The Old Hermit Part 2

Joji sat staring into the fire.

The storm outside was still attacking the mountain and unleashing all of its chaos and energy; it was angry and it wanted all of the land to feel its rage and terror.

Its winds were rolling down the jagged edges of the rock cliffs, and smashing into the side of the small wooden cottage overlooking the town of Ascia, somewhere in the darkness below. The storm whistled and roared, and the needles of rain had grown to be ferocious strikes of liquid hammers; and yet the old hermit’s home stood strong.

Despite the battle outside, Joji was entranced by the fire and its ember glow. He was hypnotised.

But it was not the soft humming of the ember flames, nor the spitting and cracking of the dried wood, but it was the image and memory of the purple stone from the hilt of the sword.

He could see it as though it were there before him; and it was talking to him - not in words but in feelings, it was whispering deep emotions that took hold of Joji that moved him to his core; as though trying to pierce his soul. He felt compelled to look closer and closer, as though falling into a dream.

It was then that the old hermit shouted in with sudden despair, and Joji was pulled from the depths of the fire and back into himself.

Joji turned quickly and saw the old man dancing and waving his wooden ladle in the air; jostling and jiving, his apron rustling as the hermit exclaimed in shock! Joji caught glimpse of a pink haze bouncing at the hermit’s feet, and this haze darted away, bouncing off the wall and up into the air. Before Joji could even make sense of the havoc before him, a small pink character bowed before him with a squeak.

The old hermit stood forward and ran his hand through his grey beard, unknowingly painting it with a dollop of the stew he had been preparing.

“Hmm well isn’t this interesting.” spoke the old man.

“This night sees another interesting turn I see!”

The pink character peered at the old hermit, and it looked to Joji as though it rolled its eyes as it did. It had large ears and large dark eyes, and it’s pink fur fluttered gently in the warmth of the fire.

“This, mischievous little fellow is a pipki.” declared the hermit.

“A pipki?” asked Joji, “I’ve never seen a pipki… is it some sort of rabbit?”

The pipki lowered its eyes in displeasure, Joji had clearly insulted him, but the hermit seemed amused and his bellowing laugh filled the room once again.

“Hohohohoho! Not quite young Joji! Pipkis are ancient creatures, spirits if you will! Of course, with the way of the world now few ever hear of spirits, let alone see one or get picked by one.”

“Picked by one?”

“Why yes!” replied the hermit with a gleeful smile “it looks as though this little pipki has decided you are a fit companion for it.”

The pipki, clearly feeling its sense of duty, stomped one of its tiny little paws onto the wooden floor, and bowed once more.

“But I don’t want a companion.” said Joji, “especially not a pink little rabbit-”

The pipki, clearly displeased at either Joji’s reluctance or comparison to a rabbit, hopped into the air and with a cute, yet with equally terrifying grace, slapped Joji on the forehead.

“Ow!”

The hermit’s laugh erupted into the room, this time with added vigour!

“Oh Joji, I haven’t laughed like that for years! Pipkis were here long before humans, some say they were born from the first blossoms of the Spring Star, although I suspect that little thing doesn’t get talked about either! A pipki chooses one person, and, despite how mischievous and uppity they are, it is a great honour to be chosen.”

The old hermit sat beside the pipki and Joji.

“Joji I can sense your unease.”

Joji looked at the old man, and to the pipki.

His soul felt settled, and yet more alive than he could ever remember.