Chapter the Last – the Hermit of Mountainside

What with the daily excitement of telling stories, deciding paths, and in-general-questing, days passed. Sage told her mother that Daddy was gone, Elizabeth apologized again for selling Gregory, and most of the party began to think that Henri was quickly becoming attracted to Sage’s mother.

Gregory became the unofficial navigator since he was the oldest. They all agreed that to travel to another town so quickly after Handrin wouldn’t be wise; so, Gregory led them up a mountain. It wasn’t an easy slope, but everyone was so happy that they didn’t notice. Gregory was happy to be out of slavery; Henri was happy to be completing his journey to weaponiersmanship, but more happy to be next to Lady Luck; Lady Luck herself was in bliss just to be next to Sage, but Henri contributed, too; Sage was overjoyed to be back with her mother; and Elizabeth was having the time of her life among friends.

That’s the way they were when they reached the plateau on the mountainside. It was a grassy expanse with more slope on the back and a little cliff to the front. “Perfect spot to make camp,” Gregory thought aloud, picking at the strings of his mandolin. The instrument, though all the worse for its harrowing adventures in Handrin, still played with its customary shrill tones. Sage slid down from Henri’s back, which she’d been riding, and went to read a sign that was half-overgrown with weeds.

“‘Welcome to Mountainside,’ it says,” she announced to the rest. “Do you suppose this used to be a town?”

“I don’t know,” answered her mother. “But I’m sure my brilliant daughter would like to help gather firewood.”

“Mother, do I have to…?”

Elizabeth volunteered to help with the chore, because Sage was so little. She ventured a little ways into the forest for a dead tree or a log, and had a small armful when she looked up and saw, through the branches of a prickly weed tree, a little house. Spellbound with delight at the cabin’s appearance, she walked forward. She didn’t see anyone inside, and the dilapidated little place seemed abandoned enough…

She walked forward more, and her hand was inches from the door when she heard a voice behind her. “Why, hello,” it said, in a perfectly calm manner. Elizabeth turned, startled, to find an old man, dressed quaintly in a long brown robe, with an armload of firewood that matched her own. “I haven’t seen a dress like that in a long time,” the ancient said good-naturedly. “And I must say, it looks lovely on you. Times may’ve changed,” he continued, shifting the weight of the wood, “but we still have to burn wood. Wonder when that’ll change.”

Elizabeth, who’d been too shocked to speak, moved aside as the old man walked to his door. He pushed it open and walked inside. “Come in,” he urged hospitably. “No use standing out in the open, however lovely it may be this afternoon.” Elizabeth went in, for the man seemed harmless enough. “You can set down your firewood,” he said once she was inside. She looked around, out of habit: the floor was the forest’s, swept of leaves, the bed was of spring boughs, covered in a mattress of fall’s leaves. On the open fire bubbled something that smelled delicious, especially to Elizabeth, who had been dining on little but bread, water, and the occasional wild nut. “I’m just an old man, but it pleases my incurable ego,” the ancient joked lightly, “when people call me Hermit. Now, I don’t suppose you have companions on the plateau?”

“Yes, I do,” Elizabeth said.

“Why don’t you bring them here, dear girl. There’s more than enough stew. It’s going to rain, too.”

The sky was bright blue, but Elizabeth thanked him and made her way back to the plateau. Gregory looked up at her coming. “’Oy,” he exclaimed. “Where’s the firewood? You didn’t forget¸ did you?”

“No,” Elizabeth said, and then quickly explained what had happened. As she finished, the sound of faraway thunder rumbled. “It is going to rain,” she mumbled, amazed. Gregory was picking up camp and piling it on Henri.

“Well don’t waste time jawing about it,” the minstrel said, adding his mandolin to the rapierman’s load. “Let’s go!”

And so they did. It was two more minutes until it was pouring and they were filing into the hermit’s hut, soaking wet. Somehow all six people fit into the little house, and once everyone was settled the hermit spoke. “Diverse group, you all.”

“C’n say that again,” broke in the minstrel gaily. “We’re a regular circus, that we are.”

Hermit smiled and began to ladle out stew for the travelers. “Circus performers can always stand a good square meal, I’ve found. But supper’s at a price. Tell me a tale, won’t you? I’ve heard mine over and over again, and I’d dearly like a new one.”

There was a little pause, then Elizabeth spoke. “Well,” she said, “I have a story. It begins in a little town, not too far from here. It started with a misfortune, and it looks like that might be the way it ends….”

While thunder blared and lightning cracked, Elizabeth told her own story without letting on that it was true. When it got to a point, Gregory picked up the tale and carried it until Paynsville, where Sage began to speak. She spoke until it came time for her mother to enter the tale. Last came the weaponier, who tacked on the ending, after which there was a deafening clap of thunder and silence.

The hermit’s eyes twinkled. “Began with a misfortune,” he said, “and certainly plenty of those along the way,” he continued, “but it needn’t end with one. You’ve been seeking a good solution?”

Surprised faces looked up at the hermit. Even though his expression was simple, it seemed amazing to them. “Yes,” Elizabeth said. “We’re questing the impossible.”

“Hardly,” said the hermit. “I think you needn’t search any longer.”

“Why?” asked Sage. “Do you know where we can find one?”

The hermit smiled. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, shaking his head, mirth in his eyes. “But it looks to me as if you’re all very fortunate.

“You,” he said and looked at Henri, who shuffled instinctively. “You have friends who support you, and that is more than any man can ask for.

“You,” he said to Lady Luck, “have your child, and that is more than any mother can hope for.

“You,” he said to Sage, “have your mother and you have your whole life ahead of you. I will tell you now, little one: life is so precious. There is no greater gift.

“You,” he said to Gregory, “have your freedom. You have liberty, free will, and the choices to make in your own life. Wealthy are you, my minstrel friend.

“And you,” he said, turning lastly to Elizabeth. “You had it all in the beginning. Trite as it may seem, you have gone on a quest for what you already had all around you.”

“I had nothing,” Elizabeth protested. “Nothing to lose.”

“You had your parents,” retorted the hermit. “Your parents, their love.” Elizabeth’s cheeks felt hot with shame. “Not to say you don’t have much more now,” the hermit went on. “You have four more friends and much more knowledge, which as jewel to be envied. But you, my little friend, had much to begin with.” He let Elizabeth have a little more time to think on that, and then he continued. “But if you’ve learned your lesson, then there isn’t any point to sitting in my little hut and feeling ashamed. Come now,” he said, standing and picking up stew bowls. “It’ll stop raining soon, and you must all hurry home.”

“I haven’t any home to go to,” protested the minstrel.

“Try Paynsville,” suggested the hermit. “That city has always needed merriment.”

“I must return to my master,” Henri said.

“You haven’t a master,” replied the hermit. “You’re a weaponier now. You are your own master. Get back to Handrin; that city needs more justice than I can express.”

“And I?” asked Sage of the hermit.

“You,” replied the hermit, “could be off to Silenston, because there is a man there whose story needs telling, and a town that needs rebuilding. You, my little girl,” he continued, “are the brightest mind for the job.” To Elizabeth, he didn’t need to say anything. She knew well enough that she was going home to Pitterburg. Just as they finished their words the sound of the rain stopped and they all stepped out into the fresh, wet air. They said their goodbyes in high spirits because each was exited about what the hermit had said. Gregory whooped from sheer silliness and set off at a jog away.

“G’bye, Hermit,” he called as he left, “I’m off to Paynsville, as y’ said!”

Henri set off with Lady Luck and Sage, “as far as the forest’s edge,” he said. Just to make sure they were safe. “Then off to Handrin,” he said. “There are more gamblers to right.”

Sage was already reconstructing Silenston in her head. “Their plumbing systems will be out of date…” she mumbled as she scribbled figures in the air. “A twenty-league aqueduct carrying ten gallons of water per second…” Her mother stroked the child’s golden hair as they walked.

Elizabeth was the last to leave and shouldered her haversack at the door. “Pitterburg is just over that hill,” said the hermit, pointing east. “It won’t be an easy journey, and I judge your life will still be hard. But remember this, Elizabeth Fielding: there really isn’t a better solution than love. Try that approach, and you’ll have wealth beyond earthly measure.”

Elizabeth bid him goodbye and left for Pitterburg. She reached the crest of the hill and looked back. Simple, she thought to herself, but good. She had found a solution after all.

The End.