Gemini

The Hermit's House

Sebas' house really was built below the hill. Weird choice but ok.

In another world this man could easily have been an Hobbit.

It took us a solid quarter of an hour just to reach the entrance, and if you say it like that it might seem that Sebas lived far away from where our confrontation had taken place, but the truth is that compared to Sebas even a sloth was fast. 

You damn old man, he can only be fast when it suits him.

So when we arrived at the front door Sebas pulled out a huge bunch of keys, from which it is not clear how he managed to retrieve the right key. «A souvenir from my past life» commented Sebas as he opened the door and invited us in.

Thus we were ushered into one of the most bizarre houses I have ever seen.

Imagine the messiest thing you can conceive of, you did that? Good: Sebas' house was at least five times worse.

Starting with clothes left right and left, books misplaced in unlikely places and half-filled cups of water that had given rise to an ecosystem of their own.

And that was just the entrance.

The rest of the house wasn't in much better shape, so I'll do you the favour of sparing you other revolting details.

However, I must put a word for the poor Sebas.

His house was articulated deep within the hillside, and to his credit it had a certain charm. 

The large roots of the pine tree growing a few meters above had been incorporated harmoniously into the interior of the house, so much so that they had been fashioned into shelves or desks. I noticed that some roots had been ingeniously used as coat racks or supports for his swords.

Speaking of swords: that man had an obvious problem.

I counted about fifty of them before I lost my patience and stopped counting. When I questioned him about it, Sebas shrugged his shoulders and replied: «Every sword you see is unique and differs from the others in even the smallest detail: the length, the shape of the hilt, the material it was made from, the place it came from, the hand that made it. 

Look at this one for example: the famous Ten Thousand Winters, forged directly from the icy metals of the north by the hand of a legendary Oriental blacksmith. Legend has it that it can effortlessly cut through anything, so much so that its creator was forced never to take it out of its sheath for fear of what might ».

«Then what is it doing here?» I asked puzzled. «Let's say it's a gift» he winked back. 

As we went deeper into the maze of corridors and staircases that made up his home Sebas continued to tell us the story of the most famous swords in his possession, who had made them and how they came into his possession.

As I told you, at the fiftieth story he lost me.

After what was probably hours and hours of uninterrupted storytelling we finally reached what was probably the only tidy room in his entire house: his study.

«This is extraordinary» exclaimed Nate in amazement, and I could only agree.

In its simplicity it managed to be breathtaking.

The walls were completely covered with books, which had not, however, found a home on some bookshelf, but directly inside the hill, in finely crafted rock niches with infinite patience. The innumerable roots of the pine tree supported a magnificent vault that made the room even larger. On the walls hung what appeared to be relics and mementos from his endless travels around the world: ceremonial masks, fans, medals, paintings and... was that a guitar? 

I really have to question him about it.

And I should really start writing down my questions.

And then I saw it. Yet another sword.

But this one was not like the others, hell no if it wasn't.

I got closer to get a better look at it: it was a sword with a rather long blade, it must have been about a meter long, to which was attached a finely arabesque handle. 

But what was really sensational about this sword was the way it was constructed.

Even an untrained eye like mine could see how the handle blended perfectly with the blade, which constantly sent out auburn reflections, probably due to the material it was made of. 

But no, wait.

The blade, the handle and the hilt weren't three different pieces.

They were just one piece. Just as it had been sculpted out of metal.

That was simply amazing, a truly divine art.

I really could not take my eyes off.

Beneath it was hung the sheath, which, echoing the pattern of the handle, perfectly complemented what was a true work of art.

I was about to reach out a hand to brush it with my fingers when I felt my wrist grasped forcefully: «Keep your hands down» Sebas growled, looking at me with a look that was anything but friendly.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Nate stiffen, as if he finally broke out of awe and was preparing to intervene.

«I'm sorry Sebas, I meant no offence» I hastened to say withdrawing my hand, before Nate could get any ideas.

«Of course not, child. You couldn't have known. I apologise for my ungentlemanly ways. Living away from society certainly hasn't improved them» Sebas replied calmly, letting go of my wrist.

Within minutes the tension had completely disappeared and Nate and I were quietly sipping tea, comfortably seated on chairs Sebas had brought us.

«Well well» he started to say as he sat down. «Let's hear what brought the legendary Twins right under my hill».

Crap.