The minstrel's story

"It's just a story."

That type of statement would have troubled and accompanied the child's soul for a long time, starting from that moment. A simple sentence was enough to set in motion a change, within his heart; a small, imperceptible, but existing and pulsating change. It took years before he became aware of it, but that was certainly the beginning of his growth, the birth of a flame, of a light. Of a hope.

"It's just a story." insisted the man, of whom Ystal now strongly doubted the real profession of minstrel. Which of them would have defined their work as "a simple story"? Was it really possible to do this?

Despite an initial refusal, thanks to the fact of being alone and ignored by the rest of the village, the child returned to his seat, silently consenting to listen. The man smiled, again pleased.

"It is a story that few people know." he began, never moving from the initial position; apparently he had no intention of uncovering his face, not even to narrate.

"This story takes place not long ago, in a small town to the east, where the sun rises. The Holy Church had recently built a cathedral, and had begun to recruit young boys and girls to educate. The girls were destined to become Servants of the Gods, while the boys would take the path of Researchers. Do you know what they are?" The man looked at him, with a patient smile. Ystal nodded. He had heard about it, always from that minstrel who had come years before.

"Researchers are the men who have studied a lot." he said, noticing a hint of amusement in the man's smile. He thought he had said something wrong, but the minstrel's gesture of assent made him change his mind. He relaxed his shoulders, returning to listen carefully.

"Among them, there was a particular boy. He had very white skin, and black hair as pitch" he raised his hand, interrupting any kind of intervention by the child "yes, he was an Alchemist. But he didn't know he was. They had picked him up from a street, in the middle of summer, and had looked after him with kindness."

At that statement, Ystal frowned, visibly annoyed.

"Why should the Holy Church help an Alchemist? They are monsters."

The man hinted at a smile, ambiguous, however replying in a slightly irritated tone, "Can a monster who does not know he is a monster, or who has done nothing to be defined as such, be considered so? Is it the actions that make you so, or do you become a monster just because others decide it, for rumors passed off as truth?"

Ystal didn't answer. He had no answer to that kind of question. And how could he? He knew nothing, and understood even less.

The man took a deep breath, returning to smile patiently, as if to totally chase away the shadow of slight irritation that had invaded him a few seconds earlier. After a few moments, he resumed telling.

"Okay, let's not dwell on these issues. I don't think you can understand, anyway."

That statement hit Ystal violently, making him blush. It was true. He did not understand and could not even try to do it.

-A monster is a monster- he repeated to himself, ignoring the man for a few seconds who, however, did not resume speaking until he was sure that the child had returned to listen to him.

"The Holy Church, as mentioned, took care of that child, never revealing to him the suspicions they harbored towards him, that he was an Alchemist. On the other hand, the child knew nothing about it. And how could he? After all, the texts that speak of the Alchemists have been entirely lost. Do you follow me?" The man looked at the child, totally absorbed in the story. In his eyes he read confusion, but despite the conspicuous opposition on his face, he was pleased not to hear him reply negatively. He was a very intelligent child.

"Yes, I follow you." he replied, biting his lower lip. Despite his initial annoyance, that story intrigued him. It was new, and for once it wasn't about non-existent heroes.

"Good. When the Alchemist saw the fifteenth winter, becoming an adult, the preceptors of the Holy Church authorized him to access the Forbidden Archive, reserved exclusively for adult men, in the process of becoming Researcher. Here, the Alchemist found a book. It was ruined and the flames had devoured most of the pages. There were few understandable words, but they were enough."

"Enough for what?" the child asked, leaning a little towards the minstrel.

The man laughed softly, turning his head towards the houses of the village. Some people had noticed him, and were watching him with suspicion and hatred. They stood safe behind the windows, staring first at the man's figure and finally at Ystal, wondering what he was doing with a stranger.

"Enough to find out the truth." the man answered briefly, standing up, wiping the dust off his long cloak.

Ystal watched him, tilting his head a little. It seemed to him that the color had changed, becoming darker, but it seemed absolutely impossible, so he dismissed that thought.

"Which truth?" he insisted, standing up in turn.

The man laughed again "I thought you didn't want to hear about Alchemists."

"By now you have told me the story. What truth did he discover?" he tried to insist once more, earning a gentle caress on the head. That sudden gesture of affection caught him off guard, forcing him to visibly blush.

"A truth that, if you are lucky and have patience, you can discover too." the man murmured, passing him, walking towards the woods.

Ystal stood still, in the center of the village, wrapped in a feeling of dissatisfaction and uneasiness. There was something about the minstrel's way of life that he didn't like. It was something mysterious, ambiguous, almost arcane. He bit his lip, frowning.

-I can't find out a truth if I'm not a Researcher.-

With that thought fixed in his mind, he walked home, with a light and unusually serene step. Speaking with that mysterious minstrel, he had not realized the actual passage of time and, along with the morning hours, the enormous worry with which he had awakened had also disappeared.

After that meeting several months passed and, in any case, no one had any news of that minstrel.