The Legend of Kanjo No Sho

You remember how the moon's glow twisted and buckled in the ripples of water. How the first breath of winter began to flow over the otherwise undisturbed surface of the lake. It had you mesmerized within its glittering depths. A forgotten mirror with friends long past. It was that same breath that wove its icy chill around you, dancing shivers across your spine and forcing you to pull your cloak tighter attempting to cling to what little heat remained. Your breath turned to mist, its dancing droplets gone in an instant.The winds silence was only broken by the crunch of frozen grass beneath your feet as you press onward, like shattering crystals they rang with each step. Through the frost bitten meadow you push on.That sparkled in the moonlight fading slowly away behind a snowy cloud until you were left in the darkness.

You weren’t there for long though, the shadows had no hold on you, you with all your light. A path emerged before your eyes lined with oaks older than time it seemed.Hulking obscurities against an already black backdrop. Each a giant in its own right, ancient in the ways of this world. Lamps divided the old friends, their soft light eerie and yet inviting. It seemed to lead to nowhere. This path. A constant continual, in purgatory. It was lulling in its repetitiveness. Not that you minded, soothed by the absence of opulence.

Dawn chased at your footsteps as your feet grew weary. It would be time to rest soon. Just a little further. Only a little further. As the thought made itself known a small hamlet appeared hunched into itself against the elements. Four paths crossed its centre dividing the ramshackle dwellings until each became its own island. Those which managed to group together leaned in using each other for support. Thatching embraced the walls of stone, its straw so damp moss had become its favourite feature.While unkempt brown cobbles distinguished path from dirt. A river once ran amok beside the alley but now lay frozen forever its freedom curbed by the unrelenting elements of winter. Its water once crisp and clear, unpolluted by the mire within the gutters, the meadow fed its hunger. More lanterns were scattered along the streets, unlit normally this close to daybreak yet this had been a constant since nightfall. One sole outpost kept its vigil against the night. A beacon to weary passersby.

The Greywall Lodge was like an inviting arm, whispers of warmth floating towards you attempting to draw you in. There was little need though as you went to it willingly on this long journey already far from home. The translucent mist had no hope to bar you from your salvation as it grasped at your ankles when you passed. Once a fence had held its own against those who thought to step out of line however time and nature were cruel to the dead breaking its spirit so that the posts jutted up like teeth, the crooked pegs doing naught that pertained to intrude.

No sooner than your foot crossed the threshold you were enveloped by the heat from a large fire. In the centre of the room it dominated your vision, its crackling embers enticing you to stay. Red hot it burned like your fingers beneath your gloves as sensation began to return. Not many occupied the large place; with tall ceilings, open to display the craftsmanship of the thatchwork, the heavy oak beams loomed above all beckoning stray birds to rest a while on their strong backs. Four support columns shone with the dexterity of imagination possessed by few, tribal patterns encompassing the fore. Close to the door two chairs sat out of the way of the draft. In one sat a drunk; his merry warbling nothing to worry about as the bard kept close. Her voice drifted in dulcet tones throughout the open space wrapping around those left behind by the day's troubles. Shuffling towards the bar a hook presented itself an easy relief from the heavy burden of you cloak. Its sodden weight sagged under the pressure a slow drip dragging out its sentence. If you had to describe the bartender in one word you would have used capable. His hands were occupied with cleaning but still he acknowledged you as you approached. Nodding in your direction he pulled out a fresh glass filling it to the brim with a dark amber liquid, its froth bubbling over to spill down the side in a lazy crawl. The sigh of pure ecstasy escaped in a rush as your feet left the floor.
“S’unlike someone like you to be wandering around these parts.” Spoke the bartender,
“What brings you hear?”
“I am looking for a book.” Your replied taking a long drag from your tankard.
“We aren’t that fancy around here, most of us, can’t even read.” He said as he lay down the tankard he spent an age cleaning before leaning in closer.
“What kind of book?” He asked inquisitively, raising an eyebrow.A voice spoke up from the left lifting you a foot from the stool.
“The stuff of legend. They say that it was written by the owner himself. And that it resides somewhere within this blog.”
“I know of what you speak. It is the Kanjo No Sho.”
“The Kanjo No-what?”
“The Kanjo No Sho.”
“You know of it? You must tell me where it is?”
“I have spent my entire life looking for that book! I am still no closer now than I was then? All I know is that it is in this blog.”