1 The Sage

"Open your mind my son and tell me what do you feel?" An elderly man asked a twelve-year-old boy, while both of them put their hands on the arm of an old woman, this had a terrible injury as if they had bitten her, but it was not like that. Both the boy and the old man (in their youth) had dark blue hair, although now most of the hair that that old man was white with blue strands, his complexion was athletic, although he tried to hide them in loose clothes, the boy for his part wore lighter clothes, but he already anticipated a strong complexion, both had olive skin and gray eyes.

The boy seemed skeptical at first, but then he felt something on his tongue, but it came from his fingertips.

"Does it feel sweet? Like honey," the boy replied.

"Correct my son," said the old man.

"My lady, sweet blood is a terrible disease, for it arises from our own greed to eat, especially sweets and wine."

These were the words of an old man with white clothes and pale hair streaked with white and gray from age while speaking with an older woman in one of the rooms of the central fortress of Almuria called the Castle of Crin. The castle was made of white rock and high towers, where a large number of archers could be stacked, it was located on a hill in the center of the town, so it dominated that system of hills. The town on the other hand extended around the hill until it was delimited by a cliff generated by a rushing river called the Alamurian river. The village walls were made of earth and wood, strong, but not comparable to the rock walls of the inner fortress, as they had been built by other men, another people.

The old woman's gaze seemed lost, fixed on one of the windows, the west window that allowed her to see the wooded hills and high mountains of her ancestors and their tribe, Zamazia.

"It seems she likes to look up to the hills a lot," said the old man as he took a roll of parchment and began to scribble some symbols on his language.

"These mountains were the home of my ancestors" replied the old woman "as a child I used to walk its hidden paths and valleys, now I can not even leave this golden prison".

"Don't say that, your family appreciates you, especially Miss Anahita."

Then, the old man spread his hands over the wound saying in a low voice "therapeía", the old woman did not notice, but the boy who accompanied the old man managed to notice a golden aura around him, almost invisible, like the flame of a candle soon to be extinguished, the old woman's wound began to ooze white foam, while the old woman felt a slight burning, but then felt fresh, while her wound began to heal, until it reached a level of healing that was easy to treat.

The woman had lighter skin because in her youth she had long-lived as a daughter of a clan chief in the western mountains, to later be given as a wife to the chief of Alamuria, the western tribe. In her youth, she had been very beautiful, but now at the edge of her existence, she became quite depressed, due to the diseases that afflicted her, and before which, the blessing of her gods seemed to be of little use.

"This is only superficial and very temporary, and it will reopen soon if you do not follow my instructions," said the old man "there will be more wounds, and it may even lose the light of your eyes if you don't control your food" then looking at the boy, he told him to bring a small sheet of parchment, where there was a special list "follow this diet strictly."

"Yes sir," said the old woman sighing, not with much encouragement "but I would like my great-granddaughter Anahita, the daughter of my beloved grandson, to transcribe this order, because I cannot read the scribbles of your people."

"Dio, go and find the girl, give her this and tell her that she must not alter anything," said the old man.

"An must be in the temple of the goddess Artemis my beautiful boy," said the old woman.

"Immediately father" replied the boy who left immediately.

"I thought your Excellency would die without children," said the old woman continuing the conversation "I still do not understand how the vigor of youth has not yet abandoned you, my Lord."

"Exercise in the morning, little red meat" replied the sage as he observed the panoramic from the eastern window of that high tower. The image that was projected was wide hills with gentle and abrupt curves, on which were located fields of wheat, barley, and rye, studded with small houses and some sumptuous villas, the peasants could be seen in the background like ants, although, anyone who saw that old man would think that his experienced eyes would be unable to distinguish them, the truth was very different, the eyes of Zales, the sage, were sharp like those of an eagle.

Those infinite hills east of Alamuria were called the hills of Sarzin, both lands were separated by the Forest of Iozia. The Sarzin tribe, in its youth some sixty years ago, rose up in arms together with a faction of the Alamurians led by the wavy-haired Frises, the husband of the old woman who was there.

The war was short-lived, and the army of the city of Zales, called Anactozia swept away the old Sarzin, located on the highest of the hills near the great lake of Sarzin. Orontes Nastida, general of Anactozia, forced the survivors of that tribe to refound their main village closer to the coast of the Gulf of Vafu, less than a day from the battle galleys of Anactozia. Zales was a soldier recognized for his courage and physical power, the day they humiliated the ringleaders of the revolt, the day they skinned the beautiful Frises, the day his wife cursed them for such cruel treatment, the treatment of people who boasted of being truly civilized.

"I never thanked my Lord for intervening for my son's life," said the old woman.

"I thought you didn't recognize me my lady," Zales said.

"No one could forget that day" replied the old woman as she got out of bed limping, she pointed to a tall man through the south window "he is Anaco, Anahita's father."

"He looks like him," Zales said.

"He is my boy's eldest son, the baby of the baby you protected that day."

Anaco was organizing the reception of grain for the winter, a tall man with wavy hair and a thick beard, his face was covered by scars and deep wrinkles of life as an Anactozia war dog.