[Terquem]

Chapter 1 part 4

Alan was a young man. At least he thought he was. It wasn’t always easy to remember his past. He believed that he was twenty-three years old. That’s how old he was when he went to war. That’s how old he was when he died.

Since that day he had been searching for an explanation.

His searching had taken him south, into the country of Vologna, and into the moors of the northwestern shoreline of the Bay of Myrrcalnde.

He traveled alone. He wasn’t comfortable around other people. It wasn’t long in his wandering before he had begun to realize that he was not keeping track of the days, weeks, or even the passing of the months. Seasons came and went, and he often didn’t notice the turning of the leaves, the coming of snow, or the lengthening of the days in summer. All his thoughts were focused on one thing, understanding.

Understanding a thing he wasn’t even certain he could trust himself to know that it was what he was told it was, drove him. He was told, in plain terms, that he had died, or should have died, or should be dead. He was never clear on the nuance of what he had been told. Even now, standing in front of the beautiful woman who had said her name was Lisa, maybe that Lisa, he wasn’t sure he understood what Margerory had told him on that day on the field of the battle of Castle Herrend. Even now he knew his memory was unreliable. Even now he could see ghostly images in his mind of old friends, the men who had trained him, the women he had been secretly admiring but always too afraid to speak to, and unsure of what was real or what could possibly be just a memory of a story he had heard as a child. A lot of his mind was dark and filled with shadows, but in the light of the torch he held over his head he was now looking at something bright and more beautiful than anything he had ever seen before.

She was a full head, and maybe a little more than that, shorter than he was. Her eyes were large and brown with specks of green and gold that reflected the flickering torchlight like jewels. Her hair was long, past her shoulders, thick, wavy, and though it was dark reddish-brown he noticed that it had small streaks of grey, particularly where her curly bangs danced above her dark brows. Her garments were simple, but well made. She wore woolen pants that were almost as black as tilled earth, a yellow shirt with long sleeves gathered by strings at her wrists and her neck. She had on a vest made of leather and trimmed in fur, and a simple knife in a sheath on her left side on a belt made from braided cords. A snake was wrapped around her left hand. She held that hand off to the side and seemed not to care about it or even think it was something worth mentioning.

But it was not the snake, her hair, or her eyes, or even her shapely figure that stood out to him. It was everything. Taken all together Lisa was the most captivating and beautiful woman Alan had even seen. She was lovely. Her lips were the right size for her face, not too large and not thin. She had a smile on her face, even though she wasn’t smiling. It seemed to shine in the torchlight, hinted at each moment in the corners of her eyes where the slightest of wrinkles were noticeable. Even the creatures that he had mistaken for angels on that day were not as lovely of face as her. Her checks were dainty, her chin rounded and set a little forward. She did not appear to be an old woman, even though the wrinkles at her eyes and touches of grey hair suggested it, and this was the one thing that held him back from being certain she was the one he had been searching for.

“I am,” Alan said. “I am from Drasbia, the city of Dastrane. Do you know it?”

“Only by reputation,” Lisa said. “It is the capital of Drasbia, a port city on the north coast. Of the three countries of Ibalnd, it is the largest in size. You are a long way from Dastrane, Alan Robert’s Son. You said you were lost. I’d say you were not being honest unless you have been lost for a very, very long time. You don’t look underfeed, or sick, but you are pale, much paler than I was led to believe Drasbian’s are. Is there something wrong with you? Why don’t we sit by the fireplace, and you can build a fire, tell me about your travels so far from home.”

“Thank you,” he said, and then something that was not like him at all to think came into his head. He was curious. He couldn’t remember the last time or the last thing he had been curious about and so when he felt it, he knew it was different.

“There is a snake on your hand,” Alan pointed with his free hand. “Do you always carry around a snake?”

Lisa laughed and Alan thought the sound was life itself.

“No,” she said, “it was at the top of the stairs, and I knew it was harmless. I thought I might put it outside since it doesn’t belong in a place like this. Here, I’ll put it back where it would like to be.”

Alan turned and Lisa walked past him toward the door. She pulled it open just slightly.

A gentle rain was falling. It was a soft, quiet rain. The lightning had ceased. The evening was approaching. A chill from the rain and the coming of night shook Lisa and she shivered.

Alan did not feel the cold or the damp. He was grateful to be behind her where there was little chance that she would notice his lack of a similar reaction.

Lisa stopped before opening the door any further and shivered again.

“Hmmm,” she made a sound. “I think snakes do not like the cold,” she said. “How about we wait until tomorrow. Yes, I think we’ll wait.”

“It is a good idea,” the Tower said.

She knelt as she closed the door in front of her and then released the snake onto the floor saying, “Now, don’t go too far. I’ll let you out when the sun is up.”

While the cold and damp did not bother Alan, the disembodied voice was another matter.

“Who is that, exactly?” Alan asked, taking a step backward.