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Which elevated him from stranger to friend in seconds.
Before long, his stool was surrounded by friendly, back-thumping locals. He sang along with their songs and engaged in conversations, some nonsensical, most insightful.
He listened as best as his hol’ pickled mind allowed.
In time, raw honesty was unveiled as his new friends spoke of their loved ones who had been lost to the war.
With tears in their eyes, they expressed their fears for the future and their hopes for peace.
They wept as they shared their struggle, hardship, and the constant fight for survival. Their words were filled with hope and despair, dreams and nightmares.
They talked about their experiences and told stories about the battles they fought for their children, farms and eyries.
They even discussed the warmongering of the ruling classes.
Of the never-ending conflict that had claimed so many lives, and their burden weighed on his soul.
He recognised the need, the desperation in their eyes.
But there was also optimism, a yearning for peace that echoed in their voices.
As the bar cleared, he wandered back to the counter to settle his bill.
‘Young man,’ the barman growled, ‘I have been watching you all night. Your heart blazes with a passion stronger than any I have seen in years. You have a purpose, a destiny, a fire that burns within you. Yet you’re not one of us from this neighbourhood, neither Kíkara nor Kazin. Tell me, what brings you to this place?’
Killen hesitated, ‘A simple drink, that’s all. But you’re freakin’ right. There is a calling of íkan on my life.’
‘An íkan priest in the making,’ the older man murmured, ‘chosen to show the world the way to peace and prosperity.’
‘You’ve no idea,’ Killen murmured.
Perplexed, the barman raised a brow and shook his head. Still, he went on. ‘My nephew became a monk and now resides in a monastic temple in the Great Bleak. Whether you follow the divine path or one of your design, I sense you will have to sacrifice and suffer hardship. But I see in your eyes that your heart beats strong, and your purpose is just. Stand tall and carry forth the radiance of hope you bear. Katáne needs your kσχ?ς light now more than ever.’
The words pierced Killen’s soul with their kindness, and he nodded, gripping the older man’s hand with gratitude.
‘Katáne can be a dark and troubled place,’ the silver-haired Kíkara grunted, ‘but with your help, perhaps the darkness will be vanquished.’
Killen groaned.
A legion of screeching kharpies had set up shop inside his head, using his skull for practice, each successive blow increasing in volume.
Worse, a thick, firm grip shook his body, lashing it from side to side.
‘Fokk off!’ he snarled, thrashing on the fur-covered pallet.
The beating only intensified, and his stomach contracted with pain.
Sweat poured from his pores, exacerbated by the sticky, wet pre-dawn heat of the Karth Valley.
Memories of the previous night’s carousing crashed into his head.
Images of drinking moonshine whisky with the other recruits after he returned from his city sojourn flooded his mind, and he moaned.
His problems were soon compounded by a wave of cold water splashing over his prone body.
‘Oy!’ he roared, jackknifing upright.
He was about to launch into an avalanche of abuse when he stopped short at the sight of Kaxim standing over him with a no-nonsense expression on his stern face.
