- THE OLD SPARROW -

Sparrow came from a place blessed by the Gods, far to the west, near Guttport. Even now, he could see it in front of him, just one touch away. Outside, near the golden spot where the mountains and the sea blended perfectly with each other. The gentle hill, with its rich vines, reaching all the way to the top, and the little white house.

A house full of people, loving and admiring their little Sparrow. Small and round as he was. Full of energy, jumping over everything, and running around non-stop.

This is where he grew up. And he couldn’t even decide what it was that he loved most about that place. The place itself? The little white house? Their animals? The vines that remained nothing but bare brown sticks in the winter, only to bloom into magnificent green every spring? He admired them, all perfectly symmetrical, stretching all the way down the hill, where his family’s lands ended. And he hadn’t even reached the point where he could ponder what that pair of small, beautiful eyes on the on the other side of the hill could truly mean for his later life.

He had just began crossing the fence down the hill to meet them, when disaster struck. Suddenly, and with no warning. Like an unexpected blizzard on a vine’s young grapes.

The mother died. And the old man went to meet her, not long after.

The problem wasn’t there though. It was in the lands; they were not properly divided. His two older brothers united against his uncles and cousins. They broke apart with their sister and her husband, and later agreed to go after them all together, and take every last part of their share of the land. In the end, they turned on each other. A couple of good stabs sent both of them to the other side. They wouldn’t meet their parents.

The circle of violence didn’t stop with their death. Blood, and hate, and mistrust. The little white house was painted red within a single winter, and come spring, nobody cared about the vines any more. The circle kept expanding in both people and time. The small, beautiful eyes no longer turned to look at him – not before he, as a proper man, took care of the issues of his house. After that, master his fortune. After that, we’d see… - they said.

He took care of nothing. Neither before, nor after.

He tried. From the beginning he tried. He wanted so desperately to calm his brothers down. But he was just a little boy, and couldn’t do much. He then turned to his sister and her husband. Then his uncles and cousins. Nobody listened. Everyone turned him away, they yelled or laughed at him. Their blood had run wild, and there was no going back.

He found himself crying, all alone, for Gods know how many nights. Until finally, one morning, he got up and left. Fed up with everything and everyone. He left them arguing, and started going down the hill. He never said goodbye. Who would he even say it to? There was nobody. Nobody left from that place he’d loved so much.

So, he went down, made his way to the sea. He’d never seen her up close before, but always wanted to. From up the hilltop, he’d spent hours gazing at her. Her calming, eternal blue. He found her eventually. And found people again. And were all fighting with each other again. It seemed like wherever he went, people had that curse. He didn’t stay there either. He left, wanting to get as far away as he could. Not even he knew where he’d end up.

Old Sparrow would travel a lot over the years, and never manged to learn how do people master their fortunes. He never found his own, never found a home. And so, remained just a man. Alone, walking the mountains alongside all the other sparrows whose name he bared. Alongside the larks and nightingales, whistling in his heart a melancholic tune. About a little white house, swallowed by a cloud of hatred. About a pair of small, beautiful eyes, wanting him to master something he never found. So he kept on walking. He kept on whistling. Until he found this place, this cabin. A place peaceful and quiet, just how he liked it. Under the cute, little town, with its drunk patrons. The beautiful shore, and trouts swimming a bit further up in the calm waters of the river. There he decided to stay. He was content.

All these he’d remember. And he would smile – quietly, like he was ashamed he hadn’t killed anyone.

 He wouldn’t tell them.

“Who, me? … Come on kids, you’re not serious...”

“You’re not fooling us, Sparrow.”

And truly, nothing could take it out of their head. There was something sketchy about the old man.

An old man than never came uptown. Never visited the Temple. Never bragged about his store. Never asked for money upfront. Never feared the thief or the spirits. And worst of all, never teased, scammed, or harmed anyone. Unbelievable…

Three murders. He must have committed three murders, at least. That’s what they thought. But in Riviella, nobody fought anybody unless there was something in it for them. It didn’t matter if they’d killed a thousand. So, they left him alone.

The same couldn’t be said about our dear old mister Thess however. There was something in it for him. He had a motive.

When old Sparrow first went to see Ezith, our Belir at the time, to rent the second cabin down the riverside, he did everything in his hand to stop him. He didn’t argue his case well enough in front of Ezith however, so old Sparrow got the cabin. But mister Thess couldn’t let it go. In this he was incredibly stubborn.

When a couple of drunks stabbed each other in there a couple of years after, he once again tried to kick him out. He called upon the common decency and pride of the Riviellotts, now in danger from this new home of degeneracy. And also, how mysterious this Sparrow fellow was, hiding away in the darkness of the river, as if a spirit himself.

But Belir Ezith was still not convinced, and the support wasn’t strong enough, so old Sparrow got to stay. A permanent thorn on his side.

Time kept passing by. Years and years. Yet, mister Thess never stopped resisting that the matter had been decided, and he had lost. That old Sparrow would stay forever on the shore, next to him. By saving the few coins he’d earn every day, he’d managed to collect by then a somewhat large sum of money. He offered it to anyone in town that could find information on the background of that wild Sparrow. He wanted dirt, backed by proof.

For a while, nothing significant happened. Everyone he saw told him the same thing. Old Sparrow had done nothing wrong, and wasn’t hiding from anyone. Until one day, one of the inkmen working at our town’s jury, a neighbour and a friend, reached out to him. He’d sent out messages to all his friends, to see if anyone knew anything about this Sparrow. One of them, a fellow inkman, from way far west, near Guttport, had indeed heard of that name.

In his letter, he explained everything to mister Thess. Everything that took place, both before and after. For nearly thirty years now, Sparrow’s family hadn’t stop killing itself. And they were, at that point, scattered all over the region. He also told him that if they reported Sparrow as a link to the old stabbings at the white house, back at Guttport, the Cavaleria would have to come and pick him up. Arrest him properly, and bring him back for interrogation. All tied up and everything.

He’d then have to stay there, until his involvement in the case was sorted out, and in the meantime, mister Thess could make his move. He could finally take the precious, old cabin.

Mister Thess, the wattle, kept all these great pieces of evidence he’d collected, and did nothing with them, for now.

You see, mister Thess, the wattle, wasn’t a stupid man.

He knew very well that old Sparrow was the best competition he could ever have asked for. With him owning the second cabin, he could easily satisfy his customers by simply existing. He had to do nothing, change nothing, and improve nothing. Mister Thess was perfectly fine with that. Until the road was made. Once that was taken care of… everything would change. Things would be different then. Then he would finally solve every problem he ever had with Sparrow. He didn’t have to worry. The old man was in his pocket.

Then, one day, time finally came for a new Belir to take his seat at Riviella’s “Chimney”. This one, Belir Alleth, we never learned why, actually made true on his promise.

After it was announced, and after it was confirmed again and again by the officials, and after the story was told and retold at the wineries and tavernas, and after the winter finally passed (it was a particularly heavy one with lots of snow), and spring came along, after all that, the digging could finally begin. There was an official ceremony, all our town’s nobles were there. A couple of other Belirs came from nearby towns. Belir Alleth gave a speech, and they began. They began digging to make a road.

A real road, so the people visiting mister Thess’s cabin could come back up with ease and comfort.

A road that – as the Belir said – would have proper foundations and wide turns. Would connect with the main road and thus, reach the very heart of our town. A road that would perhaps be expanded in the future. A road horses and carriages could use.

So, they could stop at mister Thess’s cabin.

So, the travellers could enjoy their drinks there, and the families their afternoons.

So, they could come and go as they pleased, in summer or winter.

A true and worthy accomplishment for the first town of the mountains!

Or something along those lines. That’s how mister Thess heard it…

Still, he did not open his cabin right away. He’d calculated that it would take at least until the middle of spring before the workers crossed the halfway point. He had time until then. And when he finally would open for business, he’d also have the workers eating and drinking in his cabin. A little extra money on the side, Until the middle of spring, Sparrow could keep the shore. He could keep the whole river for all mister Thess cared. It was a gift. The last thing he’d ever give that man. And the workers would surely be almost done before summer. Good timing as well, because Riviella had a festival during the first day of summer, and he wanted the people to come down to his cabin to celebrate.

Every day, at the crack of dawn, he’d get up and go sit near the diggings. He’d take care of the workers, ask if anyone was sick that day, and if everything was going according to plan. He’d calculate the distance, and look desperately at the sky, fearing any little rain that could cause the workers to stop for the day. He’d also decided that this whole story between him and Sparrow had to be over and done by the middle of summer. The old man had to get away for good. Get off the river. His river.

For that, he’d have to get on good terms with Crassus, the right hand of Belir Alleth and leader of Riviella’s Cavalleria. Then he could have him arrest Sparrow, the moment his case papers arrived from Guttport. Easier said than done however. He had no connections with the Cavalleria. Approaching their leader would require some thinking. He had to talk to him alone about this, and convince him about the town’s need to be cleansed from this mysterious and dangerous old man. If he could also send a message to the rest, that Crassus and his power over the town were now connected with him, that would be ideal.

There was also the matter or Sparrow’s cabin. He had to convince Belir Alleth that he was the only one worthy of operating it. Unlike his troubles with Ezith, he was on good terms with the new Belir. Getting his blessing for his new venture wasn’t so far-fetched. But still, there was work to be done. The promise of easy profit would surely make a lot of people make a bid for the cabin. He had to make sure Belir Alleth wouldn’t listen to any of them. No one else was to be allowed to lay a hand on his precious shore. The cabins could only thrive under his experienced and capable hands. He knew the Belir would eventually see it. It was how it would happen that currently eluded him.

These two problems dominated his thoughts for days. He’d constantly go over them, again and again. Everything had to be perfectly coordinated. To happen precisely as he’d been envisioning them for all these years. He’d accounted for everything inside his head. Counted every moment, every minute, every hour, every day leading up to this. Yet now, for some reason, he was so nervous. After a while, he found out it was impossible to put his mind at ease, no matter how hard he tried. He wouldn’t greet his neighbours anymore, or talk to his family. He’d been avoiding the latter more and more since he’d decided what had to be done.

Then, one day, he could not take it anymore. Without a word, he got off the table and left his house. He went to Riviel's Temple, the one he’d been so generously donating money to, for all these years. Once in front of the massive statue of Dolvet, a shiver went down his spine. The mighty father. The first God. He fell on his knees, and with tears in his eyes, begged the mighty Dolvet to hear his suffering. To give him strength and endurance, and take Sparrow away from Riviella as quickly as possible. On his way out of the Temple, he noticed the old statue of Riviel, almost swallowed by the overgrown trees and thick bushes. Since the Dolvetians had taken over, our town's old Sigod seemed a bit neglected. Nevertheless, lowering his head, he quietly left a white rose before his feet.

Just to be safe.