Chapter 3 - Gesta.md

Putting on the clothes Morcant had given him, Alwyn got up and went downstairs. The old man was not there. Neither were Alwyn's clothes which had been laid to dry by the fireplace. Through a window the sun was shining, illuminating the hearth. And he looked now, for the first time, at the drawing in full light. "Was your smile that sad before?" he wondered.

A moment of dread washed over Alwyn. The one thing that had governed all his secrecy had been hiding in his jacket. The black orb. He gave a loud curse, damning his willingness to stay. Letting his guard down in a moment of weariness. Fully awake to his wits again, he stormed back to his bed of last night, where his sword was still leaning against the wall - where he left it before succumbing to sleep.

Flying up the stairs and not treating the old man's home all too kindly anymore, he slammed the door to his room open. Time was wasting. Reaching for his sword, mind already racing down the street, he suddenly looked upon something strange. Down there, below the sword's sheath, he saw a little satchel. And it was that same satchel he placed into his jacket the day before.

Hastily he opened it - and there it was. And in that moment, as he touched the ball of dancing shadows, a voice began to form in his head. A voice in disarray, a familiar one. It was Morcant, though it was as if he was speaking to some distant person, turned away from him. And whoever it was the old man spoke to, there was a disdain, a struggle to his voice. Then the scene seemed to change. The voice became clearer now and even the shadows began to take shape.

The dark collapsed to the shape of a man, a hand forming as he raised it, reaching almost out of the orb. It moved gently and grasped outward. Alwins head was drawn near as he felt its pull on his head. Then a clear voice spoke to him. "Go now, and find him. You have no time." Gasping he reeled backwards as the orb's grip had suddenly vanished. Images now flashed in his mind, images and mere thoughts too fast to understand any of them. And a new scene unfolded behind his eyes. There, amidst all his bewilderment, he perceived a city, and the city moved, like a wave, and folded upon itself and became a grand library - books upon books stacked inside its giant shelves, towering far into its limitless ceiling. Then, in a flash, standing in that library, he saw a face. It was the face of Beor. And before he could even call out to him he was consumed by the shadows and all went dark again.

Alwyn groaned, a throbbing pain surged through his head, his heart pumping fast in his chest. The shadows stood still now, the black orb sleeping as if nothing had ever happened. No, not a black orb. A Gesta. It was as if he suddenly remembered that thing's name. He sat then, for several minutes. Again he was left with nothing. Like a dream, like the feeling of a memory relived. But that could not be.

His mind came to a rest as he leaned against the beds frame. After some time he saw a strange shape moving towards him. A large moth was dragging itself across the floorboard beside his feet. Its movements were erratic, one wing broken beyond use. Futile the other fluttered, not allowing the moth to take flight, not ever again. As he reached out with a finger it turned, crawling away from him. “I am sorry”, Alwyn thought. He knew not why, but Alwyn felt more pity now than for many a soul he had snuffed out. It would struggle. And then it would die. More slowly it dragged itself now, yet hoping to hide from time and beast of prey. It would have been kind to crush it, or take it outside where its life may end with dignity. It was all too late for the little creature. Though it may not know it. When its essence was gone, what was left but to fade. It would be kind to end it. But he was not kind. Next to it, he dropped a few drops of cider that were left in his cup of yesterday, so it may drink to find some strength. So that it would live a little longer. Because it had a right to struggle.

A silent knock brought him back from his thoughts. It came from below. Alwyn grabbed his sword, unsheathed it and stalked back, stealthily over wood and stairs towards the entrance of the house.

The knocking repeated, a bit stronger now. He waited, hiding where the door would make him disappear. Sword raised to his face, Alwyn was ready to strike whoever made the mistake of forcing themselves in.

A third, aggressive knock. Then silence. For a moment Alwyn relaxed, but then the keyhole made a clicking sound and slowly the door began to open, hiding him in the shadow of its frame. He caught his breath. Sword raised, he let the stranger pass in.

Then a sigh escaped his lips. A girl had walked in, almost skipping inwards, far too careless to mean any harm. Her long hair reached down over a basket that she held in her arms. It smelled nice, for she was carrying a basket of freshly baked bread. Then, without even taking in her surroundings she gave a loud call.

"Hey good Momo, if you don't wake up now… I'll have you give me that juel on top of my coin later."

Alwyn kept to the door, not wanting to reveal himself unless he had to. Not even waiting as much as a minute, she walked back out again, locking the door behind her. But the basket she left on the table.

It smelt wonderful to Alwyn, who only now realized how hungry he was - having eaten nothing for more than a day.

As he was sure that she had left, he sat at the table and took a large bite out of the first thing that met his fingers as he reached for the basket. Slowly, warmth spread from his mouth to his whole body. A sweet taste, sweeter than so many of his recent meals. He smiled. Plain bread, still warm from the oven.

And now, as he sat there, mind coming to rest again, he tried to recall what happened. What had come to pass as he was asleep and , truly, who was Morcant. A set of eyes met his gaze as it wandered about the room. The portrait seemed to watch him and he found that he could not look it in the eye. He knew then, in his heart, whoever Morcant was, he would not see him again. And an old feeling, like an unwelcome friend, greeted him. The bread had lost its taste.

For all he did, the kindness he showed to Alwyn and the strange memories the Gesta had revealed to him, Alwyn needed to find out more. To understand - why was he even here in the first place. There were so many questions he wanted to ask the old man. But Morcant was gone now - and Alwyn would find out why.

A familiar sensation came over him as he climbed out a window. Pulling, like a soft string, on his conscience - though the street was empty. But there was no time now to wonder about all the strange happenings.

And even as he did not know where to go, he felt certain about the steps his feet now made. The old man had left a trail for him. And he would pick up its first crumbs. The girl with the basket.