The Bard’s voice was the last to weaken.
He was just barely heard over the muffle of wheels rolling along a well-traveled road.
The driver took care to keep the horses at a gentle pace to make the journey as comfortable as possible.
Inside the carriage, his grandson, their Patron and his wife listened with all their being. They were patient when the Bard stopped talking to catch his breath, their eyes misty. They were certain they would be the last people to have the honor of hearing him speak.
Nothing was left of the vigor he had most of his life.
Flesh over bone all that remained of his powerful build. But his eyes hadn’t changed, his dark gaze as piercing as ever.
The end of his life was near, but the Bard still made the trip to see his grandson off. He had grown into a fine-looking youth, tall and lean, with long limbs and the same black eyes as his grandfather, his face framed with unkempt dark curls.
Their Patron and Patroness insisted on making the journey with them. They claimed their most comfortable carriage was ideal for the peak of autumn when the air was too bracing to ride in the open air. They said they would be honored to take the grandson to port and bring the Bard home.
As thanks, the old man passed the time with one of his tales.
“The wretched fate of the Bounty Hunter spread faster than an inferno. Expensive ladies despaired she would ever be stopped. Men of the world were horrified they should ever cross paths with her. Yet the danger fascinated. Each man wanted to be the one strong enough to resist Ella Bandita, and her conquests were more than ever.”
His audience laughed, their applause starting two beats after the finish.
“You tell the most remarkable stories,” said their Patron, a twinkle in his eyes. “But I certainly hope I never attract the notice of your villainess.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” said the Bard. “She leaves the good men alone.”
The Patroness grinned at him and winked.
“Bard, I’m getting the impression you admire your Ella Bandita.”
“She’s as wicked a woman as ever lived. But truth be told, I kind of do.”
“Peppo,” his grandson said, rolling his eyes to the heavens. “Are you ever going to admit she lives only in your imagination?”
“I promise you if I ever dreamed her up, I’d force myself awake.”
“You’ve been telling stories about Ella Bandita since I was five,” the youth continued and smirked. “She must be getting too old to be so seductive by now.”
“She has eternal youth.”
The handsome couple smiled at the banter, relieved no tension lingered from the boy’s birthday.
Everybody from the village was at the cabin to wish him well and witness his surprise when the Bard gave his birthday present. The ticket on a steamer bound for the Orient was his last gift to the youth who yearned to travel the world since he was a child.
He was overjoyed until he heard how soon the ship would depart, and then he refused to leave during his grandfather’s illness.
The ensuing quarrel between the Bard and his grandson ruined the celebration.
The carriage turned off the main road to a winding path.
All the passengers were surprised, thinking it was too soon to arrive in port. Yet one glance out the window and the ship the boy would be on could be seen from the harbor. The Bard’s grandson glowed at the sight until he turned to his grandfather, his brows drawn close.
“None of that, Kid,” the Bard grumbled. “This is the most glorious day of your life.”
“I can go later-”
“You go today or you don’t go at all. And you’re going today.”
The Patron looked at his wife, who nodded.
“I don’t think it’s right to leave you now,” his grandson argued. “I can go-”
“How many times do we have to argue about this? I won’t have you watch me die.”
“I’m seventeen. I’m old enough to handle it.”
The Bard peered at the youth for a few minutes. When he spoke again, his manner was gentle, his voice gruff.
“You have already been mercilessly close to death.”
The color drained from the boy’s face at the reminder of his parents’ murder, but he was swift to recover.
“I don’t remember anything about that.”
“I do,” the Bard said, “and I remember the terrors you had every night for a year.”
“This is not the same thing,” his grandson said. “You’ve had a long life.”
“Death is death, and you needn’t witness mine.”
His grandson turned his head to the window. Swarms of people were in the streets, and he recognized the travelers from the anticipation sparkling in their eyes.
All was festive beyond the carriage, the conversation animated and the laughter boisterous, yet some had tears in their eyes. Loved ones embraced the passengers waiting for the horn to call them aboard.
The Patron pulled the latch and opened them up to the world outside, his wife joining him. They were adamant on the need to check in early at the hotel where they would stay the night and make certain of the rooms.
The driver closed the door behind the noble couple. The old man chuckled watching their backs disappear down a narrow avenue and turned to his grandson.
“I know you don’t understand why I want you to go now,” the Bard said. “Any more than I understand your desire to be a wanderer. That scares me to no end, but isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”
“Yes, it is.”
“So, if I can honor your wishes, why can’t you honor mine?”
The youth squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.
“It’s rare that one man can give another his dream,” the Bard said, taking his hand. “Will you please let me enjoy this?”
His grandson traced the bones in the old man’s fingers. He still couldn’t believe the Bard was so fragile, waiting for the knot in his throat to dissolve before he spoke.
“Thank you, Peppo. This means everything to me.”
“Then allow yourself some happiness, so I can be a part of it.”
The youth nodded, but all he could think about was that this would be the last time he saw his grandfather.
He wanted to savor this time and pushed his tears away, talking to the Bard with a false cheeriness that didn’t fool the old man.
They were relieved by the return of the Patron and Patroness, their smiling faces easing the tension in the carriage.
“We have a gift for you,” the Patron said.
His wife pulled a necklace from its wrapping. A man with ardent devotion in his features was carved into the silver charm.
“This is the saint who looks out for travelers,” she said, draping the chain around his neck. “He’ll keep you safe.”
The youth started at the sound of the horn calling the passengers on board.
The whistle rang in his ears and his heart pounded and ached. He wondered how it was possible to feel excited for adventure and overcome with sorrow in the same moment.
The Bard swallowed hard, but smiled to his grandson.
“Well, this is your send off,” he said. “Remember to always follow your heart. At least, I don’t need to worry about you crossing paths with Ella Bandita.”
His grandson laughed, relieved he might leave in high spirits like the old man wanted.
“Now that I’m about to leave,” he said. “Will you now admit you made her up?”
“But if I did,” the Bard retorted. “My last words to you would be lies.”
All four of them laughed, clinging to the suddenly buoyant mood.
“But Peppo,” his grandson said. “There’s one thing I never understood. It’s not possible Ella Bandita could eat all those hearts she stole.”
“You got that right.”
“So if she’s real as you say,” he pressed, “then where does she keep them?”
“That’s a good question, and one I don’t know the answer to.”
The Bard pulled his grandson close and held him with the last of his strength, one tear sliding down his cheek.
“Enough about her,” he said, kissing his cheek. “Dreams don’t wait forever, Kid. It’s time for you to go.”
