Splinterlands

Finally, the outsider had arrived at the healing springs of Khymeria. It had been a long journey, but he was sure that there he would find a solution to the evil that was taking place in him.

Not only did he hide his face under a hood, but he also hid a bow and arrow under his cloak. For him, it was imperative not to be recognized in that strange land of dragons. He did not feel comfortable being on land for long.

He reached into his pocket and felt the contents of his satchel. The silver coins tinkled in response to his concern. He still doubted if it was enough to pay for the treatment.

The sun was beginning to break.

For someone who was used to the hustle and bustle and singing of drunk sailors, bar fights, beer cans, drunkenness on the street, mindless chatter and filthy places, the atmosphere of the Springs of Colorado was one of total antagonism. Most likely, they wouldn't serve a drop of alcohol in that venerable place.

The peace and quiet conveyed by both nature and the locals were intoxicating to his taste. In the distance, a small flute sang a melody to the rhythm of the whispering of the springs.

Some villagers rejected his coins when he tried to pay for taking him to the healer's house.

A wooden house, no luxuries. Surrounded by a garden of colorful flowers and fragrant herbs. On the other side, he could see a field of vegetables and legumes. A stone path led to a wooden door.

In front of the small door, the stranger knocked slightly. When he heard no answer, he knocked again, even harder.

Despite his impatience, he decided to wait. It had taken months to get where he was, waiting another few minutes meant nothing to him. The sound of shuffling feet calmed his concern.

After the door opened, an elderly woman of short stature appeared, thickly built, with long gray hair, her wrinkled eyes drawing two lines under her thick eyebrows. She was leaning on a wooden stick, very peculiar indeed. Her face described a solemn, respectable expression.

"Come in, foreigner, everyone is welcome in my house," she said.

The old lady left the door open and waved her hand in. It was a very humble abode. In the room, there was only a wooden table with a couple of chairs, a vase with fresh flowers resting on it. To one side a structure that served as a kitchen and oven kept the place warm. A pot, blackened by use, smoked under its lid, over a slow fire of freshly charred coals.

The smell of spices and essences flooded the lungs of the stranger. Some familiar to him, evoking memories of his longed-for land: cinnamon, myrrh, perhaps sandalwood too.

On the other side of the room, different plants, branches, and flowers hung. Under them, a wooden shelf served to hold bottles and wide-mouth jars of colored liquids and terracotta powders. On a hanger, there were several coats and also a small knitted hat.

An oil lamp sparkled lazily on a shelf from one of the corners of the house.

"You must be thirsty, have a seat"

The stranger took a chair and sat down while watching the old woman's movements. She groped among her bowls, looking for the perfect one for the occasion.

"You are far from your land, or should I say seas... Azmarian"

The stranger's face tightened. His hand instinctively rested on the dagger he was hiding on the side of his thigh.

"Listen, dear," she said. Her expression was not one of fear or distress.

"I can still smell the ocean and seafood coming off your skin," she let out with a small chuckle.

The divine healer shrugged her shoulders and sat down in front of the stranger, leaving the bowl of water by his side.

"What brings you here?"

The stranger relaxed his shoulders and pulled back his hood, letting his face be seen still roasted by the saltpeter and the scorching sea sun. His blond hair barely reached his shoulders. His face, marked by a mustache and a small, cleanly shaved beard, was indicative of his detailed character.

"I am indeed from Azmaré," he paused and then continued

"I am an archer pirate, trained, as far as I know, with the bow and arrow; my skill is not compared to that of any other. I could hit a moving bird from hundreds of yards away."

The old lady nodded silently.

"A year ago, we boarded an enemy ship. I remember it as if it were yesterday. We had destroyed their masts and they were at our mercy. Even when they tried to defend themselves, they failed to defeat our crew. Arrows came and went, the fire had spread from bow to stern. And the smoke made it difficult for us to see our targets. So I boarded the ship too to finish my work.

"There was a man who was trying to escape to the bow. I shouted at him to turn around and not give him a dishonorable death from behind. This man stopped, gave me the front and opened his arms wide, a few steps from the edge of the bow and shouted at me, closing his eyes: My fate is in the hands of my God and not in your hands, archer!"

The stranger paused again, his eyes resting on the bowl, his fingers still caressing the edge. He took a sip of water and continued.

"I was less than 5 yards away and I aimed at him. But my arrow missed its target. I assumed that the smoke had interfered with my aim initially and immediately shot another pair of arrows quickly. None of these hit the target. Finally, the man threw himself back into the sea and disappeared."

"My arrows were still stuck in the bow."

"After this, I couldn't use my bow anymore."

The stranger untied the ropes around his neck and let go of his cape. He took his bow and left it on the table along with his quiver.

Anguished fatigue seized the stranger's body. He pulled back his chair and interlocked his fingers, placing his hands on his thighs. His knee was shaking frantically. He furrowed his brow without taking his eyes off the ground and spat:

"Help me! I don't know what to do! An archer who cannot use his bow has no reason to live!"

The old lady got up and took a bowl from her kitchen. She went to the cupboard and began to point to each of the branches hanging on the wall, uttering words unknown to the stranger. Eventually, she nodded to herself and gently plucked a few dry leaves from one of the plants, poured them into a small mortar and crushed them, then she sniffed one of the jars and as she did so took a pinch of its contents and poured it into the bowl. She poured the contents of the mortar into the bowl and filled it with boiling water.

"Take this."

Without wasting any time, the stranger drank all the concoction in one gulp, without waiting for it to get cold.

The stranger's face became relaxed. His body stopped shaking.

"I don't condone murder, but I understand what's happening to you," she said.

"During our lives, we create mental barriers that condition our being. Thousands of years ago there was a large animal, not as large as the Khymeria dragons, but it was the biggest of all those that existed at that time. Impressive one. They called it an elephant. A very strong animal. However, they were captured at an early age and used to tie them in chains to a stake. The small animal grew up with the conviction that he could not escape and even when he was older, even if he was tied with a hair to a stake, his mind was convinced that he was still imprisoned and never released.

"You think all you live for is to be an archer, like the elephant, you can't see beyond the stake."

"In life, there are experiences that help us free ourselves from those barriers that we grow up with. To change our destiny. Seize the opportunity and be free of your bondage. As soon as you realize that, you can be and do whatever you want."

The stranger's mind assimilated the old woman's words. He got up from the table and left the old woman's house and sat down at the foot of a tree, stayed there for the rest of the day and night.

In the morning he was surprised to find a small bowl of water and a loaf of bread beside him. He went back to the old woman's house, knocked on the door, and a familiar voice beckoned him to come in.

His bow and arrows were still in the same place where he had left them, waiting for him. He left the bag of coins on the table and then bowed to the old woman.

"I will never kill any innocent soul again. My skills will be to defend, not to destroy.

The old woman smiled at him and the stranger left the healer's home, leaving behind his weapons and coins.

Thank you for sharing this experience with me.

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