*****

The branches of the Spring Tree swayed with the fragrant and renowned Farnas breeze. The winds at the peak of this mountain typically blew in from the South or East. When the wind came from the South, it carried the scent of Ramin of Rand's extensive gardens, the greatest merchant in the region. Ramin's vineyards and gardens, stretching along both sides of the southern road towards Abparakan, remained lush and green year-round. Some believed Ramin had brought ascetics from Rand who chanted peculiar songs and danced by the fire to keep the trees fruitful and green. Others thought it was his ancestral knowledge from Rand that made the difference. In the distant Southeast, the massive "Madian Azar" lake boasted pink and purple flowers floating serenely on its clear and transparent surface, exuding an aroma akin to paradise itself. Farnas' residents considered themselves fortunate for this perpetual fragrant blessing, a sentiment reflected in their prayers and religious practices passed down through generations.

While standing beside the Spring Tree and having labored for hours to sweep the area, Nana Ison finally deemed the spot clean to her satisfaction. Kamran, the teenage son of the village's confectioner, rushed over with a pot of water but accidentally spilled half of its contents on the ground.

“What are you doing, boy? There is nothing left in the pot!”

“Sorry, I just wanted to help you finish more quickly!”

Abtin observed these scenes and felt a subtle release of tension, a knot, in his temporal region. Abtin had felt that knot before, and now he could feel why it had loosened. Never having ventured outside Farnas in his entire life, he was on the brink of the very adventure he had spent countless nights daydreaming about. He had often been captivated by the tales Nana Ison regaled him with about heroes like Rostam and Arash, and during those moments, he would find himself yearning to leap from one rooftop to another or scale a towering cliff. It intrigued him how, with his typically calm demeanor and his penchant for immersing himself in art (even in his blacksmithing work, he preferred to have his master craft the tools while he handled the intricate decorations on mallet handles or the curves of bows), he burned with a fervor for an inexperienced passion. It was unclear how well this long-awaited day would match his vivid imagination.

Another knot that had formed around his temples seemed to be linked to his lingering doubts. The impending adventure filled him with excitement, yet two factors sowed seeds of uncertainty within him. First, there was Babak and the revelations about his mysterious past as disclosed by Ardeshir. Second, there was the promise his father had made, symbolized by the blue handkerchief. His father had told him that when the time was right, the handkerchief would be found hanging from the branches of the Spring Tree, marking the day they would reunite. Despite declaring in the blacksmith workshop that he intended to assist Babak in leaving Farnas while staying behind himself, Abtin could not ignore the persistent notion of venturing into the life he longed for. While one part of him was ablaze with a thirst to uncover the story of his parents, in recent years, another aspect had begun to emerge—a part that harbored doubts and leaned towards relinquishing old habits in favor of repressed interests. A few hours after their encounter in the blacksmith workshop, Abtin discovered a parchment in his house. It displayed the route map of Ardeshir and Babak, yet he resisted the allure of the "darker" part of himself, determined not to yield. Departing from Farnas under the influence of that darker facet implied that he could no longer hold his parents in high regard and that he would be forced to initiate an entirely new life. For nearly a year, the idea of leaving Farnas to seek out his parents had been taking shape. He'd heard that the people in the South possessed darker skin tones, and he reasoned that he had inherited his almond-colored skin from his mother. This was his sole lead because all he had left of his parents following the fire was a handful of coins and one or two cloth pieces and napkins, all sewn in Farnas itself.

In the period leading up to the recent incident, he had resolved that the next time Ardeshir planned to depart Farnas, he would cling to him and follow the southern route as far as possible. Afterwards, if Ardeshir chose to part ways, Abtin would continue his journey alone. He was convinced that somewhere down South, there must be a city, village, or hamlet whose inhabitants were acquainted with his family. However, Abtin had not yet managed to completely quash the possibility, however remote, that the blue handkerchief would be found just after he left Farnas. He found himself confronted with three options: assisting Babak and staying in Farnas, departing from Farnas with the help of Babak and Ardeshir, and traveling South on his own path. In terms of his parents and the voices within him, the first option represented sobriety, loyalty, and hope (habit and stupidity and fear); the second was seen as selfishness and recklessness (non-passivity and audacity); and the third option was equated with despair and autocracy and lack of identity (independence and redemption and starting fresh).

He kept repeating to himself, "When the time comes, I'll know what to do." However, deep down, he couldn't say this with full confidence, as another voice inside him promptly responded, "If it's not now, it's so close that you need to start making decisions right away." Abtin could not relinquish the hope of reuniting with his parents, yet he could not dedicate his entire life to a mere possibility. The revelation about Babak, despite his pleasant appearance, having a violent and bloodstained past, didn't just cast doubt on his assessment of Babak but on his judgment in general.

He grappled with the conflicting voices inside him, one favoring Babak's sincerity and the other reminding him of the darkness that Babak carried within. Within such a short span, the complexities of human nature became more apparent to him than ever, and digesting these revelations was a task that typically took several months, yet Abtin had to grapple with it in just a few days.

His attention snapped back to the present when he heard someone instructing him:

“Abtin, my dear, go to Zaniar and help him bring the ‘Prayer Chair.’"

Although he did not immediately realize which elder among those bustling around the preparations for the Spring Tree celebration had given the order, he responded with a simple "aye" and began walking towards the village. The "Prayer Chair" was actually a heavy, ancient stool used by the religious leaders of Farnas for generations during ceremonies. It was the place where they stood to recite the ritual of thanksgiving loudly, allowing the people to join in. Farnas had been without a priest for decades, and one of the respected elders had taken on this role in recent years. As Abtin made his way back to the village, his thoughts consumed him, causing him to walk with his head down, oblivious to his surroundings. His feet seemed to navigate the path automatically while he contemplated the pressing matter that had recently come to his attention. While he wished to convince himself that when the time came, he would instinctively know what to do, his heart remained unsatisfied with this answer.

“Your head’s all sunk in the clouds, boy!”

When Abtin regained consciousness, he sensed a lot of pressure on his back. Did that mean he had traveled all this way and had taken one side of the Prayer Chair and was returning, but had not noticed? Even more strangely, there was a second person who had taken the other side of the Chair and was now looking suspiciously at him from under his thick, orange-brown eyebrows - so thick that it made his vision difficult.

“Mordakh!”

“It’s Sir. Mordakh, child! It's like they didn't teach you manners, huh?”

Abtin did not answer the head of the Eagle Bearers and began to curse himself in his heart. From now on, he had to make an appointment with himself that at least when he was among people, he shall not be so engrossed in his thoughts that he would not even be aware of his surroundings. Of course, how likely was it, really, that he would suddenly come to his senses and find the smug and grumpy boss of the Eagle Bearers strangers helping him with the matters of a public feast?

“I was told you are a regular daydreamer. Of course, I wasn’t actually told. I had seen most of it with my own eyes from afar. Otherwise, your fellow villagers seem like they'd sooner wrestle a bear than speak a single word.”

Abtin remained silent but fixed his gaze on Mordakh. Although not brimming with intellect, there was an unmistakable malevolence and a penchant for sowing chaos in Mordakh's eyes. Abtin couldn't help but think, "God, of all the people to be stuck with!"

Mordakh sneered, "Did you mutter something, kid?"

Abtin retorted, "No. Why are you picking on me?"

Mordakh persisted, "Be careful, kid. If we keep at it like this, this thing might slip and fall. I've heard this object holds great importance in your customs, doesn't it?"

Abtin tightened his lips and locked eyes with Mordakh, his anger simmering. He often pondered, "Why do vile individuals commit despicable acts? What drives them? Why would tormenting the vulnerable bring them joy? Perhaps it's because they recognize their inability to confront the powerful, leaving the weak as their sole outlet for managing their anger. What wretched creatures!"

Mordakh inquired, "Say, have you seen this Erkhon of ours recently?"

Abtin responded indifferently, "What's that?"

Mordakh clarified, "One of our people. The big one."

Abtin glanced away from Mordakh, appearing to be observing the direction ahead. With a soft sniffle, he muttered, "No." Mordakh narrowed his eyes, sensing something was missing with the boy.

Mordakh pressed, "You sure? He's always roaming around the village. Those long strides of his allow him to patrol the area about ten times an hour. It's hard to believe something like that could go unnoticed."

Abtin replied, "I am busy with my work."

Mordakh mused, "Yes, you do seem occupied. What's your job?"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Before Abtin could respond, Mordakh continued, "Hang on! I should be able to guess it myself... I've always seen you at the blacksmith's, right?"

In the portrayal of Mordakh, Abtin immediately elevated his intelligence and perceptiveness by several degrees.

Abtin nodded, confirming, "Yes, I work there."

Mordakh pressed further, "How's everything?"

Abtin shrugged, stating, "Good."

Mordakh probed, "I mean, your village is famous for never having seen a war. However, I've seen with my own eyes that you also craft weapons there."

Abtin clarified, "Most of them are decorative. Some are ordered from nearby villages that lack blacksmiths."

Mordakh scoffed, "Yeah, right! As far as I know, you have very little contact with the rest of the world!"

Abtin paid little attention to their ongoing conversation and did not engage in the discussion. Seeing this, Mordakh asked, "If I bring my sword, will you sharpen it?"

Abtin responded, "Of course, if the cost is paid."

Mordakh asked, "Are you working today? I'm in a bit of a hurry."

Abtin, still avoiding direct eye contact with him, answered in an indifferent tone, "We worked for a few hours, but then we closed to help with the ceremony. My master fell ill, and I'll be alone for a while. There are many orders to fulfill at the moment."

Mordakh suggested, "Can't you prioritize the orders that pay more?"

Abtin explained, "Some do. Not us."

Mordakh lamented, "It's a pity," and scrutinized Abtin's facial features again from beneath his eyebrows.

Continuing the conversation, Mordakh remarked, "Anyway, I'll bring my sword to your workshop today. You can return it when it's done."

Abtin responded with a nonchalant nod of his head.

Mordakh noted, "You're not very talkative. In my homeland, there's someone like you, though quite different in every other way. He's highly skilled but rarely speaks, or at least, his way of speaking is different from ours. I' ve always found people like that more mysterious and possibly more dangerous. What do you think?"

Abtin remained silent regarding Mordakh's question, redirecting the conversation, "By the way, where did you come from? I've never had the chance to directly ask one of your people where they come from and why."

Mordakh asked mockingly, "Didn't your kadkhoda tell you?"

Abtin responded in his usual indifferent tone, "Not in a comprehensible way. Probably because he wasn't sure either."

Mordakh clarified, "Well, legally, the permit we got from the governor says that we came here temporarily for protection. But before you taunt, boy, know that the permit also states that my people will stay here as long as I see fit, and the governor has ordered the Farnasians to cooperate with us."

Abtin, attempting a clever retort, remarked, "Fortunately, he did not clarify what he means by 'cooperation.' Therefore, it's up to us to make whatever impression we want."

Mordakh was about to issue a warning, saying, "You're crossing the..." when Abtin abruptly declared, "Well, we are here!" and summoned people to assist with their task. As he navigated through the crowd, he felt Mordakh's cold and suspicious gaze on his entire spine. Abtin's cool demeanor and indifference were not an act but rather a reflection of his natural personality. He was not one to easily connect with others or openly express his feelings. Even in moments of great anxiety, his exterior rarely betrayed a racing heart or anxious thoughts. "I'm going to have a thousand heart attacks tonight," Abtin thought to himself as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He resolved to stay busy enough to forget about the evening's arrangements, a decision he repeated to himself a thousand times over the next hours. Despite his best efforts, his cautious and reserved nature tested his resolve repeatedly.

*

“O Reviver in the spring!... O Giver of the warmth of life in the summer!... O Secret Keeper of those who pray all throughout the nights in autumn!”

It was unclear whether tailor Goubad's voice or his hands trembled more as he stood atop the Prayer Chair, despite the deer skin draped over his shoulders. The bitter cold and the weight of old age seemed to conspire against him. He recited the prayers passed down from Farnas' last priest, squinting his weak eyes under the light of the lanterns that flickered above him, struggling to decipher the small and faded handwriting.

Abtin, who typically enjoyed the sensation of being part of a collective yet remaining inconspicuous during such events, found it challenging to fully immerse himself in that night's ceremony. His attention was divided as he discreetly counted the Eagle Bearers among the dozen or so present in Farnas. Up to that moment, he had spotted four of them, but the absence of Mordakh was a source of concern. He had instructed Babak to remain hidden, along with the massive figure of Erkhon, but he remained uncertain of their success.

"What's the matter, Abtin?" A hushed whisper under his ear startled him. Abtin, caught off guard but able to contain his excitement, turned his head to find Armin, a fellow hunter of his age, standing beside him. Together with his father and older brother, Armin's family provided the majority of the meat and skins for Farnas.

“Just as you gave us summer fruits... I'm fine. It’s just, my mind is a little busy at the moment.”

“And as the refreshing autumn rains... as usual! But no, now it seems like something’s really eating you up.”

As Abtin joined the others in singing, "Enrich the upcoming winter with your blessings!" a smile graced his face without conscious effort. Armin was a remarkable young man. Among all of Farnas' residents, he was the only individual with whom Abtin openly shared some of his renowned nocturnal retreats. These clandestine gatherings were a chance for Abtin to hear about Armin's family's exhilarating adventures during their hunts of bears, deer, tigers, leopards, and even the elusive and enigmatic beasts that roamed the wilderness.

Abtin recognized that he and Ardeshir shared a particular trait, which he was inclined to concede. They both possessed an inherent reluctance to readily divulge their own stories. Armin, on the contrary, was a gregarious storyteller, eager to share every detail about the jagged valleys of Dara Shah, the surroundings of the labyrinthine forests of Sepid-Cheshman, and the undulating plains of Gor Maziar. Abtin savored these tales of hunting nocturnal creatures that ventured forth from their concealed and shadowy lairs and the eerie sounds that reverberated from the mountaintops. Immersing himself in Armin's narratives, Abtin often imagined him and his family embarking on these wild adventures. The only Farnas residents who routinely ventured beyond the village's borders, Armin's family was a wellspring of thrilling tales.

Abtin had never mustered the courage to inquire about the dangers Armin encountered outside the village, and tonight, such a question did not surface in his thoughts.

"I'm fine. It's just that tonight, I'm preoccupied. I have to undertake something that could land me in trouble.”

"Well, if you can, let me know. I might be able to help… and with Your guidance, transform the impending cold into an opportunity for mutual assistance and personal growth.”

Abtin became lost in thought and momentarily lagged behind while reciting some of the prayer's verses along with the others. Seeking advice was a sensible notion, and Armin was a trustworthy confidant. Abtin couldn't help but think that all of the residents of Farnas were reliable. His own cautious nature sometimes annoyed him. Yet, perhaps Armin, who had witnessed a plethora of adventures firsthand, could genuinely offer assistance.

"That dream I've always mentioned...?"

"To leave Farnas on an adventure and..."

“Hush! Yeah, that's the one.

Abtin turned his head just enough to lock eyes with Armin, who stood beside him.

“It may become a reality soon. I don't know, but I feel that maybe even tonight.”

Once again, Abtin found himself teetering on the rope, with adventure and departure on one end and waiting and patience on the other. From the moment he met Ardashir at the blacksmith workshop to this very instant, he had likely swayed a thousand times between two choices. In a short span, he had switched his decision multiple times. Even now, he could not fathom precisely how he had arrived at his current determination. It could be the profound emotions and power emanating from the ceremony itself, held beneath the ancient tree while praying to God, that had stirred his excitement. Abtin felt that he had never been so alive and invigorated. Every breath he drew seemed to carry a delightful fragrance, infusing his being with anticipation. For the first time in ages, his heart beat with excitement, one intimately connected to his personal story. The sensation of breaking free from constraints, of resisting the hands that had seemed determined to shackle him within a monotonous routine for an extended period... While his eyes remained more open than usual, and his breathing had slightly quickened, he heard his own low voice whispering in Armin's ear:

“Don't ask me why, but these Eagle Bearers may attempt to obstruct me.”

Now, it was Armin's turn to peer deeply into his friend's eyes. In his view, the eyes of all beings were the same. There was no distinction between lions, boars, and humans. The most sincere and profound emotions always surfaced through one's eyes. Armin himself had encountered many times the eyes of wild creatures filled with a sense of danger or dominance. Yet, for the first time since he met Abtin, he observed a fervent fire in his typically half-lidded, contemplative, and composed eyes, whether directed at the ground or the sky. He couldn't help but smile, witnessing the surge of positive emotions and the display of strength on Abtin's face. Softly, he whispered in Abtin's ear, "Then I'll take the watch tonight," and winked at his appreciative friend. Everyone in Farnas knew that during their stay there, the majority of the family members would retire early and rise at dawn to maintain their physical readiness. Armin customarily attended these ceremonies on behalf of his entire family and returned home after the prayer. Abtin's appreciative look was a reflection of this understanding.

“... and keep the glorious fragrance of Farnas forever! Praise be to the pure and merciful God.”

After concluding the final words of the prayer, the pomegranate-seeding ceremony began, carried out by the women, while the men swiftly executed the sacrifice and skinning of four lambs. Among these, one was black and the others white, and they wasted no time in starting the cooking process. Abtin knew that their window for departure was limited. Before dinner, the customary ceremony of foot stomping and the local dance would begin, with men wielding sticks and women cheering. This was the perfect opportunity for him to escape.

Abtin positioned himself above a group of men who were in the process of skinning the black sheep, scanning his surroundings. One, two, three, four... No! Five of the Eagle Bearers were present. Three of them mingled among the women, while the other two stood a little farther away, observing the men. None showed much emotion on their faces. Abtin thought to himself:

“The person who hired them knew his business. Good God, they have no appreciation for the finer things; And I swear it's their first time seeing such a beautiful party in their lives!”

However, he soon composed himself, realizing that it was time to make his move. Did he need to collect anything from home? No. He wasn't attached to anything to risk prolonging his escape from the village. His priority was to get Babak and make his way to the gate swiftly. But where were the rest of them? What if Mordakh, for some reason, had stationed more guards at the gate than usual? Could Babak and Ardeshir handle all of them? A disquieting thought made Abtin's throat run dry, and a bead of cold sweat trickled down his furrowed brow. What if I have to fight?

The anticipation for the excitement had brought Abtin to this point, but he was far from ready to engage in a fight. He had considered procuring an old, worn sword from the workshop in exchange for his unpaid salary for the week. Years of labor in the blacksmith's shop had honed his arms, providing strength and dexterity, but his fingers remained slender, delicate, and artistic. Besides, he had never practiced using the weapons he crafted in the workshop. Abtin furrowed his brow and let out a sigh, the vapor of his breath dancing in the cold air, gradually dissipating as it rose amid the branches of the Spring Tree.

Before him, younger men began to form a circle for the dance. Abtin closed his eyes briefly, then reopened them. It was time.

Although challenging, he managed to keep his fists unclenched and forced his legs to move. The women's cheers and the men's spirited singing reached towards the sky. Abtin navigated past a group of excited children rushing towards the stomping area and made his way towards the far end of the celebration, where old men slowly settled beside their wives, continuing to participate in the pomegranate-seeding ceremony. But something made him pause.

There, standing behind the elderly men, a figure he hadn't noticed before was observing the entire scene of the celebration. Abtin tightened his lips. There was no time for hesitation. Without a clear plan in mind, he found himself walking directly towards the man.

*****