Hungry Heart - Book #3 - Ch. 38 (Patreon)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen / Chapter Eighteen / Chapter Nineteen / Chapter Twenty / Chapter Twenty-One / Chapter Twenty-Two / Chapter Twenty-Three / Chapter Twenty-Four / Chapter Twenty-Five / Chapter Twenty-Six / Chapter Twenty-Seven / Chapter Twenty-Eight / Chapter Twenty-Nine / Chapter Thirty / Chapter Thirty-One / Chapter Thirty-Two / Chapter Thirty-Three / Chapter Thirty-Four / Chapter Thirty-Five / Chapter Thirty-Six / Chapter Thirty-Seven 

Chapter Thirty-Eight – The Call of Home

They would soon be gone from this place, as well. Toru could hardly believe that it had all come to an end. The fight had been long and had taken its toll on all of them, but the truth was that they had emerged victorious. It still felt like only yesterday that all the other things had happened, such as the attack on Whitekeep, battling the ghosts in Vilemoor, or going against the merchants and the enchanted shroud in Shroudharbor. He didn’t have a tome to write in like Duril had, and he didn’t know how to paint those signs on the page, yet all that history was inside him, in his mind and soul, and he could recall it just by closing his eyes.

His feet dangling above the city below, the breeze rushing through his hair, all made him feel like he truly sat on top of the world. Without asking to be a ruler of people, without even dreaming of ever becoming the hero of such places, there he was, and it was because of him that an evil like Hekastfet had been driven from the world.

It had all been written in his blood, even before he had been born, if he were to believe everything the Sakka had told him from their old books. Just as all the tigers before him, who had come here to Scercendusa to confront Hekastfet, his fate had been written for him.

Up to a point. That was the thing that mesmerized Toru the most. He was different from all his ancestors and the ones that had come before him. He was like them, he had come from the same place, from the same line of shapeshifters, a line of royal blood, as he had been told, yet his story was different.

He had never gone to battle alone. No, he had been surrounded by friends, accompanied by them, and they had all fought by his side, even when the odds were stacked against them. That made his adventure one of a kind, and Toru was confident, beyond any trace of a doubt, that his friends thought just the same. Varg, with his penchant for leading, with his brave heart and quick wit, had often seen through the lies and deceit that the enemy had tried to ensnare them with. And Claw, a friend who had joined them later, had rushed to their aid without asking for anything in return; always one with a good word or a joke to help them along their path without ever forgetting that they were meant to walk it.

And, although he thought of him last at the moment, the one who came first in his heart, Duril, with his soul of gold, with his kind way of being, the healer, the one to soothe all wounds, he had come into this just as selflessly, and Toru knew that he loved him for it more than he would ever be able to love anyone else. As much as he loved Varg, it was a love born out of respect and recognition of a fellow shapeshifter. And he cared for Claw, too, and loved him, as well; the bearshifter was like an older brother, who always had his back.

Not the same he could say about Duril. His love for the healer was like no other. It was as if his body and soul had been missing bits and pieces, and they became whole only when they touched each other. Toru sighed as he looked into the distance. There was an entire world out there, beyond the horizon, beyond Scercendusa, beyond his battles against Hekastfet. And he would, once more, step into that world and follow a different call.

The call of home. He understood it now, all the better because of what he had remembered about his childhood and his parents. Beanstalk and none of the Sakka had been able to tell him more than he already knew about Raine and Aneros, his mother and his father, the ones who had brought him into this world and cared for him as much as they had been able to. They had been snatched from him, and despite not knowing that for the greater part of his life, the knowledge by itself was enough to press against his heart with a dull knife. He found himself incapable of bleeding for them, in the same way that he would bleed for his friends and lovers now, but the pain was still there.

He closed his eyes to recall all that he had seen of his parents here, at the domestikos’ palace. He could still see them in his mind if he tried hard enough. Especially his father, who had sacrificed himself, even if he had been nothing but an enslaved ghost. His spirit had gone to Toru, no matter in what state Aneros had found himself.

“Mother, father,” he said softly while the winds of Scercendusa caressed his face, “I will find Nelsikkar. I will find your home. My home.”

***

Varg observed Toru from afar. As of late, he had noticed the young tiger’s propensity to seek solitude, and he knew that such a thing demanded respect from the rest of them. Winning against the worst evil of all time had turned the tigershifter into a more mature version of himself. To watch him grow under his very eyes meant a lot to Varg. So many generations of wolves had done the same before; he remembered them, each and every one. His pack was still alive, even if many of them had vanished. They had been revenged. For that reason, Varg had lit a few candles at the chapel inside the palace, a structure meant to welcome all people and shifters. He had asked the Sakka, and they had confirmed that no matter what anyone believed in, they would be welcome there.

Duril wrapped his arm around Varg’s waist. “He has been doing that a lot lately,” the healer pointed out. “What do you think?”

“He’s growing up,” Varg offered his precise thoughts on the matter. “He’s pondering over the last events, for sure. And over the implication of his parents in these affairs.”

“Knowing what we told you about Nelsikkar and what the Sakka gave us, do you reckon that our itinerary is worth pursuing?”

Varg nodded. “Traveling through the mountains is not going to be easy, but I believe that what we will discover will be worth it.”

“I’ve seen snow in my life and encountered plenty of harsh weather, but I must admit that I’m not sure how we can prepare properly for what awaits us on our path to The Scarlet Peaks.”

“You are, indeed, at the greatest disadvantage,” Varg said. “We all have our coats.”

“And I have orc blood. The nights in the desert can be freezing,” Duril reminded him.

“Of course. Far be it from me to consider you some weakling,” Varg said with a smile.

Duril moved slightly away from him. “We should get ready for the first leg of our trip. We will travel to The Quiet Woods. I suppose that Claw is already over the moon. He will get to see his friends again.”

“That he is. And also scared that Beast and Willow might try to keep him there.” Varg laughed and shook his head. “I’m not scared, though. I know that Claw will remain by our side, and I’m also a very convincing man.”

“Yes, you are that,” Duril agreed. “Should we leave Toru to his own thoughts for a while?”

“Not for too long, but yes. He is the one who needs to put order in his feelings about Hekastfet, his parents, and everything that has happened lately.”

“Do you believe that some part of Toru’s parents is still here? He also told me that he had seen numerous nobles from his tribe accompanying his mother.”

“The soul is never lost,” Varg offered. “It is for this reason that I don’t believe that Toru’s parents are gone forever.”

“If only they could have told us where Nelsikkar is.”

“If only, yes. Yet, don’t tell me, master healer,” Varg joked, “that you’re afraid of a new adventure, and you just want to sit down and write in your big book while sipping on tea and caring naught for anything else.”

“The picture you’re painting sounds tempting, I must admit. But I don’t mind going through some more adventures first. There are many reasons for me to think so; let’s not forget that my tome has many empty pages, and I expect to go through some new and exciting adventures again, if only to have more to write down.”

“It sounds like a plan, then,” Varg said and patted Duril’s shoulder. “Just make sure to pack as much as possible of Toru’s favorites. It will help him get his mind off things.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. I barely got one word out of my mouth, and the kitchen threw itself in a frenzy. I feel quite guilty, but, on the other hand, everyone’s so grateful and much in need of finding a way to offer their thanks that I didn’t have the heart to curb their enthusiasm.”

“I’ll leave you to it, while I take a short trip outside to say goodbye to a few people.”

“Do that. They’ll all see us out, but it is always a thing of the heart to say that in person to those we have touched during our stay here.”

Varg knew precisely what Duril meant by that. Everywhere they had gone on their adventures, they had encountered many people, and they were the richer for it. He had a particular person in mind he wanted to see and have a few words with before they left the place for good.

***

He could hardly believe how much the Dregs had changed. Gone was the unbreathable air and the pits in the ground. People were working on making narrow streets and paths to allow for hauling the carts of coal faster and with less effort. The pits were being enlarged and ladders and scaffolds were installed to make the job of the people working there a lot easier.

There was a brand new administration’s building in place, as well. It was just a shack for now, but by the stacks of materials already brought and left inside the courtyard, Varg could tell that it would be a place to offer the same comfort as similar buildings inside the city.

He stopped briefly to look at the ruins of the walls. Those would have to go, as well. New walls might be raised in their place, but they wouldn’t go as high, and they wouldn’t split the place in two like before.

“Varg of Whitekeep,” someone called to him.

Varg stared, utterly flabbergasted, at the young woman rushing toward him after walking out of the administrative building, dressed in a neat blue dress with many pockets that looked half like someone with work to do would wear, and half quite coquettish.

“I’m Rosalind,” the woman explained and grinned ear to ear, showing white regular teeth.

There was no sign of soot on her clothes and skin, and her sinewy arms still showed from under the short sleeves of the dress, but were now adorned with a few colorful bracelets.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Varg said and smiled broadly. “What did you do with good ol’ Rosalind? I remember her face to be as dark as sin.”

Rosalind laughed in good humor. “She’s still in here.” She patted her chest with pride. “Only now she has to battle stacks of papers and whatnot. I didn’t know that running a place to make it all better would require so much work.”

“You know how to read and write,” Varg remarked. “I didn’t know they were letting you learn such things out here, in the Dregs.”

“They didn’t, but some of us learned anyway,” Rosalind said. “And now, although I’m not too good at it, such skills are coming in handy. They wanted to send people from the city,” she gestured at Scercendusa with her chin, “but I stepped up and took the job. I think it’s better for everyone.”

“You don’t trust them?” Varg asked. He didn’t have to use too many words.

Rosalind knew that, as well. “There are plenty of good people among them, with good intentions. But for centuries, we toiled out here, in these fields. This time, we will receive the respect we deserve. And that’s what matters. The work will continue to be hard and demanding. Only that the gracious people of Scercendusa are now welcome here, if they want to work side by side with us.”

“Are there many of them willing to get their hands dirty?” Varg asked.

“I have yet to receive an application,” Rosalind said and laughed. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re allowed inside the city now. And we can breathe clean air. I still cannot believe that it is possible. Yet, it is happening to me, so how can I deny it? Toru is quite the tiger.”

“He is. And it is all possible because, finally, the evil was destroyed completely.” Varg took a moment and look around some more. “I came to say goodbye.”

Rosalind nodded. “I thought you’d say that. If I’m not too forward, then, can I give you a hug, Varg of Whitekeep?”

Varg opened his arms. “You don’t have to ask.”

Rosalind threw herself into his arms and held him tightly for a moment. “Thank you for giving all of us hope again. We didn’t think there would be a day like this.”

Varg patted her back. “You deserve it. Enjoy your new life, Rosalind. You and your people.”

“We surely will. Now we have a tomorrow to look forward to. And hard work.” She let him go. “Which reminds me, I need to go back to it.”

“Farewell,” Varg said. He could tell Rosalind was not the kind for long goodbyes. And he wasn’t, either.

He followed her with his eyes until she entered the building. At the top of the stairs, she turned toward him and waved happily. Varg waved back. There was so much good they had done. They had every reason to be proud of it.

***

Duril was not in the least surprised when Toru hugged him from behind while he was putting his bag in order. “Are you ready? At dawn, we leave.”

“You know, the people here,” Toru began after letting go of him, “they’re quite strange. They keep telling me that I should be their king. But I don’t want to be a king.”

“You are one, in your heart,” Duril said. “Is it bothering you? And what is it, exactly? That they are asking, or that you feel compelled to tell them no for other reasons?”

Toru shook his head. “No. I just don’t know this place. I’m glad that I could help them regain their freedom, but they’re just strangers. Maybe I’m not meant to be anyone’s king.”

“You are mine,” Duril said. “And I believe that you are the rightful heir of Nelsikkar.”

“Am I the king of the people there, if they still exist?”

“You would be. But no one is forcing you to be something you don’t want to be.” Duril caressed Toru’s cheek briefly. “What do you truly feel about this new adventure and searching for Nelsikkar?”

Toru seemed to ponder for a bit, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and munching on it quite vigorously. “At times, I feel like I can barely wait to get there. I know I’m excited. But at night, when I dream, I also feel dread about what I may find.”

“Have you dreamed of your father lately?” Duril knew about the dreams from the past that Toru hadn’t been quite able to make any sense of. Now, he was aware that he had been dreaming of his father, trying to offer him guidance through that world of shadows and ghosts.

“No. And I wish he would come to my dreams again. I’m sure he would have no trouble accepting being anyone’s king. He would know how to rule people, and what to tell them when they needed advice.”

“You will learn, too, if it is something you want. And if you do, I don’t believe that you should worry too much. After all, you were born to it. Your parents are of royal blood. Did you hear Beanstalk? The Heart of the World. I think there wouldn’t be anyone else more suitable than you to run such a place as its rightful leader.”

Toru seemed pleased with what Duril was telling him, but his head still appeared to be a nest of questions. “Then, I should first find Nelsikkar. I mean, we will find it, for sure.”

Duril nodded in encouragement. “It is what we must do. But first, we’ll enjoy our travels back to The Quiet Woods.”

“It’s very nice there,” Toru said. “And Shearah is there, too.”

“I think she’ll know a lot of things that will help us on our path to The Scarlet Peaks. And about the hermit, too.”

“Claw is the one who knows quite a lot about it. I should talk to him some more.”

“You’ll find him in his quarters. You know, that bedroom with an undamaged bed.”

Toru laughed. Duril smiled to himself. How much he enjoyed that sound. It had to be true what they said about thinking of your loved one and loving every bit of them, regardless of whether it was some insignificant thing or not.

***

Toru felt encouraged by Duril’s words. If there was a place where he would be the king, it had to be Nelsikkar. Scercendusa was such a big place. As much as the people here wanted to offer him the crown on a velvet pillow, he couldn’t accept it. He had even asked them about the crown and kings, since he had only known of the domestikos, and they had said something about breaking the chain of rulers who had wanted nothing but the worst for the place. As for the crown, they had sincerely admitted that they would have to make one, and it would take many months to make it perfect.

Toru hoped they would find the right person among them to rule them wisely. He couldn’t stay here. His heart was somewhere else and he couldn’t resist the new call of home he had started to feel inside.

The door to Claw’s quarters opened before he had time to knock. The bearshifter welcomed him with open arms. “Look who’s visiting! The most beloved tiger in the world.”

Toru smiled at the compliment. “I don’t know about that.”

Claw planted a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Don’t you ever doubt it, kitty. That’s what you are. Why did you come? Do you want to talk to me about something? I’m almost finished with my preparations.”

“I wanted to ask you more about The Scarlet Peaks and that hermit. I want to know what to ask him. What if he doesn’t like my questions and asks me to come back another time?”

Claw wrapped a protective arm around his shoulders and pulled him into the room so that they both could sit and rest. “I have never known someone to have met the hermit. Sure, a lot of people talked about him, and some even pretended to have been there, at the tallest peak, where the hermit’s house is, but I always doubted that they were speaking the truth.”

“Then how do we know that he’s not anything but an invention of those who like to tell stories?”

“You are asking a very good question,” Claw agreed. “You see, while I was listening to all those stories, I started to understand the difference between a well-crafted lie and the truth. I won’t tell you more about such things since they’re not easy to explain, but I can tell you the grains of truth I learned about in due time, while listening to the stories of travelers from all corners of the world.”

“I’m listening,” Toru said and put both hands on his knees, to show just how determined he was to do so.

“For instance,” Claw began, “there was this merchant, very, very old. He was so old that he had to hold his eyebrows up with one hand so that he could see while eating. He didn’t even know his own age. Some people said that he was more than one hundred years old. While the other merchants were bragging about their adventures, when the name of The Scarlet Peaks came up, he interrupted his eating and shouted at those young men that they didn’t know the first thing about The Scarlet Peaks and the hermit living there.”

“Had he been there? Was that why he knew more than them?” Toru asked.

“Yes, he had been there. During his young years, and the other merchants had to challenge him to tell his story. I was all eyes and ears, too, curious as I was at that age. It took the others several pints of beer and a hefty meal to convince the old merchant to tell his story. And when he did, he said the most astonishing things.”

Toru felt the familiar bubble of excitement growing inside his chest. “What things? Oh, I want to know so much!”

“Just as I was, at the time,” Claw said. “He began by saying that he had wanted to find a pass through the mountains so that he would discover a shorter way to reach the places on the other side. As motivated by the prospect of making a lot of gold as he was, his determination led him closer and closer to the peak.”

“Where the hermit lives?”

“Yes. He climbed and climbed, fighting cold and hunger, and in a stroke of good fortune in a blizzard, he saw a light in the distance. He hurried toward it, but it seemed as if the light was moving away from him, like a mirage. At one point, he fell in the snow, and when he opened his eyes, he was inside a home, with blankets piled on top of him. In a stone hearth, a warm fire was burning.”

“He was at the hermit’s house!” Toru exclaimed.

Claw nodded. “Yes. And the hermit was tending to him, while chiding him in a strange language. Somehow, though, the merchant understood it, and that wasn’t the most astonishing thing of all. No, you see, the hermit was not exactly human.”

“What was he?” Toru demanded to know.

“He was part tree, part animal, and part human. He was moving on two legs, and he had hands he used just like we would, but the skin on his face was made of bark and two large ears grew on top of his head. Most of his body was covered in fur and he had claws, but he wore clothes.”

“What did the merchant do?”

“He was curious by nature, so he began asking all sorts of questions. He wanted to know what the hermit was, how he lived there, and whether there was a path that would lead him to the other side.”

“Did the hermit answer his questions?”

“No. He appeared to be quite annoyed that a stranger he had happened to save from the blizzard had the nerve to be so inquisitive. But he did ask the merchant what his most important wish was because he was able to grant him a wish and only one.”

“What did the merchant ask for?” Toru felt what Claw did about the fact that the old merchant was telling the truth, unlike the others.

“He thought a long time about it. The hermit didn’t bother him. He continued to bring him hot tea and food without asking him to leave. And the merchant knew that he had stumbled upon a treasure of some kind and that he would be a fool to let it slip from his hands like that. So, he wanted to make sure that he asked for the right thing.”

“What a wonder that the hermit didn’t mind having a stranger over. What was he doing all this time while the merchant was thinking about his wish?”

“He was busy writing most of the time, and he had a lot of work to do, bringing wood inside to stoke the fire, searching for roots and hunting so that he could make food. As you can see, the hermit didn’t have a spare moment to worry about the stranger under his roof, although he cared for him and his needs all the same.”

“The merchant must have thought of something eventually, right?” Toru asked.

“Yes. It must have been days and nights, and he was feeling better when he realized that there was one thing he desired. In his quest for riches, time was always of the essence, and for that reason he wanted to learn of a new pass through the mountains. But what if he had time, as much as he wanted?”

“Did he ask the hermit for time?”

“In a way, yes. He asked the hermit to give him immortality.”

“And did the hermit give him such a thing?” Toru inquired, more and more avid to learn the end of the story.

“The hermit told him he shouldn’t ask for something that would bring upon him misery and misfortune. But he did tell him that he would give him something that would be as close to that as possible. He gave him a long life, one that wouldn’t be matched by any other living human, no matter how far and wide he roamed the world.”

“That’s why he was so old,” Toru said, as the realization dawned on him.

“Yes. Once he made his wish, he felt a sudden sleep grabbing him in its irresistible arms. When he woke up again, he was out in the snow, and the hermit’s house was no longer there. He found himself stronger and ready to face the elements again, so he started walking down the other side of the mountain. For a long time, he thought that he must have dreamed everything, until one day, he realized that he had celebrated ninety years on the face of the world, and yet he felt as sharp and green as a thirty-years-old. And everyone around him was dying, and yet, he continued living.”

“How old was he?”

“The others wanted to know, too. And he told them that after the first three hundred years, he stopped counting. He could be as old as one thousand years, and he told everyone that he was quite fed up with living for so long. In all truth, he had been wrong to ask for immortality. The hermit had shown him that he didn’t even want a long life, let alone to live forever.”

“So, if we get to the hermit, I will have to be sure that I’m making the right wish, correct?” Toru asked.

“Yes. I do believe that old merchant told the truth. What is your wish?”

“To find Nelsikkar. No, to find… home,” Toru said after he pondered for a bit. “Would that be the right way to say it?

Claw nodded. “We will find the hermit. Maybe he will be more interested in talking with our lot than with a merchant motivated by nothing but greed.”

Toru hopped from the bed. “Thank you, Claw. I want to find the place of my birth, and I wanted to know more about this hermit.”

“I will always help you in any way I can,” Claw promised. “And if I remember other things, I will tell them to you right away. I’m almost finished packing for the road. Are you?”

“No, and I must hurry.”

Now he had the knowledge he sought. And he could barely wait to be on the road again.

***

The entire city had come out to see them off. The lack of noise was strange after all the shouts and cheers that had accompanied them on their way as they had left Scercendusa. But Toru felt free, as if a huge rock had been taken off his chest. He knew the road, and what it stood for.

“How do you feel?” he asked the rest. “Did you want to stay some more in Scercendusa and enjoy their fluffy beds and pillows?”

A collective protest rose from three different chests.

“We’re made for the road, kitty, and the road is made for us,” Claw said.

“I didn’t want to linger there for another moment,” Varg added. “I don’t think I’m the kind made for a city such as this one. So many people in one place.” He shook his head. “There’s always room for trouble.”

“I’m sure they’ll find a better way now,” Duril intervened. “And as much as I love libraries, I like it best when we are making our own history. I had enough time to write everything down in my tome. Now, my fingers are itching for a new adventure, one worthy of adding to everything else in this.” He patted his bag with clear intentions.

They were all in an accord, and Toru was happy about it. “Then we must find a path to nowhere. At the end of it, we’ll find a new home.”

Everyone agreed noisily. Varg patted him on the back, while Claw grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed his forehead. Duril snuck his hand in his.

A new adventure. A new home. For him, an old one, but it would be born anew since he would arrive there in the company of friends and people he loved and who had been with him through thick and thin, fire and blood.

THE END OF HUNGRY HEART BOOK THREE (TWO KINGS)