Farewell to the Hermit

1587-10-29
Hermit’s Clearing, Blackwood

The air was cold and clean when the master others call von Lychenar said it was time for me to go. A week of cuts had settled into the joints. Bruises mapped where I had argued with timing and lost. He corrected me with a stick and a small, flat smile. When I stood right, he said nothing. That was the praise.

He pressed my mended lute into my hands. “You are not for trees and stumps,” he said. “Go where people crowd each other’s edges. Learn where halls echo and clocks keep time.” He named a city I had sung about and never seen. He named a teacher I had heard only in rumor. “Merryen of Maraisbourg,” he said. “Ambition will hurry you. Use structure to slow it.”

I bowed. He set a hand on my shoulder. “Do not let the world split you,” he said. “Keep the library you carry and the craft you are learning in one spine.”

I stepped out of the clearing with staff and lute and the new weight of a waster across my back. I looked once over my shoulder and saw only spruce. The path down was damp with needles. Far off, a bell counted the hour. I matched it with my feet and kept the measure.