Something Lost (Original Draft)

Chapter 31: The Hermit Shaman

*Please remember to click the vote button, I'd super appreciate it, and if you enjoyed my work please follow me for updates. Thank you.

The rest of the ride was silent, but luckily it was short, the house was near. I was eager to leave James behind to deliver the letter and hoped the uncomfortable tension between us would be gone when I returned.

I walked through the tall grass alone; he stayed behind with Trista and Ellah. I would peek back at them from time to time as I walked through the open field. The Shaman's house was just ahead. Its build was similar to the houses that sprawled Berthold. It was old and rustic, its stone walls were framed by rich wooden planks, it was really quite quaint.

Foul words pierced the quiet walk I journeyed. My eyes quickly caught the source, in a cleared patch of tilled land. I walked over to the culprit. Usually, I would have avoided striking a conversation with someone who spoke as abrasive as he did to his plants. But I wondered if he worked for the Shaman, and if he could give me any information regarding him.

I stood in the grass that surrounded the garden and watched him. He wore a thick brown robe that was dirtied by the work he was performing. Sweat trailed from his matted brown hair to his large brow. He was hunched over. His gray eyes examined the leaves of his crop. He tugged at one, plucking it from the stem, his fingers rolled and crushed it... he brought it to his nose and grimaced displeased by its aroma. It flew over his shoulder and he continued to pick through the stems.

I politely peeped, "Excuse me Sir." His attention was diverted to my stand.

"I'm sorry to disturb you. I've come to see the old Shaman... I was told he lives here."

His eyes examined me. They scanned me from head to toe, slowly, and unnervingly. "It's rare to get visitors this far in The Burning Forest, especially ones as lovely as yourself." He smiled brightly, I half expected his teeth to look as foul as his earlier attitude.

"Uh - Thank you."

His eyes lowered. "So, what do you need with the Shaman?" he asked while digging through his garden, he pulled several stalks collecting them in a woven basket.

"I've come to deliver a letter to him, from Lord Alexander."

"Oh, a letter, what's it about?" He grunted, pulling a stubborn weed that had hidden between his plants.

"I was not told."

He snickered, "But, I'm sure you have some clue."

"Excuse me," I replied, his laugh heightened with my retort.

His eyes peered up at me, he smiled and slapped his hands together scattering the dirt away.

"I'm sorry for misleading you the way that I have. I am the Shaman, though I preferred to be called by my given name Julian."

I was floored by his confession; Alexander told me the Shaman was an old man. This man looked younger than a middle-aged man, most certainly not the elderly man Alexander described. I thought he was his apprentice or grandchild.

I gawked, "You're the Old Shaman?"

"An unfortunate title, but yes, I am... I'm sorry I don't recall your name."

"That's because I didn't give it. I'm Alanis."

"Well Alanis, come inside for a drink and I'll take a look at this letter Alexander sent."

We walked inside. The smell of drying herbs filled his house. They were hung in front of open windows. The walls were concealed by tall bookcases, books overflowed each and every shelf. Most of them were old and thick; the gold leaf titles on their leather-bound spines were barely legible. But I'm sure he knew each of their names by heart.