by Ervin Agayan
“I don’t know, but we should be on the lookout!”
“That’s for sure!” agreed Zens, devouring the girl with his eyes.
Walking into the castle through the main gates, the guests found themselves in a hall with a beautiful, wide but quite short staircase with elegant florid banisters and a soft carpet on the stairs. The doors on both the right and left sides of the entrance led to the chambers on the first floor, mostly utility rooms, such as the kitchen, laundry room, and storeroom, and various training rooms. The guys didn’t go further than the first floor, so they couldn’t yet do justice to the residence of the lord and his family. The head of the house turned left at the entrance and walked along the long corridor on the first floor.
Finally, Lord Mesdrin stopped at one of the multiple heavy double doors. Opening them, apparently without much effort, he led his daughter and the guests forward and entered the room after them. It was one of the training rooms of the mercenaries. There was no one in it, except for Sensei Farin, who was busy with one of his favorite occupations—playing bling. As he loved to say, “If I’m not meditating, then I am playing bling,” which was a famous card game, adored by both common people and aristocracy.
By the way, the sensei played by himself. On one occasion, Lord Mesdrin cracked a joke in this regard. “There are two questions that I am most concerned with, namely, where these ferocious winds come from and how one can play bling by oneself.” The sensei snapped with a grin, “You are yet too young to cognize the meaning of existence.”
No one remembers when or how Sensei Farin found himself among the mercenaries. It seemed like he had always been there. No one knew how old he was, what kind of past he had, or whether or not he had a family.
However, there was something that no one would argue with: they couldn’t dream of a better teacher.
Not only was this man’s past shrouded in an enigmatic aura, but so was his personality. Sensei Farin was a man of few words; he kept to the subject and spoke wisely. He could spend hours sitting in the garden with his eyes closed, meditating in complete silence. This was how mercenaries saw him outside the training room.
Judging by his completely white hair, a part of which he scraped into a ponytail on the back of his neck, but also his eyebrows, beard, and thick mustache, and the deep wrinkles around his eyes and on the nasal bridge, one could see Sensei Farin was quite old. However, the signs of elderly age ended there, leaving space for surprises. The master was remarkably fast and skillful; his upright posture could be envied even by young people, whereas his power of spirit was admired by even the most experienced mercenaries.
When Sensei Farin appeared before the recruits for the first time, they had no idea what was expected of them. In the blink of an eye, this white-haired old man, wrapped from head to toe in several layers of silk clothes, could turn from a silent statue into a nimble and skillful warrior with a vast arsenal of styles and tactics. Sensei Farin could easily battle with young mercenaries as equals, and most importantly, his breathing was smooth and measured after the battle, while his rival lay on the ground, trying to catch his breath. But he could just as easily finish the battle in two seconds with just one barely noticeable movement.
Moving close to the sensei, Lord Mesdrin and Nihena bowed to him in greeting. They expected Arsy and Zens to do the same. Nihena made a sign to make the guys realize they had to bow too, but Arsy never did, simply greeting the sensei instead. Arsy often said that he’d rather do away with his own life than bow his head to anyone. He was famous in the entire kingdom for his disrespectful behavior. At a loss, Zens was looking at Nihena then at Arsy and didn’t know what to do. He did eventually chose to bow though. Realizing that Arsy didn’t intend to bow his head following his friend, Lord Mesdrin explained to the sensei the purpose of Arsy’s visit.
“Mesdrin, you know perfectly well that we don’t teach outsiders,” Sensei Farin answered quietly, casting a quick glance at the guests and adding with a smile, “Even beautiful eyes won’t help here.”
“Yes, that’s what I answered him. But he wants to know why we don’t want to teach him if we taught another outsider—Erathos.”
Sensei Farin had brought up multiple generations of mercenaries. The phrase “brought up” is not used for nothing, since apart from teaching them various techniques, styles, and conducts of combat; he was also responsible for their spiritual and emotional constituent as that of warriors. Sensei Farin had long ago become the grandfather in this extended family of mercenaries, ready to steer his disciples onto the right path and help them with practical advice. And now, too, he looked at his new acquaintance with his kind “grandfather’s” eyes.
Nevertheless, when he answered the question, his voice was cold and even somewhat sinister: “We didn’t teach Erathos. I am old indeed, but I have excellent memory.” He narrowed his lids and kept looking at the disrespectful stranger with obvious suspicion. At last, he drew a conclusion: “You know more than you are telling us.”
“You are right,” sneered Arsy. “I know who taught Erathos cathastu.”
“But you won’t tell us, of course…” The sensei nodded understandingly.
“I am ready to reveal all of Erathos’s secrets if you agree to teach me,” promised Arsy.
“Cathastu is not something to master in a few days or even weeks,” pronounced the master, burrowing his face back into the cards. “It will take months, perhaps even years. One month will only be enough to teach you our greeting!”
“I am ready to train as much as is required.” Arsy was as determined as ever.
“Do you suppose Erathos will be waiting patiently for you to learn cathastu?” scoffed the sensei.
“I realize you don’t want to lose time teaching me, but I have no other choice.” Arsy was increasingly flaring up. “Cathastu is my only chance at salvation.”
Sensei Farin looked at the man standing before him once again. He was silently studying Arsy for a long time, and no one dared break the silence. Finally, he nodded. “Fine!”
That single word prompted a vigorous response among everyone present in the room. Lord Mesdrin’s mouth fell open with astonishment and Nihena and Zens stood round-eyed, unable to believe their ears, whereas Arsy exhaled and smiled from ear to ear, barely able to keep himself from hopping around the room like a child.
“But you have to prove you deserve to be my disciple,” added Sensei Farin.
“I am ready to do anything!” Arsy blurted out, still unable to believe his success.
“Don’t get too happy just yet,” answered Sensei Farin thoughtfully. “There are great challenges awaiting you. We will discuss them later; meanwhile, you may have rest after the trip.” The sensei waved his hand toward the door, implying that the guests should leave the room.
Lord Mesdrin told his daughter to lead Arsy and Zens to a guest room and order dinner while he stayed with the master.
“Is this reasonable, Sensei Farin?” he asked suspiciously once the door closed behind the guests.
“He’s an interesting young man,” he answered. Averting his eyes from the cards, he looked at the lord and added with a sly smile, “Don’t worry, there’s no way he will endure all the challenges.”
Bad food
The guests followed Nihena to the third floor through a narrow spiral stairway with beaten banisters.
“Keep a low profile,” Nihena said in a commanding tone. “Don’t forget you are uninvited guests here.”
“Why are you so hostile towards me?” asked Arsy, showing surprise.
“Because you were his friend, breathed the same air with him, drank the same water, and shared bread,” she said, her voice trembling with rage.
“Then you should kill yourself,” sneered Arsy.
“Why?”
“Because you used to play with Erathos when you were a child.”
“You are lying!” exclaimed Nihena.
She turned around sharply to face him. A wildfire flared in her blue eyes, and h
er entire posture indicated her readiness to attack him again at any minute. Arsy instinctively stepped backwards.
“No, I am not,” he assured. “It was when he came here for training.”
“I don’t recall anything of the kind!” She snorted arrogantly, proceeding along her way. “Besides, Sensei Farin said he didn’t teach Erathos.”
“Who taught him combat then?” asked Arsy caustically.
“I don’t know,” confessed Nihena reluctantly.
“You see? I personally accompanied him here several times.”
The stairway ended in a narrow doorway leading to the corridor, but there were quite a few steps before it. Zens and Arsy barely kept pace with the frisky Nihena, whose long hair ribbons swayed wildly in various directions.
“You shouldn’t have told her that she played with him in childhood. I am afraid she will cut off her fingers,” quipped Zens and immediately felt Arsy’s wry stare, which told him not to joke that way anymore.
“Your friend has been lucky not to experience the power of my fists on his skin. I see he’s developed a gift of sagacity,” Nihena cast a spiteful glance at Zens.
“I can’t say anything about your fists, but you definitely have strong legs. That is a lesson I learned the hard way!” Zens snapped back, laughing.
“No, you really have to sense the power of my fists; you will quickly lose the desire to crack jokes.” The girl kept her spiteful stare fixed on Zens. But unlike Arsy, he wasn’t frightened by her menacing expression.
“Listen, we are hungry,” he answered with a smile. “Maybe we should drop by the kitchen first? The living room won’t go anywhere.”
Nihena’s glance acquired some malignant radiance, while her voice was filled with pungent notes:
“No way! There’s lots of tasty food in the kitchen. I will send you something bland. Dad told me to order some food, but he didn’t mention what exactly, so you can forget about а grand reception; you’ll be treated to the worst dishes possible.”
“May I ask a question?” asked Zens and continued, without waiting for her reaction. “It’s none of my business, of course, but I am literally bursting with curiosity.” Zens paused theatrically, after which he finally asked: “Do you have a boyfriend? Or have you ever had one?”
“You are absolutely right; it’s none of your business,” snapped Nihena arrogantly, but then she decided to set the record straight: “Presently, my mind is entirely focused on revenge. I can’t think about my personal happiness as long as my brother’s murderer is alive.”
Zens didn’t say anything in response, and for a while, they walked in silence.
“Arsy,” Nihena finally addressed him when they reached the third floor and appeared in the corridor, “don’t you want to tell me something?”
“Like what?” Arsy became alert.
“I just gave you a beating. Maybe you are eager for revenge and would like to settle the score with me?” inquired Nihena with a grin.
“I prefer not to remember that incident. I would like us to be friends, not enemies. I really need your help,” said Arsy, casting a miserable glance at Nihena.
From the lobby on the third floor, one could get to the western and eastern wings of the castle through tranquil corridors, lined with soft carpets. Elegant lamps lit the corridor day and night, while the walls were decorated with handwoven tapestries and fancy pictures of the city.
Nihena accompanied them to the living room, which was located in the eastern wing of the castle. Opening the beautiful blue doors with semi-transparent floral patterns, the girl nodded to them silently so that they went in, while she went to order food.
Due to the low ceiling, the spacious living room seemed to be smaller than it really was. Nevertheless, it was filled with an atmosphere of comfort and well-being. The room literally called for relaxation. There was a fancy table on slim legs in the center. Two couches with elegant legs, bent backrests and soft seats, covered with red-purple velvet, stood at the walls opposite each other.
Tall plants in massive pots were set in all corners, making the room look fresh and light. The soft carpet on the floor harmonized with the semi-transparent curtains, behind which was a glass door opening to the terrace. A large cheval mirror stood graciously on the left wall.
The long path to the city and the recent incident at the gates had put the guests through the wringer, so they didn’t even realize how tired they were until they saw this comfortable room, which was disposed to quiet pastime. Arsy immediately flopped down on the couch and closed his eyes. Zens studied the room for a while, after which he looked in the mirror, and was unhappy with his exhausted appearance, and finally, he opened the glass door to step out onto the terrace. It offered a fantastic view of the eastern part of Mozakon. The city seemed to be at his fingertips, and he thought that this view was worth the challenges it had taken them to get to the city. Seeing this view, he no longer regretted agreeing to set out on this journey.
Mozakon made an unforgettable impression on the travelers and guests, not only during their first visit. Every time fate brought a traveler to this ancient faraway city, it took their breath away with its majestic beauty.
The city’s beauty was legendary. Some people claimed that Mozakon was established by Gods, built of the best white and pink stones not found elsewhere in the world. Others called Heaven to witness that their grandfathers “knew a chronicler, who was the grandfather of another chronicler, who was present during the construction of the city towers.” Still others were sure that Mozakon had already stood on Mount Moz when the first settlers arrived there several centuries ago. Anyway, there was something that all these disputants agreed about—Mozakon had its own breathtaking beauty.
Where else can one see an air canal? This scenery alone was enough to entrance any visitor to the city. However, in the course of city planning, the architects must have forgotten that in the future there would be so much more water that it would brim over the canal, creating a miniature waterfall. This architectural miracle had both its advantages and disadvantages. On one hand, it was Mozakon’s authentic piquancy that made the city even more amazing and unparalleled. On the other hand, the water fell down with such a rumble that many of the residents of the city suffered from chronic insomnia. “Beauty requires sacrifice,” Sensei Farin often joked in that regard.
Zens was grateful for the opportunity to admire this view. Being a man of unsophisticated background, he could find and do justice to beauty in trifles. Studying Mozakon from above, he admired every single detail like a child, now and then shaking his head with astonishment.
A child…Zens suddenly thought how this stunning scenery would take the fancy of his son, and his heart was filled with yearning at the thought of him. He was dreaming of seeing him after so many years! After escaping from prison, Zens had gone straight home, where he faced deadly disappointment; his wife had divorced him without his consent and found a new husband, but the worst thing was that she didn’t allow him to see his own son!
At such moments, the jolly fellow Zens was completely crushed. His eyes, ever burning with fervent fire acquired a faint flashing, as though he was falling out of the real world and plunging into profound desperation and grief.
Shaking his head vigorously to banish the sad thoughts, Zens went back to the room and sat down on the couch across from Arsy. Leaning against the soft seatback, he closed his eyes. He had no idea how much time had passed until Nihena returned to the room. She was accompanied by one of the maids with a tray in her hands. Putting it on the table, she bowed to the mistress and left the room.
“Get up!” ordered Nihena, slightly kicking Arsy’s leg. “Breakfast is served.”
“Well, I see you kept your promise,” said Zens with a dissatisfied voice, walking to the table. “Stale bread and water is a fantastic menu!”
“That’s not all; there’s also porridge. It’s just that it’s extremely tasteless! I don’t even know how you are going to eat it!” said Nihena mockin
gly.
“I don’t recommend you even try it, Zens,” warned Arsy, walking towards the table.
To his surprise, Zens took a spoon.
“Looks bland, but the taste might be not so bad.” He was still uneager to taste the porridge, but then he exclaimed. “Good heavens, I am so hungry that I’m ready to eat absolutely anything, or my stomach will simply roll up into a tubule!”
“It absolutely doesn’t matter what it looks like. I’m afraid the porridge might be poisoned.” Saying this, Arsy looked at Nihena with distrust.
The latter snorted arrogantly: “Wasting poison on people who can be kicked down in a single blow? Pointless.” She sat down and took a spoon. “But if you don’t believe me, I am ready to share the food with you.”
Zens did, after all, venture to taste the unsightly porridge. He seemed not to give up hope that Nihena was joking after all. Putting half a spoon into his mouth, he screwed up his face and swallowed this portion with effort.
“Yuck! It’s indeed disgusting!” exclaimed Zens.
“I’m not going to eat this crap!” said Arsy with disgust, having tasted some porridge. “I’ll eat only bread.”
He stretched his hand towards the basket with slices of bread, but Nihena was quicker. Grabbing it in a dexterous move, the girl stood up and walked to the door, ignoring the guests’ astonished glances. A second later, she came back empty-handed.
“The choice is narrowing,” she said caustically, taking her seat.
“It’s a small world, Nihena,” warned Arsy quietly. “You will be my guest someday.”
“I will, don’t even doubt it.” Nihena smiled. She was obviously not scared by his threat even a bit. “Well, go ahead, or you won’t have this either!”
Zens sighed almost hopelessly and, once again, looked at the dense sludge on his plate. Overcoming disgust, he made himself swallow another spoonful.
“Actually, the porridge isn’t so bad,” he said, trying hard to disguise the increasing nausea in his throat. No matter how bad the food was, he was determined not to give Nihena reasons to exalt about her childish tricks. “It’s edible.”
