Gleur didn’t need to cut Galú’s wings to get him to behave as his assistant. He woke up with the first light, opened the little door of the cage where he begrudgingly slept, and began organizing the office. Having grown under the care of Gleur, Galú considered the sage almost a parent. He didn’t understand why he went away for so long, or why it was his duty to fix his messes, but he had never been one to question his caretaker. He jumped from side to side, looking for anything out of place, better yet if it was edible. He jumped over the table, walked over the chairs and tactical maps, but he was careful not to tip anything. Sometimes, he stared at the people on the walls, wondering why and how they had been trapped there. For thirty years he had served Gleur, and sometimes, he brought in new wall-trapped people. There was even a giant bird he didn’t like at all. It was recent addition.

“A steal,” Galú repeated his caretaker’s words.

And his attention immediately got caught by a cockroach. In one fell swoop he pounced upon the insect, pinning it to the ground. Then, he bit the cockroach to death. Gleur didn’t like him eating them, he claimed they caused illness. Galú didn’t care, the general wasn’t there to stop him.

He took a peek at the hands of the octagonal clock that hung from the far wall. They weren’t right yet. In other words, it wasn’t Gleur-presence-moment yet.

Galú paced from side to side over the medal rack. It was colorful, and in the morning light the gold and silver glistened almost hypnotically. Galú had inherited his ilk weakness for shiny things, but still found it within himself to refuse the call of the precious metals and leave Gleur’s medals alone. He had stolen one once, and, let’s say, it didn’t end well for poor little Galú. Galú had been lucky back then, because, while he did not know, Gleur was feeling exceptionally diplomatic and lenient that day.

The calling of the sage’s name at the door made Galú turn his head almost 180 degrees and tilt it to a side.

“Gleur is not here.” He exclaimed, excited.

“I see, are you their assistant? I need to speak to him, it’s due to the letter,” said Ald, at the other side of the door. What he didn’t say was that he found the voice of his interlocutor… odd, to put it in sensible words.

“Gleur is not here,” Galú repeated, satisfied with himself. Then, he hopped until he was in front of the door, and went again. “Gleur is not here.”

“I understand; could you tell me when he will come back? I need to discuss important matters with him.”

“Gleur is not here.” Then, Galú thought for a second. What else could he say to the person at the door? “Come in.”

Ald tugged on the door handle, but it didn’t open.

“It’s closed; do you have the keys to open?” Ald asked, because he suspected Gleur’s assistant was not too bright of a person.

“Keys,” said Galú, and then he started frantically searching about the room.

Ald couldn’t quite make up what the flapping sounds were, couldn’t imagine what kind of agenda or book would have pages dense enough to produce that noise.

Galú clambered up the highest drawer and, with a movement that included most of his muscles, he managed to worm his head into it. After a bit of fiddling through papers, pencils and other miscellaneous items, he found the set of spare keys, and rushed back to the door.

“Come in,” he said again, holding firmly onto the handle before using his deft mouth to introduce the right key in the hole—it was the one he considered uglier—and spin it.

The door opened and Ald was faced with an empty office. He introduced his head and looked to the sides, and there was nobody around. Gleur wasn’t one for pranks, and neither for sorcery, as far as Ald knew.

But before Ald could begin to wonder if Gleur's assistant was magical or some sort of preternatural entity, hopping from behind the door came a pitch black bird with glossy feathers and a curved beak.

“Come in,” said the bird, before jumping its way well into the office.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“You opened the door?” Ald asked.

Galú looked at him, tilting his head. “Bad, Galú, bad. Don’t open the door to strangers, Galú.”

“You are called Galú, then?”

The bird didn’t answer. Ald considered for a second and tried another approach.

“How are you called?”

Nothing.

“What’s your name?”

“Galú, and yours?” reacted the animal, that looked like a parrot covered in oil.

Ald felt a firm hand grasping on his shoulder, and turned to be met with the imposing figure of the Sage. Galú began jumping around and flying about the room.

"I am sorry, I didn’t intend to intrude, sir Gleur," Ald said, straightening his clothes and making a slight reverence.

Gleur patted him in the back in a friendly gesture. “You wouldn’t be the first one that accidentally got Galú to open the door for them. People think I have some sort of assistant. It has happened before.”

“Happened before,” echoed Galú.

He shoved Ald inside and slammed the door shut, and then gestured for him to take a seat. He wasn’t being rude, that was simply how Gleur managed things. Who, in their right mind, would complain to him? He doubled some Felsians in size. Or most, to be more accurate. Even Ald, being rather tall and having his muscles hardened by physical labor, felt tremendously diminished next to the sage.

The farmer and blacksmith took a seat in front of the desk and Gleur made its way behind it, where he sat on a chair made out of steel, leather and forgewood and ornamented with raven and pigeon motifs.

“Anything for a drink?” he gestured at a cabinet hanging from the nearest wall.

“I am abstemious.”

Gleur said nothing as Galú flew over them and settled on the candelabra above their heads.

“Is Galú a parrot? I never saw a black one,” Ald commented to break the silence.

“Well, that depends on who you ask. Some experts believe his species to be one of ravens, others one of parrots, and so they give it different names. I personally believe the parrot thing: I have seen them in parrot nests. But then, you have birds that steal other's nests and place their eggs there and , well, it’s a complex issue,” he explained with a jaded tone. “As for me, I believe it’s easier for a parrot to be black than for a raven to get a curved beak. What about you?”

“I am no bird enthusiast, sir. I even have to scare them when they come for my crops. So, I must apologize, but I frankly don’t know, nor care.”

A burst of laughter billowed from the deepest corner of Gleur lungs. “Now that’s what I like to see in volunteers! That fire burning inside…" he stopped suddenly, and eyed Ald from head to toe. “Because you came for that, right? To help us recover the rains?”

Ald nodded. Then he sat with his legs open, arms relaxed over the desk. He leaned in.

“I am a farmer and a blacksmith. I can provide you food, forgewood or steel. Whatever the war-machine hungers for, I may help provide. I won’t even ask for payment.”

The smile ran away from Gleur’s face. “Generous, but unnecessary. I think we have nothing to talk about.”

“You are telling me you already have enough food and weapons? Armors?”

“I am telling you that my need, Felsia’s need, is for men and women willing to do the right thing, not another farmer or blacksmith.” Gleur began fiddling with the medal in his collar. “I mean no disrespect to your noble trades, by the way. But the crisis demands hands to wield the spears and swords, and bodies to wear the plates and chain mails. If you are not coming on a campaign, you are wasting the time of both of us.”

Ald swallowed and looked around for a bit. His eyes stopped on Galú, that seemed to judge him in silence.

“I want to help the baby I adopted in the last rain. I want her to be able to, one day, shelter a sibling of her own under her wing. Anything else you need before my help in the field. My help in the field before walking away empty handed.”

Gleur’s face softened, and he reclined on his chair. “I appreciate your determination. What are your terms for coming with us? It’s just a capture mission. We need to obtain a few misshapen ones for research purposes.”

“How many?” he asked, staring suspiciously at the sage.

“Well, you know.” Gleur’s hand described circles in the air. “They didn’t specify a maximum, just a few, those were their words and…”

“I am no boy, Gleur. Minimum. How many. Tell me or I am walking away.”

“Fine. Twenty-six,” he barked.

Ald stood from his chair and begun pacing along the room, looking at the forgewood lattice of the floor. “One for each day of the month. You will try to summon Father and pay with their souls,” he said after a few seconds.

“Try? No.” Gleur smirked, “We will succeed at summoning him.” He raised a hand with an extended finger, and Galú, quick as a lightning bolt, flew to perch on it.

“You did it before, didn’t you? You are not the kind of man who would assure that without definite proof. Abominable, and yet…”

“The one way we could get rains again, yeah?” Gleur shrugged, and then, kissed Galú’s head. “It’s not like squishing a bird, Ald. Birds are perfect creations of mother nature. Annoying at times, but untainted. So are the vermin that lurk among the trash, even the spiders that hide in the corners of this room. They are not. We are not. We Felsians need to own our sins, and returning them to Father benefits us in several ways. We clear the western forest from subfelsian misshapens, hunting none that can talk, none than can beg. And we ask Father about our issue, being one step closer to solving it. I see nothing but the best of deals here.”

Ald sat down again, stared at the tactical map, then at the clock on the wall.

“If I die, tell the child and my former caretaker that we were doing something more noble,” he extended his hand. “I’ll regret this all my life, but if it helps…”