Talisman: The Dervish's Tale

Chapter 2

'What did he look like?'

'He was a pale man like yourself. He wore side-whiskers, and something of a moustache – these all linked up. You know the style?'

The Blacksmith's gaze was downwards. 'Aye, and the man. His hair was light brown?' He looked up. His jawline was tightened.

'Yes.'

As the Blacksmith moved, his sooted hands clapped a fist in a palm and his gait rocked with each strike. After some moments of circling, he sped a little over a single step, then began to speak. He did not look up as he continued to pace.

'Stranger, I say this honestly to you, and though it may ring gruffly to you, know that I regret. That man is a thief a known thief, and he yet should have known better. I am ashamed that yourself, as a visitor, have been had by him. Were I able, I would give you the sword you desire. However, I will not.' Here he paused briefly 'You see my boy there. I have him to fend for, and myself to fend for for him. His mother was taken. The land is unquiet. I apologise I cannot offer charity.'

'Good blacksmith I understand.'

The green corn grew like spears along the road track. There was no fence. When the children ran out from the field, it was clear they had had a fright.

'Wait.' They ran either side of him. 'Wai...!' He recognised the seeming siblings from the village, who soon disappeared over the rise. The afternoon was still. He turned to the parting in the stalks.

The path through the ripening corn ended in a flattened area. At its centre lay a man. Above his head, and below his feet, the shoots still rose, outwards. All else about him, for some yards, the plants were bent at their base to the ground, as if by a blunt scythe. The man's head was tousled with black hair, the rest of him was armoured. He was resting on a white mat.

'Mind my light, man.'

'My apologies, sir.' The Dervish moved so the sun fell again on the man, whose eyes remained closed.

'I saw two children running. They seemed to come from here.' It had been half a minute.

'Hmm. Yes, children are easily scared.'

Before another half-minute was gone, the man on the ground spoke first, through a smile he had worn the whole time. 'You have a mission in this land. To pursue it, you should head north. You will meet a meet a man there, dressed much like myself.'

The Dervish questioned the man more, but he got no response. Walking down the road in a sour mood, he looked over to the sun as the corn field fell away to one fallow with clover. There was a silver flash underneath it, and he watched the great white wings bear the dark-haired figure away to the North, with his eyes now wide.