Chương 3: BAT MOCKERS HEDGE

It was when the pale dawn had broken over an empty horizon that the train halted, the tyres making screeching noises. The candor of the atmosphere presented it as dour and stern. The man in straw hat - makkot by name, walked as calmly as he could out, he breathed in the air and felt it banal.

There was a large sign bodly written on a wooden banner which stood by his left :

BAT MOCKERS HEDGE.

Makkot walked forward, his hands in his hip pocket, he gazed back and saw , to his surprise that gobbot the goblin figure guy was gone.

' Thank goodness I'll not be disturbed', he thought.

Makkot studied his surroundings, it was deserted and empty apart from the people who got off the train.

" The next train will be leaving by the third fernn crow", yelled stone.

Makkot gazed irritably at us wristwatch, that was wasting time, he thought. The third fernn wasn't going to crow till eighteen and this was just nine. He scratched the back of his neck and continued moving forward. His hands in his pockets. He took out a cigarette from his inner jacket pocket and smoked gingerly.

He was a pro trekker alright, and trekking to nowhere wasn't new to him. The smoke from his cigarette drifted backwards in a rush, it swarmed together to form a thick cloud that soon disassembled as it went backwards.

He thought it would pass time. Thinking always passes time. He remembered how the enchanter had entered into the room of the temple through the window, as silent as a bat. The enchanter had sneaked to where the crow lord was meditating and had slit him by the throat.

" How could you harbor the mind to kill a man old to be your… why!, he's older than your ancestors", screamed makkot in frustration.

The crow lord had fell and he had run from inside his room at a ferocious pace to meet the crow lord dead. He had weeped instantly, he was the crow's swordsman, he ought to have saved the crow lord.

REGRETS!

He needed them not. The enchanter had gone to strip the pendant off the crow lord neck. He had chased the enchanter but had lost it. He had been angry and had sworn to revenge, to kill, he needed to take the soul of the enchanter.

But was that all?, was that his reason for wanting to kill the enchanter, he knew that was not the only reason…

Suddenly makkot stopped and knelt on the damp ground, the cigarette falling off his hands. He bowed his head and began to weep. The sky rumbled and soon it began to drizzle rain. He stood up, slowly, as if reluctantly. Life to him, wasn't worth much anymore, his goal - his reason for living, was to kill the enchanter. He had become completely besotted with the death of the enchanter.

Makkot needed shelter, he saw a small hut standing alone far ahead in the middle of the road and went over to it. He limped, it had suddenly become his walking stance, perhaps out of hunger or perhaps he felt obliged to do so, to attract the sympathy of no one.

He had become oblivious of his surroundings, there was nothing much to notice though, only damp ground and a freckle of grass.

He rapped tenderly on the door of the hut. It opened and an old man's face popped up, staring bewilderingly at him.

" Shelter?", asked the old man.

Makkot nodded in the affirmative.

" Come on in", said the man.

The rain had become thunderous and was falling heavily now. Makkot entered the hut and the man shut and bolted the door. The old man pointed to a seat made of bamboo sticks and makkot sat on it.

The man was clothed in a worn out tunic and leggings, he bent when he walked and stood and a grey long moustache cascaded down his face. His eyes were tiny that it was a wonder to many that he could actually use them to see.

A wooden table stood erect in the middle of the hut, a shelf full of books at one corner and a bed lay slanted at another corner. A candle stood on the wooden table and flickered softly.

" Anything thing to read?", asked the old man in his tiny frog like voice.

" Not really, but anything dark will be fine", said makkot.

" My favorite author is Stephen king, hell!, his novels are gritty", said the old man.

" You got any adventurous ones?", asked makkot.

The old man went to the shelf and scoured it , he hummed a beat while he did so.

" Aaaa… a!", he finally exclaimed. " The gunslinger will do justice, my favorite". He took out a book and handed it to makkot. Makkot took it and opened it, reading. After a minute he said " sounds just like me".

The old man became curious. " Why?", he asked.

" Says the gunslinger is after the man in black, well, I'm after the …", he stopped. He had said too much. The rain hammered ferociously now.

The old man became more curious. " Who?".

Makkot was silent.

The old man persisted, softly. " Who?".

" The enchanter?", said makkot in a drawl.

The old man shook his head in the negative.

" Never heard of him".

Makkot heaved a sigh, " You might have never heard of him, I mean he's not someone you see everyday".

Knock!

Came the sound from the door. Makkot was appalled.

" You receive visitors?", he asked the old man.

" No, I - I hardly receive visitors", came the reply.

Makkot had a sword well hidden in his jacket, it was very small, the size of the pistol he had and he wouldn't hesitate to use it on anyone. He put his hand inside his chest pocket and felt the mouth of the pistol, his frown deepened and the old man watched him intently.

" I'll go check", Said the old man standing up.

Makkot only nodded. The old man walked slowly to the door and opened it…