Warmth was like a forgotten memory that came back in a flood. Hunger roared through him as the smell of food filled his nose. Kanrel looked around the fairly large house and found it to be a little more than what he had first expected it to be. Looks from the outside can be so deceiving.
Homely is how he would've described it before. The fireplace that heated the place, the table that wasn't too far away, and the multitude of chairs that surrounded said table. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the sounds that came from out there—the cold wind that had harassed him all the way from the academy to here.
Where was here? He wondered as he followed the man, who had a graying beard and a receding hairline. It was easy to see that the man had lived a long life, and it might be that he had always lived in this house and on the lands that surrounded it. Then again, was there really a reason to leave? Life was simple here, even with all the complications that might present themselves.
The man pulled up a chair to sit on and gestured for him to sit as well. Kanrel took his bags and gently placed them on the floor. He went ahead and sat down near the fire pit while looking around and observing his new surroundings. Who was this Betty? And where might she be?
"So, friend, I assume, what brings the likes of you so far north?" The man said he stroked his beard as any older gentleman would, out of sheer habit.
Kanrel massaged his hands together, trying to get rid of the rest of the cold that was in his body.
"I am to be stationed here; that is all I know," he said, still going through his surroundings.
"Welcome then; it's been a long time since I've seen one of your kind—maybe ten years or so?" The man seemed to talk to no one in particular. His expression shifted from a thoughtful one to one with clearly visible sadness; it was like he had just remembered something. "Back when Betty was still here," he muttered loud enough that Kanrel could hear him.
He stopped looking around the room and instead stared at the older man. "My name is Kanrel Iduldian, a priest of the Priesthood. It is a pleasure to meet you and a great honor that you would share your house with a stranger like myself."
The man snapped out of his previous grief. "Don't know 'bout honor and such, but a pleasure it might be," he declared with a half smile on his face. He offered his hand to Kanrel, who took it instantly; his hand was rough, and one could tell that it was a hand that had worked its entire life, "Rant Jenkse."
They shook hands, after which Rant stood up from his chair. "You ain't lookin' like you ate for 'bout a week, and I was just 'bout to eat dinner myself," he explained as he walked to the fireplace, in which there was a small pot hanging over it. He used a metal hook to pick up the pot from the fireplace and placed it on top of a wooden pot coaster that was in the middle of the table.
Then he brought two bowls, two spoons, and a loaf of brown bread, which he placed on the table. "I don't have much prepared, but it's better than nothin'," Rant said, lifting the lid from the pot. From under it came a great amount of steam, and soon one could see a kind of soup.
"You know much 'bout crop rotations?" The man asked suddenly, and at the same time, he put a couple of scoops of soup into both of the bowls.
"I don't know much, but if I recall, first, you'd plant something like rye, after which you'd plant potatoes, and so forth, to keep the land fertile," Kanrel shared what limited information he had about it.
"More or less, though it's a lot more complicated than that, but basically last season was potatoes, which is all I've been eatin' the last few months," Rant said. "A bit dull after a while, but what you gonna do? Starve the winter? But I've gotta say, I might be the best potato cook the land's ever seen!"
The sadness returned to his expression: "If you don't count Betty, that is."
Kanrel took a spoonful. It didn't taste like anything, but it was warm, and it was food, so he ate with such swiftness that Rant was left just looking at him go, "I've never seen a priest enjoy food in all my life; hunger truly changes the hearts of men!"
Kanrel smiled his usual stiff smile. "It is the best thing I've had in what feels like an eternity; the past weeks I've been eating dry bread and jerky; I ran out of it this morning," he explained, scooping himself some more soup.
Bread and soup was a combination that would be heavenly for any starving man; it went down easily, and it was something that would fill his stomach to the brim.
They ate mostly in silence. Rant would at times ask a few questions about his journey, even confirming that he was indeed not crazy and had actually traveled for a few months in the dead of winter. And he did, of course, call him a "fool" for doing something so "foolish."
Rant prepared a place to sleep for Kanrel in the small guest room. The room was filled with little things; of course, there was a bed and a table to put your things on, but there were also plenty of random things.
On the shelves, there were different types of rocks—rocks of various types and different colors—a rock collection. Rant explained that the room was for his sons, who lived closer to the village with his family. His son worked in construction, and his specialty was masonry.
Though apparently, he hadn't visited much recently.
You can easily miss the most simple of things, especially when you haven't had the chance to be in contact with such things. A bed, a blanket, a table, and even something as simple as a chair. One can miss those things and only appreciate them when they're gone. And when one comes in contact with it again, it won't take long before the simple things become mundane again, and you seldom even think about them.
Kanrel would not be able to enjoy said things, so tomorrow he wouldn't be emotionally able to appreciate them. He would have to actively think of the fact that he now had those things.
Sleep came quickly, and the darkness swallowed him, just to carry him to the next morning. There were no nightmares, just the comfort of nothing and the comfort of not remembering anything.
The next morning, for breakfast, they had the same food they had the day before. It was still dark outside, but the darkness would soon be subdued by the light in just a few hours. When it would be so, Kanrel would leave the old man's house behind and seek out the village, which was bound to be near.
"How far is the village from here?" Kanrel asked after they had had their breakfast.
"It's 'bout an hour's way north; you'll see it when you arrive," Rant explained, loosely gesturing toward the north. "I would like to ask for a favor," he then added.
"Sure, anything."
"You see, I don't know how to write or read, but my son does; could you write a letter for my son?"
Kanrel gave a nod of agreement and went to get his back. He got his notebook and a pencil, set them on the table, and waited for the man to begin.
"When will you visit home? It is lonely here, and it won't be long before my time is over," Rant began. "The nights are getting colder; I'll be dead by the end of winter."
Kanrel began writing but stopped before he reached the end of the last sentence. He looked at the man sitting across him; the sadness still remained on his face; it was there, and it was more apparent than it had been last night.
"Are you sick somewhere?" He asked. Maybe there could be something that he could do.
"Yes, but it is a sickness no man or priest can heal," Rant scoffed. "I am old, and it hurts everywhere. Since Betty has been gone, I've felt empty and so lonely. So I suppose I have a sickness of the mind as well."
Kanrel just stared at him in silence. There really wasn't much that he could do for him other than write the letter for him. "I could write you a will as well," he soon offered.
"A will? What's that then?"
"After you're dead, it will state who gets your property and all the earthly things that you have left behind," Kanrel explained and then looked around. "Your house seems like an old one, and you've probably lived here all your life; it would be a shame if it were left unattended after your departure."
Rant seemed to think for a while, "Wouldn't it go to my son anyway?"
"Yes, but there'd be no question, and no one could argue that he wouldn't be the rightful owner of this property and the lands adjacent to it."
"It is something nobles do quite often, and wealthy landowners and merchants usually need a priest to be the one to witness it and to write it down," Kanrel added.
Rant thought for another moment, "Would it cost anythin'? I don't have much gold."
Kanrel shook his head. "No priest would or should ask for anything for his or her services; besides, you've housed me for the night and fed me twice; you've saved my life out of the goodness of your heart; who would I be to demand anything of you?"
Rant smiled a little. The sadness remained in his smile, yet he said, "Priests do seem to bring some good luck; I'll accept your offer."
Kanrel finished writing the letter that Rant had dictated for him to write. Kanrel then made him sign the letter himself, teaching him how to write his own name. He then added the assumed date that it was written on, also writing a mention of who had written the message, as well as the fact that they'd draft a will for Rant Jenkse.
Soon after, they began working on the man's will. In its simplicity, the will held in it the information of all the things that Rant owned, the lands, the property, and the things inside the property. He wasn't wealthy in the sense of money at his disposal, but he had plenty of land, which seemed to be prosperous. And most of the money he had, he would invest in his son's business.
He made two copies of the will, and when they were both done, Kanrel made Rant sign them. After which, he took some wax and sealed them both. One of them he gave to Rant, "I suggest that you place it somewhere safe, probably in your bedroom; I will keep hold of the other one, and I will be in contact with your son."
Rant made a nod and received the other will for himself: "I suppose this is goodbye then?" He asked.
"Yes, for now, it is; I'll be sure to visit you again before your departure," Kanrel promised. He packed his things, got his bag, and was ready to leave. For the last time, he looked at Rant, who stared at him, holding on to his will and pressing it against his chest. His stare wasn't direct, and it only at first seemed like he was staring at Kanrel; instead, he looked beyond—who knows where?
Kanrel opened the door and soon closed it behind him. As he went down the stairs back onto the snowy ground, he wondered if there really wasn't anything else that he could do. No one can heal the ails of age; everyone will die in the end. And it was true that none could survive time, but even in its inevitability, it remained a sad reality.
Perhaps he could at least find his wife in death. If there was such a possibility, if there was such a thing as life after death.
Soon, the house in the middle of the snow was left behind, and he kept walking northward. It was midday again, and light graced his way through the winter scenery that he walked through, and after that hour, he saw it. Surrounded by snow fields, the mountains far from west to north, and the forests to the east.
A village much larger than he had anticipated. Hundreds of houses of different sizes, some made out of wood and some out of stone. This would be the place where he'd spend the foreseeable future. One of those houses would be his to live in, or so he hoped. Having to share a house with someone wasn't something he really wanted to do.
He prepared himself mentally. The day was short, and there was so much that he had to do.