CHAPTER 4 - TRISTAN

The clock was ticking. Tristan had long been waiting in his seat along with five elderly people, staring at the wall that had just struck past nine in the morning. The Central Library looked less interesting than what he had expected, and he’d finished checking out with his eyes the old leather-bounds in the towering bookshelves on the ground floor. He’d finished studying the bland, silver chandelier that hung from the high ceiling—where it had been painted of people and mountains and rivers he could’ve never cared at all.

He’d been trying to catch the eyes of the old lady on the front desk for almost a hundred times already. All the things he needed to take himself out of boredom had been done. But his name had yet been called.

Fingers tapping on his folded arms, Tristan stared once again at the fierce-looking lady ahead, who had been burying her face in the enormous book she’s reading. He had to meet the keeper now, or else he wouldn’t make it to the citadel before noon. 

“That’s about it,” Tristan hissed before he stood from his seat and approached the front desk.

He cleared his throat, dug his hands inside the pockets of his white cloak, and leaned forward. “When’s he coming?”

The lady faced down and looked over her glasses. “And when will you stop coming here to ask? I told you, kid … the Archive Keeper will be here before noon. You’ve got the entire morning—“

“First of all, I was as young as ten when the world forced me to live alone in the wild, to survive hunger every single day … do you think calling that person a kid now wouldn’t be an insult?” Tristan leaned back to stand straight. “Secondly, I don’t have enough time. I’ve been here for almost three hours and you expect me to wait until noon?”

“The Archive Keeper is yet to be here,” the lady raised her voice, “What do you want me to do? Leave this desk to wake him up in his house and make me lose my job?”

Tristan placed one hand on the desk, his nails slowly clawing the wooden furniture. “I have already settled an appointment with him two days ago,” he whispered, showing off the scroll from his other pocket. “Seriously, what kind of keeper is he? Doesn’t he have any sense of punctuality?”

“You will wait,” the old woman replied, emphasizing each word with a pause, darting her eyes at him before she returned to her book.

“I said I do not have enough time.”

“If you cannot wait, then leave … or I’ll call the guards.”

Tristan snorted. “Call whoever you want to call. It will take the entire world to stop me from getting what I want.”

The old lady sharpened her eyes, pointing a finger at him. “You’ll regret this.” She stood half-way from her chair when the door of the main entrance creaked open.

Tristan turned his head around, only to see an old man in his sixties, wearing black winter garments and a white scarf. The man wiped off the snowflakes on his shoulder, then entered the library.

“Oh great,” the woman muttered behind Tristan, “Tis’ about time …”

“Got a small problem along the way,” the old man announced, white mist coming out of his mouth. “Folks found a dead body on an alley … they said the blood had been traced into a circular symbol … saw it myself, Miranda,” he shook his head, “Not a pleasant thing to see, gives me shivers and all.”

“Enough with the talk,” Miranda said. “You’ve got a guest … the most impatient one, I’m telling you.”

The old man shifted his pale eyes to Tristan, then he nodded. “Ah, the obsessed young man who asked for the records of a lady he’d been stalking to for months?”

Tristan blinked twice at the brief silence that followed, looking puzzled.

“That’s your appointment this afternoon, Marcus,” the woman told him.

“Is that so?” the old man rubbed his chin, remembering, “I see. So you must be the one with the special request … the one whom Sir Kael had spoken about a few days ago.”

“You should’ve tried to be early if you knew my request is extremely urgent,” Tristan replied.

“And Sir Kael has indeed warned me of your blunt attitude,” Marcus said, walking past him, “Into my office, shall we?”

***

As soon as they entered the keeper’s desk inside the Archives, Marcus made a short gesture towards the chair in front. A quick glance around had told Tristan the Archives had extremely organized, color-coded shelves.

“Let us not waste anymore of our time,” Marcus said, arranging all the scattered pens and parchments on his desk. “You know how precious my time is, don’t you?”

“So is mine.”

The old man gave him a quizzical stare before he gave a sigh. “You are Tristan Mcgarth, are you not? Sir Kael made a personal request to have your father’s records be given to you.”

“And you should have them now as per requested.”

“I do have them now, yes,” Marcus said, nodding, “But that is not how it works here in the Archives, boy.”

Tristan’s eyes sharpened. “What do you want?” he asked in a monotone.

The old man leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “I believe you have at least the slightest idea of how valuable every record is in this chamber. Each file holds the life of one person, dead or alive, and my job as a keeper is to keep the existence of the file for the family of that person. We do not hold second copies, I tell you.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“As the Archive Keeper, I cannot afford to let a single record be given to the hands of a young man and risk getting it lost out of grasp … unless he gives me a valid and convincing reason of needing it.”

Tristan shot an eyebrow, giving the old man a puzzled look. “Are you seriously implying that being my father’s son is not a valid reason?”

“No,” Marcus replied. “However, I’ll be needing more details than that, young man.”

“Oh please,” Tristan threw his head back, looking up at the dark ceiling, “I only need to know if the man’s alive or not … and if he is, I must know his whereabouts … that’s all.”

A short silence struck his ears after as Marcus rubbed his bearded chin. “And why exactly you wanted to know where he is now?”

“Do we really have to go through this?” Tristan asked, his chest beginning to tighten. A hard swallow in his throat was all he needed to keep all the emotions from coming out of his face.

“I hold the records, boy … you might want to listen to what I want to hear from you. Tell me why—“

“Because he left us,” Tristan snapped, cutting the old man off. He never wanted to talk to someone about his past, more so if the topic was about his family. The pain and hatred had always kept him from digging deeper, remembering. And it made him feel he’s missing something very important. Countless sleepless nights, questioning himself of why his father had done it to Tristan and his family. He needed the truth. And he needed to hear it from his father’s own mouth.

Marcus leaned forward and put both elbows on the desk, crossing his fingers. “I’m listening.”

“I was five,” Tristan began, then he took a deep breath before continuing, “I was awoken in the middle of the night by loud voices, my parents quarreling. I found my mother in tears with my baby sister in her arms, whining.”

“What were they fighting about?”

“I couldn’t remember the exact words my father told me that night, but I got the point that he’s leaving for a quest. My mother didn’t want him to go … perhaps it’s because of the quest.”

“Have you known what quest that was?”

Tristan took a short moment, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair, recalling. Then he answered, “I’m not certain. But days before that I think I heard them arguing … then they mentioned something about a dragon hunter guild … I don’t know … that’s when he left us … but months turned to years and he still hadn’t returned until now.”

“Did he mention why he’s joining the guild?”

“My mother explained to me it’s because he lost his job … and he needed quests with higher pay. You see, we don’t have the money to even own our house.”

“And I guess you want to look for him because he’s your only family left—“

“I want to look for him because I need some answers,” Tristan cut off with a sudden raise in his voice. “I want him to pay for what he did … how he destroyed our family …” He paused, squeezing his fists. “It was all because of him … he wasn’t there to protect my family when they got murdered by a noble’s order. He wasn’t there … I wasn’t there …”

Tristan’s lips trembled, but he managed to keep his tears to himself. “I …. I was out hunting beasts, so I can sell them and bring home a special meal for dinner … it was my sister’s naming day, and so I worked harder to at least save more to have that meal, my sister’s favorite … but when I came home I …” He chuckled sarcastically, shaking his head. “I was too late.”

Marcus took a few seconds to study Tristan’s face. “You’re still trapped in your past,” he said in a half-whisper.

“You think? Well, why don’t you tell me where he is now so I can finally free myself from my past?”

“I’ll have you know, young man, that seeing your father does not mean it will free you. Moving on is a choice, a hard choice … it’s not something that you do once you get what you want.”

Tristan groaned, rubbing his face. “When did this appointment became a life session? Just hand me the files already … I’ve got more things to do today.”

Marcus studied Tristan’s face for a moment, as if reading his eyes when Tristan had been trying to ignore the emotions coming back from his past. Then the old man pushed his chair back, pulled one drawer from his desk, and took out a folder. “Silvester Mcgarth,” he said as he put the folder on the desk and slid it forward. 

Tristan opened the folder to read, then he frowned. The records only contained his father’s background information, the place where he’d lived, his family, and the work he had before.

“I don’t understand,” he said, flipping the pages. “These are the only records you have?”

“Silvester Mcgarth worked as a hunter-gatherer here in the capital,” the old keeper leaned back on his chair, “He hunted beasts and brought supplies in the marketplace, but he left his job nineteen years ago.”

“I don’t give a damn about his job, Marcus. I want to know where the hell that man is right now,” Tristan replied as he pointed at the folder.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Very well … you’ve mentioned earlier about a dragon hunter guild, the one you believe your father had joined.”

“That’s what my mother told me,” Tristan said, then he shrugged, “She might’ve lied about it … but it’s the only lead I have.”

“The dragon hunters are most likely found in the country of Drava … beyond the western seas of our country. You won’t find anyone here, young man. The dragons in the north had long been dead.”

Tristan closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “You’re telling me I would have to go overseas just to find one man in a huge foreign country?”

“The question is … would you go that far just to find something … or someone that’s already in the past?”

“That’s about it. We’re done here,” Tristan said as he stood from his seat. “And I’ll take these.” He picked the folder, turned around, then walked out of the Archives.

“Just accept it and move forward, young man.”

Tristan inhaled, then exhaled slowly as he closed the door behind him. He had long been wanting to search for his father and ask for answers, but he guessed he would never have them, as he would have nothing but a one in a million chance of finding that man. Everyone kept on telling him to forget the past and just move on, as it would certainly consume his mentality if he’d chose to remain trapped. But for him, deep inside, he knew what he wanted was right. He was in thirst for the truth.

Tristan covered his head with the hood of his white coat as he walked to the main doors. He had no other choice left but to return to Cold Hills and keep helping the people he had made a promise to. He thought it’s better than wasting his time finding his father. At least he now had his father’s records in his hands.

However, a slight prick of disappointment lingered on his chest, knowing he would never find what he had always been seeking. The thought itself made him more sad and irritated.

As he opened the double doors, he looked out with squinted eyes, adjusting to the brightness outside. Then he stormed his eyebrows when he found a group of cavalry knights waiting in front of Capital Library. The one leading them was none other than the Divine Knight of Glacia.

“Are you finished? What took you so long?” Kael asked, mounted on a white stallion.

Tristan climbed down the steps, approaching to the knights. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’ve got orders from His Grace,” Kael replied with a side-smirk. “The King demands for your presence in the throne room at once.”