Path of the Wind

1
The wizened old man turns slowly to look at his charge. The ache in his bones making even this small movement a test of his will. Oh, to be so young again. Too look at the world with all it’s opportunities with eyes untamed by time. He shuffles to a chair and slowly lowers himself into it.
“You want to leave.” The old man makes this statement without turning his head.
“Yes. It is time.” The sounds coming from the old man cause a moment of concern before it’s identified as laughter. “Time, what do you know about time?”

For a moment both of them contemplate their own thoughts in silence. “I suppose in a way you are right. Change is in the wind and it calls to you, the same way it once called to me. So what is it you want from an old man?” He turns to look at the youngling, eyes bright as his own had been when he left in search of his own destiny, ages past. In front of him stands the boy he brought into his home a mere ten years ago, wet and bedraggled yet proud. Also standing there is the man he has become, tall, broad of shoulder and still proud. The handsome young face splits into a wide grin. “A blessing, of course.” His eyes hold the only hint of his self doubt, a cloud that shows his true need – approval.

“Ahh! Well, come, bend your knee.” The young man kneels in front of the old and still towers over him. His head bows while his curved shoulders show all his respect and love. Jasco lays his right hand on the dark hair and his left on the strong, wide shoulder.
“Go with honour. Never act without thinking. Never think without feeling. Never feel without holding to hope.” A moment they stay thus, frail old arms pinning the strong young man to the ground. Then the young man rises to his full height and squares his shoulders. “Thank you.” Again it is his eyes that give the whole message, showing all the emotion that no self respecting young man would ever express in words. I’m sorry, I’m exited, I will make you proud and I love you.

A long time later a woman enters the room. She moves over too the window, intending to draw the heavy drapes. “No Catalina, leave them. Tonight I want to see the stars come out.” She moves over to the old man and seats herself on the chair next to him. “Then I will keep watch with you.” They sit in the slowly darkening room and watch as the sky’s colour drain out of it. With the dark comes a chill that causes the woman to draw a soft quilt over the old man’s knees. As the first stars blink into being, she turns to regard the man next to her. “At least you will have the peace and quiet you have been begging for, for the last ten years.” The old man turns his head and smiles ruefully. “Catalina, I’m afraid there will be too much quiet and no peace until he returns.” She returns his smile, gets up and moves towards the door. As she reaches it she turns. “Aye, but he will return.” With that she leaves the room and closes the door softly behind her. The old man sits and watches the stars as they carve their map across the velvet sky. “I will pray that he does. And hope.”


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

“We will reach the city by moonrise.”
The two men standing on the bow of the ship both glance at the darkened sky where only a steak of violet indicates where Banta, the second eye of god, has gone into hiding. They both turn towards the lit door that serves as entry to the bowels of the ship. As they walk they are constantly looking around, every small sound or movement searched out, identified and then ignored. Their shoulders are stiff and their hands never stray far from their weapons.

Inside their quarters they seat themselves around the table, one watches the door while the other faces the window. In-between the watching they study each other’s faces, noting the changes that have imprinted themselves there. The widened eyes, red-rimmed and blood shot. The skin around the eyes is tight and the lips thin. The whole face is pale and bloodless. “Are you sure he will help?” The man who breaks the silence does not look like he should be wearing the mask of fear that has become his constant companion.
“Will he help? That is a certainty. I just hope he can.” The second man also has the appearance of one who has little to fear in the world, but now he knows it as his constant companion. “If anybody will know what to do it is Jasco, but he is old and frail and I have not heard from him since before the winter.” Both men contemplate this as the boat dips and sways them closer to the current goal, Terestiun, Pearl of the Eastern Trading Kompanje.