war affected him deeply. That was the year of Rybnik’s rebellion. The year they had buried the king’s eldest daughter. The bloodiest year of his life, that is how he remembered it. Afterward, Nigilin came here to the shore. He built his little cottage and spent the rest of his days trying to forget. It had been a long ten years since then.
Later that night Nig
ilin stirred the fire and changed the man’s bandages. The stranger’s forehead still felt warm. Nigilin wrapped a blanket around himself and fell asleep in a chair. The next morning he awoke to find the stranger staring at him.
“Feeling better?” Nigilin paused unsure of how to address him.
“Tesnayr,” said the man in introduction. “I feel tired.” Silence ensued until, “Who are you?”
“My name is Nigilin. I found you on the shore. Are you hungry?” The man nodded as Nigilin gave him a bowl of broth. Tesnayr sipped it slowly.
“Tesnayr. That is an unusual name,” commented Nigilin.
“No more unusual than Nigilin.”
“Duly noted.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. Nigilin opened it. Hana waltzed inside handing him more herbs with the same order, “Boil these for one hour.”
She walked over to Tesnayr apparently pleased that he had awakened. She beamed as she felt his forehead. “Your fever has broken, but your head is still a bit warm. You will need to rest for the next few days.”
Gently, she removed his bandages and examined his wounds. A satisfied expression crossed her face. When Nigilin brought over the boiled herbs, Hana set about dressing Tesnayr’s wounds with fresh bandages. Her expertise and years of tending to people’s cuts made the task go smoothly.
Morning had passed into afternoon by the time she had finished. Hana prepared a meal for the three of them not wanting to leave her new patient.
“Where are you from?” asked Nigilin while they ate.
“Far away,” replied Tesnayr.
“I figured that,” said Nigilin. “What is the name of your home world?”
Tesnayr chewed his stew methodically in answer.
“What happened?” asked Hana. “Those wounds did not appear on their own. Are you an escaped prisoner or something?” Her curiosity slipped into her voice.
“Why are you asking all these questions?” asked Tesnayr testily.
“Curiosity mostly,” said Hana. “But we’ve some right to know. You washed up on our shore and are obviously not from around here. Your mannerisms and dialect give it away. And you are quite a mess. This is a quiet village and we’ve some right to know if we ought to expect trouble.”
“Hana,” warned Nigilin.
“His arrival is suspicious,” said Hana. “The least he can do is tell us how he got here and if anyone is going to come looking for him.”
“I was shipwrecked,” said Tesnayr, “And yes I was a prisoner on that ship, captured by beasts too terrible to describe. There was a storm and I managed to escape. I never thought I would end up here.”
“You mean you hoped to die,” said Nigilin matter of factly.
Tesnayr looked away. That was what he had hoped.
“There, that wasn’t so hard,” said Hana digging into her supper and ignoring Nigilin’s comment. “What is the name of your home?”
“It is best left a memory.”
“Perhaps we should let the man eat,” said Nigilin. “Maybe he will tell us when he has strength enough to do so.”
Hana snorted but reined in her questions. Nigilin was right; being too pushy might cause the man to clam up.
The next few days passed without incident. Hana checked on them regularly and remained optimistic about Tesnayr’s recovery. Nigilin occasionally asked Tesnayr about his past, but soon learned that such efforts proved useless. Instead he settled on making conversation about menial things so as to break the silence.
Tesnayr kept to himself. He refused to talk about himself, but his demeanor displayed that something bothered him. He had wounds deeper than the ones on his body. He was courteous and polite, always eager to help with whatever chores he could. The least he could do for the man that rescued him.
One night, Nigilin watched as Tesnayr slept fitfully. He easily read the man’s character. His manner was that of a soldier, of one used to war and who had fought many battles. Nigilin guessed that Tesnayr had either been betrayed, or like most soldiers, had seen enough of death. He figured it best to just keep the man engaged in the present while he worked things out on his own. Besides, prying into another man’s affairs was not Nigilin’s priority.
Tesnayr had regained much of his former strength by the second week. The color had returned to his face and he was eager to get outside. Hana stopped by daily, as was now her custom. She brought a staff with her and handed it to him. “You are strong enough to get out of bed. I want you to use this for walking around until your leg has healed completely. You are to spend at least thirty minutes a day walking outside.”
Tesnayr regarded the staff coldly. “I do not need that.”
Hana shoved the walking stick in his hands and put hers on her hips. Her stern expression unnerved Tesnayr. “I did not ask if you needed it. Nor did I ask if you wanted it.”
Relenting, Tesnayr used the staff to help himself to his feet.
Hana beamed triumphantly and helped him out the door. She walked with him outside. “Nigilin tells me that you keep to yourself,” she commented.
“Is there something wrong with that?”
“No, but you are a stranger to these parts and the manner of your arrival was unusual.” Tesnayr did not say anything and Hana continued. “I cannot fault you for your silence. However, you must think about your future. If you choose to remain here Nigilin and I can help you find work in town. And I’m sure he will let you stay with him.”
“I thank you.”
“We are a quiet people, not used to excitement. For the most part we mind our business and allow strangers to pass through without too many questions. Though I must warn you Mrs. Bixby is quite a gossiper. I would avoid her if I were you. If you choose to make a life here it will be a quiet one.”
“A quiet life,” mused Tesnayr, with a note of longing.
Hana watched him intently. “You were once a soldier.” It was a statement, not a question.
Tesnayr gave her a questioning look.
Hana gave him a reassuring pat on the hand. “Do not worry. I will not tell anyone. Nigilin and I guessed it the day we first saw you.
“I had a son once. He was a soldier in the King’s army. One year he went off to war a bright, happy young man with a long future ahead of him. Upon his return, I knew he had changed. Of course, that particular war nearly tore this land apart. War changed my son. He got along for a while, but as time wore on he became detached. I buried him six months later. He had the same look in his eyes that you have now.”
Tesnayr paused and turned toward her. “How long ago was this?”
“Ten years. You remind me of him. You are still young, Tesnayr. Well, young to me. I am an old woman.”
Old woman or not, Tesnayr would not want to be on her bad side. She had a glare that would make even the bravest of men cower.
“Do not follow the same path as my son. It is time to return.” Hana steered Tesnayr back to the cottage.
The next few weeks were spent in much the same way. Each day either Hana or Nigilin walked with Tesnayr. He grew stronger every day as his wounds mended. Slowly, his arrival became a distant memory as new activities filled their time.
Hana taught Tesnayr how to mix certain medicines to heal small wounds and cure certain illnesses. He watched eagerly as she ground up herbs and mixed them together carefully.
“You must always measure accurately,” she warned him, “Or else these could kill you.”
Dismayed, Tesnayr halted what he was doing.
“I’m only kidding about the death part,” Hana chuckled. “But you must still be careful as the wrong mixture can make you ill instead of well.” She guided his hands demonstrating the proper way to finely grind herbs. “There you go,” she said. “Maybe you should be an herbalist like me.”
“Don’t listen to her,” piped up Nigilin as he walked in with kindling.
“Oh, hush, you,” snapped Hana. “He is only keeping you for slave labor,” she said to Tesnayr.
“And jus
t what do you think you’re doing by forcing him to mix your medicines,” quipped Nigilin.
“Passing on useful knowledge,” said Hana.
Tesnayr continued grinding the already powdered herbs in his bowl not wanting to get involved. He wondered if their playful sparring with words was their way of passing the time.
Having nowhere to go, Tesnayr stayed with Nigilin. The place was small, but he liked it. He also liked the older man’s company.
Nigilin was pleased to have an extra pair of hands around the place to help with the chores. He admired Tesnayr’s work ethic as it matched his own. He did what needed to be done without complaint. Despite the flawless healing of Tesnayr’s wounds, Nigilin sensed that something deeply bothered the man. If only he would talk about it.
Scarcely a night passed where he didn’t catch Tesnayr weeping silently in an isolated corner, or staring out at the sea with an expression of longing and deep sorrow. Having been a soldier himself, Nigilin had an inkling of what troubled the man. But he never said a word. He thought it best to let the man have his privacy.
“Tesnayr,” Nigilin said one day, “Will you come out here.”
Tesnayr followed the man outside unsure of what he was up to. His eyes lit up as he realized what lay before him. Nigilin had turned the abandoned shed into a workshop. “I thought you might like this,” said Nigilin. “I’ve noticed you are adept at fixing things and have a fair skill for blacksmithing. I have no use for this shed, but perhaps you do.”
“Nigilin, I-” stammered Tesnayr choking up. He squeezed the man in a bear hug, a rare display of emotion.
Nigilin knew he had done something right. Tesnayr’s face told him so. He hoped that by giving him his own workspace, he would be able to channel his depression into something useful. Perhaps in time, his emotional wounds would heal.
“Of course, you know that I had an ulterior motive for this,” Nigilin chided, “There is much around here that needs fixing.”
Tesnayr just smiled. He had never received a greater gift.
As promised, Tesnayr spent his days helping with repairs to the cottage as repayment for Nigilin’s kindness. He fixed the roof with such precision that Nigilin said no one could do it better. Tesnayr mended the fireplace with a sturdier stone than what had been originally used. All in all, Tesnayr proved to be a good asset to the older man and the work did him well. Assisting with repairs was not the only thing he did for Nigilin. He made trips to town when needed to pick up supplies and sell the starfish.
Hana usually gave Tesnayr a slice of cake to eat when he stopped by. She never let him leave without one. Tesnayr didn’t mind too much. He loved her moist and fluffy cakes.
“Take this,” said Hana handing him a wrapped plate with a triple layer cake.
“I couldn’t eat any more,” said Tesnayr. He had just finished the piece she had given him earlier.
“Who said that it is all for you?” Hana thrust the plate into Tesnayr’s hands. “Give some to Nigilin. And I want the plate back.”
Tesnayr carefully took the cake. Hana was adept at getting her way.
Word of Tesnayr’s arrival spread quickly throughout the town. Many spoke of this stranger whose manner of arrival was somewhat less than ordinary. They admired his willingness to work and many offered him a place to stay. Tesnayr refused their offers saying that Nigilin’s hospitality was more than adequate.
He accepted odd jobs from the people making repairs to their homes, wagons, and anything else that needed fixing. They paid him for his services and he used the coins to make enhancements to Nigilin’s cottage. Despite the warmth he received from most in the village, there was one person who made his life difficult: Mrs. Bixby. Of course, she made everybody’s life difficult.
“Still here,” sneered Mrs. Bixby one day. Like clockwork she was once again badgering him with questions.
Tesnayr ignored her as he worked on the axle of a wagon.
“Won’t talk to me I see,” continued Mrs. Bixby.
“I have work to do,” he replied.
“Of course you do. That is all you do is work. Buying our trust aren’t you?”
No response.
“Well, aren’t you?”
“What do you want?” snapped Tesnayr. He was tired of the old woman’s comments.
“I want to know why you are here. Strange things have been happening since you arrived. Strange folk about. People’s livestock have gone missing.”
“Perhaps, you have a thief,” said Tesnayr.
“Except the thieving didn’t start until after you arrived. Why are you here?”
“And just what are you accusing me of?”
“Something strange is going on around here and you are connected to it. I know it,” said Mrs. Bixby.
“Will you shut up,” roared Hana as she came closer. She heard the entire conversation from across the street. Mrs. Bixby had a voice that carried. “Will you quit bothering the man?”
“I only wished—”
“I know what you wanted,” snapped Hana, “You just want to learn all the dirty details about this man’s life so that you can blab it around town. All you do is spread rumor and hearsay. Never do you bother to consider that perhaps there are some things best left alone. And some things that people do not want known three hundred miles away.”
“And what secrets does he have?” asked Mrs. Bixby.
“None of your concern,” said Hana. A crowd had gathered around them. “Now you leave this man alone or I will beat you senseless with this stick in my hands.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” said Mrs. Bixby.
Hana took one step toward the woman waving her stick threateningly. Mrs. Bixby shrieked. She grabbed her skirts high and took off down the street to the roaring laughter of the entire town. She never bothered Tesnayr again lest Hana might make good on her threat. Instead, she made up her own story about where he came from and his true reasons for staying. The townsfolk ignored her.
Next day Tesnayr headed into town once again for supplies from Mr. Beasley’s store. As he pulled the wagon to a halt a loud clatter drew his attention. Sensing trouble, Tesnayr entered the building and found two men harassing Mr. Beasley.
“Give me some pipe weed, old man,” said one of the men.
Mr. Beasley shook slightly as he replied. “You still have not paid me for the bag you bought three weeks ago.”
“Did I ask you if you wanted payment?” said the same man grabbing Mr. Beasley around the shirt collar. The second brandished a knife at the store owner.
Tesnayr had heard enough. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”
“Mind your own business, stranger,” said the man with the knife. “We have no quarrel with you.”
Tesnayr leaned in close. “Mr. Beasley is an honest man. And I do not like bullies. Therefore, I have a quarrel with you.”
The first man laughed. “What do you plan to do?”
“Leave now. If you refuse, you will regret it,” Tesnayr said calmly.
The first man dropped Mr. Beasley and swung an axe from the counter at Tesnayr. Tesnayr ducked, smacked the man in the throat and pinned him to the ground. The speed of his movements caught both men by surprise. The man with the knife charged Tesnayr. Just as quickly Tesnayr took the weapon from the thug and threw him across the room. He spun back to the first bully and flung the knife at him, catching the man in the hand as he reached for the axe. Tesnayr dragged one of the hooligans to Mr. Beasley.
“How much do they owe you?” he asked the storeowner.
“Twenty-five gold pieces,” replied Mr. Beasley.
“I haven’t got any money,” blurted the man.
Tesnayr ripped the man’s belt off revealing a concealed bag of coins. He took the money, weighed it in his hand before giving it to Mr. Beasley.
“There’s over a hundred gold pieces in there,” the man protested.
“Consider it payment for the damage you inflicted on this place,” said Tesnayr. “Now grab your friend an
d leave. If I ever hear of you taking advantage of anyone in this town, I will come for you.” Tesnayr released him and the two thugs raced outside.
Later that night at the cottage Nigilin found Tesnayr sitting alone in the dark. He called his name several times, but received no answer. Tesnayr sat transfixed by the fire with the poker in his hand. Nigilin placed a calloused hand on the man’s shoulder. In an instant Tesnayr had pinned him to the floor with the poker raised to kill. A merciless, blind fury filled his eyes. Nigilin knew that Tesnayr was an inch from killing him.
“Tesnayr!” he yelled.
Tesnayr stared at him breathing heavily as his eyes unglazed. He slowly lowered the poker and dropped it on the floor. Quickly, he helped Nigilin to his feet apologizing profusely for his behavior. “I didn’t mean it,” he said. “I would never—”
Understanding dawned on Nigilin. He had seen this sort of thing before during his time in the army. “Tesnayr,” he said calmly. “I am unharmed. It is all right. Why don’t you tell me what is on your mind.”
Once again Tesnayr clammed up and stalked outside. He walked to the edge of a sandbank and stared at the moonlit ocean. The peaceful night did little to calm the anxiety churning within him. He plopped on the squishy sand and stared out at the inky blackness that engulfed the ocean.
Something poked him in the hip. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a chess piece. The black knight. He remembered when he first learned the game. He remembered a trust he never should have given. Tesnayr lowered his head into his hands and wept. He thought he had left his past behind him.
The soft meow of a cat brought him back to the present. A black cat sat a few feet away from him. The cat’s yellow eyes bored into Tesnayr as though it could see into his inner soul and knew what he felt. He and the cat stared at each other for several minutes. Breaking the hypnotic stare, Tesnayr moved toward the cat, but the black feline ran off disappearing into the night. Mystified, he just stared blankly at where the cat had been. Strange creatures.
“Good morning,” Nigilin greeted Tesnayr warmly the next morning. “I hope you slept well.”
Nigilin didn’t mention the night before, as though it never happened. He placed a hot bowl of porridge before Tesnayr.
“Hana has a wall in her house that is beginning to give way. She asked me if you would be willing to take a look at it,” he added conversationally. “And you can give this clean and polished plate back to her.” He held up the plate that had held Hana’s cake from the day before.
“I will stop by there today,” replied Tesnayr. “About last night—.”
“I should not have startled you,” interrupted Nigilin. He continued cleaning the dishes that he used for that morning’s breakfast. “I want you to know, Tesnayr, that whatever happens I am your friend.”
A black cat jumped on the table and helped itself to Tesnayr’s porridge. Its tongue lapped noisily. Nigilin scooped up the cat and put it out the door. “Cat, you know that is not your food. Now, go catch a mouse.”
“Is that your cat?” asked Tesnayr.
“He lives around here and pops in and out as he chooses.”
“Last night I thought it was following me.”
“It’s possible. There is a legend about cats that can talk, think, and act like people. It is said that if one were to meet such an animal he should befriend it. To have a talking cat as a friend is a rare gift for they are more loyal than those you have known since childhood. I doubt that that was our little friend.”
“Talking cats. I suppose you are going to tell me that there are dragons in this land as well?”
“Dragons rarely visit these parts. They remain mostly in Belyndril. I have heard tales of beasts who live far across the sea that are half human and half horse,” said Nigilin.
Tesnayr smiled slightly. “They are not easy to associate with.”
“Then perhaps you should not dismiss such tales so readily,” said Nigilin. “Every tale has some truth to it even if it is stretched slightly.”
Tesnayr finished his meal in silence relieved that Nigilin held no grudge against him from the night before.
MRRRRP.
Tesnayr glanced down. The black cat sat by his feet staring intently at his empty bowl, licking its chops. Tesnayr moved the bowl. The cat’s head mirrored his movements. Loud purring filled the room. Reluctantly, Tesnayr placed the empty dish in front of the animal. The soothing purr ceased as satisfied licking ensued.
“I think you made a new friend,” said Nigilin.
Tesnayr finished a few chores for the older man before going to Hana’s. As he worked, he felt the black cat watching him intently as though it understood everything he did. It had even followed him to Hana’s.
“Do you talk?” asked Tesnayr, while he worked.
The cat cocked its head and continued observing him. Tesnayr began to get the feeling that this was no ordinary cat. Eventually common sense overtook him and he ignored the feline as he continued repairing Hana’s wall. He’s just an animal, he thought to himself.
Snatches of a conversation between Hana and another woman pricked Tesnayr’s ears. Even the cat listened closely. He watched them over the wall he worked on. He tried to avoid eavesdropping, but curiosity got the better of him.
“I am telling you something strange is going on,” said the woman.
“You know I do not like gossip,” said Hana.
“This is not gossip,” retorted the woman, “Cedric said that while he was out last night he noticed strange men sneaking through the village. They wore long cloaks and kept their faces covered. The thing is he said that they did not act like men. They acted more primitive, more animal like.”
Hana sighed. “Are you certain that Cedric had not been drinking? You know better than anyone his fondness for it.”
The woman looked affronted. “He has not been drinking! For the past several weeks strange people have been moving through these parts. Many people have mysteriously disappeared. Some have turned up dead.”
“I will not deny that I haven’t noticed such things. But I think it’s best not to worry about it,” said Hana.
The woman snorted and turned to leave.
Hana stopped her. “All the same, it would be best if you carried a knife with you at all times and do not let your children wander far. If these strange creatures prove to be hostile, then you and your husband had best be prepared.”
The woman left.
Tesnayr glanced up at Hana a moment before continuing with his work as he mulled over what he had overheard. Their conversation gnawed at him.
At sunset, halfway home, Tesnayr met a girl of about sixteen. She sat in a meadow surrounded by daisies. He watched enthralled as the daisies gently rose into the air and circled lightly around the girl. They floated upwards disappearing into the pink and gold sky. The girl finally noticed him. Startled, she jumped up in fright and ran away. Tesnayr called after her, but she kept running.
He pulled the reins of the horse when something caught his eye. Curious, Tesnayr jumped off the mare. He picked the thing up and almost dropped it immediately. It was a sword with a jagged edged blade. Scraps of material hung from the black hilt. This sword matched the weapon of choice for an enemy he knew well.
Tesnayr wrapped it and put it in his satchel before continuing on his way. Questions and dread darted through his mind. He did not mention the sword to Nigilin. Parts of him wanted it to be nothing more than a dream.
A few days later, Nigilin found Tesnayr sitting at the table holding a dagger in his hands. “We had heard of the orcs before they came to our lands. We had no idea what we were up against,” he said unexpectedly.
Carefully Nigilin sat down across from Tesnayr listening intently. He dared not speak.
“We fought and fought and still we could not defeat them. For two years we battled the orcs and to no avail. But during that time we learned their weaknesses. I had a general who understood them. He knew the mind of its leader. With his help the tide
of war began to change.
“There is one battle that I will never forget. We were driving them back. But when the time for victory arrived we suddenly found ourselves outmaneuvered and outnumbered. We had been betrayed by the very people we swore to protect. I watched helplessly as the beasts murdered my comrades, my friends.
“After weeks of their filth, those of us left alive were put on a ship. I lost track of the days. One by one we died; tortured to death and forced to work without food and sleep. Before long I was the only one left. They had murdered my brother and I held him as he died. I’ll never forget his face.
“So I escaped the brig during a storm intending to jump overboard. I killed any who got in my way. I did not care if I died swimming. At least I would die free.
“I do not remember washing up on your shores.” Tesnayr looked up at Nigilin. “You were right when you guessed that I had been a soldier.”
“Betrayal has broken many men,” said Nigilin. “You are not the first to suffer such a thing, nor will you be the last.”
“Comforting words.”
Nigilin got up and put his hand on Tesnayr’s shoulder. The strength of the man’s squeeze surprised Tesnayr. Nigilin sensed there was more to the story, but didn’t wish to push it. “You have managed to create a new life here. Do not let the wounds of the past mar your hope for the future.”
“What if I cannot escape my past?” Thoughts of the sword he found swam through his mind.
“You cannot escape what is part of you,” said Nigilin, “You can learn from it. When your past revisits you, face it. I suggest you decide how you will greet such a meeting. I want you to know that I am glad that I found you on the sand. I value your presence here and not because you are a great help to me. In the short time you have been here I have come to consider you my friend.”
The black cat landed in the middle of the table purring loudly. It pushed his head against Tesnayr’s hand.
“I think he likes you,” said Nigilin.
“Are you certain that he isn’t more than just a cat?” asked Tesnayr.
“I’m sure that he is.”
The cat meowed in reply. His purr soothed Tesnayr.