The Peddler

The leaves were just beginning to turn a striking array of ochre and red when I came upon the peddler strolling down the roadway. He was bent over with age and used a wooden walking-stick for assistance, and he ambled along at a slow, steady pace. There was a plump mule behind him carrying a plethora of stuffed bags on its back, but otherwise he was alone. 

In those troubling days all forested roads were scarcely travelled by decent folk, what with bandits robbing travellers at every bridge and intersection and fearsome packs of roving wolves in the shadows of the trees. But the old peddler seemed quite cheerful as he walked toward me, wholly unperturbed by such dangers.

At length he spotted me coming from the opposite direction and called out in a chipper voice: “Good day, brave traveller! How do you do this fine morning?” 

I didn’t respond until we had come within a few metres of each other in the middle of the road. From this closer perspective I saw he had a pair of bushy white eyebrows set over bright eyes, and a thin grey beard hanging down from his chin that was tapered to a point. His face was deeply wrinkled and there were many liver spots on his cheeks. 

“I’m fine,” I said. “Why are you travelling out here in these disturbing times? It isn’t safe to walk in this place, especially alone.” 

The peddler’s tawny eyes twinkled. “Yet I am not alone and I fear not the hidden things in the woods. Say, where are you headed in such a hurry?” 

“There’s a town I want to reach before nightfall. Derrauch, it’s called.” 

“Oh, I have just come from there! Derrauch is a lovely town. Its people are remarkably hospitable and its children are bright, inquisitive creatures. Every so often when I pass through I give them free toys from my wares,” said the old fellow. With a graceful hand he gestured to the mule and its cargo. “Seeing their smiling faces is enough to brighten the gloomiest of days.” 

“I agree, it’s a lovely town. My family lives there. I’m on my way back to them as we speak.” 

The peddler grew momentarily distant at the same time that a chilly breeze gusted down the road, causing his beard and eyebrows to rustle, and cutting right through me despite my leather armour. Somewhere nearby a wolf howled, but that might have been the wind.

“Derrauch is peaceful, aye, yet it is not without sin,” he murmured. “As all places are, sadly.” He seemed to regain his focus and smiled.

I paid no heed to this passing remark and watched as he sat down where he’d been standing in the middle of the road, displaying surprising flexibility for one of his apparent age. He sat cross-legged with his walking-stick resting across his knees in the manner of a wise hermit at the top of a mountain. 

“Will you sit here and stay awhile? It’s been a long time since I had someone to talk to out here on the wild paths,” he said. “I’ve been walking for several hours already today, and it would be good for me if I rested for a spell.” 

“I really should continue on my way if I want to reach my destination before dusk,” I said. “Derrauch is many miles from here and the fog in these parts becomes thick in the evening. There are the wolves, too.”  

“Fog and wolves aside, one of your bearing and obvious strength could make it to Derrauch with plenty of time to spare, even if you did stop a moment to oblige an old fellow on the road.” 

“I’ve been away from my children for several months now,” I replied. “I’m sure they miss me badly.”  

“Stopping for a minute or two won’t delay your reunion too unbearably. They will still be there waiting for you when you arrive,” the peddler reasoned. “A conversation is all I ask.” 

“Only if you insist.” 

“I insist. Come, have a drink and a bite of food. I have pastries, spiced meads, and candied walnuts in my stores. If that doesn’t entice you, there is more on the mule’s back,” he said, assuming the air of a market vendor while graciously offering me some of his goods.

“Just a cup of mead will do,” I answered shortly. “Shouldn’t we move off the road?” 

“The middle of the road is where it’s safest. Nothing will bother us here.” 

I crouched down opposite the old fellow’s cross-legged form, as I was still dressed in my armour, and left a few metres of space between us. I thought for a minute that there was movement in the dense trees to our left, the kind made by a person rather than an animal, but all was quiet and the peddler was handing me a flask so I never had time to look twice. The flask contained something warm inside it. After uncorking the stopper, an inviting smell of cinnamon and some other unidentifiable fruity spice wafted into the air. The drink tasted as crisp as the leaves of autumn. 

“This is good,” I said. “Did you make it yourself?”

“In a way, though the recipe is not my own.” The peddler was mum on the subject of mead from then on. Nearby, the branches swayed in sudden strong gusts of wind that made the trees quiver.

“You have the disposition of a warrior, friend. Tell me, are you a knight on a grand adventure or a sacred errand for your lord?” he asked. He refused the flask of mead when I offered it back to him but contented himself with chewing a cinnamon roll. 

“You guessed right. I am a knight, although at the moment my errand is more personal in nature,” I said.

“You have the countenance of a warrior who has faced many perils and defeated countless foes, some of whom were no doubt powerful. I think I have seen you before, but your name escapes my tongue.”

“Do you know me?” he asked suddenly. He was gazing at me with keen interest, not even chewing his roll.

“I can’t say that I do. Have we met before?” I replied warily.

“I have travelled far and wide across this world of ours. Many have heard my voice and seen my face. Few do not remember me.” 

“Well, I must be one of those few then,” I said, and took another swig of mead. He didn’t respond immediately. He remained in his comfortable sitting position and thoughtfully chewed the last bite of his roll. 

After a moment, he said, “Have you any exciting tales to tell? Something I may not have heard before?” 

“It’s impossible to know what you may or may not have heard before. But I doubt the stories of my exploits haven’t reached your ears if you’re as worldly as you say. Now, I think it’s time I was going. There are thunderclouds rolling in.” 

A peal of thunder boomed somewhere far off. No raindrops were falling, but the wind was quickly becoming fierce. 

“There are indeed.” The old man made no move to get up. “Your children, do they see you as a hero?” 

“What do you mean by that?” I returned. 

“You must have done things you’re not proud of is all I mean. A weight must lie upon you. Forgive my enquiries, it isn’t every day that I get to speak with a knight,” he added somewhat bashfully.

I paused only briefly before saying, “It’s time I was off. I’ve obliged you with your conversation long enough.” 

The peddler rose to his feet, planting his walking-stick in the dirt for support. “That you have,” he said. “Farewell, sir knight. I hope you find what you seek in Derrauch. This was an enjoyable meeting.” 

I replied with a goodbye of my own and started off on my journey once again, glancing at the woods on either side of the road but seeing nothing. The peddler began to lead his mule forward and gave me a final wave before disappearing in the oncoming gloom. 

I made short work of the miles that separated me from my destination, as the storm worsened and the sky grew darker. The meeting with the peddler clouded my thoughts the entire time I walked. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about him was strange. In all my years of travelling, I had never met a stranger like him.

When I neared Derrauch there came to me the acrid odour of smoke. I stopped in my tracks, for this wasn’t the scent of chimney-smoke. I ran on with haste and the town came into sight around a bend, where a horror awaited my eyes. 

All the twoscore buildings that was Derrauch had been burned to embers. Only charred remains and a cloud of black smoke was left— an entire field of ruin where a town once proudly stood. And the stench was horrible. It grew worse the closer I came, and there was something more to it, something unholy. I hurried on toward my house without bothering to inspect the blackened residue of buildings or the burned scraps of clothing fluttering in the breeze among the flakes of ash.

What I found I cannot bear to speak of. In that moment I was too hollow to feel sick, too lifeless to feel anguish, and I was in a daze. That awful smoke was all I could smell; it invaded my nostrils, choking me. It was like the smoke was being poured down my throat, swirling around my heart, strangling me.

Everyone was gone. Derrauch was no more. The remains couldn’t have been more than a few hours old, and yet there was nothing resembling a once vibrant settlement. What terrible evil could have done this? 

—

After a timeless spell of kneeling in the blackened soil, with the merciless rain splattering all around me, I finally got up and stumbled back toward the centre of town. I’d only taken a few more steps when my foot crunched on something in the dirt, the only thing in the entire ruin that wasn’t incinerated.

It was a children’s toy, scarred by flame.