The Child of Namyrur - Chapter 10.1

[white_coral]

Title: The Child of Namyrur
Author: white_coral
Rating: PG
Summary: The history have written dark times and speak of the feud between the Nairn Kingdom and the Namyrur Kingdom. There are stories told upon children that either were to blame for the war that ensued. However, only few are left with the real truth. Time has passed and now, one of the fallen Namyrurians will see to the vows they made come true and retells a new history. But he'll have to deal with the obnoxious Prince Minho beforehand.

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T’was well after dinner when Haym expressed his wish to take a stroll. Having stuffed full by the delightful meal of baked potatoes, cream of pea soup and stewed minced pork, all Taemin wanted to do was to stretch out in front of the fireplace and take a little nap. But Minho pulled and insisted they accompany Haym. The elderly who usually didn’t show any emotions through his demeanour, seemed a little bothered as the Prince persisted yet he didn’t argue any further.

The pathway was well-lit way into the forest, the torches fended off the darkness and it blazed like a trail to an otherworldly settlement. Dried leaves and tiny pine scones were swept to the side, showing signs of fresh spring-cleaning. Dust mingled with cold mist wafted in the early night air, rich with the scent of earth and grass. Taemin walked beside Minho, both of them falling in behind Haym. Sir Ernold stayed to do the dishes, albeit, with a force he could not parry with the grace of a Knight; Madam Truce.

They didn’t discuss it beforehand but they were pulled to visit Howl tonight anyway and they walked on with silent agreement. The pace they set out with was deliberately dragged, Taemin noticed, and wondered if both the man were being mindful of his injury. He was limping still, but the swelling diminished and before they left the house, Haym had even said, “I deduced much worse, but looketh.” It goes to say that doctors are wrong most of the time and Minho had coined in, “Perhaps you’ll do with a little exercise.”

And now he was outside, strolling, with Minho being attentive towards him- offering his hand to help him descend from a slope, lending his arm for a quick rest and pushing the small of his back to make sure he doesn’t slip on muddy ground. Taemin felt uncomfortable and awkward, wished that Minho would treat him like he always did but one look at the Prince’s worried face had him looking away with a blush because it seemed like Minho cared for him.

“Insufferable…” The young warlock muttered under his breath, suddenly hit with crossed emotions of glee and annoy and even guilt. He shouldn’t be so severe on Minho. By heart, the Prince is very civil. Taemin steeled his sentiment, wanting to feel numb from it because the noble man is his one and only prey. The royal blood will spurt and coat his hands one day.

Surprised at his own thoughts, Taemin shivered, whether out of fear or anticipation, he couldn’t decide.

“Are you cold?” Minho asked, resting his hand on the pageboy’s shoulder.

“I’m fine.” Taemin replied, his eyes distant.

“We’ve arrived.” Haym’s hoarse voice rang out and lo, the entrance to the Cave of Byd stood in front of the trio a few feet away. Thin vines curtained the bear sized entry and its dark green hue contrasted obscenely against the dark of stones around it. Bushes were cleared to make a small lawn and a tree trunk intricately carved with the name ‘Howl’ was dumped by the side. It looked like it has seen better days. The long vines fluttered softly with the wind and in their wake, carried the sound of stuff cluttering to stone floor and heavy footsteps from the inside. Minho felt a foreboding menace and pulled Taemin to his back, backing away from the cave door just in case. He was just about to alert Haym, when a large male moose burst out in a frenzied panic, his cry piercing with an echo.

“What in the name of-?!” The physician called out, was about to back away when the beast unwittingly sprinted and attacked him. Strong antlers and muscles managed to lift the old man up and the moose thrashed around with Haym hanging overhead, grunting; trying to regain footing. The temporary blindness sparked more panic within the animal. Taemin could only gasp in silent horror as he watched the animal galloped once, twice, then dashed away with Haym latched onto him into the road they came from.
Minho called out to Haym, pulled out the dagger he tucked at his boots before racing to catch up, leaving Taemin in the gloom of night. The young warlock took a step to follow but stopped dead in his tracks when he felt a presence and heard a voice from his back.

“Wait! Wherefore am I going to find dinner if you ran!?” Came from a man who had emerged from the cave, with hands on his hips. Taemin stared dumb-founded. He stood tall and had a lean, muscular built, blessed with rather handsome features and his long, pale blonde hair was tied into a low ponytail, casually pulled over one shoulder. Dark brown eyes that contrasted with his pale skin glowered at Taemin when he noticed and a tender smile pulled up his chapped lips. “Hello there, little one. Are you lost?” He all but purred.

“…Howl?” Taemin called, unsure. He pictured someone older, and someone who gave a much reserved aura but what stood a front, was a man who seemed to smile too brightly with his big eyes and Taemin suspected something sinister beneath all the welcoming façade. It was slight, one could miss it, but he could tell that much.

“Mmhm. Guilty.” Howl nodded, as if used to the reaction Taemin gave. He then rubbed his hands together. “Why, it’s chilly out here. Why don’t you come inside? I’ve got fine fire roaring with warmth.”

“I can’t.” Taemin gaped at his openness but a blink reminded him stiff. “I mean, we can’t! I came with companies, but your... dinner went and attacked one of the fellows and my liege is now running after them!”

“Dear me, that’s unpleasant to hear.” Howl stepped back in surprise but didn’t respond with anything else.

“Is that all you have to offer? Might you do something to help?” Taemin was beginning to feel anxious, his palms sweated and his feet were restless. There was scarce a sound of struggle at the direction the beast took off and he itched to race after Minho.

“I’m sorry, little one. I’m not exactly a connoisseur in either combat or hunting. I’m not equipped to help anyone in this situation.” The man replied. If Taemin was annoyed, he didn’t bother to mask it.

“You came from the wealthy Bauric province to dwell in a cave, out in the wild and a large moose was your captive in your abode, not a minute ago. Your exclaim doesn’t speak volumes to me.”

Still smiling, Howl answered, “Fate sides with crafty ones, I assure you. I never raised a bow at the beast, merely drugged him. Sleep concoctions are one of my specialty and it happened to be a big moose that slept over my wrapped brew this fine day. It roared in panic when it woke up. I couldn’t subdue it before it ran out on me. It’s a shame, been a while since I tasted meat.”

Taemin wanted to retort but words failed him. He was far too agitated to argue. He turned to leave, determined he could find and help Minho in some ways. Risking using magic didn’t seem a bad choice at the moment and he was prepared to do so as soon as he found the duo. However, Howl caught his wrist and gently pulled him.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“To help my friends. Unhand me.”

“You know, I’ve got good sense they’ve got it all under control. Stay.”

“Good sense doesn’t cut it, you wanker! Let go!” Taemin snapped, his eyes rife with concern. He recoiled from Howl but the man pulled him and held his shoulders with both his hands in a bid to gather Taemin’s attention.

“Look at me and calm down. They’ll be alright.” Big, steady brown eyes locked his gaze in close proximity and Taemin almost sobbed in woe as he tried to do what he’s been told to.

“Thankfully, we are.” Came a familiar voice and Taemin shot his gaze to the side to see Haym approaching with Minho following closely behind. “Darn you, Howl.” Haym cursed.

Shock slowly etched onto Howl’s face when Haym came into view, with minor cuts on his face and hands. Colour drawn from howl’s face faintly as something registered into him. Both Minho and Taemin glanced at each other, wondering if the two knew each other as they stood in silent stupor until Haym sighed deeply and stalked forward.

“Come, boy.” He grab hold of Howl’s hair as he walked into the ‘house’, brushing off vine curtains angrily as he pulled the said boy, who moaned complaints along the way. Painful exclamations followed in Howl’s loud, distinct voice, echoing out the cave hollow into the night. Taemin gaped at what seemed their ‘closeness’ and was startled to hear a soft chuckle at his side.

“Wonder what that is.” Minho said with a casual smile, dropping his hip and rested a hand on it. He was still holding his dagger in his palm. Little and long patches of blood stained the shiny silver, a sign of recent scraping on some dried leaves or surface and Taemin absent-mindedly thought of the fate of the moose. But before that thought could settle, the young warlock exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, out of relief, as Minho’s presence touched him in some ways.

“Come, Taemin.” Minho ushered with a head tilt as he sauntered into the cave. Indeed, the inside was warm as Howl promised Taemin, what with all the torches he lit to lighten the space up. The smell of burning wood, damp air and shrill scent of grated herbs hit their nostrils. There were three large table that looked coarsely handmade, full and cluttered with what looked like a physician’s handiwork and a few stools, which were stacked with some more unsorted stuffs and tiny jars- jars of preserved medicinal brew, manifesting unappetizing muddle of dull-coloured liquids. Tiny crafts littered the floor amongst chipped wood left unsweep, some were unfinished designs of woodland animals and others were whittled to minute details. Taemin reckoned this is Howl’s favourite pastime and his works speak of his gifted hands by themselves. There was a bed at one side, with a bundle of yellowing sheets left balled on top and two crafted chairs with armrest sitting side by side.

What greeted them was the sight of Howl bent backwards in an awkward position with Haym’s arm wrapped around his head and screwed mercilessly. The younger one pleaded for leniency while the other merely grinded his frustration away and both Minho and Taemin were surprised to see Haym with such serious expression.

“Haym’s… acting a little odd, isn’t he?” Taemin commented.

“I wonder-” Minho thought further and came to a deduction, “-if they knew each other.”

Only then, did Haym let go of Howl, who crumbled to the floor with a little sob. The old physician sighed, his hands on his hips. “Good god Howl, I assumed it was you. If you had set up better welcome, it would have been a much more pleasant reunion.”
“Owwie… How was I supposed to know you’d come visit tonight, I didn’t even knew you knew where I was! And the moose was an accident!” Howl retorted.

“Then maybe, you would have thought carefully before you ran out from home. And tied the damn moose!”

“I was about to, then it woke up when I touched it!”

“Is that supposed to be your defence, you foolish boy?!”

“It’s not my fault that you were standing afore my dwelling! You might as well rode the moose into oblivion and beyo-“

“Gentlemen!” Minho reprimanded with a stern tone, effectively halting the argument. Haym, who seemed a little startled at his unbecoming attitude, lashing out at Howl like he just did- walked away from the boy. He sank into one of the wooden chair, propping an elbow on the armrest and rested his forehead on his palm as if the whirlwind of event took all out of him. The scratches on his hands inflicted by the moose were apparent in the glow of the fire light. He was lucky to escape with light injuries. Many victims that fall prey to moose attacks suffered cuts that required stitching and if left uncared for, will fester with infections, rendering them weak to fend off even mild illness and often passed away from their feverish conditions in less than a month. Seeing this, Howl sighed, expelling his negative air as he did so, with a hand on his chest. Then he beamed a light-hearted smile to Minho and Taemin’s way.

“I’m sorry for the spectacle, I hope it didn’t bother you as much.” He dismissed, then turned to grab a tray on the nearest table. “Pray, tell me why the Prince came all the way here. Kind of a long walk from Nairn Castle…” He mumbled the last sentence as he waded to Haym and kneeled before the older man. He put the tray on the stone floor and began tending on the wounds, both of them relenting, but with palpable tension even through Howl’s smile. Taemin wondered why Howl smile so much, it wasn’t really seemly to him.

“Before that, might I ask of your acquaintances with Haym? You seem… intimate with the royal physician.” Minho asked aloud the very question eating at the young warlock. Haym glanced at Howl, then to the Prince and said in his monotonous voice;
“I adopted him. 25 years ago.”

“What? Well why didn’t you tell us!?” Minho bellowed.

“I wasn’t sure the Howl was this Howl. You heard him. I didn’t know where he was after he ran out from me.” Haym replied quietly.
“My, my. Seems like my name has been spreading all over the place. That can’t be good…” Howl joined, muttering the last sentence to himself again. Taemin catch it all the same though.

“And ‘intimate’, my lord? That was you and Taemin last night, not Howl and me bickering over a loose moose.” The old physician squabbled over Minho’s choice of word, alarming the young warlock and the prince, causing the two to stutter in their retort.

“Oh shush.” Haym brushed them off, and his nonchalant attitude earned a chuckle from his adopted son. He never change, thought Howl.

“So, uh-“Minho tried to collect himself before continuing, approaching Howl and Haym as he did “So since you were adopted, you lived with Haym in the castle?”

“And you figured Minho was the Prince from your memory there?” Taemin added, following Minho’s steps.

“Aye, I did live in the castle but you weren’t born then, Prince…” Howl trailed, didn’t catch his name.

“Minho. Minho of Vawdrey.” The prince offered.

“How old are you?” Taemin asked.

“Thirty. And fit, I’ll say.” Howl said, smiling up to the young warlock who stood behind the empty chair beside Haym. But then the smile chased away. The healer suddenly sprang up, surprising everyone present, to lean forward on the chair and inspect closer on Taemin’s face, who stood rigid under the scrutiny. There was a pause- a silence before Howl asked;

“You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

“Huh?” Was what Taemin managed to piped out with clenched fists, wondering if his expression was that grim for the nightmares to leave etches already. He looked away to not give Howl the satisfaction of hitting the right nail.

“You clenched your fists in a fit to contain your shiver. You looked up and to the right; you’re remembering a visual image. Slight slouching and poised movements, partly because of your bad foot, but so obviously speaks a lot of your fatigue. And those pupils dilating- underlying fear and slight anger.” Howl appraised, challenging Taemin’s temper an octave higher. “You’ve been having nightmares.” The man put down.

Taemin stepped back, his discomfort palpable. The appraisal put him off in levels. It was more instinct than volition, but he did glance to Minho with a pleading look. The prince gawked at the bluntness of Howl, his skilful deduction effectively meeting the wide-spreading name he was wearing. He knew Taemin must feel agitated, but Minho was relieved to find out what was bothering the boy.

“Please, I do not mean to upset you, little one.” Howl continued as he shifted his stance and posed his signature smile, noticing Taemin’s changed demeanour. “Nightmare stems strong emotional response from the mind. There’s fear and horror but there’s also despair and great sadness. I only worry that the incessant strain and anxiety you experience may put your body through a lot. And sooner or later, when your mind catches on the distress, you may be coerced into a rest although you’ll feel worse for wear.”

“A fever. You will be down with a fever if you keep this up.” Haym clarified. Minho strode to the young warlock, who thought the prince is going to burst in his face, asking ‘why didn’t you tell’ and scolding ‘you pathetic boy’, like he usually did. Instead, Minho stood just close by, glaring down, trapping Taemin from retreating with the dare in his eyes.

“Calm down. There’s nothing to be so alarmed of.” The prince said, patting his head. He turned to Howl, almost grudgingly, but not without giving that ‘we’ll talk about this later’ vibe going on at Taemin. “I can see that you have fine eyes.” Minho complimented.

“For fine things, aye.” The healer replied cheekily, jesting with a wink at Taemin, who scrunched his face in disgust.

“About a fortnight past, a villager came to us. He solicited an audience with the King to consult us about a certain healer who, apparently, stopped his services right after the court welcomed magicians to the palace. Word have it that his techniques resemble such… nature and they speak highly of his generosity. The King sent us to seek this healer, for the interest and good of Nairn as we had formerly advertised. He is one named Howl. You wouldn’t happen to be him?” The Prince inquired.

Howl merely shrugged his shoulders and said, “I might as well say I’m guilty again.”

“And your reply would be… Is it true?” Taemin nudged further- prompting for what, he himself wasn’t sure.

“Well, how do I begin…? Afore that, let me just say I’m terribly sorry. You came all the way here to find me but, sadly I do not practice the arcane arts.” Howl replied flatly, not noticing Taemin’s shoulders slouching in disappointment. “If I could, I would though. I had come to realize at one point that you’d have to be born with it. I lived that down...” He murmured.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” Howl smiled at Taemin.

“Then what of these… chants that they mention? Stuff you do during your treatment.”

“Chants? Why, they’re prayers. I have a knack for languages and I absolutely admire old-“

“You’re still hung up on that book?” Haym cut in and it was subtle, but Howl seemed a little riled at the mention of the ‘book’. The healer chose to ignore the remark.

“If you must know, my Prince, and I know you must… What I practice is called Shamanism. It’s not really a prevalent ideology at the moment, so I guess it’s easily misunderstood.”

The young warlock really wanted to press on about the book, it bugged him, naturally. The man mentioned something ‘old’ and something pertaining of ‘language’. He’d kill to know if it has to do with Namyrur. However the mere mention of it seemed private enough. That, and because Minho addressed Haym, albeit angrily;

“Haym, you seem to have any idea about him. Am I correct to assume you were positive that what we came after was absolutely mundane?”

The physician remained unhinged. “To some degree, yes.”

“Really? That’s all you have to say? It didn’t occur to you to convey it to me at some point of our expedition?”

“It did. But I opted not to, Your Highness.”

Seeing as the situation might turn ugly, Taemin held on Minho’s arm, who was about to shot out and grab the elderly by the collar. He can understand that Minho would be angry at the turn of event. Haym probably suggested the expedition to the King in hopes of reuniting with his adopted child, one he knew- would have nothing to do with magic. Their expedition was void of purpose all this while. They might as well piss in the wind. But Minho would just have to reign in his temper.

“If I said something, you would have objected.” Haym calmly enlightened. “If you thought I came all the way here to reunite with this brat,” He pointed to Howl; “You ought to wash your brain, your Highness. What caught my attention wasn’t of his practice, but of what caused him to halt it.”

“Oh. Come to think of it… That seemed suspicious to me too.” Taemin chimed in, and they glanced at the healer in union.
“Tell me, Howl. What could influence you after all this while?” Haym coaxed.

“Hmm… Couldn’t you gentlemen be any more subtle? A guy is sensitive too, you know.” The healer sighed and crossed his arms over his chest as he shook his head, ponytail swaying in response.

“It’s not so much a request as it is a command, Howl. Your compliance to your liege shall be tested here and now. Spit it out.” Came the blatant threat from Minho.

“Nay!” Howl rebuffed, surprisingly, then smiled. “I’m willing to impart my story, if you would ask politely.” He announced.

“Don’t make me go there, Howl…” His adopted father gritted, prompting a rather sarcastic reply of;

“Oh how convinced am I, I will confess everything now!”

Taemin only looked on at Minho and Haym- defeated and infuriated. Why do they have to complicate things that can be dealt simply? Never mind Minho, but he didn’t expect such reaction from Haym. Taemin merely sighed and approached Howl to claim his attention, then addressed the man with an encouraging smile; “If you would please, master healer.”

Howl beamed at him, pleased at the words. “Why, thank you, little one!”

Haym uncharacteristically rolled his eyes away and the Prince swallowed down his retort at the sight. There was a mission at hand that is to be delivered from Howl’s tongue and he certainly wouldn’t want to push the wrong button, not after Taemin prevailed upon the blonde creep. The young warlock wondered why they were having a useless banter when they could get this over with quick and head back for a rest.

Howl eyed Haym and Minho. The ire practically rolling off the two men brought a simper upon his lips as he looked away. He saw the flicker of fire from one of the torch he perched on a wooden stand and the faint reflection of fire dancing behind his eyes had him recalling the memory.

“I needed to become invisible.” He began.

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Flashback;

His eyes were transfixed on the lighted candle set in its dish upon the table as his mind was in idle reverie. The inn was short of lodgers at the season and the men occupying the other tables were either collapsing from the tire of hauling in the catch from noon, where they were caked with mud and baked under the sun or simply passed out from the drunken frenzy they spent in the earlier evening. The merry had sunken into a sort of quietness since then, with little chatters going on faintly in the background.

Howl, with a hand propped to support his jaw, subconsciously reached his other hand to the burning candle. A finger teased the fire and its pretty, round glow sputtered into ruin before it come frolicking back for revenge. The healer hissed in pain and retracted his finger. His gaze then fell off from the fire to his finger, now left with a mild burning sensation but unblemished.

“Curious little thing, you…” He muttered to himself. Shortly after, a hand tapped his shoulder twice for greeting and he turned to see his good friend, Perrault that came and took a seat affront him.

“Hey.”

A young man, really, but hard to recognize the youth beneath the paint the sun pasted on him in the years he spent over the sea. Since his only parent died, Perrault made a living out of fishing, but really, he was pulled to the sea to study the art of foretelling through the wild waves- A calling he could not resist since his father forbade his acquaintance with his own mother since birth; the woman his father had called a witch and a wench of the sea- the father who then died at sea.

“It’s Winslow. He’s missing.” Perrault said exasperatedly. He had a grim look and his shoulders slackened in fatigued. Howl tilted his head curiously.

“What do you mean missing?”

“Gone? Taken? Spirited away? I can’t say for sure… But I know it’s a sign.” The man said, grasping the healer’s wrist. “And it’s not a good sign, Howl. Not since my sister’s death.” He warned.

Howl sighed. “Calm down, friend. I’m sorry about Daisha but I don’t think Winslow… disappearing has anything to do with her passing away. Besides, his business draw hoodlums like moths to a flame and I’m sure he’s justly taken refuge and hidden somewhere. It’s not the first time he is absent from our circle.”

Winslow was a friend and he traded medicines for pharmacies across Graille province, the furthest from the imperial capital to avoid being notorious. With the nature of his produce, he was always on the run. Most pharmacies offer cure based on simple, single ingredient whose properties could be learned through apprenticeship from early medieval herbal recipes. They were harmless.
However Winslow had a shift in perspective about one’s relationship with nature and the sources of healing. This shift however cost him his trading freedom- His was a forbidden trade. He had created a few concoctions that more than in a few occasion, caused his clients to be dependent on. And they worshipped him like a messiah- he liberated them from pain and took away their suffering. They called his cure ‘the cure for life’. Winslow knew it would be a cause of trouble but he wanted to continue experimenting and recognizing how he could attract the King’s attention- he never stayed long at one address. That decision tho, didn’t affect his trading. He had a way with words, negotiating was his stronghold. The last he heard, Winslow had taken in an apprentice who studied his book like a first lover.

Daisha, meanwhile, was Perrault’s little sister. She was also a trader of sort. And she had her own calling. She attended to her brother’s catch everyday while weaving quilts and coverlets as a side merchandise. Daisha’s weaves followed the designs of Old Nairn’s myths- the insignia of the ‘bravest heroes’, the ‘merciful goddesses’, the ‘blessed children’, the ‘plentiful harvests’, many of which originated from bedtime stories retold over the course of sunny, childhood days. They were mad popular and people believed they brought luck or whatever it is the moral of the insignia. But after she weaved a quilt of the ‘undying King’, she disappeared. When she came back to Perrault, she was dead and covered by the very quilt on her own bed.

Howl was one of few, who had found the charm in Shamanism. Like Perrault to the sea, Daisha to her myths and Winslow to his cure- Shaman teachings seduced Howl with a force he never bothered to repel. They came together as a circle. Some people called them fanatic and aberrant for falling for the guise akin to sorcery. He preferred the term ‘enthusiast’. There are a few other comrades in the circle and they also have their share of curiosity in peculiar fields. All of them earned a living like normal Nairn citizens but practiced their interests all the while. When they get together, they share tales and exchanged knowledge, as simple as that.

“Daisha wasn’t the first Howl. Someone else from the circle disappeared like she did before. It was God’s willing that she found her way back to our home. And now Winslow… Someone’s unto us.” Perrault panicked.

“I get that you had to travel half a province to meet me, but this is absurd, you can’t even be sure about it. I’m sure it just gnaws at you because you’re tired.” Howl said. He called for a tankard of ale and a bowl of stew then. He should see that Perrault is well-fed and have him rested, he didn’t mind sparing a couple of copper for a friend.

“I don’t feel safe. I feel like I’m something waiting to happen. Come on, Howl, you’re a friend, can’t you at least have faith in me? Even halfway there?”

“I do have faith in you but I don’t know, Perry. I don’t want to encourage this behaviour.”

“I admire your self-possession and I assure you we all in the circle get a good kick out of it, we do Howl, but that can bring about your downfall. Being doubtful is just a way one can get ready for the forthcoming occurrences. You do know our circle is not exactly lightening to the cautious.” The man coaxed. The healer sighed, partly persuaded.

“Alright then what would you have me do? Given that I come on board, of course.”

“Stop spreading your teachings.”

“Five hells no, my good friend.”

“Hooowl…” Perrault whined. He was tired, he was worried and he was hungry. He loved his friend but all he wanted to do now was to strangle the healer and make him yield. He had expected that Howl would resist- he was a stubborn prick. Yet he couldn’t leave him alone. The stench of suspicion never deterred since the loss of his sister and it was a miracle how he picked up Winslow’s disappearance and Perrault would not live down losing another good friend that understood his peculiar fascination. It didn’t matter what people call them- this circle is what he deemed worth protecting.

“How about this, Perry-“

“You stop calling me that or I’m kicking your crotch.” At start, only the late Daisha called him Perry but the pet name stuck with the circle members somehow and he was, in a way, mortified of it.

“Okay, how about this, Perrault. I vow to keep my guard up and I will keep track of the others and if I figure the warning signs like you did, I will halt my teachings until things simmer down. How about it, hmm?”

His friend considered, and Howl added, “But you can’t take away my profession as a physician and therapist. It’s what keeps bread on my dinner table.”

“That’s fair. That’s what cloaks you in the shadow. Among our circle, you’re the one with the best anonymity. But… Don’t you think the prayers that you incite can bri-“

“Perry, I won’t compromise any lower.” Howl warned playfully, smiling sickeningly. Perrault wanted to retort but finding words failed him, he sagged onto the table instead.

“You’re a clam, Howl. The one clam that won’t open even after boiled for hours.”

“You mean to say I’m gorgeous from the outside?”

“Ughh…” Perrault whined some more. Deep down he wanted to argue more on the earlier subject but what more could he say? The discussion came to an end when a young lady approached their table, bringing forth dinner ordered for Perrault, who eyed at it with delight. It was true that he rode for a long time to reach Howl and the neglect for hunger came to its toll. Picking up the wooden spoon and a sliced bread, he began to eat.

“I’ll pay for your stay here.” Howl stood then, and just when his friend was about to ask, he raised his hand to pause him and said, “My place is not fit for a human to dwell in comfort.”

It was nearing dawn when Howl finally left the inn. He had shared a couple of drinks with Perrault, who, out of exhaustion, collapsed after his third helping. The burden must have lifted after the cautionary words he wanted to deliver to Howl were ‘soundly’ accepted. He helped the innkeeper to carry the man up into his room and had tucked him in, snug and safe. Howl headed back to his home, smiling at the last of winter snow giving way to coming spring in its wake.

But when he came back to the inn later, the horses in the stable were gone and the air was chilly. The innkeeper told him they bolted away in a frightened fever so suddenly and she also told him about a missing patron. Howl felt a surge of unrest breaking havoc inside him. So easily-

Perrault was gone too.

The teachings stop right there and then; Howl was laid-back but he wasn’t ignorant and while he rued over his reply to Perrault, some parts of him agreed that whatever came for his friend was inevitable. Perrault knew, and instead of waiting around for his nightmare, he came to Howl’s side. He didn’t deny anything in his words, he didn’t beg for help and Howl thought of how brave Perrault was to come to terms with it. Still, Howl wanted to believe his friend was alive wherever he was. He didn’t have insights as keen as Perrault but he keeps his faith alive.

A week later, Howl travelled west from Bauric Province. If keeping safe was Perrault’s wish for his well-being, he would do just that. He left his abode, one he earned through a life’s hard work, with no mind in particular to where he was heading. All he knew- was that he was probably not in on a nice trip, and he was probably hunted.

**********************************************************

“So does this conclude our expedition? Shouldn’t we amend Howl’s trouble somehow?” Taemin asked as the three strolled back the way they came. The light and warmth emitting from the healer’s abode had long receded into the darkness as they walked and the trail that had been eaten away by wild grasses gradually gave way to the village’s cleared path. The air felt lighter too, now that they were halfway out the dense forest.

“Our expedition was devoted to seeking out Howl. We fulfilled that and there’s no point sticking around and poking at stuff unnecessarily. We don’t even have a lead to remedy his situation.” Minho replied. “We offered and he declined. The lad’s entitled to his own choice.”

If he could, Taemin would have stayed behind. He had half the mind to succour Howl in tracking this hunter. It occurred to him that those involved in potential arcane techniques became victims and he can’t help it if he was attracted to the ambiguity, considering his position. He didn’t mind the circle Howl mentioned because if every meeting will turn out a flop like today, Taemin would succumb to disappointment. He came all this way, hoping to find a kindred soul, only to find Howl; a healer.

But he had a mission to carry out. He had Minho to pay mind to. And he couldn’t elope with a stranger he just met and leave behind Onew. He misses his guardian so much it hurts his head when he thinks about him. On a separate note, Minho’s words rang with truth. They did came to seek out Howl, the magician. Now that that’s settled, it was time for the journey back. The King is awaiting.

“Was it alright to leave things hanging like that, Haym?” Taemin probed. Surely, the physician must be intrigued of his adopted son’s well-being. When Howl finished his story, they were all absorbed in the afterthought until Haym declared that it was late and they should be heading back. He and Howl shared a knowing look at each other, but no comment was offered and since Minho was satisfied with Howl’s compliance- they parted ways.

“He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.” Haym grumbled. There was a subtle hint of anger but he sounded genuinely reassured. Taemin guessed, the physician’s bitterness was partly borne out of the resentment towards Howl whom he had taken in and cared for- bailed out on him. But now Howl was indeed big enough to take care of himself and he seemed brimming with healthiness. It probably eased Haym in a way, if not fully.

The remaining journey was silent until they reached Truce’s home. The village was swallowed in darkness, saved for the silver moonlight casting shadows on the grounds, a few stoked torch stands and a single lighted candle at the modest side portico of Truce’s home, beside Sir Ernold. He was leaning on the trunk pillar, one leg crossed the other with the journal propped on his lap. The Knight rose from his seat when he noticed the three of them, putting aside the book next to the quill pen and inkwell on the floor.

Bowing to Minho, he greeted, “Welcome back, Your Highness.”

Minho nodded at the gesture. “You’re still up?”

“I thought it was best that I keep watch until your return. Madam Truce had went abed and she bid a good night.”

“Oh. Right. I’m sorry we had to leave you behind.” The prince massaged the back of his neck, appearing guilty to the memory of earlier evening.

“No, it was quite alright. I was given time to ease back and recorded today’s journal. Although I think we have to update it again now that you have returned. What of Howl, Your Highness?” Sir Ernold smiled and asked. Minho doesn’t recall informing the knight of their intention to walk to Howl’s abode, but he supposed, considering the late return, it was obvious.

Haym let out a sigh then, and he tread forward as he said, “Well, I’m beat. I’m going to rest now.”

Sir Ernold noticed the small cuts on the old man’s face and hands and wondered what happened when they ventured into the forest but resisted from inquiring further since Haym really looked tired. He watched the man’s back disappear into the warmth of the house, footsteps dying indistinctly against the wooden floor. He breathed out silently, turned to his liege and stated thoughtfully;

“I suppose I could listen to the account tomorrow morning. Please get some rest too, Prince, Taemin. It’s been a long day.”

“Yes, it has been and yes, I would like to get some-”

“-Right after we do the journal.” Minho cut in on Taemin decisively, pulling his tunic back to the prince’s side when he tried to walk away. The young warlock tripped back awkwardly and only Minho’s solid stance behind him spared him from falling on his bum as he leaned on his back partially down the prince’s front torso. He glared up to the taller man in defiance while Minho gave him a blank stare before he sharply blew air onto Taemin’s unsuspecting eyes.

“Argh! My eyes!” The young warlock howled in pain from the sting as his hands came up to cradle them. Minho had stepped away and he really did fell on his bum then with a thud and a groan. The other knight watched on, a little surprised, but didn’t say anything.

“You may go, Ernold. We’ll manage.” Taemin heard Minho say as he rubbed his eyes sore.

“Um… As you wish. Pleasant dreams, Your Highness. And… Good luck, Taemin.” Sir Ernold bid before disappearing behind the closed door himself.

Finally alone together, the prince glowered at the figure on the ground. Minho hooked his arms under the two smaller ones and practically dragged Taemin to the small stair, beside the flickering candle and crouched in front of the groaning boy. He removed the manservant’s hands off his eyes and rubbed his own thumbs tenderly over them, seized by a little sense of remorse.

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

“I hate you.” Taemin replied with a pout.

“I know.” The other acknowledged and took a seat beside him, the journal clutched in one hand. As usual their companionship beckoned a long pause, neither one quick to think of an apt conversation starter. Blessedly, Minho took the cue and said, unbridled;

“This is probably the longest period of an expedition I’ve ever led.” Taemin glanced sideways at the young prince and hummed dismissively. Minho’s gaze was fixed to the sky overhead, alight with clusters of stars and one silvery moon. His eyes blinked in a leisure manner, the peacefulness breaking away to hints of sleepiness across his expression. Taemin followed his gaze while he carried on, said; “Strange how I don’t feel homesick.”

The young warlock knew not how to comment or reply him, for being homesick wasn’t routine in his life. He never stayed long enough at one place until he felt a sort of attachment to it- to grieve over the loss of its convenience, yes, but never homesick. He didn’t bother looking back. All he aimed was to find Minho. His abode now was sufficient, though isn’t compelling enough to invite such sentiment. Apart from coming home to Onew, of course.

“I do feel that this expedition was all for naught.” Taemin settled, shifting a little to the side so he can lean on the trunk pillar.
“That is true, this whole trip was a crap load waste of time.” To Minho’s choice of word, Taemin stared. He knew the man rarely used crude terms and every time he heard it, he can’t help but cheer on the inside. It was a cause of celebration to witness someone’s ruffled behaviour in your own presence. They let go because they know they could unwind without putting up a front. A slow, brilliant smile pulled up Taemin’s lips and it disappeared without Minho noticing.

“I’m a bit bothered. There’s a fault in the way the Court decreed to embrace sorcery and wherever it entailed from and what of its association. It’s too… mild. And I know Mother suggested it and I know how Father is lenient to his Queen. It’s just that… if severity can be borne, I know we can yield better findings.” Minho confessed.

Spoken like a true heir to the throne, chimed a tiny appreciative voice in Taemin.

“Mild, huh? Perhaps His Majesty does not concern himself with apprehensions that has to do with sorceries and its kin, you people believe it to be mythical. Tis a peaceful realm that abides his rule, why bother?”

Minho took a minute to reply. There was a flicker in his eyes, he seemed to recall something and exhaled before he said, with a low, solid tone; “Shouldn’t we safeguard a peaceful realm as austerely we would when it fall to war and strife?”

If Taemin didn’t ruminate to himself upon Minho’s words at the moment, he would have answered yes. He would have yelled yes. He saw war behind closed eyes at night, he knew how grim it was and while it was mostly a display of anger, it was really despair. We know how there are two sides in every story and no one is singled out from this. Neither the one who wield the sword, nor the one who felled to it. Two sides. Nairn and Namyrur. Nothing should be spared when it comes to the defence of a peace. Never another war- History’s silent advice.

“The context of what you spoke is too heavy for most people.” Came a dim reply from Taemin.

Initially, Minho sat down with the intention of discussing the nightmares that plagued his manservant but somehow he had steered the conversation elsewhere. He was reminiscing a sentence dropped by Hill, Madam Truce’s father earlier this evening and try as he might to drive it out; the sentence remained in the room of his mind.

’Let the peace of today be here when I wake up tomorrow.’

When he came to realize it, he was spacing out again. It pulled at him. He couldn’t figure out why it somehow managed to ruin his ease. Never before had he thought of his ascension to throne because the time wasn’t ripe and he wanted to leave the space empty until the time came on its own. He still wasn’t impressed by his crowning, believed it was unfair for Jongin and discontent to watch his brother disregard the affection he received for the title. Minho knew he was having the throne, but he forgot the bit that the throne was having him. Minho never stop to think that peace will be in his custody come his reign.

Subtly, Minho thought Hill’s plea concerned the unfolding of sorcery in Nairn land. Granted, there hasn’t been one candidate that showed dainty features as a magician of any sort but eventually there might be since the arcane arts really did exist, but abandoned to more mundane but mutually compatible ways of living to everyone- not just select individuals who were blessed with magic at their disposal. The death of Lord Junsu was the foundation of this whole hype about sorcery and although at start it was upsetting to all, many now turned apathetic as days go by. Mild might be an understatement. Surely peace wouldn’t tolerate ignorance? How can they be sure- how can he be sure that things wouldn’t go awry? How sorcery would remain a luxury?

“-Ho, you awake?”

“Huh?” The Prince croaked out, glancing at Taemin who had pulled him out of his reverie.

“Yeah. Um… Yes.” He mumbled.

“You all right there?”

“I’m fine.” Minho pondered for a minute before calling out; “Taemin?”, and upon receiving a hum in reply, he said, “You asked me once before, of what I think of magic. Well, what about you? What do you think of it?”

A minute hesitation played in Taemin’s eyes as he formed words to answer and Minho couldn’t read him well.

“I wouldn’t know.” Taemin said with closed eyes, then added gravely; “But I would like to believe that it can be wield virtuously as it can be immorally. As words serve our everyday.”

“Our everyday huh…? Hm. I never assumed that. I always imagined that in a world rife with sorcery, people who could practice it was unique. Not just a somebody who brushed your shoulder at town, carrying sacks of... potatoes, say. People would flock to him like clouds, they would admire him and never want him cross. For there would be so much to pay.”

To this, Taemin chuckled. Such irony. He replied with a lilt of humour in his voice, shaking his head; “I don’t think the gods would bless such unfairness to anybody.”

“That’s why I said, not just a somebody.”

“Imagine though, instead, people don’t flock to a sorcerer like clouds,” Taemin explained, rather animatedly, “But the sorcerers flock like clouds. Everywhere. The town. The province. The whole kingdom.”

It was kind of refreshing to talk about this to Minho. Taemin wore a smile and his heart was beating excitedly as visions of his Kingdom gave him such elation. He resolved that Minho shouldn’t imagine a situation otherwise, because what he just accounted was really how sorcerers were- littered everywhere. The difference is that they knew they had the power, but presently, these people neglected it.

“Namyrur.” Minho uttered. And Taemin’s heart seized, for one shocking instant.

“I wonder if it was like that in Namyrur Kingdom.” He stated wistfully, looking upwards again and missed Taemin’s expression evolving from petrified, to confused, relief, then finally, sad.

“Oh…” Taemin muttered with a trembling voice, nodding it off as he looked away, his excitement ebbing away like waves pulled to sea. To hear the name Namyrur out of Minho’s lips really came as a surprise. It shouldn’t shook him, though, and hoped that Minho didn’t saw his character earlier.

“Namyrur.” Minho tried the name again, more breathily, liking the way it rolled off his tongue. “It has an ancient ring to it, but it’s pretty. Reminds me of a lake.” He commented.

Honestly, is Minho trying to give him a heart attack? Taemin was sure he can only take so much. The praise he spoke filled the young warlock inside- stirred many reaction within that he couldn’t dub. As he leaned against the trunk pillar, he schooled his expression. In the dark though, it was hard to make out the healthy blush on his cheeks and he got away with his troubled look.

“The journal.” He finally piped out, pulling out the said book into view. “We should record it so we can get some sleep already.”

”From what Howl accounted, you didn’t get much in the past days. How about we discuss that, hm?” Minho replied, his tone tinged with promises of warning. Intimidated, Taemin flinched. He knew there was a catch when Minho pulled him to this seat.

“That’s a rhetorical question, aye?” Taemin pouted.

“I hope for your sake, my patience runs deep tonight.”

“Hey, don’t threaten me, you-” The young warlock wanted to argue more but Minho flicked his forehead and he winced in pain.

“I am coercing you. Pick your word.” The man corrected.

“Sheesh, why do you have to be so difficult?” Taemin’s tone rose.

“Speak for yourself.” Minho merely snickered. Loss at words, the shorter of the two grit his teeth for he found himself actually crossing over the fence he had carefully built up at Minho’s reply. He turned away from the Prince with a definite ‘hmph’, deciding that ignoring him would gnaw at him best.

“From what I understand, Howl said these nightmares of yours are causing incessant strain on your physical and you might be affected with a fever of sort. Well. I’d hate that.”

Taemin’s ears perked at that, glancing slightly to see Minho putting his hands together, resting a chin upon it and eyes still glued up at the night sky as he continued;

“I can’t help if you wouldn’t talk to me. I imagined we’re close enough for you to let me be a listener. As a liege or not.”

“Oh.” It was odd, Taemin thought. This man sparked thoughts in him he never meant to. Like right now, he’s actually halfway there into believing it’s a good idea to talk his nightmares out with him. He can tell Minho was not lying and it did little to lessen his guilt for grudging the man and his sincerity.

“We broke the circle of camping out in the freezing wind and hard ground. We are readied with a comfy bed in a safe home. Knowing you can’t sleep well in it, plagues me.”

Surface. Just the surface, thought Taemin. It wouldn’t hurt. His royal Father is watching over him. If he could be wronged in one choice, surely his senses would feel too distressed to consent. Why else would he feel it is okay to share this with Prince Minho? He inhaled fresh air deeply to clear his mind.

“In my nightmares, I see... memories of my childhood.” Taemin said.

“Memories?” Minho repeated, a little surprised that Taemin spoke up but didn’t let it show lest it discourage the bearer.

“It’s horrid, unpleasant… The memories I saw in my infancy.”

“That long ago? You… remember?”

Taemin was able to offer a weak smile, trying to keep his woeful countenance in check and shelving words so he doesn’t divulge anything too deep. “Vividly.” He muttered. “The blazes of fire. The dirty air. All the cries. The ground soaking with…” He stopped, worried and looked away, muttering; “Rain… water.”

Minho didn’t say anything and he took it as a cue to continue. “There were people I think I knew, but I couldn’t recall. And sometimes it gets so loud in my head.” Taemin remembered how the mage Knights hollered and fought against the Knights of Nairn, their war cry a shrill ringing in his ears. He remembered the thundering of stallions’ foot of cavalry armies and the heavy wheeling of battering ram. He remembered how he came to know Onew and recognized the face now not as a haunting in a dream, but a guardian in reality. And Taemin remembered his family- the only, he saw, who held him like the precious moon.

“It makes me sad but what nightmare doesn’t? But at one point, I began to consider these as reminders and not nightmares. They make me believe than sad. Because in them, I saw my Father.”

“I only know my Father from there. I saw him holding me and my heart was beating when he pressed a hand on my chest.” Taemin gently put a hand over his chest, remembering how he felt his warmth flowed from his tiny body to Father’s fair hand. “He would always whisper ‘I love you and thus there are nothing to fear’. But some other times, he whispers ‘I will watch over you and thus there are no harm to come’. I like his voice.” The young warlock broke off, the flashes of what came after that scene crawled in his mind.
The bony hands that came reaching for him- to take him from whence he came and the torments that will come for him should the promise not be upheld. Taemin closed his eyes, the sentence ‘The child will see it done’ echoing from within, withering some parts of his spirit. He never saw it till the end for it always shook him awake in a fit of terror and panic.

Minho watched Taemin’s countenance change and wondered if the boy was reliving the worst part of the nightmares. From what he gather, Taemin is experiencing recurring nightmares and although it was unusual to hear that the boy could remember something so strongly that happened during so young an age, Minho believed his words. How can’t he when Taemin’s expression paled intensely? Minho wandered if the scenery reflected an attack on his home village and wanted to ask of what reminder he spoke of but guessing it might touch a nerve, Minho asked instead;

“Is it not all bad because you could see your Father?” The prince pride himself over the small smile that pulled at the young warlock’s lips and sharply glanced away with his own.

“Not just Father… I saw Onew, I get to see such a beautiful place.” Taemin replied happily. I get to see Namyrur, the thought came unbidden- fall to ruin and loss, the bitterness biting deep inside. He glared at Minho, the prince of Nairn, the reek of menace filled the air in a split second. But he gathered himself, pointedly looked away to dam his anger. He was surprised to experience such a reaction towards Minho but a small part in his heart was strangely glad. For growing too fond to Minho would render him useless. He had a part to play.

“Onew? Late Lord Junsu’s aide?”

“He’s my guardian.” Taemin explained, casually reminded of the older man’s clumsy quirks and was hit with another bout of pang at the memory. Through his dreams, Taemin heard of many names hollered to and fro the battlefield and the burning town. He memorized almost all of the faces as it recurred and when bodies fell lifeless to the ground, they did not pass away nameless to the young warlock. However amidst them, stood Onew, who, from what Taemin knows, was the Senior Mage Knight servicing for Namyrur’s defence brigade. He was King Jaejoong’s Knight. Onew brought much light to Taemin’s life when they met because it was the moment Taemin realized he wasn’t a lone wolf.

“Huh. He’s always so quiet and observant. I didn’t know you were kindred.” Minho commented.

It was then that Taemin was reminded of Onew’s advice- how the time to carry out his duty as the last of Namyrur will come unfold by itself. And he wondered if the man was right or Taemin just didn’t pay proper attention to address the situation. His eyes settled on the Prince of Nairn. He reasoned to himself but faltered nonetheless. His chest hurts and rued the guilt that plagued him persistently. Taemin considered letting this chance wash away but Onew’s voice rang from within, repeating in persistence- my conscience, thought Taemin, knows better.

But when Minho pulled out the dagger from the scabbard he buckled to his boots and twirled it in his hands, Taemin’s eyes gleamed at the sight. In a single heartbeat, Taemin envisioned Onew looking at him disapprovingly when he tells him that he lacked the initiative to do it. Remorse was now quickly replaced with desperation and fear for disappointing his whole kin and the only one who oversaw his deliverance. Taemin doesn’t think he could bear it if Onew shut him off. If he accomplished this- everything would conclude. His responsibility will be lifted. Minho was saying something but it didn’t register in Taemin as his focus shrunk into the dagger, imagining the blood of a Nairn Prince coating it red. He didn’t know how he could produce such uninvited vision but his mind reeled and a spell hung on his tongue; poised to spill.

“Minho.” He had called; his hand gently caught the wrist of the young princeling- the hand that was twirling the dagger stopped its movement. He took the dagger and rested it dangerously close to the prince’s wrist- his lifeline. When Minho turned to him, Taemin searched his eyes and his lips trembled. As the forest rustled with the wind slithering amongst its leaves, he expressed;

“Arnil ec Minho ran Na’In, fir sol nu wa rocca iraven das efil ma hunn…”

“Prince Minho of Nairn, should I desire you lie asleep with the absence of your soul…”

Over the wind swings that rose a notch higher, a sound like a slap resounding from the dark woods far behind Minho suddenly jerked Taemin’s attention and drew his eyes to a couple of yellow orbs that stared back. With more focus, a furry, round animal half his size came into view; its eyes glowing. Taemin’s own eyes grew in disbelieve. They were visited by the animal that Taemin had happened upon once!- in the scant expanse of Nairn Castle’s back forest, before Kai struck an arrow at its feet that bounded away in fright then. It had given him visions of Namyrur, of old times, of the war. His interest now climbed volumes at it. The wind froze mid gust- leaving a ringing silence long enough for Taemin to perceive the few words that spilled from its narrow muzzle;

Find… the key…?

It bobbed its head once, twice- in an animal-like behaviour and turned to scurry. Taemin bolted at its direction, dropping the dagger in the process. Little did he register Minho calling, “Taemin?!”, as the Prince ran to catch up.

“What is it?” Minho asked as he searched in confusion.

“I saw, um, an animal or something!”

“…Or something?” The taller man questioned. He was a little taken aback at the servant boy’s behaviour or how he spoke of a foreign language not a minute earlier. He rested his hands on his waist and deliberately let out a loud sigh. “You poor, sleep deprived child.” Declared Minho with a pitying tone.

“What? No! I’m not kidding, Minho, I really saw it! And it-“

“Spoke?” The man cut in and Taemin turned with alarm. “Of course it spoke, Taemin. I always knew you were capable of understanding languages beyond human tongue.” Minho gloated mockingly, almost kindly, with a smile gracing his princely features. Taemin shot him glare daggers.

“Now why don’t we come inside and I warm you a nice mug of milk so you’ll sleep snug, hm?”

“Stop it, Minho, I’m gonna wring your neck.”

“Of course, I’ll allow you the honour before breakfast, eh… Let’s call it quits for now.” The Prince muttered as he dragged the boy to Truce’s home. Taemin gazed hopelessly at the dark forest where the animal dwelled, his murderous intention sapping away into nothing and aching confusion drumming his head.

Minho had fixed him with a really nice mug of hot milk like he promised. But that night, he still saw the nightmares behind closed eyes.

For What It's Worth; First Half (Continuation)