Chapter 4: Curious Observations

Jerrvo Vowka

Guests were drunk by the time Jerrvo entered. Propriety stated that eating did not start until the bride sat in her seat. There were no regulations as to when you started to drink. The two families sat at a long table towards the back of the room. Allinna and Lekin sat in the center, their families on either side of them. Although the night was relatively cool, and all of the windows were open, the banquet hall had already become warm and stuffy.

Feeling the full effects of eighty pounds of sunmetal armor, sweat dappled Jerrvo’s brow as he made his rounds. He did not enjoy parties in the regular sense. Instead of participating, Jerrvo watched. Pacing around the edges of the long ballroom his eyes fell upon the queer man called Papos. Being the court jester he always had a flair Jerrvo found obnoxious. Papos juggled while reciting a tale. His words and juggles were locked in a mesmerizing tandem.

Next, Jerrvo looked at the long table in the back of the room where the royal families sat. A waiter came and refilled Allinna’s wine glass. That had to be her second at least, Jerrvo noted. Sephren sat next to his daughter, pensively stroking his beard. It was not uncommon for him to forget to eat. Next to Sephren sat the Chronicler, garbed in an elegant blue gown, Vanryn Or’Ael.

Vanryn was fully aware of her rarity of mind and body, and despised the attention she received for it. Being half Nisvan and Jeheren there was a note of exoticsim to the structure of her bones and skin tone. Slightly tilted eyes, and skin a deeper caramel than Synalleans, she is far more like her mother than her father who was gruff and round. It was jarring to think Amich was her father.

While Jerrvo could appreciate aesthetics, what drove Jerrvo’s friendship with Vanryn was her mind. Few in Synall had read as much as Vanryn. At half the age of Amich and Jerrvo she had read as much if not more than either of them. Cunning, Jerrvo likened her intellect to that of a Sun Metal blade. Her mind had been able to cut through any problem.

In many ways, she was Sunmetal, sharp, dark, dangerous, and beautiful. Turning her head to talk to her father, her soulwatcher irises glimmered like a cat.

Vanryn was a historian, philosopher, and a talented sommelier. Since her return from university two years ago Jerrvo had grown fond of their long debates and conversations. Her return had almost been like meeting a new person. No longer was she Vanryn the quiet child, but Vanryn the thoughtful intellectual.

Their amiability for each other was not unnoticed. Amich had offered her to Jerrvo on several occasions. Albeit in a feigned jest. Her father wanted her married off more than she desired it for herself.

Jerrvo had little need for a wife. He had adopted Gyffli when he was barely eleven. Watching Vanryn grow from a babe made it impossible to consider her as anything else than a friend. However many outside the court spread rumors of their relationship. Such an invasive thing irked Jerrvo, and Vanryn more so.

Though Jerrvo had now lived here longer than he lived in Jarakarta he found Synallean marriage traditions peculiar. Women often had little autonomy in marriage. Father’s often determined who their daughters and sons would marry with little to consideration on their part. In Jarakarta men and women would choose who they would be bound to. Both would bow to one another, submitting service to each other. It was always queer to Jerrvo that men bowed in Synall, yet women rarely had their input considered. It is not wrong. Jerrvo reminded himself. Just different. Cracked a smile to himself. Though that does not mean Jarakarta did not do it better.

Watching a suitor bow reverently to Vanryn, Jerrvo couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pity for the man. Vanryn smiled politely. Though Jerrvo could not hear what she said, he could read the practiced phrase and gesture from her. There was no sense in being rude to someone for thinking you’re worth their time. Vanryn was a singular woman, she did not want a relationship.

Briefly Jerrvo’s eyes met Vanryn’s. Her eyes flashed, like seeing a cat’s irises. Receiving soul pulses was not like sending a letter. You pulled where you wanted the receiver to feel. Jerrvo felt friendly attention. He smiled toothily to her. Such a smile always made Vanryn blush. She covered it by sipping her glass in perfect courtly fashion.

Continuing his walk around the room his eye was caught by the absurdly dressed Papos. Absurdity was his job, Jerrvo reasoned. He did it well, wearing pink pants that accosted Jerrvo’s eyes, and a quilted jacket with a disorientating array of textures and patterns.

As Jerrvo stepped around the edges of the banquet he compared Papos with Vanryn. Frivolity and sensibility. Two opposed theories. Yet Jerrvo wondered if they were not more similar than they appeared. Though Vanryn would despise it, Jerrvo was curious to see a debate between these two.

Jerrvo scanned the room again, giving an affirming nod to Gien as his eye passed over him. Jerrvo had trained Gien from the time he held a training sword. Coming of age during the Halnt wars was no easy task. Although, Jerrvo feared he was too young to be as quiet as he was. Still, he trusted him to guard the Halnts more than any other. Duty was far more important to Gien than vengeance.

Jerrvo made a point to quickly glance over the Halnt side of the table. Although they had hurt the ones Jerrvo loved, they were in his house, under his protection. Though he moved his eye quickly he couldn’t help but notice how ferociously Mauln Halnt ate. He had seen hyenas rapture a kill before. Halnt gulped down mead like water. Glutton and warmonger. Jerrvo caught himself forming a fist.

Shifting in his armor Jerrvo was aware of its weight wearing on him. The sun had an odd effect on sun metal. While the sun was out the metal was lighter, not weightless, and the maguses had concluded that it still had the same weight it only felt lighter somehow. Jerrvo cracked his knuckles and thought of his roun Gyffli. Turning his heel he thought to go find Gyffli and guide him through the loss of his first love.

Stopping, Jerrvo turned as he saw a large shadow approaching his back.

“HA HA!” The figure exclaimed while clapping massive hands. “Jerrvo my foil, my rival! Ardor has truly blessed us with counters like one another!”

Reflexively Jerrvo put his hand on his hilt.

Venomously, the impossibly tall and broad man spoke, “good to see your reflexes are still strong!” The Tyrant rubbed his hands together. “AH!” He exclaimed nostalgically. Those days of contest made us the men we are today!”

Jerrvo fought not to glare. “Forgive me if the sight of you puts me on edge. I have learned to keep my hand on my hilt around Halnts.”

Halnt stepped closer inches from Jerrvo, who had to tilt his head up to keep eye contact.

“That is a reputation I have earned, and intend to keep.” Mauln Halnt said maliciously.

Jerrvo said nothing. He had learned that this aggravated Halnt.

Halnt chuckled. “Ever the quiet one.” Halnt waited for a response. Jerrvo did not give The Tyrant the satisfaction. Clapping his hands Halnt exclaimed, “so, what is the deal with the Amich’s daughter? Does she prefer women or-?”

Jerrvo bit his lip and spoke with a spot of ire, “did you come to taunt or do you have something you want to say?”

Halnt smiled toothily, showing broken teeth capped in gold. His breath smelled of alcohol. Halnt placed his hand on Jerrvo’s shoulder he shrugged it off reflexively. “My blood warms at the thought of a duel between us.” Rubbing his hands together he licked his lips as if the thought was arousing. “Twelve years ago when Sephren signed away his daughter you told me you would duel me Jerrvo.” How many good years do we have left? We are in our fifth decade, Jerrvo, even I tire. Let’s do this so we can die in peace.” Inebriated, the harsher consonances of Halnt’s native Mollogian were coming through his speech. Causing spittle to fly off his lips on the heavier tones.

Jerrvo glared. “You will refer to the King of Synall as Lord Hallen or the King while you are under his roof.”

Halnt feigned going limp to show his disappointment. “That is the Jerrvo I miss! HAHA!” Halnt leaned in close. “We all know who runs the show here.”

“You won’t goad me Halnt.” Jerrvo said succinctly.

“No?” He questioned. “I thought I might.”

“My duty to the King is not fulfilled yet. I won't wantonly sacrifice myself.” Jerrvo locked firm eyes with Halnt, who stepped back under Jerrvo’s gaze.

Halnt grimaced. “Ugh! You are so boring with your honor and duty dross! Have you even laid with a woman.” Halnt wrapped his arm around Jerrvo. “Pick one Jerrvo I’ll help you get your pick tonight!”

Jerrvo Shrugged Halnt off quickly. Steadying himself he concluded his conversation with The Tyrant. “Answer me this Halnt: I expected to get an official challenge to this duel for over a decade. Why now? I don’t mark you as a forgetful man. So are you fearful?”

Halnt paused for a moment. Curious, thought Jerrvo. It looked as if Halnt was at a loss for words.

“I have waited because I knew this would be my last great battle. Either I die, or there is little left for me to conquer. This duel was my goal after we signed the treaty.” Halnt put his hand on his Soul metal breastplate. The heat from Halnt’s hand reverberated out of the dark cloudy metal. “I needed my fill of revelry, of women, of alcohol, and other stimulants before I could take myself to my last great challenge.” Halnt stepped back again. Jerrvo was uncomfortable how amorously Halnt talked to Jerrvo. “Perhaps we waited too long, now we are old. Now the fight won't be as vivacious.” Halnt clenched his fist. The tendons and veins in his hands stretched out of his aging skin like harp wire. “But now we are masters of our craft. We will see who the true master is.”

Jerrvo contemplated a response, but Halnt strode off grabbing a dark haired woman by surprise. He wisted her off, unaware, or uncaring of her resistance. Luckily all he wanted from her at this time was a dance.

Jerrvo clenched his hand around his hilt. He desires a fight, he’ll have one. Jerrvo thought. Stepping to the kitchen to find Gyffli he was reminded of the weight of his armor again. Hastily a portly man rounded tables to meet Jerrvo.

Flustered and partially out of breath, Amich spoke in a rush. “What did The Tyrant want?”

“A duel.” Jerrvo said softly.

“Good. Maybe you can gut the old bastard.” Amich said seriously.

Jerrvo crossed his arms. “We shall see. We must ensure the wedding goes through smoothly before we can plan this duel. I have not been handed an official challenge, and I will not incite something as politically messy as this.”

Amich huffed. “Well maybe you ought to mate.”

Jerrvo grunted. The two watched the crowd for a moment. Halnt cavorted around like a fool. Two young lads in the back funneled beer down their gullett. Perhaps Jerrvo was now old, but he didn’t understand how this was fun.

“Heh.” Amich chuckled. “I aint seen anyone do that in years.”

Changing the subject Jerrvo asked, “how is Sephren tonight?”

Amich shrugged. “As well as you could expect. Ain't ate a bite. But that is Seph sometimes.” Amich said, rubbing his scruffy beard.

Jerrvo watched Sephren sit motionless, hands clasped before him. “Do you think he is liable to do something drastic?”

Amich matched his eyes. “Like?”

Jerrvo said nothing. Amich knew well enough this meant Jerrvo did not know.

Amich nodded and cleared his throat. “I can’t blame him too much. Though I was surprised at his suggestion of the armistice. The grief of losing Marisol went deeper than we thought. I was ready to give up when Honlynn sacrificed herself.” Amich chuckled, toying with his pipe. “I noticed Halnt still has the scars from their battle.”

Jerrvo spoke softly. “She was brave. Even though she lost, the battle was ‘thrilling’ enough that he spared her army.” Jerrvo watched Amich shake his head. Honlynn had not died frivolously. The meaning of the death did not make it any easier. “In Jarrakarta we would say, her blood served.”

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Amich started packing a pipe, absentmindedly. He took a long time considering. “I don’t think Seph will be able to live with himself after tomorrow.”

“Perhaps.” Jerrvo’s response was barely audible over the revelry.

Amich snapped his fingers producing sparks, a benefit of being a Soulweilder. “Well it is too late now.” Amich shrugged, his voice gruff. “Maybe if Allinna ran away tonight it wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Jerrvo sneered and met Amich’s eyes.

“I am not going to help her, so don’t give me that look.”

“If Allinna isn’t present tomorrow then Halnt usurps Hestave.”

“Ah.” Amich puffed out smoke. “I haven’t read the documents in a decade.” Smoke hovered around Amich’s face. “We’re damned ain’t we?”

“Depends what you mean by that.” Jerrvo said absently. “I know that face too well. Sephren has planned something.”

Amich laughed. “And you are going to stop him? I know you’re the moral one here but we both know you would love it if Seph found a way out.” exhaling smoke Amich concluded. “Now I’d be really worried if he starts talking to my daughter. I am sure she has a dozen plans written out.”

Jerrvo clasped the portly man’s shoulder. “Just keep an eye on him tonight.” Turning, Jerrvo stepped away.

“I will. But if it is a good enough idea I won’t stop him.” Amich said laughing.

Entering the kitchen more aggressively than intended, the door bounced back, hitting Jerrvo on the pauldron. The sudden noise caused Gyffli and Soat to jump. Such momentum reminded Jerrvo of what Amich called his war step.

“Ah, there’s my roun.” Jerrvo said, locking eyes with the bulky orange haired man. Immediately Jerrvo’s eyes narrowed, noticing Gyffli had removed all of his armor. “I trust you put your armor away properly?”

Stepping in long straight strides, Jerrvo's boot creaked on the wooden floor. Eyeing the neatly packed armor he nodded saying. “Good, good.”

“Thank you.” Gyffli said, annoyed. He rubbed his face, his cheeks redder than usual. Exhaustion steamed off of him. “Did you need anything?”

His friend Soat, little more than a ruffian, chewed a twig next to Gyffli.

Jerrvo straightened, hands behind his back. “Just to assure that you are well.”

Shrugging, Gyffli said, “I’m well enough.” Angst hung off his words.

Jerrvo had raised Gyffli since he was eleven. His father Cless had been the General before him. Jerrvo liked to think knew Gyffli as well as anyone. He knew roun hurt. Jerrvo began formulating solutions to ameliorate the situation when he was interrupted.

“Listen.” Gyffli said abruptly. Running his large hand through a tangle of orange hair. “I don’t want to talk about this now. I’ll be ready for duty tomorrow. I just don’t want to think about Allinna right now.”

Jerrvo nodded succinctly. “Understood.” He berated himself for being too formal. Jerrvo vacillated from one hip to the other trying to form words to say. “Understood.” He said again, stepping away uncomfortably. Jerrvo swung the door open more gently this time and adjusted his gauntlets. I managed to hold back the Halnt army with a third of their soldiers and yet I cannot understand my own roun. Jerrvo wanted to chuckle at the irony but only sneered further.

Reentering the ballroom a young squire quickly made eye contact with Jerrvo and moved through the crowd of people to him. His face was flush like he had been running. “I ran as fast as I could.” He panted. Handing him an envelope.

Jerrvo inspected the seal, a stag pranced on an intricate Ardor knot. “Voids,” Jerrvo muttered, rubbing his forehead. “Her herald only preceded her by a mile.” The squire fought to catch his breath. “She will be here in a moment.”

“I will inform the king.” Jerrvo glanced over at the king, who looked off pensively. “You did well. Lance correct?”

The squire nodded.

Patted the lad on the back. “Enjoy some food while you’re here. Get to bed early, the next few days will be long.” The squire nodded and turned to the banquet table excitedly mulling over the food.

Jerrvo shuffled between the wall and the long table where the family sat. It was just enough space from his armored frame to shuffle throughSephren half interestedly noticed him as he approached. Jerrvo crouched, to talk in the king’s ear. “Your sister is coming after all.” Jerrvo handed him the letter. “She will be here at any moment.”

Sephren sighed heavily, taking the letter. His silverware untouched, he used the knife to break the ornate seal with the Ardor knot. Unfolding the letter, Sephren adjusted it so Jerrvo could read too.”

Scanning it quickly, it said that the revered Falka Sevren Hallen will be attending the dinner late. “Voids.” Sephren cursed. “I only invited her out of formality. You can’t delay her at the gates.” Sephren reached for his chalice and down the contents in a single sip.

Jerrvo expressed his eyes largely. “She is the third or fourth most authoritative bishop; she has nearly the same standing as you.” Jerrvo whipped sweat from his brow. “And we both have seen her temper.”

Sephren closed the letter and tapped it against the table. “Halnt and Falka in the same room would be a sight.”

“That is a brew to start a holy war.” Jerrvo mused.

Vanryn, who had been listening the whole time, leaned to Jerrvo. “Should we remove the princess before Falka comes?” Her voice was deep and gentle.

Jerrvo looked over at Allinna, who was scooping punch out of the bowl with her soup bowl. “Do it tactfully.” Allinna brought the bowl to her lips, pouring as much onto her verdant dress as into her mouth.

“As if I could do otherwise.” The corner of Vanryn’s lip raised as she spoke. In proper courtly manner, Vanryn rose to stop the princess from drinking herself into a coma.

“Should we go to greet her?” Jerrvo asked.

“I am the king here. She is my guest.” He said, pulling at his beard.

“And she is the second Bishop of Jeherinall.”

Sephren ran his fingers to his peppered hair. Jerrvo sensed he did not want to concede to her. “And Jehrerinall and Synall have been separate for nearly a century.”

“I will stand and greet her, that way we show respect without being totally yielding to her.” Jerrvo stood and patted the king’s shoulder. “Be nice, she is a bully, but she really doesn’t have power over you.” Sephren nodded letting out a deflating sigh.

In the corner where Allinna was with the punch, Vanryn tried to respectfully pull the princess away from the alcohol. Unable to pull Allinna away from drinking alcohol like a dehydrated camel, Jerrvo watched Vanryn try to convince the inebriated princess that a glass of water was a fine cocktail.

It was a respectable attempt. Jerrvo sighed at the disaster brewing. Allinna, Hanlt, and Falka in the same room. Ardor is this not the darkest void? People started to turn to notice Allinna reverting back to her more childlike tendencies.

Papos saw the impending chaos. Deftly he coaxed Allinna away by strumming a jaunty tune. Loosely, Allinna kicked and spun with the weird Jester, matching his movements. Jerrvo sighed relieved that Allinna hadn’t caused more of a scene.

Turning back to Vanryn, Allinna tried to pull her into dancing with her. With a glint of terror in her eye Vanryn refused.

Allinna protested, but was too drunk to argue much, turning back and joining Papos. Others were joining the dance. Allinna, for this moment, seemed to have dropped her melancholy and anger about the marriage. Albeit, Jerrvo knew that it was only due to alcohol. Regardless, it was nice to see her enjoy herself.

Jerrvo glanced down at Sephren. A smile touched the corner of his lips. Jerrvo recognized the fleeting joviality of the moment. Letting himself enjoy it too. These times were few, he was old enough to know it was best to accept the brevity of bliss.

Mauln Halnt danced some jig that Jerrvo assumed was a Mollogg dance. Frenetic and chaotic in his motions, his Mollogg attendants bounced and shoved each other around. Curious. Jerrvo thought.

Vanryn had stealthed her way back behind the table. Leaving in close to Jerrvo to speak over the music. “That was nearly a crisis. So long as we can distract her she will be modest enough.”

Jerrvo nodded. “No one wants to tell a bride no. Even more so a princess bride.” Scanning over the festivities, he enjoyed seeing those he cared for live flourishingly. Gently he patted Sephren on the shoulder. “Let’s just hope the jester can keep her distracted when Falka arrives.”

As if on cue, the double doors to the banquet hall swung open. Two tall women in light armor and tight ornate braids stood guard at the doors with spears. A third woman in a similar garb held a spear in her right hand and a scroll in the other.

The room had gone quiet, but she spoke fully enough to fill a stadium. “The immaculately revered Falka Sevren Hallen has arrived. Honor her with her due station and respect! She has laid upon me the obligation to remind the people that she is not here to give individual blessings or prayers. Remember Ardor knows the hearts and deeds of all. Only through her can we find hope.”

A terse uncomfortable silence followed.

“Bwahahahah!” Allinna bellowed. “Who invited the Hawk to my wedding? I can tell her to leave right?”

Falka stepped in like a black sun entering the hollow.

“Princess Hallen.” Falka’s hooked nose was held slightly raised. “It is prudent and right to greet church officials by their holy titles. Not childish monikers.”

Holding her hand over her mouth, Allinna tried to stifle laughter. Unable to contain laughter, she belted with her whole body. “Awhahahah. Sorry, Falka…Hallen…Holy bishop…What have you. I laugh when I’m nervous.”

Falka’s face was the farthest possible space from amusement. “Hmph.” Falka marked her predatory eyes on Sephren. “Lord Hallen I would have hoped you would have taught the princess more…propriety.” Her stern lips tensed.

Standing, Sephren stared into his wine.

“Oh leave! You’re ruining the fun.” Halnt lamented, tone edging on sinister. “Save your self righteousness for penitent ears. Your holiness is a farce. We are all beasts.”

Falka turned her head slowly to the Tyrant, lifting her eyebrow up curiously. “Oh, but I am holier than you.” The bishop stepped to the Tyrant. With heels she easily matched his gaze. “Tell me Lord Halnt, have I razed cities for the pleasure of chaos?”

“Oh, bah. I burned Hestave because my men couldn’t afford a months-long siege.” Halnt’s gold capped teeth glimmered as he spoke. “Most of the people made it out. You could argue I saved people.”

Most of the Synallean’s and a few of the Leklieven glared at Halnt for his words. Although Hestave had been Synall’s Sunways most city, it was equally important to many Leklieven.

Halnt smiled like a snake preparing to strike. “I have heard of your purifications. You are no stranger to killing. We are not so different.” Halnt spoke at a near whisper, but the whole room heard. “You just hide your peccantry behind the mask of religion.”

Halnt’s ornate purple robes exposed his broad chest as he puffed. A scattering of deep scars masked his bare chest. “Be honest with yourself. For once.”

Falka remained cool. Her visage neither waxed nor waned disgust. “Only men as prideful as you fail to see the dust on their own jacket.” Stepping away as if the interaction was inconsequential, Falka proclaimed. “Resume your revelry. I have business with the king.” Her hands held tightly behind her back.

Papos shifted his heavy spectacles. After an uncomfortable pause, he coughed and started strumming and singing a tune about a dishonest priest. Jerrvo wished Papos possessed more tact so as to not pry into another incident.

As Falka stepped to the king, Jerrvo saw her glare at Papos. Marking that she knew the tune. The people halfheartedly danced, despite Papos putting it exorbitant fervor.

Falka stopped in front of the long table. Staring at Sephren for a moment. “I am waiting for you to greet me, Lord Hallen.”

Sephren leaned back in his chair, meeting Falka’s eyes for the first time. “You are my sister. There is a level of familiarity between us. This is my home. A casual event. Titles are frivolous things. Aren’t they?”

Falka’s eyebrow twitched.

Jerrvo noted just how broad her shoulders were for a woman. Rumor said that she worked the fields at her coven. Jerrvo fully believed this now.

“Last we met you were very quick to remind me that I was your bastard sister. Lord Hallen.”

Sephren laced his fingers on his knee. “What do you want? I don’t think you took the trek over the mountains just for your niece’s wedding.”

Falka turned her head to her left, watching Allinna dance with the young squire that gave Jerrvo the letter. This would probably be all the lad talks about for the next year. Jerrvo noted.

“My intentions are my own.” Falka said sternly. “There is a matter of paramount importance that needs your attention, Lord Hallen.”

Sephren glanced up at Jerrvo standing behind him. Taking his time to reply he sipped his wine. “The next few days are busy for me. Perhaps we can meet at the beginning of next week. “Your Reverence,” he added reluctantly.

Falka’s lip sneered, showing cracks in her otherwise perfect makeup. “My matter will only take a few moments to introduce. It would be good for you to hear my words and mull them over the next few days.”

Sephren spun the wine in his glass. “No, I think I would prefer to take the next few days to enjoy the wedding.”

Falka’s predatory eyes blinked in surprise. “Lord Hallen.” Falka tried to add honey to her voice, the taste of vinegar was already on Sephren’s tongue. “Heed my words when I say this is paramount. I wouldn’t dream of pulling you away from this-” She paused eyes examining the room. “- if it were not of the most importance.”

“And I, the king, have said my peace.” Sephren said firmly.

Curious, Thought Jerrvo, it was rare that Sephren could find it in him to push back against an imposing will like Falka’s.

Falka’s jaw shifted, considering. Finally, she gave a begrudged curtsy saying, “as you will.”

The moment she stepped out of sight Sephren sighed. “Voids.”

“You handled that as well as you could.” Jerrvo congratulated Sephren.

“As if this these days couldn’t get more trying.” Sephren stood quickly. “Well, I have had enough of this.” Sephren adjusted a strap on Jerrvo’s armor. “I am going to bed. Only wake me if Halnt dies.” Sephren said amused.

“I’ll escort you.” Jerrvo added following Sephren out.

“No.” Sephren turned sharply. “Order Gien to escort me. I want you to keep watching my daughter.” Sephren placed his hands on his hips. “And make certain she doesn’t hurt herself.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Jerrvo nodded, and relayed the command to Gien. Near mechanical in his motions and thinking, Gien followed without a second thought. Curious, thought Jerrvo. While the order wasn’t necessarily odd, something felt off to Jerrvo in his gut.

Two things Jerrvo was certain about: Falka making such a sudden appearance was not a good omen, and the next few days would be very long. And not in any way he could predict.