Finding Yourself Part I

He stood before a huge stone gate, overgrown with wild ivy. He seemed to be recalling its glory days and the fortified castle to which it served as the main entrance. All that remained of the wooden gate were shreds of boards hanging on steel hinges forged in the shape of bird claws. Hern hesitated, checked the contents of his potions belt, adjusted the strap of his dagger at his right ankle, and cracked his neck, moving his bald head rapidly from shoulder to shoulder. He listened intently; dawn was just breaking, and the forest was beginning to come to life. This was the perfect moment to enter the castle ruins; the three creatures guarding it, known to the locals as shekels, should have returned to their daily lairs, exhausted by the night's vigil. He glanced back as if expecting someone to call him back; no one was there, only the sun's rays timidly filtering through the great boughs of the old oaks. The air smelled of damp dew. As was his habit, he whispered to himself,

"Well, Hern, old man, it's time for you."

He quickly drank the contents of the small vial and threw it away. He took

his short swords in both hands, unique, slightly curved, flat-topped, and had mastered combat with them to perfection.

The taste of the potion shook him gently. He moved forward, elbowed aside the ivy hanging in front of him, and, leaning silently, passed through the stronghold gate, moving further between the fallen

buildings of the castle grounds. The stone floor was overgrown with grass and moss, wild ivy seeping everywhere, webbing every inch of the ruined walls with cobwebs. He jumped onto the stairs leading

to the main castle, moving quickly but silently. He was halfway there when he suddenly heard a sound that froze his blood.

He froze, motionless. The shackle was right behind him, he could smell its breath.

They both waited for their opponent's move. Hern seemed afraid of the sight that awaited him, and Shekel was surprised that anyone had dared to enter the ruins.

Hern moved first, leaping three steps toward the guru, spinning as he flew. Swords slashed the air. The creature didn't move, merely staring at the desperate man. The brave man finally saw his opponent. It was a three-meter-tall, humanoid monster with glowing black skin. Red eyes glowed in the center of its small head, and beneath them a mouth full of

sharp fangs, from which something like saliva dripped. Its large arms ended in paws with sickle-shaped claws. The monster roared again, spreading its arms wide and shifting its torso forward,

visually enlarging its size, but it didn't attack.

Hern realized the monster wasn't frightening him, but summoning reinforcements. He had to attack; he had a chance of defeating the beasts only by fighting each one individually. He moved forward, ducking under Shackles' right arm. The swords cleaved the monster's side. The beast howled, clutching the wound with one paw, fell to one knee, and braced itself against the steps with the other. The second attack was easy; one precise cut decapitated the creature. The massive body slid down the steps.

"Too easy."

He whispered to himself, wiping his forehead.

"Two more."

He pulled another vial from his belt, drank the potion, and then quickly moved up the stairs. He wondered if Shackles had heard his companion's call. At the end of the stairs stood two winged lions decorating the entrance to the main castle, or rather, what remained of it. He leaped over a pile of stones at the entrance and entered. He found himself in a vast hall surrounded by bare walls, standing only thanks to the ceiling beams connecting them. Hern knew what he was looking for was in the castle's basement; he had to find the entrance. He ran along the walls, carefully examining the flagstones on the floor; there was no entrance in this hall. He returned to the stairs and looked around the castle grounds. Slowly descending, he noticed a breach in the wall at the base of the stairs. This could be the entrance to the dungeons; he wasn't mistaken. Darkness reigned within, and he groped his way forward, clinging to the damp walls. He felt the handle of a torch hanging on the wall, pulled it out, and lit it. A soft, dancing, chewed light illuminated the corridor. He held the torch out in front of him and froze, one step in front of him the shekel was sleeping soundly, he slowly and carefully took out his sword and took a convenient position in the narrow corridor. The impact of metal on stone shattered the sepulchral silence of the underground, the monster's head lay next to the body, and Hern continued on, unable to believe his luck. He reached a fork in the corridors, the paths led in three directions, he was very confident after overcoming two shekels, without a second thought he moved straight ahead, he walked maybe ten meters without noticing the opening in the wall along the way, a powerful blow to the back knocked him off his feet, he fell five meters forward, the torch fell from his hands, he tried to get himself together, but before he had time, the shekel grabbed him by the neck with a large paw, lifted him up and pressed him against the wall so that he was swinging his legs in the air, the grip didn't let him breathe, he had to act quickly, he reached for the dagger with his ankle and with all his strength he plunged it into the monster's shoulder, the grip broke, as he fell, he had access to the swords on his back, he drew them in a flash, but he didn't have time to use them, the howling monster threw him like a toy.

He fell a few meters again, but this time he managed to get himself together, because the shekel was busy dagger stuck in her arm.

When she turned to him, he was ready to fight. The monster roared, making a familiar arm movement. The warrior attempted an attack like in the first fight, but was blocked. A strong kick threw him back again. Rising, he saw Shekel charging at him. He lunged forward between her legs, slashing blindly with his swords. He must have hit the target, because the beast staggered. He attacked immediately from behind, driving one of his swords into the creature's back at the level of the small of the back. Shekel slammed him against the wall again, this time with less force. Then she began to pull the sword from her back. This was the moment for the final attack. Hern jumped up and, falling with his sword held in both hands, beheaded the monster. The limp

corpse fell to the ground. He was left alone, able to breathe, pulled the sword from Shekel's back, and picked up the torch, which blazed with a stronger flame. All that remained was to find the books and manuscripts of Prince Berdegor, the last ruler of this once-magnificent castle.

*

The traveler stopped talking and sipped a thin glass of wine from a clay tankard. A long moment passed. The silent listeners, who had been sitting with gaping faces, bombarded him with questions in unison.

"Who was Hern?

" "Why did he need books and manuscripts?

" "I've heard of the Ruins of Szekla, but not of the prince.

" "Tell me, tell me!

" "Yes, we're listening!"

He fell into thought, looking at those gathered around his bench. Six children stared at him with wide-eyed curiosity, two women caring for the children whispered in each other's ears. The two soldiers guarding the inn were finally able to spend some time interestingly. The man sitting opposite the old man was most interested in the story. He

eagerly noted down every word, and it was he who was most anxious to continue the story.

"I can't tell any more; it's a long and complicated story,

and I must find lodging and food.

" "Innkeeper!"

the writing gentleman shouted.

"Will there be room in the hayloft for a tramp?

" "What can't be found?"

replied the fat man, barely fitting behind the bar counter.

"Well, then serve the traveler some dinner; he'll be my guest tonight. And don't forget the best wine."

The storyteller lifted his head and looked from under his large, tattered hood at his benefactor; if it weren't for him, he'd be sleeping by some garbage dump again. He asked.

"What did I do to deserve such a staff?

" "I want to hear the whole story, and I want it to be worth my expense.

" "I can't promise that.

" "I'll judge for myself, start from the very beginning. Who was Hern?

"

The story takes place many years ago in the lands called Helvetica. It was a peaceful land ruled by no one. Each city had its own authorities and laws, and the princes stayed out of each other's way. Once a year, they met in the city of Madaksa to settle any disputes

and discuss the future of Helvetica. No one at the time could have imagined what the near future might hold thanks to Hern Jaz. This name was to be etched in the memory of all the inhabitants of Helvetica. No one truly knew who Hern Jaz was, not even he himself. He was found by the Brothers of Wud Monastery while searching for amber on the beaches of the Sea of ​​Jaz. He lay unconscious and naked; he might have been around sixteen or eighteen years old at the time. This was near Port Laurens, so the Brothers were there asking about shipwrecks and whether anyone was looking for a young boy lost at sea. To no avail, the survivor was unable to describe himself; it seemed he had lost his memory due to the intense experience. The only thing that could help identify the survivor was a strange tattoo on his left shoulder blade: a bull's head with large horns and furious eyes. Two unusually shaped swords emerged from behind his head. Beneath the design were three symbols, resembling a coat of arms. The people of Wudcza decided to take him to their monastery to become one of them. They named him Hern, which in their liturgical language meant "I don't know," and nicknamed him Jaz of the sea, which to them was his mother. Hern quickly settled into the monastery and proved to be a very apt student. Together with his guardian, Brother Jergis, he spent days in the monastery library, studying books and listening to teachings. But his greatest pleasure came from watching the monastery guards practice under Brother Tyber. Tybr was a true warrior—not too tall, stocky, heavily muscled, and very agile. He didn't fit the bill, neither in appearance nor in manner. He always wore a sleeveless leather jerkin laced at the wide neck, belted with a knight's belt, and black linen trousers tucked into high boots. His bare shoulders showed signs of battle, his wrinkled, unshaven face, and his gray hair, tied in a braid, testified to his considerable life experience. He commanded respect and held immense authority among the guards and students alike. Hern always sneaked into the training room late at night and repeated the holds, evasions, and sword, dagger, and spear attacks he had memorized from Tybr's lessons. It seemed to him that he wasn't learning, but merely recalling and perfecting long-learned techniques. One night, the Tiber came upon him. Disturbed by the noise in the hall, he watched Hern from hiding for a moment. His face was filled with astonishment. None of the Brothers who served as the monastery's guard were so agile, and none could wield weapons so skillfully.

"I am deeply impressed, Brother."

Tybr said, entering the room slowly. The young Brother stood frozen, stuttering, trying to explain.

"Brother Tybr? I... I... I just wanted to...

" "What's your name?"

"Hern, Hern Jaz, brother."

"Are you the one found by the sea?

" "Yes, Brother.

" "How long have you been with us?

" "It'll be two and... two years and three months."

Hern stood in the middle of the room with his head bowed, holding a long staff imitating a spear in his hands, the candlelight highlighting every muscle on his sweaty body. Jaz wasn't the type of big, muscular man;

he was slender, with proportionate, perfectly sculpted muscles.

Tybr walked around him, examining him closely.

"Where did you learn to fight like that? You're as agile as a wild cat from Sleepy Hills?"

"I'm observing your lessons, Brother."

"You flatter me, young man, but no one

could have made such progress in such a short time. I've been practicing my skills

for thirty years and I'm far from perfect. "

Hern took these words as praise, raised his head, and felt more confident.

"You will report to Brother Wirgin tomorrow after morning meditations. I will be waiting for you there with Jergis; we will decide your future."

Jaz's head dropped again.

"And now to your cell."

Tybr finished and quickly left the room.

Lying on the wooden bed, Hern pondered his meeting with Brother Tybr, what would happen tomorrow. He hoped they wouldn't expel him, and if they did, what he would do, where he would go. He hadn't slept all night. He couldn't concentrate during meditations that morning, so he took advantage of the leader's inattention and quietly slipped out of the Altar Chamber. He ran down the corridor to the Council Chamber, where

Wirgin, the chairman of the monastery council, held his office during the day. The Three Brothers were already discussing him; his fate was hanging in the balance. He crouched by the door and listened.

"He's very strange, what I saw yesterday worries me greatly, he has fighting in his blood, I don't know anyone with such skills."

Tybr spoke clearly, his voice rising.

"You're exaggerating, Brother. I've been spending entire days with him for two years and haven't noticed anything.

" "Aren't you surprised, Jergis, that he learns three times faster than others and casts spells with such ease?"

Jergis pointedly grabbed his long gray beard. The head of the guard turned to Wirgin.

"And that tattoo, has anything been known yet?

" "Diuran hasn't found any information about such a coat of arms or symbols in our collections. I've sent messengers to Magus Drakon and Melisa, he's waiting for an answer.

" "What are we going to do with it?"

Tybr was clearly nervous. Hern's guardian kept stroking his beard. Wirgin stood before the window, his hands clasped behind him.

"There's something else, remember Melisa's prophecy from eighteen years ago? If it's him?"

Silence fell, Jergis sat down, stopped playing with his beard.

"If he has to stay here, we have to watch over him."

Tybr looked as if he had a revelation, as if he suddenly understood everything.

"I'll take care of him; with the right training, we might be able to cheat fate. If it's him.

" "Then it's decided, call Hern, and we'll tell him our decisions."

Wirgin sat down in a large chair at the head of the oak table, Jergis next to him on the right. Tybr went to summon his apprentice.

Hern quickly sat down on a bench against the wall next to the door, thoughts swirling in his head: who am I, what prophecy, what are they afraid of?

The great doors of the Council Chamber creaked open, and Tybr appeared.

"Oh, you're here, come in."

Tybr sat down on Wirgin's left, and he turned to Jaz, who was standing on the other side of the table.

"I've heard you're secretly practicing combat. Why?

" "I'd like to learn everything."

"Brother Jergis told me you're very intelligent; we lack enlightened, educated brothers.

" "I could reconcile both of these teachings.

" "We've decided otherwise. You'll come under Brother Tyber's care and become his apprentice. He'll teach you not only fighting techniques, but also the code of chivalry. If he finds you don't meet our expectations, we'll have to part ways. Do you accept our terms?

" "Yes, Brother, and thank you for your understanding.

" "Now leave, pack your things, and you'll take up residence in the guard building."

Hern left the room, slowly strolling down the corridor, constantly hearing the brothers' conversation in his head. What his past held, he hadn't thought about it until now. Who am I, where did I come from, how did I end up on the beach?"

Hundreds of similar questions raced through his mind, giving him no peace.

*

"Well, enough for today, the rooster will crow soon."

Snufkin stretched and yawned for a long time. The children had long since left, having fallen asleep on the bench. One by one, the nannies carried them to bed. The guards slept, leaning against each other. The inn was completely empty.

"A fascinating story."

The gentleman said, finishing his notes.

"We'll finish it tomorrow .

" "I'm leaving tomorrow ."

The traveler interrupted.

"Where to! And the story, you must finish it. Until then, you'll be my guest. Tomorrow I'll rent you a room. Well, good night, we'll meet for breakfast. Incredible!"

The guest didn't hide his surprise, but he agreed to the unknown scribe's offer: food and lodging in exchange for his words—a simply good deal.

He stretched again and went to the stable for the hay to rest his weary bones.

Morning came quickly, waking him up to a stable boy leading the horses for the departing guests. The traveler slowly gathered himself, dusted off his long gray coat, put on the hood, and headed for the inn.

The innkeeper greeted him at the door.

"Hello, storyteller, Mr. Van der Heiven has ordered breakfast for you; he'll be down in a few moments. Would you like beer or wine?

" "Wine,"

he replied, and sat down in the same spot as last evening. The innkeeper was just serving the meal when the listener appeared, holding rolls of blank paper in one hand, writing utensils and ink in the other. He was clearly a wealthy, elegant gentleman, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark green jacket. From beneath the sleeves peeked the wide sleeves of a white shirt, finished with a jabot at the neck, fastened with a tasteful gold pin. His tight-fitting green trousers were tucked into high riding boots. His shiny black hair, pulled back into a ponytail, contrasted sharply with his matte, powdered face.

"You're here, great, let's eat and we can begin. "

Tearing off a large slice from a large loaf of bread, the old man asked directly.

"Why are you so interested in this story?"

"First, let me introduce myself; that will explain everything. I am Bert Johan Van der Heigen, one of the court writers of King Lothair III, ruler of the united lands of Telenor."

The writer bowed low and sat down.

"Call me Bert. I'll tell you in confidence that you're saving my position at the royal court. Lothair is a fan of such stories; once a year he sends his writers out into the world to search for new fairy tales, myths, and legends. I've been traveling for two months now and nothing."

Bert poured himself some wine and continued.

"Thanks to this story, I'll finally return to Telenor and spend the rest of the year with the king at Castle Grendolw."

The traveler tore off more pieces of bread and dipped them in a wooden bowl of scrambled eggs, remaining silent. The scribe began again.

"What do they call you? I can't call my savior a tramp.

" "They call me old Ben.

" "Where are you from?

" "From afar.

" "I understand, I understand."

They spent the rest of breakfast in silence. The host cleared away the stole after the meal.

"Would you like some more wine?"

Van der Heigen waved him off and began preparing

to write.

"Do you have any tobacco here?"

Ben pulled a wooden pipe and his essentials from his bag.

"Tobacco?

" Bert grimaced.

"We have tobacco, sir, the finest Celtyrian. Would you like some?"

He filled the pipe slowly with great care; it looked like a ritual.

After a moment, white-and-yellow smoke with a delicate vanilla aroma wafted into the air.

"Tobacco, pipe, whimsy," the scribe muttered under his breath. – Enough of this good stuff, start Ben, I'm ready.

This is just the beginning, you can find the rest on the website

www.hern-jaz.republika.pl, welcome