Angst (Book 4) (5 page)

9

There was something familiar about the village, but Taro
couldn’t remember visiting it before. Maybe it was just the way villages all
looked the same as you approached them? They all smelled of smoke and manure
and fresh bread. The farmers tending to their animals or fields looked up for a
moment and then ignored him and returned to work. Children scampered about,
sometimes laughing and screeching, sometimes carting water. Then the village
center, where he would find an inn or a tavern with rooms. Sometimes there were
a few soldiers, but they tended to stick to the cities and garrison forts.
Sometimes there were other travelers. Always there were pickpockets, cats, and
dogs.

He paused outside a large building with a sign hanging in front
of it that had a beer mug and a cot on it. An inn, then, and by the look of
things, it was busy for late afternoon. He bolstered his nerves and puttered up
to the door. Laughter, clanging mugs and plates, and a few shouts assaulted him
as he opened the door and stepped into the common room. It was spacious, with a
dozen or so tables arranged around a large fireplace in its center. He stared
at the flickering flames and red-hot coals for a few seconds. They looked
familiar, too, and this time he knew he hadn’t been here before. He would never
have forgotten that fireplace. It was like an open pit with low walls. He shook
his head and hobbled boldly forward, clacking his walking stick on the hardwood
floor as he went.

The patrons ignored him. He tapped more firmly until a few
of them turned his way. He glared at them in what he hoped was an ominous way,
and they chuckled at him.

“The old man needs the outhouse,” one of the young men loudly
declared. “It’s out back,” he added, pointing toward the rear door.

His tablemates broke into laughter, and the men at the
tables nearest them turned to watch what was happening.

Taro angrily pointed his walking staff at the young upstart
who had cracked wise, scowled at him, and then shook his head as the anger left
him. “You are young,” he said, his sad voice hollow and scratchy. “Just wait
until you’re my age. Then make that wisecrack.”

“Nobody’s your age,” the youngster deftly replied, eliciting
a little more laughter from his chums.

“Now, now, Grathis,” the barmaid said as she gathered up a
few empty mugs from a nearby table. “Show the old man a little respect and
listen to what he has to say.”

“He’ll have to speak up for that,” Grathis droned, holding
his hand to his ear and winking.

This time there were only a few chuckles as the barmaid
shook her head and turned away. But the young man was right. Taro needed to
speak louder. He wasn’t an orator or a bard, and most of his talking over the
past few years had been soft mumbling addressed to himself as he waited for the
vision to come true. Now that the vision had
come true, he had to
remember to speak louder and enunciate. He nodded. “Right you are, youngster,”
he bellowed. Almost everyone laughed, and he tried to ratchet down the volume a
bit as he continued. “Friends,” he said, even though he didn’t know them. “I am
Taro, Great Elder of The Sacred Order of Prophetic Sight.” It wasn’t exactly a
lie, was it? Who else could lay claim to that title?

“The what?” the young man asked with a smirk. “I thought
they called you guys SOPS?”

Before the crowd’s laughter could get out of hand, Taro
nodded and firmly tapped his staff. “Yes,” he agreed. “We have been called SOPS
on occasion, but no more! I have seen the future,” he paused and lowered his
voice a bit, “and it is bleak.”

“Bleak?” the young man repeated. “How can it be bleaker than
this?” He gestured expansively.

This time, no one laughed.

“I’m glad you asked,” Taro said. “Let me tell you of my
vision.” He paused, straightened, and spread his arms wide. His voice was firm,
if raspy, and he punctuated the syllables with added emphasis as he half-sang
his vision-song. At the end of each line, he smashed his staff on the thick
wood floor with gusto:

A DAY will COME with NO re-TURN
   [Bang!]

for HE who STANDS a-LONE
  
[Bang!]

a-MID the FLAMES that DO not BURN
   [Bang!]

a-MID the MOL-ten STONE.
   [Bang!]

He paused at the end of the stanza, but before he could
continue, the crowd was laughing uproariously and smashing their mugs on their
tables. Amid the ruckus, the young man shouted, “Hey! We’ve got a court jester
a-MID our RANKS!”

By the time they had settled down enough for him to
continue, Taro had completely forgotten the second stanza he had composed. He tried
to stammer through it for a few seconds, but that just made them laugh more so
he gave up.

“Listen,” he bellowed at last, his frustration coming
through in the volume of his shout. “There’s fire on the horizon! It’s coming
our way! I’m here to warn you about it!”

“Fire, you say?” the young man countered. “Surely we have
buckets aplenty to deal with it.”

Taro shook his head and hobbled forward until he was
teetering in front of the young man. “Buckets will do you no good,” he said,
pity dripping from his words. “The flames spread across the whole of the land,
the likes of which haven’t been seen in a thousand years!”
Is that what’s
going to happen?
he wondered.
Is that why I said that?

“Oh, really,” the young man asked. “You were there, then?”

Taro glared at him and shook his head. “Mock me, if you
wish,” he said. “But mark my words! There is hope! A wizard stands at a
crossroads, and he alone can stop the flames. He alone can save us—save
you
.
But,” he paused and leaned forward, tottering unsteadily on his bum knee. He
sighed and almost whispered, “The wizard doesn’t know it. How can he save us
all if he doesn’t even know he’s needed?” He shook his head and pushed himself
wearily back from the table. “I must find him,” he declared. “I must tell him
he is needed. If I don’t,” he shook his head and let a great sadness creep over
him and steal away his words.

There was a long silence, and then a blurry man near the
back wall started clapping. He was a portly fellow half-hidden in shadows and
obscured by his bad eyesight, and the crowd turned to look at him. “Well done,
Master Taro!” he called out in a familiar voice. “I almost believe you have
seen another vision,” he added.

Taro blinked and hobbled around the tables to get a closer
look.
Can it really be him?
he wondered as he neared the man. When he came
into focus, Taro shook his head and said, “Humphrey.”

“Master Taro,” Humphrey said, half-rising and gesturing to
the chair beside him. “Please join us.”

Taro nodded and sat down awkwardly, his right leg held
rigidly straight and off to the side.

“I see your knee has worsened,” Humphrey said. He turned to
a doughty woman at his side and added, “Clareth—” he paused and turned back to
Taro “—this is my wife, Master Taro. She has a friend with herbal knowledge who
lives just outside the village. I am sure she has a poultice that can ease your
discomfort.”

“Well, now,” Taro said as Clareth rose to her feet. “A wife
no less? Well met, Clareth.”

“Well met, Master Taro,” she said, bowing slightly. She was
tall and had neatly braided auburn hair. She glanced at Humphrey, who nodded
slightly, and then hurried through the crowd. They were drinking and laughing
again, but the din was tolerable near the fringes.

“Now,” Humphrey said, “tell me of this wizard.”

Taro frowned and shook his head. “I can’t,” he admitted.
“The visions—”

Humphrey smiled and shook his head. “Now, Master Taro, are
you still clinging to that?”

“But I
have
had visions!” Taro protested. “A lot of
them. Too many. They’re a jumble, and I haven’t been able to pull them apart so
I can piece them together.” He shook his head. “You know what they’re like. The
first one I had led me to that shrine, and it
finally
completed itself.
And how!” He glanced around the room and leaned closer to Humphrey, who leaned
in to hear what he whispered. “I found an incense room,” he happily added. “It
was full.” Then he smiled broadly and leaned back again.

Humphrey studied him for a long moment before saying, “You
know, Master Taro, I believe you.”

Taro grinned. Humphrey had always believed him. If only he
had had a little more dedication! But how could he have expected Humphrey to
remain any longer? Ten years without a vision was enough to sap the will of any
man. “You know what?” he asked, a hint of playfulness in his tone. “I brought
some of it with me.”

Humphrey stared at him but said nothing.

Taro nodded several times and said, “You can have a vision
yourself, now.”

Humphrey frowned and shook his head. “I have a family,
Master Taro. I’m not leaving them.”

Taro shrugged. “I didn’t say you would have to,” he said.
“But if you want to have a vision, you can. The incense is
powerful
. I
saw
dozens
of visions when I used it the first time.” He paused and
shook his head. “That’s the problem. There were too many of them. All I know for
sure is that this wizard dressed in black was in Hellsbreath—or will be. I
can’t be sure. One vision showed me that he was on the walkway of the Wizards’
School’s spire. I don’t know why, so don’t ask me. Another vision showed me the
land scorched by flames with him standing in their center. I
have to
get
to Hellsbreath so I can find out who he is and where he is. He has to stop it
from happening.”

“Stop what from happening?” Humphrey asked.

Taro shook his head and grumbled, “I don’t know. I can’t
sort through these blasted visions on my own; there are too many of them. They
merge together when I try to focus on them.” He paused and looked hopefully at
Humphrey. “Maybe if you help me, I’ll be able to sort them out?”

Humphrey frowned and shook his head. “My family—”

“You don’t have to come with me,” Taro pleaded. “But if you
can help me clarify the visions, I would be in your debt.” He paused and then
added, “So would the Western Kingdoms.”

Humphrey frowned at him, and then studied the contents of
his mug for several seconds. Before he spoke again, he drained his mug and
softly set it down on the table, as if it were a fragile glass vase. “I can
offer you lodgings and a few coins to help you on your way,” he said. “That is
all.”

Taro sighed. He knew that resolute tone. It was the same
tone Humphrey had had when he had told him he was leaving for good. He had
tried to talk Humphrey out of it, but his arguments had all failed. Humphrey
had made up his mind, and he was not going to change it. “All right,” Taro
said. “I won’t drag you into this.”

“I—my family appreciates that,” Humphrey said. Then he
raised his hand, shouted “Barkeep!” and pointed at his mug and then at Taro.
The barkeep nodded, and Humphrey set his mug down. “At least we can share a
drink or two,” he said.

Taro smiled and nodded. “It has been a long time since I
have drunk with a friend.” Then he rubbed his arms and asked, “Perhaps we can
move closer to the fire? There is a chill draft here.”

Humphrey smiled and nodded. “I would think you would be
accustomed to drafts by now, living up in that shrine all these years.”

Taro shook his head. “The sea breeze has put a permanent
chill in my joints,” he said as he wedged himself upright. “Even the fire in my
vision couldn’t steep the perpetual chill from them.”

They made their way slowly to a table next to the open
fireplace in the center of the room, and Taro turned his chair to face it
before sitting down.
Even Humphrey doesn’t believe me,
he thought.
How
can I convince them of the danger if I can’t even convince Humphrey? That
disrespectful young man needs to learn some manners, too!
He stared at the
fire, its flames so much like what he had seen in one of his visions.
They
haven’t seen my vision have they? Maybe if they had, they would believe me and
realize the danger they are in.
He continued to stare at the flames as a
smile tickled the edges of his lips. His hand crept down to his belt and
fiddled with the drawstrings of the pouch.
Yes
, he thought as he
loosened them and reached inside. He wrapped his fingers around a clump of the
fine incense powder and brought it slowly out of the pouch. It had a strong
aroma, and he could already feel his senses sharpening.
I’ll show them the
vision,
he thought as he leaned forward and tossed the incense into the
fire.

As the serving wench set down his beer, she asked, “What’s
that? A spice of some sort?”

Taro smiled. The smoke was already beginning to writhe into
a frenzy of thin, wispy snake-like tendrils. “Yes,” he muttered. “A spice of
some sort.”

Humphrey looked at him and then turned to the fire.

Snake heads were forming, and their glowing red eyes were
seeking out their targets. It wouldn’t be long, now.

Humphrey leapt from his chair and shouted, “What have you
done!?” The raucous crowd grew silent and turned to them.

“I am old and tired,” Taro said. “They laugh at me because
they do not understand.” The snake heads emerged from the fire, their
smoke-like bodies stretching out from the flames like a many-fingered specter.
He had seen that in one of his visions too, just as he had seen the fireplace
and village. He hadn’t realized it before, but that part of the vision
crystallized in his mind.
Something important is about to happen,
he
thought. “Now,” he said, “they will.” He turned to Humphrey, who was staring
wide-eyed at the apparition approaching him, its red eyes piercing his soul
long before its fangs struck his temple. Humphrey was ill-prepared for it and
staggered back. “So will you,” Taro whispered, watching Humphrey sag to his
knees.