Chapter 4

Krarshe rubbed his hands and exhaled into them, now with new understanding of this numbness. The cold season of Zael was closing in fast now, and there was still much he needed to help with.

Or so Marcel had told him.

He looked over the goat pen he'd been cleaning for much of the morning and into the early afternoon. Most of the leaves and broken branches had been gathered up into the corner, the food and water bins had been emptied and cleaned.

He heard the pen gate open and goats bleating behind him as they returned. Not a moment later, he felt a small nudging against his calf. Looking back, he saw a small kid playfully headbutting him. "Oh, why hello th-UUH!"

Krarshe immediately lurched forward as he felt something hard impact him low. He rigidly fell over, clutching his groin, groaning.

"Mmm... Yeeeeep. Be careful a' that one, he likes ta play," said the farmer casually by the pen's entrance behind him.

Krarshe looked up to see a slightly larger goat standing where he'd headbutted Krarshe. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed to be gloating over him. "Nnh... You call this... playing?" Krarshe choked out, still trying to recover from the blow to his crotch.

"Mmhmm."

Krarshe lay there on the cold ground for a minute, the throbbing pain slowly dulling, when he heard another person approaching from outside the pen. "Hmm? What's this? Karshe napping?"

"Naw, Marcel, he's just playin' with Giggles."

"Oh, I remember that. Fun times...," Marcel said. "Glad it's him this time. Well, c'mon Karshe! We got one more thing to take care of before the sun sets!"

Krarshe rolled over gingerly and glared at Marcel. The older man's usual smirk just made the pain in Krarshe's groin worse. I'll kill him. I swear, I'll kill him for this... He pushed himself up onto his elbow with a groan, slowly rolling over onto all-fours. He held there, breathing hard, letting the pain subside before carefully standing up. How is it that this compares to the pain of my broken ribs...

"So, how'd he do this time?"

"'bout as well as last time. Ya know the animals all love him."

"Ah, right. Like the chickens last quarter-cycle."

The farmer nodded.

"Chickens..." Krarshe grumbled, remembering the previous quarter-cycle. A simple feeding job... Sure... The swarm of chickens was so extreme, they'd taken him to the ground. The sack of feed was flung into the air, covering him in it. The resulting frenzy was a trauma he'd likely never forget.

In truth, the past half-cycle had been awful. Each and every task entrusted to him had been miserable. On more than one occasion, he suspected Marcel had been sending him on these tasks for his own entertainment.

Gathering wild berries wasn't too difficult. The trek into the forest was straightforward, but he wasn't informed about the full situation concerning the berries. He heard that, much like the villagers, the wildlife in the forest also ate them. What he wasn't told, however, was that the remaining berries grew deep in thorny patches. The number of times he'd been pricked and cut by the brambles was beyond count.

The time he'd carried the construction materials wasn't bad either. In fact, he was happy to help, knowing that it was going toward finishing construction before the weather turned, just like when he had to split firewood. He was less happy to help when he noticed fewer and fewer people were helping. By the end of the day, he was the lone person carrying material. He didn't learn until later that night that they were making wagers on how long he'd last. And of course, Marcel had come out the big winner.

The worst had to be dealing with the vermin infestation in the one villager's storage shed. What started out as just catching a few forest rats quickly turned bad when he'd stumbled upon their nest. What had followed was a multi-day battle. Each time Krarshe was forced to retreat, he'd been met with irritating quips from Marcel. It wasn't his fault the nest took so long, and he knew Marcel would have fled from the veritable horde of rats too, but every protest was met with more glib jabs.

"Why you walking so strangely, lad? Something wrong?" Marcel said with a smile after Krarshe had finally staggered to the pen's gate.

Krarshe glared at him. "No, not a thing. Marcel, why don't you go greet Giggles over there? He's REALLY friendly."

"If we didn't have more to do, perhaps I would have. Oh, why must I be so busy? Truly unfortunate..."

"Thanks for ya help again."

"Any time," Marcel said with a nod as he turned to leave.

Something about Marcel's reply annoyed Krarshe. His opinion of the headman had shifted as he got to know him better.. What seemed like an overly friendly, nosy old man now seemed like an old man who loved having fun at Krarshe's expense. And was quite nosy, that part hadn't changed. It was like a daily routine, dodging a question about his home, his family, his activities. Even asking about his interactions with Lycia. In the end, he'd managed to brush off most questions, and the rest were vague answers. How those satisfied Marcel was beyond Krarshe's understanding.

"Here, I'll walk slower, just for you."

Krarshe sighed. "Thanks?"

"Oh, Karshe! Thank ya for the help the other day!" said a woman as they passed by. "... Are ya okay?"

"No problem. And I'm fine, thanks."

"He was just playing with little Giggles," Marcel explained.

"Ooh... Well, here, take one of these," she said, handing Krarshe some plant root.

He looked over the dirt-covered plant. "What is it?"

"Right, ya aren't from around here. It's sweetroot. Marcel'll teach ya how to enjoy it, I'm sure."

"Of course. I can show you when we get back to the house."

"Oh, Marcel. My husband wanted to ask..."

Krarshe watched Marcel and the woman chat for a minute. It was a common scene. Very common, actually. In fact, it was less common for him to not be talking with one of the villagers.

He looked at the sweetroot in his hands. That was also becoming more common as time went on. His name was pretty common knowledge now, after only a half-cycle. He'd received countless thanks from the people here, as well as a lot of food and trinkets. Most of the trinkets were little things of no real value, such as a kerchief or some little hand-carved icon made from wood, but he appreciated each one he got. It was a unique experience, receiving this kind of thanks, for one who spent all his time since leaving home as a merchant.

"Sorry to end this conversation early, but we really must be going. I'll stop by tomorrow to help out."

"My apologies, I didn't mean to keep ya. Thank ya Marcel, and thanks again, Karshe. Enjoy the sweetroot." The woman bowed slightly and continued down the road.

"Boy, you're lucky to get that," Marcel said, nodding at the root. "Sweetroot is quite a treat. Maybe not as good as some of the sugar products you can find in the big city, but certainly cheaper."

"Uh-huh..." Krarshe wasn't really paying attention, still staring intently at the vegetable in his hand.

The two walked in silence for a while. They greeted a few more villagers as they went, though Krarshe spoke little. He just smiled when they brought up the sweetroot he was holding, not sure of what to say.

"You know, Karshe... They really, truly appreciate the help you've given them." He glanced back at Krarshe for a brief moment. "... As do I. Truly."

"I feel you appreciate the entertainment you get while watching more than the actual work..."

"Well, you're right, it's pretty entertaining." Marcel smirked. "But no, I appreciate the work too. Any help for my village is greatly appreciated."

Krarshe couldn't see Marcel's expression as he spoke, but this was the most direct he'd been since they'd met. "Umm... You... You're welcome. In all honesty, you helped me a lot too."

"You don't know the half of it," the headman said in his usual joking tone. "But you will shortly."

Krarshe raised an eyebrow. Marcel didn't say anything more, quietly walking ahead of him. They finally arrived at their destination, The Tavern. "Does Esther need help or something?"

Marcel remained silent. He knocked on the door a few times. After a brief moment, Esther came to the door.

"Ah, I was wondering when ya'd get here. Guest's already here, in the back," she said, guiding them in.

"Thanks again, Esther."

"Always happy to help. Especially after ya finally paid up. Now I just hope ya're right."

"About what?" Krarshe interjected.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," Marcel answered. Turning back to Esther, he said, "I'm sure even if there was a problem, being here would keep her from anything drastic."

"And if not, ya will owe me way more than that bill. Now, I'll be in the back getting ready for the dinner rush. Don't be too long, ya hear?"

Marcel nodded. "Okay, come along, Karshe." He guided Krarshe to the back, to a secluded part of the tavern the elf hadn't seen before. A small wooden wall separated it from the rest of the tavern, but only barely. "I'm glad you came," he said to the guest at the table as he walked in.

"After all of your insistence, it was impossible not to. Unless I wanted to listen to your incessant ranting forever."

Krarshe's ears perked up at the vaguely familiar voice. As he entered the space and saw the guest, his heart nearly stopped. Taliarrah sat across the table, her beautiful features contorted into an irked expression, leaning slouched in her chair. "Uhh... S-sorr-"

"Sit down, lad. This is important." Marcel pulled out a chair next to him, across from Taliarrah.

Krarshe sat down, nervously watching Taliarrah as he did. Her green eyes followed him silently, the angle of her gaze made it felt like she was glaring at him. Krarshe noticed her pupils dilate for a moment before returning to normal again, like when he'd first met her. The two of them quietly watched each other, Krarshe readying himself to flee if it came down to it.

"Okay, so. Let's get to the topic at hand, shall we?" Marcel said, clapping his hands to disrupt the silence. "Taliarrah, I believe you had something you wanted to discuss?"

Was it about wanting to evict me from the village?

Taliarrah sighed. "Only because you kept nagging me, Marcel. You're lucky that you're the one who provided me and my daughter a quiet place to live, or I'd have... Nevermind."

"Oh, Taliarrah, you're so scary," Marcel said, feigning fear.

"How can you be THIS insufferable?"

"He really is..." Krarshe muttered under his breath.

"So, Krarshe. Marcel has brought to my... No, he pestered me. About you."

"... Me?"

"More specifically, about what you've been up to around the village."

Krarshe could feel a lump form in his throat. What does she mean?

"Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you."

"W-was it that obvious?"

"Painfully so, in fact. I don't know if you thought you were being discrete, but... Let's just say a child could see through you."

Krarshe's eyes darted over to Marcel.

Marcel nodded. "It's true."

Ugh, am I that easy to read? "I'll work on it," Krarshe said sheepishly.

"That's not what I wanted to discuss. Rather, it's about your request."

"My request?"

"Are you going to repeat everything I say?"

Krarshe shook his head.

"Good, then listen. Marcel has told me about what you've been doing, helping around the village for the past half-cycle. Quite a bit at that. I'd guess the whole village knows you by now." Taliarrah looked away and scratched her head. "And they all seem to have the same opinion of you."

"... And that is?"

"Same as Marcel's. That you're a good person, helpful, trustworthy."

Krarshe felt a different emotion swell within him. He could feel his lips curl into a smile. He looked at Marcel again. Marcel just grinned and nodded.

"That being said, I'm not that trusting. I know when someone's hiding something." Her eyes focused on him as she said those final words, her gaze boring into him. "But. After this much time, you haven't caused any disturbances. And though you kept meeting Lycia secretly even after I forbade it," she said as her eyes narrowed, "you didn't bring her any harm either."

Wait, is... is this what I think it is?

Taliarrah leaned back in her chair, inhaling deeply before returning to her upright posture with another sigh. "Against my better judgment, and with this pest's insistence, I've decided to acquiesce to your request."

"Decided to what?"

"If you still wish it, I will accept you as my student."

Wisdom be praised! I guess the old man was right! "A-absolutely!" Krarshe said, jumping from his chair with such force that it fell over with a clatter.

"Again, calm down."

"Sorry..." Krarshe picked up the chair and sat down again.

"For your knowledge, if Marcel hadn't bothered me nonstop about it, I probably wouldn't have changed my mind."

Marcel wore the same smug smile he always did, but it didn't annoy Krarshe the way it had earlier. Wisdom of my junior indeed. "Thank you, Marcel. Truly."

"I did say it earlier, didn't I?" Marcel said with a laugh. "I try to take care of everyone in my village, and you're no exception, lad."

"If this meeting is over, come to my house tomorrow a bit after dawn. I'm sure you still remember where it is."

Krarshe nodded.

"Good. See you tomorrow then, Krarshe."

Taliarrah got up and left.

"Well, shall we head home then? I could use your help around the house before you're too busy for it tomorrow." Marcel got up and stretched.

Krarshe followed behind him quietly. Finally, he had a proper teacher. Someone who really grasped magic and could teach it thoroughly, unlike the sham that was the academy. And it was thanks to this nosy old man. The one who bothered him his first night at this tavern. The one who constantly mocked and teased him.

The one who gave him the confidence to persevere, gave him food and shelter, and went to great lengths to help him reach his goals. This old man.