He had graduated from the Royal Institute; in the time spent there, he had read pretty much everything that could be read, in all fields of interest, and even though many of the books had found their end in the unforgiving waters of the world in which he lived, he had found something else... a quenching of his thirst for letters. He was generally a calm person; he was thin and tall, with a long face, milky white, freckled skin, a sharp chin, long red hair, styled to bring out his wide forehead and small ears, and his nose... mmm, well... the nose was above average, "so that he could sniff his victim from afar, like a greyhound" – his colleagues at the Institute joked, a joke that, over the years, became a resounding nickname, "the greyhound", especially because he would end up easily around the books, which he would devour down to the last drop of ink.
He also remembered the discussion with his good colleague and friend, George, after the graduation, when each of them had to choose a path in life: one in the company of books and the other one in the company of maps, one with the reading, the other with the drawing. They also took an oath: if, during their travels overseas, they found maps apart from books or books apart from maps, they would keep them for the other until they would see each other again.
He had fond memories about the teachers at the Institute, who had helped him to expand on what was most precious to him, because the school was organized so straightforwardly that each student chose the subjects they wanted to study, enjoying the complete freedom to learn to their heart's desire. Thus, they encouraged not only the educated young, but also people prepared to deal successfully with the field of activity for which they had trained with passion and devotion ever since they were attending courses at the institute and were then eager to put into practice everything they had learned in these years of study.
Then, difficult times began, and everything fell prey to corruption. And no matter how hard they tried, they failed to keep the petty interests from hindering the education; education was easily and positively destroyed, perhaps because it no longer offered any sound alternative to the existing wrongdoings. You no longer needed graduation documents in order to be proposed for a high office in the kingdom, experts were no longer needed in the key sectors of activity, because everything was run by meek, uneducated people who lacked freedom.
Therefore, not even the school was a concern of everyday life, the number of students continued to decrease under the pressure of the hard times, but especially because of the obligation to learn useless things, while skilled teachers were ignored completely and were replaced gradually, under various imaginary pretexts, by questionable individuals.
Anyway, some years had passed since graduation, and the young student had to start with menial jobs, in order to save the amounts of money that would allow his planned trips year after year; thus, as a member of the regular crews, he crossed the waters of the world in search of land spots – the true natural riches.
After he had saved just the amount he needed, no more, no less, the young graduate, now also having some maritime experience, decided that the first place he would go to was Isbynorr, the largest settlement of the Northern District; the only thing he knew about those lands was that the winters were harsh and the means of transport was a commercial vessel that set sail from Narzomand, his hometown; he was determined not to miss it again.
The ship barely squeezed through the ice banks... It was a large ship meant to carry food to the inn, a point of supply for all the inhabitants who arrived here from all over the Northern District. Every month, the ship brought the same products and returned with the same amount of wood and iron... It wasn't much, but it was a fair exchange between the North and the East, following the agreement between the governors of the two provinces, Stephen and Olympia. The same routine over and over again, except now, when an unknown man was aboard, eagerly searching for adventure, toward these snowy territories; the man was unfamiliar both by appearance and by name, Filip Tyrip.
He sat low among the bags of food supplies, covered from head to toe with the worn and smelly furs he had borrowed from a crew member. That's right, traveling in these conditions hadn't exactly been his dream, but he could not oppose them; the thirst for knowledge was much more important than any physical discomfort.
Moreover, he kept himself occupied. He read. How else? A book gifted by the ship's cook, in exchange for his favorite fish recipe, with whom he had become friends at the first meal. Not with the recipe. With the cook! And there was no more precious thing in those days than being a cook's friend. The book was not a recipe book, as one could easily misunderstand, it did not even tell a beautiful story – it was something about some technical analyses of building structures – but the boy devoured it, for something else piqued his interest and fueled his hunger for knowledge: the descriptions of realms long gone under the muddy cover of the waters, realms about which there were not contemporary mentions. This led him to the conclusion that he was holding an important manuscript. and its place was on the dusty shelves of the Royal Library.
The closer they got to the North, the angrier the cold, the excess moisture made it difficult to breathe, and the furs were no longer doing their heating job, a good time to light a fire to warm up his soul and shed some light on his way to his destination. The closer they got to the end of the voyage, the more the waves that crashed into the ship would be replaced by the noisy ice banks.
He knew that here there was something that no other district had; although it was buried in the snow, this part of the world drew him incessantly, and it wasn't because of the iron mines, nor because of the great glacier... Even though he truly despised the water of the seas—in which the most beautiful years of his youth had drowned — the ice did not have anything appealing either... but he had no choice. He had decided to follow his hidden mysteries, and these mysteries led him to the North, farther to the North; this is what the fine sense of smell of the young greyhound reminded him.
He was aware that he had to move swiftly, to find what he was looking for so passionately, but at the same time he could not miss the return home on the same ship with which he had arrived. So he had three or four days to find the answer to all the questions, otherwise he would have to choose between leaving the same way he had come or staying for a whole month until the next transport.
There was no time for too many formalities; the first place where he could find some information was the shop in Isbynorr, the well-populated main town of the Northern District, at the junction of the roads that spread across the island.
Just after he disembarked, the young man tried to get a taste of the place and he was amazed! The Northern District was more vibrant than he had believed it, especially when he looked at the children who were enjoying the dense snowfall that had started out of thin air; they were playing with snowballs and painting in the snow banks the games that they held so dear.
Filip was there for the first time in his life and he noticed – as much as one could see – the strange architecture of the houses; the houses were small, they had two or three rooms huddled up, organized around a huge chimney. From afar, the tiny houses looked like piles of soil. And, wherever you looked, these small clusters stood on either side of the main road. The downtown buildings just near the port were excepted from the architectural standard of the area – and they also included the inn, a place where trading activities were prospering. Even if he had wanted to examine the architectural details of the buildings, he couldn't have done it because everything was covered in a heavy blanket of snow that hid them marvelously.
Figuring out where in the snow banks you could find the inn was easy – the natural quiet of the place would become suddenly perturbed by the occasional uproar of those who had heard or seen the ship with food supplies reaching the port and headed straight to the inn when, like a hungry wild beast sniffing its prey they got out of their tiny houses; one way or another, it was a fight for survival, even though no one was aware of the gravity of it.
He didn't hesitate either and in a few quick steps he was already among the locals on his way to the shop. He went in carefully, because he didn't know what to expect, he didn't know how the others would react.
Inside, there was a relatively small, rectangular room, its breadth on the front door, and the opposite side lined with a few shelves of food, in front of which you could see the towering view of a sturdy table and of an old man with perfectly white hair, probably the innkeeper, who attended to his inquisitive customers kindly and with help from a nimble young woman. To the right, as you looked from the entrance, you could see a loud, burning fire, crackling and shaking like a parent scolding a child, while allowing unconditional spiritual warmth, just as the rich flames gave warmth to all those who had crossed the threshold of the inn to hear the latest news from the Kingdom, but especially to get some food that would make their life easier. The way from the door to the shelves with food supplies divided the inn in two equal parts, and on each side there were two tables with benches; no one had sat there yet.
Given the circumstances, Filip went unnoticed, although he could have been given away easily by his elegant attire that was too stylish for this place; he sat down at the table next to the fire. He was cold and for good reason, because he was not used to such landscapes; his first contact with snow had been late in his teen years, on a fishing vessel that had voyaged more than it should towards the North.
"What kind of inn is this? No food and drinks", the young guest asked himself, but it seemed as if he had thought it out loud, for, out of the blue, the other seats filled with people who ate and drank heartily, making him gulp.
"Kind gentleman, are you here to keep us company?", said the white-hair innkeeper, allowing him to feel less numb. He then continued to introduce himself, "I'm Dan and that one over there is my daughter, Azamea", he added while looking over his right shoulder, at the young lady who was passing her time among the shelves.
No matter how much Filip tried to send a smile to Azamea, his intent quickly flew to the wind when her father went on, "I'll get you something to eat, I guess you're hungry... The unfamiliar faces that end up around here are never with a good meal under their belt. And perhaps you'll also want a drink, you seem really weary...", added politely the innkeeper.
"Yes, something to eat sounds nice," whispered Filip through the teeth, staring at the brash young woman.
"And water will do just fine. Thank you very much for your kindness."
"Can you hear this one? He wants to drown! It's not enough that we're like fish in water all over around us, he needs to drink it, too... Poison, I tell you!", blurted out a man at the next table, while the others roared with laughter; then he added, "Young man, I bet you never drank any real booze, am I right or am I right?"
The young man looked at the other one and saw that the hair on his head and face merged together perfectly, resembling the one of the bear he was wearing, as neatly as the words that had just come out of his mouth. He allowed a few moments to await for an answer and then he replied.
"On the contrary, my dear sir, just a few days ago I went through a tragedy because of these damned liquors... ever since then, I have promised myself I wouldn't drink any."
"So... you're saying that you haven't drunk a drop of liquor ever since?", the other one asked, rousing some subtle uproar around him.
"You mean me!!!??!", barked our young man, frowning and obviously bothered by the question; then a wide smile suddenly illuminated his face, "Of course I drank... and I'll drink again, although I risk falling ill, but I'm not that lucky!"
He approached them carefully, but safely, hoping he would manage to steer the discussion where he wanted it.
"Just take care that you don't get sick in the hereafter...", said another unfamiliar face, to the others' delight.
"I'm not bothered by that, as long as there is not as much water as here...", continued the young man along the same lines of that frosty winter evening; he had become accidentally the center of everyone's attention.
Although he had first wanted to be as discreet as possible, the plans he had made during the voyage did not match the events on site, which was why he had to continue the conversation with these people who longed to talk with a stranger.
"Where are you from and what brings you here?", chimed in Dan while he put some food on the table.
"I'm from Narzomand and I was wondering about this part of the world. It's my first time here."
"Narzomand? Pfff...", someone whispered heavily... "I thought you were from Zendovir..."
"I'm not... but I was there, too..."
"Then tell us about the House of Liquors, is it really as magic as they say it is? Come on, tell us, we've heard all kinds of stories," asked a companion at the next table.
"Poppycock!", he said boldly and impolitely, annoyed that they kept changing the subject. That was when laughter filled in again the small room at the crossroads and he continued along the same lines, "That's what I had thought, actually, and when I finally got to that place..." All of a sudden, all those in the room grew dead silent, out of sheer curiosity, while the unknown man elegantly went on with his story.
"We reached the port after several whole days at sea – a curse on this sea, I can't stand it any longer -, we were thirsty and hungry, and we saw the House of Liquors from afar. At least its position was accurate; it had its door straight in front of the large wharf that split the neat port of Zendovir right in half. So, even if you were nit-witted and drunk, you still knew that's where the famous chemist's shop was. You could not miss it."
"What do you mean chemist's shop?!?! Isn't it magic?", weighed in the owner of the room, who, fascinated by the young man's speech, had forgotten even about his own business...
"Ha, magic! It's not magic, it's a chemist's shop... In fact, it is not even a chemist's shop..."
"Wait! Let me finish! Don't keep interrupting me, because I'll lose my train of thought and I wouldn't want to talk nonsense! That's what all of us on the ship knew, too, that it was a chemist's shop, that it had medicines, oils, fine fragrances, and so on and so forth, but at a more careful examination, we could see normal people getting in and other people getting out, but hugging, staggering on their feet and singing inharmoniously..."
"And that made us accept the divine truth – that was a place where you could drink really well!", vowed the man with satisfaction, while the others were sighing. Then he went on, "But to our great awe, when we got closer, our noses picked up the smell of fine food, and we felt as if we had died and gone to Heaven... Curious sooner than hungry, we disembarked and quickly went in.
It was a really big place, maybe twenty times larger than this room of yours; it had sturdy tables full of delicious things; hungry men sat at the tables and gulped down the food... In the left corner in the back, you could see a counter where a woman would put the plates filled with food and then the plates would be taken thought the tiny window in the wall behind her – that's where the kitchen was; from there, the food would be carried across the room by a man, on a cart that was about half of the height of a man... In other words, the House of Liquors was not a chemist's shop; it was much more than that: an inn where you could eat and drink until you could feel your navel in your nostrils!"
And he went on telling them about all sorts of dishes, about soups, salads, game meat rolled in so many kinds of dressings that the garrulous audience not only had lost their tongue, but they were also drooling heavily, imagining each word in the plates sitting in front of them.
Filip now knew what he had to do: just like you need to talk to thieves about treasures, you should speak of food to the hungry.
"I hadn't experienced such flavors my whole life; all sorts of vegetables cooked in all kinds of pots carefully sitting in the ovens or over the heat, with tender meat bathed in its own elixir... Oh my heavenly Lord! And the golden bread coated in spicy oils was so soft that it would caress your tongue and senses like parents spoiling their child... And let's not talk about the drinks! Oh, the drinks... a wonder! Liquors for the gods! Old and quality drinks, newer and more playful drinks, sweet or dry drinks, spicy or bitter drinks..."
The young traveler marveled passionately at things, thrusting a knife in the wound of those who sat in wonder, with their mouths open and their eyes bulged, without even blinking. They did not say anything any longer, they had been left without a line; noting that he had grasped their weakness, he continued his stories, for stories were his strong point.
"And, as I was saying, we went there to have a meal and a drink; I don't know how, but I got there later, while the horde with whom I had disembarked had already played havoc among the innkeeper's pots. So all that was left for me was a hearty serving of fish..."
"Aaahhhh!!", regretfully exclaimed the others, commiserating with our minstrel who, from all the fine foods, had been left to stay his hunger with the things that could be found anywhere. Fish was the prevalent dish in that age and time, and anyone, no matter how poor, could fry some fish.
"That's really terrible, stranger! Well, when you are hungry, you'll chew on the boulders on the road and you won't complain about it! Just look here, we, too, eat fish, only fish, and we have grown up", said a local champion who was empathizing passionately with the young man's story and who tried to encourage the latter.
But since he had felt a tinge of irony in that line, Filip kept his head above water.
"Yes, I'll admit I accepted quickly that serving of fish, but not because I was too hungry or because that was the last dish I could eat in that inn at that time, but because it looked magnificent, even from afar, and when he put it in front of me, I said to myself that could not be real: the skin of the fish was slightly toasted, while its white meat was separated from the bones and sprinkled with a spicy red dressing that set you in motion, no matter how tired and cold you felt; the spices that refined the dish made you think you had become lost in the royal kitchen... oh, such a heavenly flavor..."
Suddenly they all turned their eyes to the fish in front of them, then frowned at Dan, as if asking him about why the fish he had served did not have such flavors; the innkeeper averted their question with a determined answer.
"Mine's no good, huh?! Then all of you go to Zendovir and eat there from now on!"
They talked and talked until the evening came and through the doors and windows you could hear the frost sharpening its bite, hitting hard from all sides the small inn of Isbynorr. Seeing that he had left them speechless and made them wonder about gastronomy miracles, Filip thought it well-timed to finally find out if anyone could help him.
"Now, it's my turn to hear a story... I've heard that a sage lives in these God-forsaken places... Does anyone know anything about this...?"
"The hard life we have here has made sages of all of us, but I guess you're looking for Uxinius, everyone knows him, he lives up there, on the glacier... or by it", said the innkeeper, who then muttered, "I don't know how he lives there in these conditions..."
"That's no problem, I'll wait for the end of winter", said the storyteller, as reassurance to himself, which, unwittingly, led again to laughter... Puzzled, he asked, "What was so hilarious this time?"
"It's always winter here, we are the prisoners of snow, of the glacier, of the evergreen forests," explained the innkeeper, who continued,
"Well, there are also days without snowfalls, when we can see the light of the sun and nights lit by the distant stars, but that's all, and it's still winter!"
"Then let's not wait any longer", Filip rethought the whole thing, subtly smiling.
"Does anyone know the way to him? I'd like to pay him a visit, but I'm afraid I'll get lost..."
"No one has visited him, but if you want to venture out, you may take the road to the iron mines and then follow the path through the woods, until you find his hut... if you find it..."
"Is anyone willing to accompany me? I'm afraid of thieves and..."
"Thieves?!", asked someone who then continued, "Who do you think lies in wait, in the frost, on a road not travelled by anyone? You can go without any fear, there are no thieves. But be very careful about the wild and hungry animals, lest you should end up eaten by a wolf."
He had hardly finished what he had to say when suddenly the door of the inn began to creak, opening slowly, at which point first a burst of snow came in, followed by a man as tall as the door; he was dressed completely in bear pelts, covered in a thick layer of ice. At the back, a large but empty bag that waited to be filled. A piece of carefully crafted leather covered almost entirely his face, except for his clear blue eyes...
All the eyes in the inn turned to the door, and the strange silence made the guest take off his frozen mask, beneath which you could see a heavily wrinkled face and a long, immaculately white beard.