A Request to Travel Together

Half a month passed, and the trees behind the church put forth a deeper green. The early-summer breeze passed over the bell tower, stirred the linen hanging beneath the eaves, and carried the smell of fresh bread from the kitchen into the courtyard. The young man's wounds had at last begun to heal in earnest. His left shoulder could bear little weight, and even a small movement sometimes brought a dull ache, but he no longer had to spend every hour in bed. He could rise on his own and make his way slowly along the stone path to the shade of the trees.

The old man watched him cross the courtyard and nodded with satisfaction. “You're recovering faster than I expected.”

“Thanks to all of you,” the young man replied.

“Don't thank only me. Everyone here did their part.” The old man waved away the praise as though he had heard such words many times before.

The young man did not argue. He stood in the shade and watched the ordinary life of the courtyard. Someone was repairing a bench, others were bringing lunch from the kitchen, and several children were chasing one another around the bell tower, occasionally drawing a reminder to mind their steps. The familiar sounds took him back to the first bell he had heard after waking. During these two weeks he had come to know the people and their routines. He had also learned that the girl who had helped tend him was called Seren.

She was on the far side of the courtyard, helping clear wooden bowls. His gaze passed in her direction now and then, and each time the inexplicable stillness touched him again. He no longer tried to test it deliberately. Half a month had given him more than enough chances to be certain it was real. Why it became clearer whenever Seren was near, and where it truly came from, remained beyond him. He knew only that he had brought something back from the darkness besides the wound in his shoulder: a question he could no longer put aside.

* * *

That afternoon Seren set her travel bag beside her door once more. It had rested there for many days, gathering a thin layer of dust. She brushed it clean, checked the straps, and carefully repacked the things she would need on the road.

The old man saw her as he passed through the covered walkway and stopped with a smile. “Getting ready to go on?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Seren answered with a nod.

He did not try to persuade her to stay. He simply looked at her for a moment and said warmly, “Travel safely. And if the road ever leaves you weary, you'll always be welcome here.”

“Thank you.”

The old man went toward the bell tower. At the other end of the walkway, the young man had heard their conversation. He waited until the old man was out of earshot before approaching. His steps remained slow, and he had to take care whenever he turned so as not to strain his left shoulder.

Seren heard him and looked around in mild surprise. “Why are you out here? You ought to be resting.”

“I've spent enough time lying down.” He stopped several paces away and seemed to consider his words. “You're leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you going?”

Seren looked toward the road beyond the courtyard gate and shook her head. “I don't know. I'm simply going to keep walking.”

He had clearly not expected that answer. For a moment he watched her without asking for a destination or trying to suggest a more sensible route. Then he said, “If you wouldn't mind, may I travel with you for a while?”

Seren stared at him. “Your shoulder hasn't healed yet.”

“I know.” A trace of self-mockery touched his mouth. “Perhaps I'll need someone to remind me now and then not to push myself too hard. Once the wound is healed, I'll go my own way.”

She did not answer immediately. The request had come without warning. They had spent half a month in the same courtyard, and she had changed his dressings and watched him endure pain without complaint, yet she knew almost nothing about his past. She did not even know his name. She knew he had come close to death and that he seemed accustomed to bearing his troubles alone. Beyond that, he remained a stranger.

“I don't even know your name,” she said.

“Kael,” he said.

He waited quietly, offering no further explanation. Nor did he speak of the real reason he had asked. He was not pursuing Seren herself, still less a relationship with someone he barely knew. He wanted to understand the peace that had sustained him in the darkness. Whenever she was near, it returned. He could neither explain that nor dismiss it as chance. If the answer lay farther along the road, he was willing to travel in search of it.

The old man returned from the direction of the tower. He glanced at the pair standing beneath the walkway, seeming to guess something of their conversation, but merely sat on a nearby bench and let out a slow breath. “So you're leaving tomorrow?” he asked Seren.

“Yes.”

He turned to the young man, who met his gaze. “I'd like to travel with her for a while,” the young man said. “My shoulder won't recover any faster if I travel alone, and two people can look after one another.”

The old man studied him as though deciding whether that was the whole truth. Then he nodded and turned to Seren. “But this is your road. Whether you share it is for you to decide.”

For a while the only sound was the wind stirring the leaves. No one hurried her, and no one answered on her behalf. At last Seren looked up. “There's something you should know first. I don't know where I'm going, and I don't know when I'll stop. If you want a companion with a clear destination, I'm afraid I'm not the right choice.”

He did not look disappointed. Instead, he gave a faint smile. “Then that suits me. I don't know where I ought to go either. Perhaps after we've traveled a little farther, we'll both know.”

Seren studied him. She still found him rather strange, but she did not feel uneasy in his presence. She made no promise then. She only kept his words in mind. Before deciding whether tomorrow's road would belong to one traveler or two, there was something else she wanted to understand.

* * *

Late that night the church settled into silence. Only a few lamps remained lit along the covered walkway, their glow shifting across the ancient stone as the night breeze passed. The young man sat on the edge of his bed, fastening his wrist guard. He worked slowly. Whenever pain pulled at his left shoulder, he stopped until it eased before tightening the next strap.

A gentle knock came at the door. “Come in,” he said.

Seren appeared in the doorway, empty-handed. She seemed to have spent some time considering whether to come, and she did not enter at once. The young man looked surprised but nodded in greeting. “Still awake at this hour?”

“I wanted to ask you one more thing.”

“Go ahead.”

She stepped inside, leaving the door half open, and stood not far from it. They kept a natural, courteous distance between them. Seren regarded him with quiet seriousness. “If we're going to travel together, I want to know what happened to leave you so badly hurt.”

He did not answer at once. The remaining flames in the hearth shifted, casting his shadow against the wall. He watched the fire for a while before speaking. “Someone hired me to escort a merchant caravan. We ran into bandits on the road. Later, we encountered a pack of beasts. There were children with the caravan, so I stayed behind to hold them off.”

His account was brief, as though he were describing a road he had traveled rather than the ordeal that had nearly killed him. He did not explain how he had been wounded or speak of the faces that had not returned. Seren did not press him. She had seen the terrible injury to his shoulder and the older scars covering his body. Some costs were plain enough without being described.

After a silence she asked, “And if it happened again?”

He raised his head. This time he did not hesitate. “I'd stay behind again. Otherwise I should never have accepted the commission.”

There was no boast in his voice and no attempt to impress her. He answered calmly, as though stating a rule he had lived by for years. Seren studied him, then nodded. “Then I suppose I don't have to worry about carrying you on my back while we run for our lives.”

For an instant he looked taken aback. Then he laughed softly. “If it comes to that, I'll carry you.”

They both laughed. The sound was quiet, but it eased the careful reserve that had hung between them. Seren asked nothing more. She went toward the door and paused before leaving. “Get some rest,” she said, then closed it gently behind her.

The young man remained seated, listening as her footsteps faded along the passage. The familiar peace did not disappear the moment she left. It lingered in the silence for a little while. He looked down at the wrist guard he had not yet finished fastening. For the first time, tomorrow's journey seemed to mean more than merely setting out again. He still had no answer, but he had chosen to look for one.

* * *

At dawn the first sunlight crossed the rooftops of Rivergate, and the bell sounded from the tower, steady and long. Fires were lit in the kitchen, the courtyard gate swung open, and children returned carrying firewood, their laughter echoing along the walkway. To everyone at the church, it appeared to be another ordinary morning among countless others.

Seren had packed early. She took one last look around the small room where she had stayed: a wooden bed, a desk, and a little plant by the window, newly covered in leaves. She owned nothing there, yet the days she had spent within those walls had given her much to remember. She closed the door softly and went out into the courtyard.

The young man was waiting. His long sword was once more strapped across his back, and clean bandages still covered his left shoulder. He stood straight, although his face retained some of the pallor left by his illness.

The old man looked him over and shook his head with a smile. “So you put the sword on again.”

“I have to get used to it sometime,” the young man replied.

The old man did not argue. He went into the storeroom and returned carrying a smooth oak walking stick. It was old, and years of use had given its handle a warm sheen. “Take this,” he said, holding it out.

“I won't need it.”

“Not now,” the old man replied, pressing it into his hand, “but by this afternoon.”

The young man looked down at the stick and finally accepted it. “Thank you.”

From the kitchen the old man fetched an old leather waterskin filled with fresh water and handed it to Seren. “You'll need this on the road.” She accepted it with both hands and thanked him. He looked from one traveler to the other, his eyes full of familiar kindness. “There's no need to hurry. Just see today's road through first.”

Both nodded. The old man stepped toward the young man and embraced him gently, like an elder bidding farewell to someone in his care. He patted his back, carefully avoiding the healing shoulder. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

He turned to Seren. He did not embrace her, but inclined his head with a warmth and trust that needed no explanation. “May the One who has guided you continue to guide you both.”

Seren smiled. “He will.”

The old man moved aside from the church gate. Beyond it the morning was bright, and the road out of the city stretched beyond the far end of the street into the last traces of mist. Seren stepped forward first. The young man followed with the oak staff in his hand. Neither looked back. They walked slowly through the waking streets until their figures disappeared among the people beginning their day.

The old man remained at the gate until he could see them no longer. Then he turned toward the familiar bell tower. Before long its measured voice sounded over Rivergate once more. Some people stopped to listen; others continued on their way. And some, hearing the bell for the first time, turned toward the church. Its gate stood open, waiting for the next person in need.

The two young travelers had already passed into the morning light. Neither knew what mountains, rivers, or cities lay ahead, or where their separate roads would lead. Many years later, those who looked back on that morning would understand that it was not merely two ordinary travelers who had departed from the church. Two destinies had quietly begun to follow the same road.