Not even the first sign of dawn and Tristan was already pulling on the rope that tethered his hand. He struggled to untie the knot again, always, it was the same story. The damned rope just clung to him, and tighter every day. He shook his hand out of it, almost too violently and winced as the wave traveled upward through the cord. The rusted tongue of the bell swung back and forth, nearly kissing the mouth, a bit more and he would have had everyone in the temple scampering like headless chicken. He held his breath and waited for it to still and stood up. His joints creaked like an old man's, and he felt like one too, despite having only seventeen winters on him. They felt rusted, clogged, like dirty hinges on the doors to his chamber. He walked up to a corner of the small square box like room he was in, stretching his limbs as he did so and stepped forward to hug the corner support with the rope in hand, and tied it around it.
The old bell rang like a cough from a dying cow and was their final and only warning.
Every night Tristan watched out for a reason to ring it and in the morning he did ring it to say that everything was fine and they can wake up to another 'beautiful' day. He supposed he was the village cock now, just less useful. They couldn't eat him after all.
He sighed and peered into the direction where color was bleeding into the greying sky, behind dark mountaintops and naked trees. About an hour more before the sun was up, 'and' to calm himself. He placed a hand on his racing heart and took deep and slow breaths to control rapid and shallow ones. The black spots in his vision also slowly started to recede and so did the ringing in his ears. His practices, his nightly exercises took everything out of him, leaving him completely drained by the morning, and shaking and swaying from exhaustion. He trembled every now and then and often in a violent manner and leaned on the wall as not to fall over. His secret studies hadn't been going well lately, every day he seemed to do worse than before; he felt weaker, his reserves growing smaller, his well of power drying.
He had to go there again, he thought, to the source, to refill his 'well' and renew his practice.
But his master wouldn't be happy if he did that, like he hadn't been when Tristan had gone to the source the first time. Pulled by that powerful hunger and strange curiosity only 'that' place seemed to satiate. He had gone there again about a week later after the first time, to feel reinvigorated and renewed. But his master had found out about it as soon as his eyes fell on Tristan when he got back and was not at all happy about it. It had been more than ten days from then and now his master was bedridden and Tristan practiced alone. His master wouldn't find out if he went out again he was certain, but Tristan had promised to not give in to that hunger. His master had been nothing but generous to Tristan, more than anyone had ever been even without having any reason to be so. And Tristan was not going to betray that trust, but still...
Below the tower, a deep black fog that covered everything but the tallest, like a thick cloak of clouds, was slowly descending. With it trees rose, dead and twisted in a sick show of pain only they can do, ruins of their homesteads, barns; mostly they were just leaning pillars with bits of walls attached to them. Tristan watched dispassionately as slowly more of the fog disappeared and showed more and more of his village. His mind kept going back to the strange dream he had last night or what he thought was one because it had not make sense to him then.
Tristan remembered Laanimere, when she had brought him to his and his master's chamber and left, only to quickly return with a cold bowl of soup with flakes of barley and hog-root in it. He was checking up on his master then and took the bowl with both his hands and sat by his master to eat. He hadn't asked for it, but he was hungry and thankful. She had closed the door behind her and sat beside him. Tristan ignored her and instead concentrated on his bowl but was well aware of her sharp gaze on him. The soup was stale and cold but all they had. He had lost his appetite for food long ago, and guessed it was same for most of them.
"Why do you do it?" she asked softly, he paused but didn't turn, trying to guess what she meant. "Taking care of him, who is he to you?"
She meant his master. No one but him knew what the old man sleeping beside them was and by his own order, Tristan was to keep it like that, unknown.
"He is old and he has no one." He answered and hoped it would be enough.
"Yes, but why does it have to be YOU? You don't do it for anyone else. Three days ago when Old Niben croaked you didn't even look at him. What makes him so special? Does he have balls of gold that he promised to give you?" She was almost forceful now but still soft, and Tristan had to make sure if he was hearing right. It was one thing to hear about it and another to experience it himself – her mouth.
"...Yes...but Niben had you all... Ma-ahm...Nowsen has no one."
"Is that his name? It's so funny!" She said with a twisted pout. "Who is he, do you know? No one knows anything about him. ...I sure have asked."
It surprised him that she had actually cared enough to ask. Before everything happened, Tristan had only known Laanimere by her name because of how loud she was at everything. Or how everyone would be calling her name whenever she was around. Before, their paths would have never crossed.
"What did they say?" This time he asked.
"That they knew shit. That he had been here for as long as they remembered..." she said, exasperated.
"I...don't know either. But one day I got lost below and he found me." He waited in a thought and then clarified, "...I found him, I guess. I was young, he had books. He read stories to me and then started teaching me how to read them." It was not a lie, not completely anyway but it was as much he could tell her.
She listened silently but didn't reply. He wondered if it was enough to satisfy her or if she had some more uncomfortable questions.
She did have more but thankfully no more uncomfortable ones.
"Will you do the watch today too?"
"Yes?"
"Why? Aren't you afraid?" she asked and then looking slightly embarrassed she shrugged, "I'd be wetting my knickers in piss the entire time."
What could he say to that?
"Temple is safe. I don't think I was ever seen by It. After the first week I stopped feeling afraid."
This time he turned to her but she wasn't looking at him.
"Tristan," she said as if not sure if it was his name, "The girl that brought you, what did she say?"
"Who?"
"Olean, you know, the one from Sharak. With green hair that says she found you in the forest... why were you in the forest, anyway? Were you looking to die?"
"I don't know" he answered honestly. "I...I don't think so. I remember morning, I was checking up on ...Nowsen and then... I don't even remember the forest or meeting her. Why? Who is she?"
"She says she is from Sharak. You know???" Laanimere was suddenly excited, eyes bright and a wide smile painted on her face and completely ignoring Tristan's answer. "She may know Pearl, maybe she can tell me."
Tristan had heard about Pearl, and also Sharak but it never really interested him, but it seemed this girl cared about that a lot.
"Maybe." He said but not really feeling it. It seemed that she realized his thought as her shoulders slumped and she looked down looking slightly dejected. Did he say something wrong? He didn't know much about Sharak or Pearl, enough to answer her honestly or to erase her doubts. "But, maybe you should talk to her. She saved me; brought me here without me asking... she couldn't be a bad person."
Laanimere didn't respond and sat silently after that. Tristan slowly scrapped the bowl with spoon, feeling uneasy at the unfamiliar situation.
"I think, she is here to kill It...Do you think she can do it?" Breaking the quiet she asked in a small voice full of fear and doubt but also hope.
Was that why that girl had come to their village?
He remembered what his master had told him once, 'hold on and help will come.' Was that what he had meant? He desperately wanted to ask but the feeble man lay behind him so peacefully... Tristan hadn't the will to wake him.
He had been deep in his thought when Laanimere stood with a jump, and startled him.
"Okay. I will go talk with her. You need anything else" She asked, taking the empty bowl in her hand.
Tristan shook his head.
"Then you better sleep, dead ones look better than you." She smiled and winked and ran out of his chamber.
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